Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Night [Bloodborn 1] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Tracy L. Ranson

  "My thought, exactly," he said with a laugh.

  Within minutes, they were inside. Mediterranean artwork decorated the walls, making it look as though it was an ancient Roman house. Garlic hung in the air as the wait staff zoomed by with trays of bread, fettuccini and spaghetti. She inhaled deeply as the comforting smell immediately calmed her nerves.

  "How many?"

  "Two," she heard Raphael say.

  "That'll be a two-hour wait."

  "Here's a little something that should encourage you to give us the best table you have on the patio in about five minutes."

  She glanced over to see Raphael hand the maitre d’ a twenty. "Of course, sir," the man in the fake mustache and awful clothes answered. "In five minutes."

  Her anxiety returned. "You didn't have to do that. We could go somewhere else. McDonald's or some other fast food would be fine."

  He held his hand up. "That is not dinner. That's for men who are too lazy to treat their women right."

  She stared at him hard. What did he mean by that? "Honestly, anywhere is fine with me. "

  Before she could say more, the maitre d' turned up at Raphael's elbow and announced their table was ready.

  He gestured her to follow the maitre d' and she complied, all the while feeling his hand on her back, guiding her toward their table. Tremors slammed through her as fear gnawed at her bones. Why was he here with her?

  "Ignore them," Raphael whispered into her ear, almost as if he heard her thoughts.

  She spun on her heel and stopped midway to the table. "What did you say?"

  "I said ignore them. They are just small-minded people."

  Liz was dubious. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

  He leaned closer, his breath warm and inviting. "Lucky guess."

  The maitre d' ushered them to a quiet table near the back of the patio. Small lanterns, giving off suitable dim light, hung on wire stretched between the hooks that circled the small dining area. "Your-a table-a, sir," he said in the most awful Italian accent she'd ever heard as he pulled her chair out.

  "Thank you." She swept the long skirt of her dress aside and seated herself as gently as she could. Unfortunately, the chair was a bit tight. Silently, she cursed the maker as she sat down, the arms digging into her sides.

  Raphael nodded as he seated himself across from her. "Is this table all right with you?" His voice was warm and smooth, like the finest wine.

  "Yes, it is, Prof— Raphael," she corrected herself as her hands twisted in her lap. "It's very nice."

  "Good." He leaned forward and captured her hand in his. "I'm glad you decided to come." His hand was very cold. Did he never notice it?

  So am I, she wanted to say. Instead, she restrained herself. "It was very nice of you to ask me. May I ask you a question?"

  His dark brow rose. "Yes?"

  "Why did you ask me?" The question had swirled around in her mind like a shark searching for prey. There simply had to be an underlying reason.

  "Because I like you and I think you're a very beautiful woman."

  She felt the heat of her embarrassment creep into her cheeks. "Please, Raphael, don't say things you don't mean."

  His finger under her chin brought her head up. "I never lie and I don't say things I don't mean, Elizabeth."

  Confusion swept over her. No one she ever knew called her by real name. She always went by Liz and told people that was her given name on her birth certificate. "Why do you call me Elizabeth?"

  "I think that Elizabeth suits you better than Liz." Concern graced his aristocratic features. "Why? Does that bother you?"

  She picked up her napkin and settled the square of linen on her lap. Her nervous hands had to stay busy because she didn't want him to know what he did to her. "It's just that no one ever calls me that. I prefer Liz."

  "I'm sorry," he apologized, letting go of her hand. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

  "You didn't, Raphael. You see, Elizabeth should belong to a beautiful woman with long, flowing blonde hair and blue eyes or perhaps a ravishing redhead with captivating green eyes," she confessed.

  Raphael studied her seriously for a moment, his emerald gaze sweeping over her. "You don't have to be dowdy, Liz, if you choose not to be."

  "What do you mean?"

  He leaned back and took a relaxed position. "We are all blessed with the freedom to choose who we want to be or change what we are."

