A Vampire's Seduction (A Dark Hero Book 1)

by Fleur Camacho

She shook her head, fear pouring from her skin. “I don’t-don’t know. I’m sure he miscounted. He was drunk. I can order his accountant to send the rest tomorrow.”

  “But I did not request the money be sent tomorrow. The deadline is tonight.”

  “Then I will run home. I’m very fast. I’ll have him send the rest immediately.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” I stood back, releasing her and she released a shaky breath. “I am a man of my word, even if your father is not.” I turned to Rowan. “Send word to her mother that she will not return to her home until two years has passed.” She gasped, but I continued. “Her father cares for her so little, he doesn’t deserve her presence. But her mother will be allowed to visit her here.” I turned to her, gripping her chin until her eyes reached mine. “You are not to return home until two years has passed. And you are to tell no one of your time here. You understand?” She nodded, my compulsion taking full force.

  I turned back to Rowan. “You may take the rest of the payment, as you wish, but do not kill her.”

  He grinned, and she shrieked, backing into the wall. I walked away as Rowan descended on her.

  Ignoring the party that was moving into the foyer, the strigoi were always attracted to the shrieks of the living, I opened the door to my workshop. I breathed deeply through my nose, smelling the wonderful aroma of aged oak. It stood in sheets at the far end of the room, just as instructed. I took off my shirt and lay it on the hook on the far wall. Then I looked over the sheets of oak carefully, selecting one, and centered it on my worktable. I ran my hands over it in fluid motions, feeling all the rough spots that would become smooth under my ministrations. I took a step back to assess it, forming and shaping it in my mind. Looking through my tools, I selected the perfect one and began my work. I took my time, working as slowly as the living, and ignoring the moans and laughter coming from the other room until the wood began to bend to my will.

  As I bent over my table, a trickle of water dripped onto the wood. I closed my eyes, my tool gripped tightly in my hand, and shook my head. “The dead are never dead, unless they are forgotten.”

  A hand ran over my chest, and her breath was on my neck.

  “You are not forgotten, nor ever will be.”

  “I will be forgotten.” Her voice was in my ear.

  I growled. “Never.”

  She appeared in front of me, her rear on the wood and she wrapped her legs around my waist. Her body shuddered and she tasted the droplets of water that beaded on her lips. My fangs descended; she was as beautiful in death as she had been in life, and I longed for her warmth one more time.

  “To the day I die my final death, you will never be forgotten. I will never forget your smile that brightened my day or the laughter that spilled from your lips. Or the way your hand always found mine.” I pulled my hand through her damp hair and she tilted her head towards me. “I will never forget your body under mine, trembling and tender, or your moans into the night and early morning.”

  “You have another.”

  “They mean nothing to me, only a way to satisfy my strigoi. And to forget my pain for a while. You were the only one who could hold my heart.”

  She grinned and I pulled her face to mine, softly tasting her cold, dry lips. “You are mine and always will be.”

  And then she was gone, her words a tickle in my ears. “Come for me soon.”

  I sighed, and the desire to rip Sophie from her company and take her into my room and mark her as mine was so strong that I had to grip the oak under my hands to keep from doing so. The wood bowed and snapped and I shoved it to the floor, frustrated that I would have to begin again. After calming my strigoi, I pulled another sheet of wood and started over. After some hours, I glanced towards the window. It would be light soon.

  Walking past the sitting room, I glanced inside to find Sophie retired to her room and most of the guests sleeping lazily, spread out across the room. Lula Belle slept soundly on the couch. Her head was in Rowan’s lap, her skirts to her knees and blood dripping from her neck. The collar of her shirt was open, his hand on her breast. I eyed him wearily, but he didn’t look drunk. He stared at her, a note of admiration on his face.

  “And you drunk your fill?”

  His head shifted to look at me, the pockmarks on his face gleaming in the candlelight. He raised his eyebrow. “I have.”

  “And was she satisfied as well?”

  He grinned. “She was.”

  “Good.” I went to the closet, pulled out my coat and hat, and opened the front door.

