Delilah Devlin - Sm{B}itten (Night Fall #1)

by Unknown

  Sm{B}itten

  Delilah Devlin

  Copyright © 2015 Delilah Devlin

  Kindle Edition

  *

  Emmy Harris knows she’s not perfect. She has a little extra padding and isn’t the brightest bulb, but you’d think she was sexy rock star the way everyone at a certain night club treats her from the moment she walks through the door. In fact, the two sexiest men there can’t seem to keep their hands off her until one of them sweeps her away to his private domain. A girl like her isn’t going to waste a chance like that. So he’s a little rough and likes to take a nibble or two while he pleasures her. For a girl who didn’t know she’d never experienced a full-blown orgasm before, Dylan’s eccentricities are delicious!

  Dylan O’Hara only wants a night of passion to slake his lusts, but finds Emmy is a full-bodied, red-blooded siren whose innocence and humor draws this Master vampire like a moth to a red-hot flame. When Emmy attracts the attention of a serial-killing vampire, Dylan vows to protect her, but he fears he’ll lose Emmy once she discovers he’s not human.

  Note: This book was previously published as All Hallows Heartbreaker, but has been revised and significantly expanded.

  For more Night Fall Series stories, watch for these titles: Silent is the Knight

  Truly, Madly…Deadly Knight in Transition Wolf in Plain Sight The Knight Edition

  Night Fall on Dark Mountain A Knight Living Dangerously

  From the Author

  To those of you who’ve read me before—hello, friends! To new readers, welcome to my world!

  Some stories live near and dear to an author’s heart. This is one of them. Emmy Harris is my personal hero. Funny and fearless, with loads of insecurities, she follows her heart and her curiosity, grabbing for the gusto. I hope you love reading her as much as I love writing her!

  I love hearing from readers, and have a very active blog and Facebook friend page. I run contests, talk about my favorite TV shows, what I collect, what drives me crazy. I tend to ramble a bit. I’m doing it right now. But if you’d like to learn more about me and what I’m doing or writing about, be sure to check out the “About Delilah Devlin” page after the story.

  And if you enjoy this story, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retail site or simply tell a friend. Readers do influence other readers. We have to trust someone to tell us whether we’ll have fun when we open a new story!

  Sincerely,

  Delilah Devlin

  Visit www.DelilahDevlin.com for more titles and release dates and subscribe to Delilah’s newsletter at newsletter.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  From the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About Delilah Devlin

  Excerpt from Truly, Madly…Deadly

  Chapter One

  ‡

  “Dylan, watch your back!”

  Dylan O’Hara spun on his heels and ducked beneath a sweeping claw. He feinted to the left then surged upward, slamming the creature into a damp brick wall. “You will heed me!”

  Arms immobilized, the beast shuddered and bared her teeth, which flashed eerie white in the scant moonlight penetrating the narrow alley.

  In its most primitive form, the creature couldn’t understand him. Dylan sighed. This might take some time. He had no wish to kill her.

  Behind him, wood splintered and metal clanked against rock.

  “Quentin, you’d better finish your end quickly,” he shouted, careful not to look away from the vampire pinned by his arm across her chest. “We’ve more problems waiting at The Cavern.”

  “I’d be happy to oblige, but this one won’t release its prize.” Quentin grunted in accompaniment to the thud of heavy fists pounding flesh.

  Dylan’s vampire renewed her struggle.

  Battling his own mind-stealing anger, Dylan barely pulled his throat out of range of a mouthful of jagged teeth. He slammed the creature into the wall again. “I will outlast you, bitch.”

  Intelligence glittered in the creature’s dark gaze, and then her features relaxed, morphing instantly from snarling vampire to the cotton-candy sweetness of a teenage girl. Her eyes rounded in horror. “Mr. O’Hara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you. You can let me go now.”

  The “Mr. O’Hara” made him feel at least a couple of centuries old. Dylan glared at the dark-eyed girl whose mane of curly brown hair framed a pale face with sweetly bowed lips. “Who made you, little girl?”

