Beneath the Changing Moon

by Marie Carlson

  Beneath the Changing Moon

  BeneaththeChangingMoon

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Beneath the Changing Moon

  ISBN # 978-1-907280-35-1

  ©Copyright Marie Carlson 2009

  Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright October 2009

  Edited by Jess Bimberg

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  Voracious Vamps

  BENEATH THE CHANGING MOON

  Marie Carlson

  Dedication

  To Elizabeth Reeve for all the encouragement, advice, and haunting tales.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  BMW/Bimmer: BMW AG, Munich, Germany

  Volkswagen: Volkswagen AG

  Beneath the Changing Moon

  Chapter One

  August 2016—Blood Moon

  Darren crosses the room towards me slowly, every movement measured and careful. He slips in and out of the crowd, twining through this group of vampires and around that one. If he wants, he can part it with a word and come straight to me, but instead he takes his time and makes sure everyone can see him.

  The whole room watches and waits. The smell of their curiosity and anticipation washes through me when I scent the air, a twisting, swirling mix of the sharp pepper of well-fed vampires and the citrus bite of emotion. I hope all they get from me is desire, hope I’m burying my fear deep enough my scent won’t change.

  Darren’s mother, Rachel, stares at him. She stands near the patio doors, and her skin and hair are particularly dark in the moonlight. Her hand convulses and a heavy crystal goblet disintegrates between her fingers, splashing blood down her arm. She’s too far away to stop him. Her eyes meet mine over his shoulder and her expression wavers; for the length of a heartbeat, I see her fear then she’s calm again, the gracious hostess. Chasing him through her party would be impolite and would make the guests doubt the cosy, loving family dynamics she is careful to portray.

  If she had any idea what we were actually doing, she would fling propriety out the window and launch herself at him or tear open a vein to distract the others, anything to stop me from claiming him in front of the most powerful vampires in the world.

  In less than a minute, Darren will stand in front of me and I will drink his blood.

  February 2011—Hunger Moon

  “Amalia.” Darren’s voice—rich and smooth—interrupted my work.

  I turned to face him and strands of my hair fell into my face. I huffed a sigh, annoyed, and shoved them out of the way. I didn’t care much about my hair, provided it was long enough to tie back, but a few days ago my good friend Jessie—my self-appointed stylist—cut layers. She swore up and down they were stylish and looked great on me. Maybe they did. Mostly they were a pain in my ass and wouldn’t stay pulled back out of my way.

  “Hi, Darren.” His scent washed over me and my mouth went momentarily dry. My tongue rasped against my teeth when I tried to clear my throat, and wetness gathered on them as my fangs prepared to bite him, which could never happen. “You tear up the Bimmer again?”

  He nodded, shrugged, and grinned. It was too much at once, forced playboy actions, but on him the combination was disturbingly sexy. His eyebrows quirked, his lips twitched, and his eyes glinted with the promise of delightfully naughty things.

  My body was one big ache and throbbed my desire from mouth to clit. I wanted to take him up on that promise, to do all those naughty things with him, but he wasn’t meant for me and I had to control myself.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about my scent giving me away. Two of the three other mechanics working with me were human, and the lone vampire wouldn’t think anything of smelling my reaction to Darren.

  He was one of those males who left everyone slick with desire.

  “One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to play without damaging your equipment.”

  Damn, I was flirting with him again. Yes, he was attractive and sexy as hell and I could smell the fertility coming off him in waves, but those weren’t reason enough to make a fool of myself. I did that far too often around him.

  He grinned again—it made my knees shake and I could feel myself getting wetter—and shoved his hands into his back pockets. He shifted his weight forward onto his toes then settled back. The movement made me very aware of his hips and his big thighs and his dick nestled inside his jeans.

  “Where’s the fun in that? Besides,” his voice dropped, lower and deeper and quieter, and every nerve in my body tensed, tightened, and sang with need, “this way you get to play with my toys too.”

  It was all I could do not to either grab him and fuck him or glance around to make sure no one was listening. Even if they were, it didn’t matter. He was careful to flirt with everyone. This was nothing special.

  Except, beneath all the games, it was and we both knew it.

  “I can’t fit you in this afternoon.” I wiped my hands on my coveralls and headed for the front room. The office staff had already left for the day, but my administrative assistant kept my schedule book on his desk. “Maybe I can handle it first thing in the morning.”

