Vampire Cursed (Vampires Destined)

by Rachel Carrington

  Vampire Cursed

  Book One

  Vampires Destined Series

  Rachel Carrington

  Copyright ©2012 Dawn Rachel Carrington

  ISBN Not Assigned

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Chapter One

  Castle Lehr. She couldn’t believe she was here. Inside the walls lay the perfect blend of history and eighteenth century beauty. And she wasn’t just talking about the structure itself.

  The owner of the castle had long hidden himself away behind the reinforced walls, and she’d been the only reporter thus far to have been granted an audience. Fortune had smiled upon her. Her hands tingled as Abby climbed the stone steps leading up to the double, wooden doors gracing the entrance.

  She’d read about the expansive structure with its limestone, but it was the inside she wanted to see. She’d been salivating at the prospect of catching a glimpse of the castle’s glitter and beauty since she’d suggested this assignment to the senior editor of “Life Abroad” magazine. The owner’s agreement to take her on a tour had been a definite bonus in her book. With each step, she silently congratulated herself that she’d made it this far without turning back. For some unknown reason, nerves had kicked in the second she’d boarded the plane for England.

  As she reached the top of the stairs lined with potted delphiniums, one of the doors creaked open. Eyes wide, she leaned in toward the opening. “Hello?”

  Eyes the color of mud peered out at her.

  Abby gave a little yelp and stumbled backwards. “Hello?” she murmured again. “I’m Abby Baker and I…”

  The door opened wider before she could finish her sentence and a portly man wearing a knee-length waistcoat and buckled shoes positioned himself just across the threshold. “Welcome.”

  Abby hesitated before stepping inside. “I’m not ordinarily so jumpy. It was probably the movie I watched last night.” She clutched her leather bag closer. “All about ghosts and the like.”

  “No ghosts live inside Castle Lehr. I am Mr. Hiller, and on behalf of His Grace, the Duke of Lehr, I welcome you.” Hiller bowed low.

  “You mean a Duke lives here, too?” Abby couldn’t believe her good luck. Talk about a story! “I couldn’t have planned this better, but, correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t the titles just a formality now?”

  The look on Hiller’s face told her she’d tapped a nerve. His round nose wrinkled, and his skin reddened to the shade of a ripe apple. “Indeed, no, Madam. The Duke’s title is one of great importance and is his rightful inheritance.”

  “Ah.” She figured she better just leave it at that as she didn’t want to get escorted out before the interview even began. “I thought I was meeting the owner of the castle, some guy by the name of John Hiller.” Her lips pursed. “Oh. That would be you.”

  “That is correct, Madam. I am the Duke of Lehr’s butler, having served under His Grace for the past twenty-five years.”

  She hitched the strap of her purse further up her shoulder. “So is the Duke the owner then? Is that why he wants to see me?” She shivered at the prospect of meeting a real Duke.

  “Yes, Ms. Baker, and the Duke enjoys good company.”

  “How does he know I’m good company? I could be a thief or an escaped criminal.”

  Mr. Hiller smiled—a mere twitching of his lips. “My employer has a sixth sense about the people he invites into his home. Now, if you’ll follow me.”

  Abby ignored the warning bells clanging in her head and kept pace.

  * * * *

  “I’m in another world.” She circled the room Mr. Hiller had left her in, her arms held wide. She certainly couldn’t be faulted for the supposition.

  Adorned with Italian old master oil paintings, the walls had been painted a soft cream which offset the nine feet tall ceilings which bore an artist’s depiction of Piero della Francecsa’s The Flagellation.

  “Whoever painted that was amazing,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the work of art.

  “Miss Baker,” Hiller’s voice had her jumping, and she spun around to see the man bowing low at the waist. “May I present the Duke of Lehr.”

  Had anyone ever said no to that question? Was it even a question? She swallowed a hysterical giggle. But the moment the Duke approached, all thoughts disappeared.

  Her head tipped back to accommodate the difference in their height, and she stared in open-mouthed appreciation. Shoulder-length hair as black as a raven’s wing fell across snowy white ruffles that dipped inside a snug-fitting ebony waistcoat. His eyes reminded her of the color of the water off the shores of Antigua.

  “Miss Baker?” Hiller cleared his throat in obvious nervousness. Maybe no one had ever stared at his employer for as long as she had.

  Refusing to be embarrassed, Abby summoned a smile while continuing to stare at the face carved with a sculptor’s perfection. Beautiful. It was the only word that came to mind to describe the magnificence of the man facing her.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to my home.” The Duke bowed low and taking Abby’s hand, pressed a kiss against her knuckles. She shivered at the touch, while his voice mesmerized her—pure silk.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” she finally managed to say.

  “The pleasure is all mine. Come. We have much to discuss.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, and heat spiraled low in her abdomen.

  Entranced, Abby couldn’t think of one eloquent word to say. To think, thought, that this was the man she would be interviewing intoxicated her. She’d get to sit across from him for at least an hour, hoping she could form a coherent thought.