  She transformed again, from sweet sixteen to wily seductress, with a single lap of her tongue around blood-red lips. “You may,” she whispered.

  Dylan rolled his eyes. “Your sire. Who was your sire? And how do you know my name?”

  Her lips formed a moue. “Why, Nicky made me. And every vampire knows you.”

  Muffled blows continued to sound behind him, and he shouted to Quentin, “For fuck’s sake. He’s only a mosquito. Can’t you finish him on your own?”

  “Inexperience doesn’t mean the bastard hasn’t got a wicked right hook,” Quentin replied.

  A loud crash and dull thump followed. Flesh met metal. Followed by silence.

  “Quentin, have you finished?”

  “Not quite,” Quentin said, and then groaned.

  The girl peeked over Dylan’s shoulder.

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Not one word.”

  Her glance darted back to his, and she nodded too quickly.

  “And you don’t move an inch…” He kept his finger pressed to her lips. “Or I’ll dust you.”

  Her eyes widened. She nodded slowly.

  Maybe she was a virgin to the vamp lifestyle, but she knew enough to fear a Master Vampire’s threat. When Dylan turned to aid his friend, he wasn’t the least surprised to hear the scurry of footsteps heading toward the street. With a shrug, he realized he didn’t care if the girl was getting away. He could always catch her later. Maybe by then she would have learned a little restraint. If tonight hadn’t taught her a lesson, he’d be forced to make good on his threat.

  He straightened his cuffs, and then realized the girl’s razor teeth had sliced the sleeve. He grimaced, fingering the tear.

  Quentin had had the foresight to remove his shirt before entering the fray, and he rose from the ground to stand bare-chested, facing a male vamp in full-blooded frenzy.

  The vamp’s face was contorted with bloodlust, and his fangs formed two greedy rows, the long incisors curving over his lips. Carrying a human at his side like a large bag of potatoes, he swung his free arm and connected with Quentin’s jaw.

  Quentin landed next to a trash bin. Dylan approached, and his friend smiled crookedly. “I’ve got him softened up.”

  From the top of his boot, Dylan slid out a stake. “I told you, Quent, we haven’t time to play.”

  The beast lumbered from side to side, the girl under his arm flopping like a rag doll. Blood spattered on his One Republic T-shirt and blue jeans indicated the limp body wasn’t the vamp’s first victim of the night.

  Dylan felt a twinge in his chest, but the vampire’s lack of constraint had sealed its fate. To fight a vampire at the peak of his bloodlust, Dylan needed an extra push. So by degrees, he let his own lust take him, careful to balance waning human intelligence with increasing vampire strengt
h. He thrilled to the heightened strength and awareness—bloodlust being a dangerously close cousin to his dark sensuality.

  Skin on his cheeks and forehead stretched to accommodate rising plates of facial armor. Fangs slid from his gums, pushing shorter incisors behind them. Dylan curled his lips and snarled a warning at his opponent.

  The other male vamp threw back his head and roared, and the rag doll at his side stirred then wriggled to free herself from the vampire’s grasp. The vamp dropped his gaze to the girl.

  Dylan leapt to push the stake deep into his chest. As Dylan’s face reformed and his teeth retracted, he saw the vampire stagger, finally relinquishing his hold on the girl.

  With a great sigh, the creature fell to his knees. Features blurred then reshaped. A blond, sparse beard covered the chin and jaw of another teen. The youth’s fearful gaze met Dylan’s the instant the young man’s body disintegrated into dust.

  “Goddamn, Nicky,” Dylan muttered under his breath. What a waste.

  Quentin stepped past him, heading for the girl. She lay on her back, eyes closed tightly.

  Even from a distance, Dylan heard her heart hammering.

  Quentin bent over her, his mouth at her throat.