  "I know that." She looked down. Her hands trembled in her lap. How in the world did he know she’d been contemplating changing herself? "What if we're too afraid to take that step?"

  Raphael's hand slid across the table and grasped hers. "If you want to change, Liz, you can. The strength is inside of you and always has been. You've always been too afraid to turn it loose."

  Tears of shame streamed down her cheeks. Raphael was right. Several times, she'd made appointments at the hairdresser to have her hair cut and dyed. She’d cancelled them the day before because she was too afraid to go. She did the same with the optometrist about getting contacts. "Can we talk about something else, Raphael?" She wanted to get away from the whole mess entirely. It didn’t bode well for her psyche to keep on talking about it.

  "Of course. What shall we talk about?"

  * * * *

  "You are so beautiful, Elizabeth," he whispered into her ear, the tones caressing. "I love you with every morsel of my being." His fingers caressed her arm and sent shivers of delight to dance up and down her spine. She felt sexually charged and alive, something she'd never felt in her life.

  She turned to see the stranger next to her. Unfortunately, his face remained hidden by the shadows of the night. "I love you.”

  He hovered over her in a predatory position. Taking one hand, he touched the side of her face then skimmed down her cheek toward her throat. His cold hand drifted down toward one naked breast and cupped the fullness, his thumb stroking her hardening nipple. Her pussy clenched in anticipation. Who was this man who made her very essence cry out for him?

  He palmed both breasts, his hands massaging them from root to tip. She arched against him and he increased his pressure. In the dimness, she could see him bending his head and felt the velvety pad of his tongue caress her pebbled nipples. She gasped. He chuckled lightly against her as he sucked on her mounds. His teeth scraped against her flesh, heightening the passion flooding her body.

  “So beautiful," he murmured against her.

  A torrent of desire stormed through her as his left hand slipped from her breast and traveled down her belly toward her weeping pussy. Parting the slick folds, he found her clit immediately. He brushed the rough pad of his thumb over the bit of pleasure flesh. The button engorged with barely any encouragement. She gasped as her hips rose, begging for more. Without hesitation, he sank one long finger inside her drenched cunt. The walls of her wet cavern constricted on the invader, holding him hostage. He drew in a deep breath. “I see the little wanton vixen has a few tricks of her own.”

  “Fuck me, please,” she begged. “I want your cock inside of me.”

  His deep chuckle filled the room. “I’m going to fuck you properly, my dear, and fill your pussy with my cum. First there is something I must show you.”

  “What?”

  “This.”

  Opening her eyes, she wanted to see what sort of man was here, with her.

  What she saw turned her blood to ice.

  Fangs, white and shiny, protruded from a large mouth. Fierce red eyes glared at her, as if studying her.

  She opened her mouth to scream. No sound came out.

  "Love me, Elizabeth, for this is who I am.” His fingers nudged her legs apart as he freed his thick erection from his trousers. "Join me and become my everlasting love."

  * * * *

  Liz awoke from the nightmare with her heart pounding so hard it felt like her chest would explode. Sweat beaded her forehead and dampened her sheets. She breathed heavily, her eyes searching the darkness. Was that thing here, with her?


  She listened quietly for a moment. She heard nothing except the tick of the clock on the nightstand. Glancing over, she noticed that it was two-thirty a.m. Nightmare time, she thought glumly.

  She got up to use the bathroom. Turning on the light, she stumbled to the toilet and relieved herself. Finished, she returned to the sink to wash her hands. Water splashed against the porcelain bowl and broke the uneasy silence. She stifled a yawn and looked into the mirror.

  For a split second, she saw the same image from the dream behind her in the mirror. She screamed, turning around as the pace of her heart picked up. There was nothing there.

  She looked back at the mirror. All that reflected back were her face and the flowery shower curtains. Gripping the edges of the sink, she leaned into it, rocking back and forth. The nightmares seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Dr. Kaplan had said that they were all a product of her troubled mind, nothing more.

  Some troubled mind.