  “Where are you off to?”

  I breathed in the smells of the street, and felt for the knife tucked in my pocket. I released my strigoi, allowing the hunters instincts to come over me. I shut the door and strode towards the mayor’s mansion.

  Chapter Three

  Adelade

  The very first time I laid my eyes on him, he held me like a dream. My feet were cemented in place as I watched them, and the thrum of my heart, which had quickened to a maddening pace, sounded loudly in my ears. He led Betty from the bar into the dark alley and pushed her against the wall. She smiled at him, and I imagined myself in her place, staring up at his handsome face. He probably smelled like sawdust and sweat, and I would breathe it in deeply, wanting him to rub himself all over me so that when I walked away, I’d smell exactly like him.

  He leaned over her, nuzzling her neck. Heat rushed through my body as he fell to his knees, his finger pulling down the top of her dress. My breasts aren’t as big as Betty’s, but holy hell, what I wouldn’t give to have him admire mine the way he looked at hers. It was as if he wanted to eat her. He fondled them softly, and I touched my own in response. Then he leaned in to taste her and she inclined her head back, moaning in delight.

  I wanted to walk away, to leave them to their lovemaking and forget about the mysterious man who’d turned my world upside down in an instant, but I could not force my will over my feet. In that moment, I’d become the silent stalker who watched his every move. And in my moment of madness, I envisioned my new life in the shadows, always watching him, always desiring that which I was too lowly to be given, the eye of the new gentleman in town.

  And then I realized that Betty was screaming and trying to hit him. It took me a second to react, to realize that her screams were of agony and not of delight. I searched the ground, looking for anything that could aid me in my rescue. I grabbed a wooden plank discarded on the street and ran headlong into the fray.

  As I closed in on them, my throat swelled up, choking off my air. My eyes couldn’t stop staring at her breast and the way that the man held it so tight, his teeth clamped down on it.

  I knew what he was.

  I’d never once spoken the word, the one that my father whispered in dark rooms as I went to bed. The one that my mother cried out while she slept, tears streaming down her cheeks. But my mind screamed the word now and it threatened to bust from my lips. But even then, my instincts clamped my teeth down on my tongue, causing it to bleed. I was never to speak the word, for it meant certain death. Strigoi.

  My senses were on high alert and I continued towards the lion’s den, determined to save Betty from certain death. He didn’t notice my approach, such was his intense focus on his blood lust, and I was able to put all of my power into my blow. It didn’t affect him, except to break him from his lust.

  Even though I knew exactly what he was, it didn’t stop my body from reacting to the smell of his body. It was exactly as I imagined. My blood raced to my face as his eyes shot toward me and I almost dropped the plank, but my hands were already in the air, aiming at his face again. He grabbed the plank, throwing it to the side, and his power flew into me, vibrating with such a deep intensity that it flowed through my whole body.

  “Look what you made me do.” His face was angry, and it made my breath quicken.

  I turned towards the ground so he wouldn’t see the way he affected me, searching for something that I could use to defend Betty. Bro
ken glass and excrement littered the street: not much use for me. The glass would only make things worse for me if I cut myself. A rusty nail caught my attention and I grabbed it. “Let her go.” I looked at Betty, noting the blood running down her dress, wishing that it was my body his hands were on, my blood running down my breast, ruining my dress. I held my breath for a second, trying to gain control over my faculties. “Or I’ll cut you with this.”

  Betty screamed. Stupid woman. She tried to run, but the man held her fast, and she fell onto the street.

  I held the nail up, feeling completely ridiculous, but determined. “I swear, I’ll shove this into your neck if you hurt her again.” His body called to me; I could feel his power and it hummed through me and it forced me to step closer.

  “If it hadn’t been for your intervention, she would be happily on her way by now.”

  He leaned over Betty, performing some kind of magic on her, incensing me. Who does he think he is? He can’t just prey on the innocent. Not that I would generally consider Betty innocent. “What are you doing to her?”