  Dylan shuddered, thankful his friend had taken charge of the girl, certain he wouldn’t have had the restraint to stop himself from draining her dry. He’d been too long without fresh blood…and a neck was a tender bit of flesh.

  After a long moment, Quentin raised his head, blood smearing his lips. “Open your eyes, little girl.”

  Her lids lifted slowly, expression dazed.

  “You partied too much with a boy, and he got a little carried away.” His voice soothed. “You want to go home now.”

  “I want to go home,” she said in a monotone.

  Quentin pushed a strand of her coal-black hair from her forehead. “Did he drive you here, sweetheart?”

  She blinked slowly. “I drove my car to The Cavern.”

  “How very convenient,” he murmured. “Time to go home.”

  “I want to go home,” she repeated.

  Quentin helped her to her feet, and she walked to the end of the alley, taking measured steps and staring straight ahead. He laid a heavy hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “We’re done here, Dylan,” he said quietly. “Let’s make sure she gets to her car.”

  With one last glance at the empty, crumpled T-shirt and blue jeans, Dylan rose to his feet. “How many kids do you think Nicky had to go through to make this one?”

  Quentin snatched his shirt from where he’d hung it on a nail and shrugged into it. “Why would he even want one this young?”

  “Younger humans are more resilient. Teenagers stand a better chance of surviving the transformation.”

  “Bloody hell.” Quentin’s mouth curled in disgust. “We should be glad he isn’t turning babies.”

  Dylan raked his hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They left the alley and walked toward the violet neon sign marking the entrance to The Cavern.

  Just as the girl passed them in a little red Civic, soft misty rain began to fall.

  Dylan raised his face and inhaled, welcoming the moisture.

  “Fuck me!” Quentin said, as he hunched his shoulders. “It’s raining again. Hurry along, now.”

  “My friend, you’re too fussy. How can you not love the rain? It smells like home.”

  “I hated home every damned day of my life. Why the hell do you think I was in the Caymans when I was turned? London is forever dreary.”

  Dylan shook his head. The two men were poles apart in most things, but bound by their immortality. More than lifelong friends. “Seattle’s as close to Ireland as I’ve found in the world. The weather’s soft, and the rain makes everything…” He took a last deep breath. “…Clean.”

  *

  Later, Dylan surveyed the growing crush of bodies undulating to the techno beat on the dance floor below. “Just another Saturday night at The Cavern,” he mumbled. He was growing bored with the scene beyond the one-way mirror of his soundproof room. Bored and horny.

  “I wonder what young Nicky has planned for tonight,” Quentin said from the black leather sofa.

  Dylan shot a glance over his should at his friend whose appearance was completely unruffled after their skirmish in the alley. “I thought he was beneath your notice.”

  “Just wondered.” Quentin took another sip of brandy from the snifter Dylan had poured. “It being Halloween and all. Americans get so excited about that sort of thing.”

  Dylan checked the cuffs of his shirt. In addition to the hole in his sleeve, his cuffs were frayed and smudged with grime. “Just remember,” he said, pinning his friend with a glare. “Nicky’s mine.”

  Quentin lifted a single aristocratic brow. “Are you planning to stake him or invite him to dinner?”

  Dylan ignored the jibe and unbuttoned his shirt. At times, Quentin’s British drollness grated on his nerves. “I’ll talk to him—first. He’s trying to take the city, you know. He’s building his own army.”

  “I’m shivering in my boots. An army of mosquitoes.”

  “Be afraid. He can’t control immature vamps.” He jerked a thumb toward the alley. “You saw what happened.”

  “Wasps, then.”

  Dylan drew the curtain closed, shutting off the view, and then shrugged off his shirt. “They’re already leaving carnage in their path. Before long, the police will be poking their noses in our business. At least, Nicky doesn’t have that little girl in the alley to add to his ranks.”

  “Should we have left her alive? What if she remembers and brings the police down on our heads?”

  “She was unconscious most of the time,” Dylan said. “Thanks to your persuasion, she’ll think she dreamed the rest of what happened.”