  Liz took a deep breath. Maybe it was time for mother's little helper. Opening the cabinet, she found her sleeping pills and dumped one into her hand. She closed it, staring at her reflection once again. If only she was thinner, perhaps all of this would be over. Maybe she'd find a boyfriend and have some sort of relationship, someone to turn to in the middle of the night when the nightmares were really bad.

  She grabbed the cup on the sink and filled it with icy water, gulping down the pill. Cold moisture slipped down her throat and soothed the dry, tight membranes. She let out a relieved breath. Perhaps she could finally sleep

  Red blotches on her neck glared at her in the mirror. Lifting her hair, she peered closer. Two spots, very close together, appeared as though something had tried to bite her.

  Liz let go of her hair, her blood freezing in her veins. Suppose it wasn't a dream? What if it was all real?

  On weak legs, she returned to her bed and sat on the edge, her hands gripping the mattress hard. She was a practical woman, not given to notions of vampires or anything else of that nature. She never watched horror movies because they bored her. Vampires, on the other hand, had always intrigued her. She knew for a fact they did not exist. So why had she dreamed of one tonight?

  She leaned back, letting out a long breath. Dr. Kaplan, her therapist, said that most of the nightmares came from her odd hobby of cataloguing vampire legends. She should quit, according to him.

  Warily, she slid back under the covers and let her mind drift to the interesting dinner she had with Professor Chamberlain. The strength is inside of you and always has been, he had said. You've always been too afraid to turn it loose.

  She stared blankly into the darkness and thought about those words. Why did it take a complete stranger to point out the truth of her nature? It was almost as if he had known her deeply, on some other level than as a mere colleague.

  Liz glanced at the clock. It was almost three a.m. She punched the pillow. Great. It would be an hour before the pill kicked in and she had to get up early and teach Missy Hobson's history class because Missy had a doctor's appointment.

  Sitting up and bunching the pillows behind her, she knew there was no better method of waiting for the pill to kick in than to read a good book. She switched on the light and reached for her Dereham's Tales of Unsolved Victorian Murders. Flipping through the pages, she skimmed the material on some of the more notable figures. Most of them she was familiar with.

  The portrait of a young woman caught her attention. Liz turned back the page and stared. Long blonde hair haloed her head in spiral curls, her blue eyes staring out of the painting.

  Liz glanced down at the name. Lady Elizabeth Swanson. She looked closer. Lady Elizabeth was probably about twenty when the portrait was painted. Her figure was on the plump side, as was preferred for women of that age. If she had lived back then, she probably could have had any man she wanted.

  She looked at the history on the preceding page. Very interesting indeed. Born in 1742, Lady Elizabeth was the daughter of the Viscount Lynley. She was an acclaimed beauty of the day, wanted by many. She chose only one. Lord Raphael Clarendon. According to the history, she was found murdered on their wedding night, the elusive Lord Clarendon nowhere to be found. Supposedly, he murdered her and fled to the continent with his mistress. No trace of him was ever found

  She closed the book for a second, her finger keeping her place. Raphael Chamberlain. Raphael Clarendon. How odd that both men shared a similar name though the latter lived about two hundred and fifty years before. During that time, the name Raphael was uncommon, just as it was today.

  Opening the book back up, Liz continued to stare at the picture, her fingers moving over the slick page. She imagined for a moment the portrait could almost have been her with blonde hair and blue eyes. Lady Elizabeth’s nose was almost like hers as well as mouth.

  She slammed the book shut. This was insane. She didn't look like Lady Elizabeth whatsoever. Even with blonde hair and blue eyes, she wouldn't be Lady Elizabeth. That woman had died almost two hundred and fifty years before.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the book to Lady Elizabeth’s page again, twirling locks of her own brown hair with her fingers. She could be like this woman though. Full of confidence and radiance with the ability to turn men's heads.

  She looked down at her own hair. It was mousy and dead. Liz shivered. Could she do this? Could she completely transform herself? Picking up paper and pen along with the phone book in the drawer, she started hunting out a local salon. There was no time like the present to start making changes.