  When she got up, I tried to help her but his magic had already taken effect. As soon as she was gone, I realized that he and I were alone in the alley and I bathed in the fear that my father instilled in me. Never be alone with the strigoi.

  He stepped towards me, and my whole body vibrated. I wanted him to touch me, I wanted his hands all over me.

  “I wasn’t done with her yet.”

  And then his hands were gripping me and I fell into him. I tried to remember what I was doing but my mind was so muddled, as fear and desire wove through my body. The nail in my fingers was a cold reminder. “Don’t you dare hurt me.” He was silent for a moment and his eyes glowed a dark red. Then he was trembling under me and I was holding him up. “What’s going on?” I didn’t know if I should be very afraid or give in to my desires to ravish him.

  Suddenly, I was against the wall, my hands over my head, my breasts pressing into him, my fears melting into the night. His breath was on my neck and I waited in dark anticipation for his touch. For him to touch me the way he touched Betty, to give me the desires of my heart.

  Goosebumps rose up my arms, traveling through my body as I shivered. I didn’t care what he was. If only I could have him in my arms for one night, I would not care if he killed me if he so desired.

  I pushed my chest into him, rubbing my chin against his face, purring like a cat, willing and pliable in his hands. But he did not give in, he did not sink his teeth against my neck or fondle my aching breasts but stared at the back wall, his eyes black and cold. I sighed. I was not worthy enough.

  Then he was down the street and I fell to the ground. The pain in my chest crushed me, causing me to call out to him but he flew to the main street and disappeared.

  It took me a while to gain my senses, and to accept that he would not come back to me. I stumbled to my home, my errand forgotten as the night grew cold. My father already slept in his bed, the fire burned low in his room. I stirred it, trying not to wake him, thinking of the man of the night.

  His body, tight against mine. HIs breath, a tickle on my neck. His smell, a flame to my desire. If I was lucky, I would never see him again. His presence was a dark omen.

  I turned to my father and studied his face. He was pale, and sweat ran down his forehead, even in his sleep. He moaned, and a flash of pain crossed his face. I pulled his hair from his face, sticky and wet, and ran my hand over the top of his head, wiping the sweat from it. I ached with the thought that there was nothing I could do to alleviate his pain or the fact that I was at the center.

  It was the only thing keeping him alive, the uncertainty of my future. There was a curse over my house, as rumors spread like wildfire the night my mother almost died, and it dampened any chance I had of a proper proposal of marriage. If my father had been a banker or a merchant, then the rumors would’ve meant nothing. But he was a dockworker, and I, a dockworker’s daughter.

  I left him, praying for his pain to pass, and picked up his dirty clothes casually thrown over his chair. I would clean them in the morning.

  Luck never took hold of me, and in the night I dreamed.

  He sat on the bottom of the bed, his back to me. The room was stuffy; light filled the room from the window, heating it. He sat in the middle of the rays, watching it play off his fingers. It danced to and fro, then traveled up his arm to his face. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the sun and then he took a deep breath in. He turned to me, his face a blur he moved so quickly. His eyes were red, betraying his lust, and they wandered up the bed towards me.

  I swallowed hard, watching him as he prowled closer, my senses alight. His hand was on my leg, and it sent tingles up it as he raised my dress to my thighs. He bent over me, his nose to my skin, smelling my want and need as I cried out, unable to stand the torment. His hand slowly moved up to my hips and then he straddled me.

  My hands were over my head, tied to the bed post and I struggled to tear them from their ropes. His fingers clasped the buttons of my dress, and he nimbly undid them. He moved lower, his hands close to my breasts and my back arched forward, driven by the need to feel his touch. Sweat ran down my underarms, staining my dress, as his fingers undid all of my buttons.

  He leaned in and I trembled as his breath touched the top of my chest, his face so close I could almost feel it. A moan escaped my mouth as his fangs slid from his mouth. He bent down and I cried out, ready for his sting but suddenly he was gone; he’d disappeared in a flash. Before me a crow sat on the bottom of the bed staring down at me. It cawed and then flew towards the window, breaking the glass as it flew into the daylight, and was gone.

