Resist: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance

by Tami Lund

  RESIST

  Cover Artist: Monica La Porta

  Editor: Julie Sturgeon

  Published by: Tami Lund

  Resist, A Blood Courtesans Novella

  Copyright: 2016 by Tami Lund and Michelle Fox, incorporating the world created in the publication ‘Blood Struck’ (c) 2013 by Michelle Fox under the brand ‘Blood Courtesans,’ republished as ‘Reborn’ in 2016 and used under license.

  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the authors, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

  Thank you for your support.

  All entities, locations, businesses, etc. in this book are strictly figments of the author’s overactive imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Questions, comments, or desires to seek permission to use any part of this book for your own purposes should be directed to authortamilund@gmail.com.

  Dedication

  To the voracious readers in the Wolf Pack.

  Here’s a vampire novella for you!

  RESIST

  My sister has disappeared into the shadowy vampire world of Blood Courtesans, where blood and sex are money, and humans are sold to the highest bidder.

  I’m Anya, and I hate vampires. They killed my aunt. And now they’ve stolen my sister. I can’t let her die, so I head to Chicago to track her down.

  Before I can find her, I’m assaulted by two human thugs, and of all the luck, a vampire comes to my rescue. Cam is sexy as sin with an accent that melts panties, and he hasn’t eaten in far too long. And now he's offering to help track down my sister… no strings attached.

  Yeah, right.

  Welcome to the Blood Courtesans Series, where vampires are real, rich, powerful—and hungry. Blood is bought and sold like fine wine, and the best blood goes to the highest bidder.

  It's not supposed to be about love ... until it is.

  If you haven't checked out the rest of the Blood Courtesan series, you should, starting with REBORN, Myra's story.

  The full list of books can be found here: http://www.bloodcourtesans.com.

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t want to go with you!”

  I kicked out with one booted foot while the other slipped on a pile of slush coating the sidewalk, but the grunt of pain told me I’d made contact despite my precarious stance.

  “Doesn’t matter to us what you want. It’s about what we want.”

  I backed up until I was pressed against the cool brick wall, facing my adversaries. Two of them. Significantly bigger than me. I had no idea if they were vampires or human, but that hardly mattered. Three weeks’ worth of kickboxing lessons were not going to save me, given the odds.

  I should’ve started earlier.

  But I’d lived in denial these past few months, convinced my sister would return on her own, without my having to rescue her.

  “I’m not a blood courtesan,” I told them, in case they were vampires under the delusion I might be interested in their version of fun and games. Apparently fucking young human women while drinking their blood—and sipping a glass of wine—was what it took to get a vamp’s rocks off.

  Not exactly my thing.

  “Not yet,” the uglier of the two said.

  “I’m not up on the latest and greatest in vampire culture, but I could’ve sworn blood courtesans had to do it of their own free will.”

  “You’re right,” the one with a pockmarked face said with a sardonic chuckle. “You aren’t up on vampire culture. They don’t give a shit whether you’re willing or not. Only that you put out. Both blood and pussy.”

  This was what put a sparkle of excitement and anticipation in my sister’s eyes the day she’d packed a bunch of silk and lace undies I’d never known she owned?

  “It’s a whole new world,” she’d told me. “A gorgeous, glamorous one. I can’t get tied down to some country bumpkin farmer who will want me to raise a bunch of kids—both the two-legged kind and goats. I’d be miserable. This is the easiest, fastest way out of this life. And if I hate it, I’ll come back. My understanding is the contracts are only binding until one or both parties decides to end the relationship. In the meantime, I’ll call, text, check in with you through Facebook. Don’t worry, Anya. Everything will be great, you’ll see.”

  Eight months and almost no contact later, I was convinced my sister was stuck in a life she hadn’t bargained for … or worse.

  My assailants moved forward, crowding me. I darted a glance from side to side, trying to judge the best means of escape: the even darker dead end of the alley in which we all stood or the crowded street that seemed a million miles away. And to get to the busy intersection, I’d have to go through my two would-be attackers. Actually, given how busy the street was—it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend, after all—it shocked the hell out of me that no one had wandered down this alley to interrupt us yet.

  I considered screaming for help just as my gaze fell onto a door almost directly across from me, carved into the brick wall of the building making up the north side of this narrow passageway. If memory served from my earlier walk through the area, it was a bar, an Irish pub. Which meant it would be crammed with people drinking green beer and eating corned beef and cabbage.

  Perfect. All I had to do was get there.

  Taking a deep breath, I launched myself right, as if I meant to run toward the end of the alley, and as my unwanted guests instinctively mimicked my action, I shunted left, bolting around them and rushing toward the door.

  Which was locked.

  “No, no, no,” I shouted as I beat on the unyielding steel. “This is so not fair!”

  Pockmarked Guy and his ugly friend both stopped in their tracks and turned toward me, triumphant looks crawling across their faces.

  “Shit. Come on, somebody hear me! I deserve a break already!” I kept beating on the door, despite my hand going numb and the very real likelihood that no one inside that undoubtedly loud bar could hear the sound.

