Vampire Romance_Book 2

by P. L. Kurup

  Copyright 2017 P. L. KURUP

  The book is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious, any similarity to any persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Vampire Romance | P. L. Kurup

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Vampire Romance

  P. L. Kurup

  Chapter 1

  Twenty two year old Amelia Thorpe had green eyes and waist-length brunette hair which had a slight curl to it. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows were shaped into flawless curves that effortlessly followed the concaves of her eyes. Her lips were full and luscious, and her tall and slender physique extenuated her beauty further.

  The twelve foot by fourteen foot studio flat she lived in was furnished with a wardrobe, a desk and a kitchenette with a hob cooker, and pots and pans stacked to one side. Piled on her desk were several thick textbooks, a laptop computer, and reams of papers collected into a bundle.

  Waking, she looked across at the clock. Five am loomed and she sighed before rising and crossing to the window. It was an early December morning and dawn wouldn’t break for two hours. Orange street lamps shone down on frost-coated cars lining the roads while frozen water droplets glistened on rooftops.

  Amelia grabbed a towel and ventured into the ensuite bathroom of her modest home. Removing her clothes, she focused on her reflection in the mirror. Her attention wasn’t her face, but three birthmarks on her body. The first, two dots a half a centimetre apart on the jugular of her neck, and the second, three centimetres wide in the centre of her chest, and the last, a ring around her left wrist vein. She scrutinised them obsessively and would’ve happily stayed engrossed had it not been for her alarm alerting her it was five fifteen.

  Quickening her pace, she took a shower, dried herself with the towel and put on a tee-shirt, jeans, and a pair of comfortable black shoes. She combed the knots out of her hair and grimaced at the pain it caused, then threw on a thick, grey coat.

  London hadn’t woken when she stepped outside and was enveloped in a serene peace. The bitter cold twisted her breath into puffs of smoke and her fingers numbed. Amelia’s coat couldn’t shield her from the ferocity of the elements and she shuddered as icy chills ran down the length of her body.

  Trudging through tree-lined streets flanked with shops and offices, she reached the end of the road where she saw the familiar Victoria Underground station. The grey coloured building had an arched entranceway and numerous glass windows circling the concourse. There was hardly anyone about, yet she marched boldly into the station and travelled down lonely escalators to reach the train platform.

  The environment was bathed in fluorescent light and the floor covered in cigarette ends and used ticket stubs. She tapped her foot on the ground and checked the clock. It read five fifty five am, meaning she missed the five forty five am train.

  “Come on, where’s the next one?” she mumbled with annoyance.

  Glancing to her right, she saw a man in a long black coat standing at the far end of the platform. He was tall and had dark, wavy brown hair. She couldn’t make out his features, but she noticed he watched her intently. Amelia turned to the tracks and listened for the train’s arrival, praying that it was imminent.

  Soon, a cacophony of screeching metal headed her way, and she stepped forward until she was at the platform edge. When the train stopped, she boarded the last carriage and waited for the vehicle to pull away from the station. As it did so, her gaze scanned the platform for signs of the stranger, but she found no trace of him. It led her to believe that he too had boarded the train, and she chewed on her nails.

  Her gaze fixed on the door leading to the next carriage and she wondered if it was empty. Staying in a carriage all by herself seemed foolish so she left her seat, walked briskly to the door, and yanked it open. Her eyes brightened when she spotted three women and two men sitting together. They wore the same business suits; navy with the symbol of an eagle on the lapel. Taking a seat beside them, Amelia gave them a grateful grin, but the gesture wasn’t reciprocated. King’s Cross was five stops away and each time the train halted at a station she examined the forecourt for a glimpse of the stranger, but was left disappointed. Then at Euston, a measly one stop away from King’s Cross, the five business folk departed, leaving her alone in the compartment. She stood to leave when the doors closed on her.

  “Damn it,” she cried.

  It was a three minute journey to King’s Cross, and any other day the time would race by, but this morning the journey seemed endless. She eyed the partition, a flimsy barrier that could be easily overpowered. The train snaked through a tunnel, plummeting the wagon into darkness. Her eyes closed as she entertained all manner of unsavoury thoughts.

  “Don’t be afraid,” a man whispered.

  Her eyes opened, convinced the voice wasn’t imagined. The train emerged from the tunnel, and as it became flooded with light, she explored every part of it for the passenger. Despite her best efforts she found the coach empty. The locomotive trundled to a halt and she got up from her seat and prepared to leave. As the doors opened, she gave a half-hearted glimpse over her shoulder to confirm the carriage was indeed empty. Her fears disintegrated as she stepped on to the forecourt, and blended with the hurly burly of London.

  Leaving the station, she was greeted by a sallow morning sky saturated with clouds, and pavements choc-a-block with pedestrians. Cold air whipped her face as she wandered down the footpath, making her breathing more arduous. She crossed a busy street and entered a café with a blue sign above it which read; “Stu’s.”

  The security of the teashop brought a smile to her face. The walls of the place were painted taupe and fifteen tables were arranged side by side with scarcely enough room to move. Amelia weaved between the tables and reached the kitchen in the rear. Once there, she took of her coat and tied her abundant hair into a tight ponytail.