  Chapter 3

  Raphael let himself into the dim apartment and threw his keys in the crystal dish in the hall. They fell with a hollow clink. Tonight had been a very good night. First, he'd planted the seed in Elizabeth's mind about changing. Next, he'd prowled into her dream. He had touched her just as he had before, feeling her virgin pussy again. She was his. There was no mistake about that. He had set about deepening his mark on her when fate intervened and she awoke before he could do so.

  The very thought of Elizabeth was more than enough to make his dick hard. Normally, he’d be able to control his emotions. Since her discovery, Raphael’s control grew more and more distant. He rubbed his rock-hard cock. He wanted nothing more than to come inside Elizabeth and relive those beloved memories from two hundred years ago. Unfortunately, he couldn’t.

  Raphael sighed. He had to do the next best thing. Unzipping his fly, he freed his dick from his leather trousers. Taking the thick shaft in his hand, he pumped slowly. All the while, thoughts of Elizabeth coursed through his head. She lay naked on a bed, tied down and obedient to his pleasure, just as she had been hundreds of years before. Her pussy quivered from his touch, ready for his invasions. His stroking deepened. Elizabeth’s cries resounded in his head, encouraging him to pump faster. The climax within barreled toward him with the rapidity of a freight train and exploded. He let out a deep growl as he finished himself off with a few rapid, strong strokes.

  He looked down. Cum coated his hand. Raphael groaned. Nothing had changed. Stalking to the bathroom, Raphael jumped into the shower where he got off one more time and cleaned up. Stepping out, he dried off and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

  The sun was due up soon and he didn’t want to be caught unaware. Even with the sun spell, the heat blistered his skin slightly. He frowned. The damned thing was wearing off. The grimoire stated the spell only lasted so long before it had to be repeated. Unfortunately, the grimoire was back in Zakara’s possession and the exact words to the spell had long slipped his mind.

  Raphael set one naked foot into the living room when his senses kicked up. He wasn’t alone.

  "My, my, my," purred a familiar female voice. "My dear Raphael, where have you been for the last few centuries?"

  He froze for an instant as a flood of anger stormed through his lifeless veins. "Zakara," he said slowly as he entered the living room. "How did you find me?"

  Solid creaks of the leather sofa sig
naled she got up and came toward him. "It took a lot of time and expense to find you. The journey was well worth it, I assure you.” An evil chuckle filled the room. “I am glad I got here when I did or else I would have missed the floor show. And what a floor show it was." Her voice crept closer. "Are you not happy to see me again?"

  "Of course I’m not, you evil bitch. Get out of my house.”

  Her hands flew to her sequined hips. "Is that any way to treat me after what I went through to find you?" Her voice mocked him as she flitted across the room. "Come back with me and be my prince of the night again.”

  “No.”

  “Do you think that you and your little minions can continue to live in a society like the humans? Once they find out about you, you’re all dead.”

  “They’ll never find out.”

  A black eyebrow rose as her talon like hand touched the side of his face. “Would you like to see?” Her finger went to her chin and tapped at the slight indent there. “I am in a wagering mood. If I am wrong, you and your little throng can live in peace and I will never interfere again. If I am right, then you will come back by my side and rule as my king.”

  He threw her hand away from him. "No, Zakara. You're not going to trap me again."

  "Won't I? You have no idea what I will do if you don't come back to me." Savagery marked her words. He was well aware of the extent to which she would go.

  "Save it for someone who's scared, Zakara. Get out."

  She raked her sharp nails across his denim covered dick and he winced. "You've found her again, Raphael."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  She gripped his balls like a vise. "Yes, you do," she said. "I thought when I killed her the first time I destroyed the last shred of humanity within you. I was wrong. It only made you stronger." He drew in a heavy breath as she continued. "I'll destroy her again if I have to."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "You may have put your mark on her but that won't be enough to stop me, Raphael." She squeezed harder and increased the pain. "I would certainly miss your giant cock if I had to destroy you."