  “Would you like something to drink? Perhaps a glass of sherry?” The smooth, cultured tones were infinitely polite, charming. Still, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

  Abby had always been one to trust her instincts, and something told her to ditch the interview and get out of the castle now. This time, she ignored the still, small voice. Right now, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she wanted to be.

  “No, thank you. You have a beautiful home.” Almost as beautiful as you are.

  The Duke smiled. “Thank you. I have to admit,” he poured himself a glass of an amber-colored liquid, “I was beginning to think you were not coming.”

  She checked her watch. “I’m not late.”

  “No, you misunderstand me. I meant it has taken you quite some time to arrange this interview.”

  Her heart seized. “You act like you know me, like you fully intended me to arrange this interview long before I did.”

  “You are correct. I do know you. You are a reporter, and you’ve come to Castle Lehr because you wish to write about my home, to explore its intricacies, and to discover what lies within its walls. But much more than that, you’ve come to find what has been missing in your life.”

  Abby stared at him, her eyes narrowing. He spoke with calm assurance that rattled her. “I only came to capture the beauty of your home and to interview you. Nothing more. If you’re under the impression I’m here for another reason, you’ve been misled.”
>
  With pure grace and charm, the man smiled and unfastened his waistcoat. “Perhaps, but we’ll have plenty of time to clarify that.”

  The nerves had returned, dancing within her stomach like mating butterflies. “Have you been drinking, Your Grace?”

  The smile remained firmly intact as he extended his hand toward a silk brocade settee. “Please sit, and I will explain.” He walked across the marble floor, removed his coat, and handed it to Mr. Hiller who still stood like a sentry in the doorway of the great room.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.”

  The Duke inclined his head. “As you wish.” He gave Hiller a dismissing look then gave her his full attention. “You are a successful writer, but this castle has haunted you for years. You dream about it at night, about the love you would find within its walls.” He strolled toward the window, and his linen shirt whispered against broad shoulders.

  Confusion wrapped around her yet her skin warmed from his words. She barely knew the man. How could she respond like this? And furthermore, why wasn’t she negating what he said?

  “And you have dreamed about me for even longer.” The Duke’s voice drew her out of her ruminations, and she jerked suddenly, taking a backward step toward the door.

  Her skin tingled, and she took a stumbling step backwards. How could he know anything about her dreams?

  “You’re wondering how I could know what you see at night. Abigail.” His softly insistent voice compelled her to turn around.

  He was so close. How had he gotten behind her? His eyes glittered like blue diamonds set against a bed of black silk, and she sensed the danger even as she looked into the liquid pools. “Who are you?”

  “I am your destiny.”

  Abby stared at him a brief moment longer before her legs gave way and darkness enveloped her.

  Chapter Two

  She came to with a pounding headache and rage curling her insides. Destiny my ass. The minute she hopped a redeye back to the States, she would fire up her laptop and begin a lengthy dissertation on the horrid nature of this particular London Duke. By the time she was finished, that title would be worth no more than a bag of popcorn at the local movie theater.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pushed herself to a sitting position. The realization that she wore little more than a flimsy nightgown brought a downward curl to her lips. No doubt the Duke had fun undressing her while she’d been practically comatose. Heartless bastard.

  A quick survey of her surroundings didn’t put her mind at ease. Where were the modern conveniences of today’s society? Why was she seeing a porcelain stand with pitcher and water basin next to the bed? And what about the lights? Did the Duke not believe in electricity?

  Her teeth chattering, she swept her gaze to the opposite side of the room. Downstairs, she’d caught a glimpse of the rich furnishings and gilded entranceway, but here, inside the obviously masculine bedroom, she’d been thrust into another century.

  The bedroom door swung wide, and the doorway filled with the Duke’s massive frame. Intimidating and breathtaking, he walked toward her. Abby jumped to her feet and immediately swayed, reaching behind her to grasp hold of the bedpost. Instantly, he was there, guiding her back to the mattress behind her, but she shook him off.

  “I’m fine.” His touch had wreaked havoc inside her body, causing her heart to hammer against her ribcage. He made every nerve ending in her body come to life with just the slightest feel of his fingers. She could only imagine what he could with the other parts of his body.

  He frowned. “You should lie down. It is possible you are still feeling jet lag from your flight.”

  She muttered a word which was crude in any language and pushed her thick mass of hair away from her eyes, shaking off the Duke’s hand. “I can stand on my own, and I have no intentions of lying back down.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?” Though the words held a bite, his lips curved upwardly like he was secretly amused.

  Abby wasn’t even in the vicinity of amused. “You know, you really have some nerve. Feeding me all that nonsense about knowing me and…and…destiny. Well,” she waggled a finger in his face for emphasis. “I don’t know what you thought my coming here would do for you, but I’m not staying. And believe me when I tell you the last thing you’re going to want to see is my article about you and Castle Lehr.”