  The door flew open just as my two non-friends pounced. I leaped out of the way and basically fell into their clutches, although I had enough sense about me to notice the man standing in the doorway, watching us with a far more bored expression than I would expect from someone who had stumbled upon a scene where it was pretty damn obvious the girl was in distress.

  “Mind your own business,” Ugly Guy said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “A little help here,” I countered.

  “Shut your mouth,” Pockmarked Guy said, speaking to me.

  “Go on, close the door,” the first guy said. “We’re just having a little fun.”

  “She doesn’t look like what you’re doing is particularly fun,” the man standing in the shadowy doorway said. “Actually, she looks rather pissed off.”

  His voice was like silk. He had an accent that was absolutely not American. Irish or Scottish, maybe? I had no idea, but I sure as hell wanted him to keep talking. He could be a phone sex operator. I could listen to him for hours.

  Why am I going on about something so trivial, in the middle of a pretty damned desperate situation?

  “I said, mind your own business,” Pockmarked Guy said, and he attempted to shove the door closed.

  The man with the sexy-as-sin accent lifted his arm and flattened his hand against the smooth surface, stopping the door from closing. He didn’t appear to be exerting any effort, although it was admittedly dark and hard to see.

  Shit
. Don’t tell me this guy was a vampire. Don’t tell me a freaking vampire was about to save me from being assaulted by two of the ugliest men I’ve come across in my life. And as I was raised in a small town in the middle of Illinois, I had to admit, I’ve come across some damn ugly folk.

  “You know what? On second thought, maybe I’m better off taking my chances on—” A firm, dry, and slightly cool hand wrapped around my arm and jerked me toward the door. A moment later, I stood inside a raucous, vibrant bar, my back against the closed steel door. I pressed my palms to the smooth surface and tried to gather my wayward wits. Someone beat on the door from the other side, and the man—vampire?—who saved me gently pulled me away, leading me down a hall, past signs indicating “lasses” and “lads” and into the main part of the bar.

  “How the hell did you hear me beating on the door with all this racket in here?” I asked.

  “I have exceptional senses.” He had to turn toward me and practically yell his response, because I sure as hell didn’t have exceptional hearing. Shit. He was a vampire.

  The pub was a narrow piece of real estate, divided by a half wall so that tables and the bar sat on one side, while the other was reserved for darts and pool. There were so many bodies crammed into this place, the darts had undoubtedly been packed away for the day.

  “Are you hungry?” that sexy, accented voice murmured next to my ear, causing me to jerk away so I could get a better look at the voice’s owner.

  Holy hotness. Was this guy for real? Seriously, I’d never seen something so perfect outside of the Internet, and all those perfect people were famous movie stars or rock gods and probably Photoshopped to hell and back.

  But not this guy. He stood before me, as real as my decision to come to Chicago to find my sister. Dark, curling hair started in a stark widow’s peak and then swept away from a face containing chocolate-brown eyes under heavy, black brows and a firm jawline covered with thick stubble. Hell, I couldn’t even drag my gaze lower to check out the chest, the thighs, the goods. I was too transfixed by his beautiful face.

  “You can’t be real.” I murmured the words, not actually intending to say them out loud.

  He smiled, giving me a glimpse of longer-than-normal canines and reminding me that not only were vampires real, but this guy probably was one. It helped, at least momentarily, to rein in my roaring lust.

  “Listen, I appreciate you saving me from those assholes, but I gotta get going.”

  “Those assholes are still out there, you know. Very likely hovering at the entrance, waiting for you to do exactly what you intend to do.”

  God, that accent. How the hell could nothing more than a voice saying very non-sexy words stir up my juices like this? Although, to be fair, the voice emanated from an incredibly handsome face, and a quick, sweeping glance told me the body was as glorious as the face and voice. No wonder I was so turned on I was probably flushed.

  He apparently took my non-response as acceptance of his theory, because he wrapped his hand around my arm and guided me through the crowded pub to where a big, burly guy with a thick, ginger beard sat on a stool, standing guard over a narrow wooden staircase. With the barest of nods, the guy unlatched a metal chain and my rescuer and I headed upstairs.

  “What are you doing with me?” My fear of vampires, of becoming a blood courtesan, overcame my annoying attraction to the guy, and I tried to tug my arm out of his steel-like grasp.

  “Taking you upstairs, where it’s far more quiet. I am not fond of crowds.”

  At the top of the stairs was a second dining area, with only a few occupied tables surrounding a bored-looking bartender standing behind an ornately carved wooden bar. She perked up at the sight of me and my new friend, and I felt a surprising rush of jealousy at the way her gaze roved over his person.

  “You didn’t answer me when I asked if you were hungry,” Tall, Dark, and Handsome commented as he led me to an unoccupied table tucked into a corner, far away from the other patrons in the room. The bartender hurried toward us with a menu in her hand, and I swear a few buttons on her tuxedo shirt had come undone since we first stepped into the room.

  “And you haven’t told me your name,” I countered.

  “Camden Devlan. You can call me Cam.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cam.”

  He smiled, a slow, small smile, as if he found something—or someone—amusing. “And you are...”