  Stuart Turner, the owner, manager and cook, leaned against the cooker, a mug of coffee in hand, and gave her a grin. He was a young man of average build and had deep set brown eyes. Wrapped around his waist was an apron with numerous stains on it, and on his arm was a tattoo of a rose.

  “You’re late,” Stuart remarked.

  “The train was delayed,” Amelia explained.

  “Suppose you have to be late once in a while otherwise you wouldn’t be human,” he jested.

  “Stu... I have lectures all day tomorrow so I won’t be able to do my shift,” Amelia said quickly.

  “I know you’re a busy girl, but I have a business to run. You know I can’t serve the customers and cook at the same time,” he replied.

  “I know, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll give you a lot more notice,” Amelia grovelled.

  “Make sure you do. If not I can always hire one of the three thousand other people begging for a job each day.”

  The shop doorbell rang, saving Amelia from a proper telling off. After straightening out the creases in h
er clothes, she trudged to the main area to see an elderly lady in a faux fur coat strolling in. She sat at the table by the window and Amelia approached her.

  “Hello, Mrs Cross. What can I get for you today?” Amelia asked sweetly.

  “I would like a café latte and make sure it’s piping hot,” Mrs Cross replied in a thick London accent. “Toast with butter and a fruit scone with jam.”

  “Right away.” Amelia nodded and moved to the counter to make the drink.

  It took her less than a minute to create the piping hot beverage. No sooner had she handed the latte to Mrs Cross, than a steady influx of customers came in.

  Amelia rushed about completing orders and wiping down surfaces whenever she could. The ringing doorbell and demanding patrons made her forget about the strange man she encountered not so long ago. I wish they would all shut up, she thought, fed up with the noise.

  A gust of wind threw open the café door and the entire room fell silent. Amelia dashed to the access and slammed it shut. She thought nothing of the incident, and turned sideways, when her breath stalled.

  Sitting in the corner table was a man with dark, wavy hair, and wearing a long black coat.

  “Oh, dear God,” she mumbled.

  It was undoubtedly the same person she saw on the train platform. He kept his head lowered, denying her a glimpse of his face. She approached him whilst telling herself he couldn’t harm her amongst so many people.

  “May I take your order, sir?” she said meekly.

  “Tea with no milk,” the stranger answered.

  “Right away,” she stated.

  She walked to the kitchen and made the tea with trembling hands. Then spooned three teaspoons of sugar without knowing whether sugar was taken and spilt most of the beverage on the floor when she stirred it. Stuart was no longer there, but she barely had time to notice. Taking a breath, she returned to the corner table. Her pace was sluggish and she lacked the cheerful bounce she had when marching out of her flat. She’d hoped the man would’ve left by the time she returned to the eating area, but he still sat at the corner table.

  “Here you go, sir,” she said, placing the mug on his table.

  “Thank you,” the man answered.

  There was no upward glance or reassuring smile for a job well done, and she left, raising a brow at his indifference. She continued her work by removing dishes and cups centimentres away from him, and swept under his table. He wasn’t drinking his tea, but it wasn’t her place to question why customers behaved as they did. However, the longer he remained in her presence, the more she felt compelled to look at him.

  xxx

  Stuart hadn’t returned by closing time so Amelia switched off the cafe lights and the few remaining customers obediently exited the shop. The gentleman in the corner failed to follow suit.

  Amelia strode over to him ready to tell him to leave, when he looked up at her. Her eyes widened since the person she saw wasn’t the hideous monster she imagined in her mind, but an exceptionally attractive human being. He appeared no more than twenty four years of age with piercing blue eyes. His dark hair had a hint of copper and covered his coat’s collar. His skin was deftly pale and he had prominent cheek bones more suited to a male model. In short, he reminded her of a chiselled Michel Angelo statue flawless in its design.

  “You didn’t drink your tea,” she said, gesturing to the now cold drink.

  “I found I wasn’t as thirsty as I thought,” he replied.

  His voice was deep and sultry, and had an accent that she couldn’t place.

  “Well, we’re closing now so you have to leave,” she curtly said.

  The man looked at her intensely. It was too informal for her taste and she took a couple of steps back.

  “I have no wish to alarm you,” he said. “I’m here because I needed a place to take shelter from the cold.”

  “And out of the hundreds of cafes in London you could’ve gone to you chose this one,” she said.

  “That is right.”

  “You stayed in your seat for nearly seven hours and didn’t move the whole time. It’s all very bizarre.”

  “The world is full of bizarre things. For instance today you are young and beautiful, but tomorrow you will be...

  “Dead? Well you’ll die too.” Amelia replied.

  He held out his hand. “My name is Samuel.”

  She clutched it and gasped since his skin was ice cold.

  “Amelia Thorpe,” she said, trying not to show how bothered she was about the chilliness

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amelia.”

  “As I said, the shop is closed.” She pulled back her hand and walked to the counter huffing at his intrusiveness.

  The shop doorbell chimed and she spun to find the once bustling cafe was now empty.