  One eyebrow arched like her threat meant little to him. Abby wanted to punch him, to wipe that smug look of superiority off his face. “Why leave the one place that could satisfy all your deepest fantasies?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Fantasies? Who said anything about fantasies? I’m leaving, and if you try to stand in my way, there won’t be enough royal blood left in your veins to transfuse a rabbit by the time I get through with you.” She walked to the door.

  His low, rumbling chuckle caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise. “You must be a magnificent writer. Your language is very colorful.”

  “Don’t pacify me.”

  “And you may call me Nathaniel.”

  “I’ll call you a lot worse if you don’t get out of my way.” She squared her shoulders and tipped her head back to see the shadowy planes of the Duke’s handsome face. Darkness had fallen, and without benefit of modern lighting, Abby couldn’t see much beyond those shapely lips and masculine chin. But it was enough to tell that he was still smiling. And she still wanted to hit him.

  “I am afraid I cannot allow that. You are not well at the present.”

  “I’m perfectly fine. If there’s anything wrong with me, it’s being trapped with a man I barely know who claims I’m his destiny.”

  “I see. Well, perhaps it might be better if you stayed here for the evening.” The Duke made the suggestion, but the words reflected the command.

  “That’s not going to happen. I came here to write a story, and since that isn’t what you have in mind, I’m not going to waste another minute of my time.” She took a step forward, swayed and then the Duke’s strong, muscular arms closed around her waist from behind. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  His hand cupping her elbow, he escorted her back to the bed. “You are extremely tired. You need to rest.”

  In spite of her desire to resist him, Abby found herself leaning against his strength. “Did you drug me?” The thought just occurred to her, but then she remembered she hadn’t drunk anything inside the castle. So why was she feeling this way?

  “That certainly is a vivid imagination you have, but no, I did not drug you. What you feel is most likely the effects of the castle. It tends to embrace those who belong here.”

  She stopped so suddenly his shoulder bumped against hers. “What are you talking about? I don’t belong here.” Panicked to the point of hysteria, Abby turned in his arms. She had to get out of this house, away from this man.

  The Duke brushed his knuckles down her cheek in an intimate caress. With the light of the gas lamps, she could see a flare in his eyes, or was it a flame? And when had the fires ignited inside the globes? One minute she’d been cursing the darkness, but now, she could see him clearly. And his eyes were pools of heat, drawing her in.

  Her anger dissipating, she wanted to bask in the warmth, drown in their heated depths. Magnetism pushed her forward, making her seek his strength. She needed the feel of his arms around her, the inviting expanse of his shoulder.

  Reaching up, she touched his face. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I do only what you want me to do.”

  The intimacy of his words made her moan aloud. She could think of billions of things she’d like him to do, starting with her toes and working his way up. “I shouldn’t want you to do anything.” The voice didn’t sound anything like her. The throaty, full tones came from a woman sinking into an abyss of desire with a man she didn’t know.

  His hand curled around her neck, drawing her closer and closer until their breaths mingled in the early morning light. “Would you have me kiss you?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” she breathed, anticipating the sweet succor of his lips.

  The kiss came sweetly at first, a gentle gliding of his lips over hers. Abby moaned again, leaning in until her breasts pushed against his fine linen shirt. His tongue caressed hers, inviting exploration. She lost the ability to think, to reason, as her breaths came in short, staccato bursts of air.

  “Abigail. My sweet Abigail. You’re finally home.”

  The words were a slap in the face, a forceful dose of reality. “No!” She pushed against his shoulders, forcing him away.

  He didn’t fight her. Instead, his hands fell away, and he took a step back. “Please rest, Abigail.” Without another word, he left her.

  Abby fell to her knees beside the bed, her heart hammering a wild rhythm in her chest. What had she gotten herself into, and why was fleeing becoming a distant want?

  * * * *

  She is here. He’d waited for her for centuries, and now she was here. In his home. In his life. Nathaniel moved about the parlor slowly, stealthily, prowling like a large jungle cat. He knew he’d scared her with his declaration. She couldn’t know what he knew, but she had to be the one, the woman with the flaming hair and eyes like emeralds. She would be the one to release him from his torment and allow him to resume a normal life. The woman to free him. If only he could convince her to stay.

  Allowing her to leave wasn’t an option. Though she believed herself to be a reporter, he knew better. She was the one woman who would break the curse and allow him to find love, thereby breaking the witch’s curse.

  Nathaniel cursed and slapped his palm against the paneled wall. He’d waited for centuries for this moment. He wanted to take his time, to convince Abby to stay on her own, to give her the space she needed to fall in love with him. But time was in short supply.

  If Abigail couldn’t love him, refused to allow herself to listen to her heart, the curse would become permanent, and he would be forced to live eternally as a creature of the dark—a being Abby would never understand and could certainly never love. A loathsome thing trapped inside the walls of a castle he could never leave.