  “Anya Sinclair.” I blew out a breath and turned my focus to the bartender, who dropped a menu in front of me and offered Cam a million-watt smile.

  “Hello,” she said, dragging out the o and batting her lashes. “Something to drink?”

  “Wine,” Cam said. “The best cab you have.”

  “Of course.” She practically breathed the words. “Anything else?”

  His gaze flicked to me, the amusement still there. “Why don’t you give us a moment to look over the menu?”

  Disappointment dragged down her features as she nodded and headed back to the bar.

  “What if I don’t like wine?” I asked as soon as she left. “What if I don’t like to drink at all?”

  “Do you?”

  “What?”

  “Drink?”

  I cast my gaze sideways, certain he could tell if I was lying, although I had no idea if that was really a vampire trait. Actually, come to think of it, I was still unclear whether he even was one.

  “Sometimes. I’m more of a beer drinker, though. Are you a vampire?” The words came out in a rush. Me and my awkwardness in new or uncomfortable situations.

  I hadn’t wanted my sister to go, to give herself over to the vampires. Yet if I were honest with myself, I’d admit she was perfect for the job. Despite growing up on a farm, she had managed to morph into a gorgeous, glamorous woman, whereas I was pretty typical of a farm-raised girl: flat, straight blond hair; cornflower-blue eyes; plump cheeks; an average, slightly athletic body that tended toward more curves than I preferred if I didn’t exercise regularly. Luckily, living on a farm presented itself with plenty of opportunity to get in my daily workout.

  “If you do not care for the wine, I’ll order you a beer. But I’d like you to at least try it. I love wine, and I prefer to drink with a companion. And yes, I am a vampire. I take it that is an issue for you?”

  “It is if you plan to try to turn me into a courtesan. Because I’m not interested.”

  “Duly noted.”

  His facial features didn’t change, nor did his tone sound sarcastic. Was there hidden meaning behind his easy acceptance of my declaration? I’d learned a long time ago not to trust vampires. And now they had my sister. And me, possibly. Cam wasn’t acting suspicious, and he had saved me from who knows what sort of fate out there in that alley, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own agenda.

  The bartender returned with a bottle of blood-red wine and two bulbous wine glasses that looked as if they each could hold seven and a half liters of liquid. She showed Cam the label, and after he nodded, she poured a tiny bit of the wine into the glass she’d placed before him. I watched, mesmerized, as he swirled the wine, sniffed it, then tipped it back and drained the contents. He appeared to savor it for a few moments before swallowing.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I found myself swallowing compulsively. Images danced through my head, of steamy kisses, of lips trailing across my cheek to my ear to nibble for a bit before shifting to my neck, where I tilted it just enough to expose the vein there…

  I slapped my hand on the linen cloth hard enough to cause my wineglass to dance. I grabbed it to keep it from falling over, while the bartender gave me a dirty look and Cam paused with his own glass held a few inches from his lips.

  He arched those heavy dark brows and nodded at the bottle in the bartender’s hand. “Did you want to sample it as well?”

  Shaking my head and knowing I was blushing furiously, I said, “No,” and kept my gaze glued to the table, appalled at having such thoughts—about a vampire.

  I
hated vampires, had since I was six years old. Fifteen years of loathing did not allow for fantasies just because the guy saved my ass a little while ago. I wasn’t a blood courtesan; I didn’t want anything to do with that lifestyle or the vampires who condoned it. My goal was to find my sister—hopefully alive—and return her to our safe, if mundane, life back home, far away from vampires and their evil ways.

  After a long pause, Cam’s sexy voice murmured, “It’s excellent,” and the bartender fill each glass half full before placing the bottle on the table. “Anya, would you care for some food?”

  “You sure are obsessed with eating.” I thought vampires didn’t need to eat. That’s what my blood was for. No, not my blood.

  His gaze dropped for a moment—was he looking at my lap?—before flicking up to my face. “I do enjoy … eating.”

  “Really? That’s the lamest double entendre I’ve heard. And I grew up on a farm, so I’ve had plenty of exposure to bad jokes about sex.”

  He chuckled and dismissed the bartender, much to her disappointment. “I grew up on a farm as well.”

  Yeah, right. This guy? He was as sexy as Tom Hiddleston, as suave as James Bond.

  Living and working on a farm lent itself more to the hunter-gatherer type, the sort who tucked in his flannel shirt when he had to dress up. That guy would also squash spiders in the middle of the night and was happy sitting around the bonfire with a beer in his hand. I bet Cam regularly wore custom-designed, three-piece suits. He probably attended plays and musicals and dined in fancy restaurants, too … Oh, and drank blood and killed his dinner when he was done with it.

  I couldn’t quite suppress the shudder racking my body.

  Those eyebrows shot up again. “Cold? Or nervous?” He nudged my glass. “Drink. It will help you to relax.”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  With an obnoxious eye roll, he lifted his glass and leaned away from me, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Perhaps we should start over. Hello, Anya, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Cam, and I have no preconceived notions whatsoever about you. None. Now, it’s your turn.”