  Chapter 2

  The following morning at University College London, a hundred medical students, the majority twenty two, crammed into a lecture hall with high ceilings and a spacious platform to the front. Amelia shuffled beside them in silence. On entering the room, she raced to the top of the stairs and sat in the right hand corner, a place as far away from anyone as possible. Once settled, she took out a notepad and grasped a silver ballpoint pen. While the room buzzed with conversation and laughter, she cupped her hand over her mouth as she yawned.

  “You look shattered. Are you sleeping well?” Amelia heard.

  She glanced diagonally and saw Priti Patel, a slender girl with black hair staring at her from three rows down. The young woman’s rosy cheeks and lustrous hair were in contrast to Amelia’s fatigued appearance.

  “I’m fine. Nothing to concern yourself with,” Amelia replied.

  “But you don’t seem fine at all. I’d say you look as if you’ve been working like a dog all day and haven’t had a moment’s rest.”

  “And you should stop frowning. I can see wrinkles forming on your brow due to your constant pouting.”

  “I’ll leave you alone with your thoughts,” Priti responded, turning to the front.

  Professor Stevens, a short, stout, middle-aged man with chalk patches on his clothes ambled in. The room quieted down and all eyes were trained on him.

  “So nice to see you’re here on time,” Professor Stevens began. “Today we shall finish our work on the human heart. A perfect machine that pumps blood throughout the body from birth until death. And in your final year at medical school you will see just how miraculous an organ it is.”

  His delivery reduced the room to mesmerising silence and Amelia was no exception. She jotted page after page of notes, capturing everything the Professor said. She turned over the page to see the words, “Who is he?” printed at the top. Words she’d jotted while taking the train home the night before. It transported her to the stranger’s alluring eyes and made her cheeks blush bright red.

  Her attention returned to Professor Stevens who in the dying minutes of the lecture concluded, “In short, ladies and gentleman without a beating heart there is no life.”

  The students packed their things and filed out the hall like well regimented soldiers. Amelia walked alongside them when Adrian Talbot, a man of twenty five, blocked her path. His pale blue eyes and ginger hair, giving him an uncanny resemblance to Prince Harry.

  “I have to speak to you about something,” he said urgently.

  “I can’t talk now. I have to go,” she answered, trying to pass him.

  “Will you wait for one second?” The coarseness in his voice halted her.

  “Would you like to go to the cinema sometime? I hear there’s an action film playing.”

  “I’m too busy for films, but maybe another time,” she answered bluntly.

  “You look tired,” he remarked. “Hope that café job you do’s not taking its toll.”

  “Sadly not everyone can dig into their trust fund to pay the university tuition fees. Some of us need jobs in cafés to do that,” Amelia spewed out.

  He blinked at her comeback, then looked at her in a way su
ggestive of respect, if not love. “I want to spend time with you, Amelia. Go out with me for one date.”

  “You’re a nice person, Adrian. But...”

  “You’re searching for your very own Prince Charming. And it’s not me.”

  “Prince Charming doesn’t exist. I’ll see you later,” She darted out the hall knowing he was watching her.

  She ventured outside where the weather was chilly enough to make her shiver and her fingers and ears turn numb. Meandering through the maze of streets surrounding the campus, she suddenly looked burdened, and her hectic pace slowed. She stumbled into a narrow alley on the far side, and came to a door labelled; ‘Mrs. Caroline Baker, Finance Office’.

  “Be calm,” she told herself, “there is nothing to fear.”

  Amelia opened the door and walked into an office with a desk and chair in the corner, and curios from different parts of the world about the place. The sickly scent of deodorant filled the air, making her cringe, but she stopped short of covering her nose with her hand.

  “Some of us knock before walking into a room,” a woman shrilled.

  Amelia turned to Mrs Baker, a waif thin woman, wearing an emerald suit and high heels.

  “I came to see if I could get an extension for the payment,” Amelia mumbled.

  “I’m afraid not. If I gave you an extension I’d lose my job,” Mrs Baker replied.

  “Being a doctor was the only thing I ever wanted. All I ask is a few weeks grace so I can get the money,” pleaded Amelia.

  “You are nine thousand pounds in arrears. If you don’t pay the fees by noon next Friday you will have to leave the course. It’s that simple,” Mrs. Baker affirmed. “Everything happens for a reason. Perhaps medicine isn’t your true calling.”

  Amelia scoffed at Baker’s ruthlessness. There was nothing more to say so she rushed out of the office without bothering to shut the door, and ran into the university car park. Standing head bowed, she mourned at the injustice shown to her.

  Professor Stevens’ tutorial was due to begin and absence meant a failing grade. Hence she dashed across the street leading to St Luke’s hospital. She was halfway across when a car sped towards her, the driver having no intention of stopping. Fear glued her feet to the ground, and she watched the vehicle drawing close. Her eyes shut, accepting the inevitable, when a hand grasped hers making her jolt. Its flesh was ice cold, the temperature of freshly lain snow. Before she could determine who it was she was heaved onto the pavement, and the perilous car went by without incident.