  The next day passed slowly, such was my sudden appetite to feel this man in my arms, that I could think of nothing else. I had loved another man once, the fever having taken him from me, and I knew that this ridiculous obsession for a man I’d only seen once was a dream and nothing else. Noticing my distractedness, my father sent me to bed early that night, worried that I had caught a sickness and I went willingly, determined to rid myself of this senseless desire for the man of my dreams.

  The next morning when I awoke, my bed was soaked with my sweat and I shivered in the cool air; I had dreamed of him again. Angry, I got up and dumped cold water over myself, soaking me to the bone. Then I threw off my shift and put on a practical blouse and shirt, tucking it in tightly. This way was madness, and I hadn’t the luxury for it. I quickly ate a cold breakfast, my father having already left for the day, and I went to the market.

  Words whispered through the streets of the mayor’s death, a bloody one. They said that his body was cut into pieces so that only his wife recognized him. I crossed my hands over my chest, chanting the words that would keep the evil at bay and prayed for the mayor’s soul.

  I spent the day cleaning the house, keeping my hands busy. Any time my thoughts drifted to the man, I clamped down on them. He would only bring death to my door. I scrubbed the hearth with determination; I would win a man suitable for me and bring peace to my father. Even if he was older than me, or ugly to the eye. As long as I had a roof over my head, I would be content with whatever my lot. And I would wait no longer, the choice would be mine, I would will it.

  I threw the brush down and wiped at my forehead. Then I gathered the stained clothing and went into the yard, a bucket and soap in hand. I thought of the eligible men in the town as I scrubbed. Derek, the town’s butcher. He was ugly and missing two front teeth, and he was cruel to his mother, who was widowed. But he lived on his own since his fiancé ran off, so he may be willing to take me. Then there was Edward, who was about eighty years old. His wife died two years ago, leaving him with eleven children. Some of them were adults, but he still had two in his home because he started a family late in life. Every time I was around him, he stared at me in such a way that put a sickening pit in my stomach. He’d offered to bring me in, in exchange for helping with his children, but I’d declined. That was before my father f
ell ill. I hung the newly cleaned set of clothing and poured the dirty water into the street.

  There was also Landon, and my heart fluttered at the thought of him. His shoulders were wide and his arms were strong. He grinned readily and was kind to the elderly women who lived on the streets, having lost their homes when their husband’s died. I met him there one day, as I sometimes bring them the rotten food from the market. He was offering them blankets, ones that he’d woven himself but couldn’t sell because of one thing or another. His eyes twinkled as they met mine, but they saw right though me when Stefano, the merchant who ran the docks, passed by and then they followed him up the street.

  Desperation welled in my throat and a sob threatened to escape. I clasped my hand to my mouth, pushing my feelings down and I watched the sun as it waned in the sky. I would be content with Landon’s choices, if they allowed me to take the burden off of my father.

  And then… there was always the hope that… I turned towards the house, determined to push those thoughts aside, even though I was already breathless at the mere thought of the man of my dreams. The lights were lit in the house and my father stood in the doorway, framed in the soft glow of the candles.

  “Hello,” I called to him, feeling better already.

  He nodded his head towards me, calling me into the house. He looked different somehow; he stood up straight like he wasn’t in any pain, and he was holding a large chest.

  I sped up my pace, took the chest from him and carried it into the house.

  “Adelade, you cannot know the weight that lifts off my chest when I see you.”

  I grinned. “As you bring light to a darkened home.”

  His face lit up, his lips turned into a smile and then he looked up at the darkening sky and his smile evaporated like the descending sun. “Come in.” He shut the door. “We have to speak.”

  I put the chest on the floor and watched as he paced the floor. I sat next to it, wondering why he had taken my mother’s trunk from her room. The seconds ticked by and an anxious feeling began to worm its way into the pit of my stomach. He must have found me a suitor. He seemed distressed, and I had no hope of a happy future. I took in a deep breath. “Just tell me, Father. I will be content, no matter who it is.”