  “Well, plenty of willing hosts are here tonight. Nicky’s army doesn’t need to kill.”

  Dread lingered like stale blood. “You know damn well Nicky doesn’t consider blood whores a suitable meal. He likes to take flesh, too.” And why were they tolerating his behavior? Dylan’s orders were to watch and contain.

  “It’s true. He doesn’t like to stop at a little nibble.” Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “But what about you? Are you going to end your fast?”

  “We’re not talking about me.” His shoulders tensed. “I’m not a menace to human society.”

  “Dylan, you have to feed. As it is, you’re likely to rip the head off your next host, if you don’t take off the edge with a little sex first.”

  “I’m in control.”

  Quentin snorted. “Not for long, if you don’t feed. Plenty of lovelies are present below, willing to take your cock and your bite. Why not go for it?”

  Dylan lifted an eyebrow. “Are you offering to pimp for me?”

  “Not bloody likely. We don’t have the same tastes.”

  “And I’m tired of a steady diet of drugged-up whores.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Quentin’s grin stretched wide. “We could do a foursome.”

  Dylan grimaced. “I’d rather go without.”

  “Then make yourself a mate.” Quentin’s expression grew serious.

  A fading memory of a redheaded angel caused a dull ache in his chest. “You know I wouldn’t risk a woman’s life for that.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you’re a stubborn bastard. Take a human lover.”

  “Maybe I should. It’s not like I’d actually fall in love. Humans are too short-lived.” Dylan strode past Quentin to the coat rack beside the door and selected a black leather vest, buttoning it closed. “Let’s patrol the floor. Make sure everyone plays nice tonight.” He opened the door and looked back at Quentin, arching a brow when the blond man took another sip.

  “Oh, all right.” His friend heaved a sigh. “You sure know how to suck the life out of a party.”

  Before Dylan reached the bottom step of the stairs, he sensed a change in the crowd. Every vamp in his view stiffened. Their
expressions grew expectant.

  Dylan lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. Beneath the usual cloud of cigarettes, perfume, and sweat, something fresh and sweet—and infinitely carnal—wafted in the air. His body tightened in anticipation.

  Without looking over his shoulder, Dylan ground out, “Find her!”

  Emmaline Harris adjusted the snug fit of her bustier and patted her breasts to make sure everything that mattered was covered. She’d ditched her shawl in the coatroom near the door and was beginning to regret the exposure.

  “Damn Monica and her costume,” she muttered. When Monica had lent her the old-fashioned Vampira outfit, she obviously hadn’t taken into consideration the two-cup difference in their bust sizes.

  Emmy took another shallow gulp of air and headed toward the center of the dance floor. That’s where Monica was most likely to be.

  Scanning the crowd, Emmy didn’t recognize a soul. This West Seattle tavern, next to the waterway and Elliot Bay, wasn’t the sort of place Emmy was accustomed to, but just the sort of loud, loose crowd Monica loved. They may have been friends since middle school, but they were miles apart in personality. Sometimes, Emmy figured the only reason they’d stayed friends so long was that Emmy preferred to hear about Monica’s exploits and her friend like to brag. On those occasions when she could coax Emmy into joining her, Monica liked the fact she looked thinner standing next to Emmy.

  Not that Emmy resented her friend for her shallowness. Monica was an exotic orchid to her ordinary daisy. She supposed Monica had every right to enjoy what God had given her.

  “Excuse me. Pardon me,” she said, as she sidled between gyrating bodies, but soon realized no one heard her apologies above the deafening music. And worse, she was the only person dressed for Halloween. “Monica is so dead. Why did I bother with an hour of makeup and this stupid costume when everyone else is wearing Dollar Store fangs?”

  “Talking to yourself again?” Monica drawled into her ear.

  Emmy whirled. “Don’t do that!”

  “I see you made it,” Monica said, grinning. She flicked a lock of brown hair over her shoulder. “I knew the outfit would be delicious on you.”