  Darren followed me, careful to keep far enough back that we didn’t touch. He needed to put more space between us. I could smell him so well I practically tasted him. Distance would help me stay in control.

  I wanted him closer still.

  “You’re going to make me go out tonight without my car?” His voice held the slightest hint of a whine, the playboy frustrated by the help. The office was empty, the shades drawn over the windows, the front door covered and locked. He pushed the door to the garage shut behind him; I heard the metal deadbolt slide home.

  I busied myself writing his information into my schedule book. I knew it by heart—name, phone number, year, make, and model of all four cars. I almost had his credit card number memorised because he’d been in so frequently.

  He came up behind me and I turned to face him. He reached out and skimmed his hand across my cheek. His thumb rubbed along the line of my jaw. His fingers ended in my hair and twisted the loose strands of my ponytail, teasing the knots in them.

  I should have told him no. I opened my mouth to do so, to tell him we couldn’t, not when anyone could walk in, not when we were too old for childhood kissing games. Instead I said his name, a breath, a plea, “Darren,” and I kissed him.

  The space between us lingered. Only our lips and faces touched, and his
hand in my hair, and my fingertips dipping beneath his shirt to brush his stomach. His mouth was soft and the stubble on his chin scratched me.

  Darren thrust his tongue lightly into my mouth and curled it against my tongue. Heat pooled in the back of my throat, in my chest, between my legs. I wanted to bend him over the desk and lay open his throat. I wanted to shove him into the office chair and straddle him so I could grind our bodies together. I wanted to take him out the back door and lay him down beneath the trees and fuck him until we forgot that his family, that our society, didn’t want us together.

  Soft, sweet things curled up from my throat and crossed my tongue, but I bit them back and broke off the kiss. He stared at me, his eyes glowing bright, his lips parted so I could see his fangs, sharp and deadly, slick with venom, a mix of anticoagulant and painkiller.

  I cut my tongue on my fangs and swallowed the blood convulsively. It would taste so much better if the blood was his, if his dark skin parted beneath my mouth. He stared at my lips, the blood staining them, then eased his hand from my hair and headed out the door.

  My heart hurt as I watched him walk away; my throat went tight and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow. I had cars to fix, books to balance, work to do. I didn’t have time for a doomed love affair.

  I never wished so hard for untainted blood than I did every moment with him.

  Beneath the Changing Moon

  Chapter Two

  August 2009 – Blood Moon

  All vampire rituals took place beneath the cycle of the Blood Moon. Our blood was thick in the heat and sluggish in our veins. I wasn’t quite twenty-five when my mom took me to the Blood-Seer. Mom had a fresh manicure and the sick-sweet smell of the chemicals made me gag. I didn’t know how she could stand it. My appointment was early in the month, because we weren’t rich enough to afford the Seer’s work beneath the full moon, but she was wise and her power always great.

  Her fingers were dry and rough like gnawed bone when she took my hand and led me into her workroom. The lights were dim, the windows curtained. Night fell late and I was often tired in the summer, but anticipation stirred me, wound me up.

  She laid a fire despite the heat, and the warmth of the room was oppressive. My eyes dried out and my skin tingled. When her fingers passed along my arm, numbness followed her touch.

  It was better that way, for she lifted my wrists and laid open my veins.

  I had felt nothing like it before. I would feel nothing like it ever again.

  The Blood-Seer put her mouth to my skin and drank me down, but did not pierce me with her fangs. If she did, her venom would contaminate my blood and she wouldn’t get a good reading from it. That was almost the worst thing which could happen.

  She drank for so long my head lolled back and my eyes closed. It hurt too much—it felt too good—too sleep, but my bones were heavy and my joints ached. I was due another growth spurt soon. Mom measured my progress on the wall. She was pleased I was tall like her. I could tell because she smiled widely every time I grew even a centimetre.

  “Be still.” The Blood-Seer’s voice was as dry as her hands. I slit my eyes open and watched as she gathered my blood into little glass vials. She would smell it, analyse it, put it under the microscope, add her powders, do her science-magic. No one but a Blood-Seer could know the exact process. We trusted that she was well trained. We trusted that she knew.

  No one ever questioned her.

  My dad, like all the other fathers, waited for the results of her tests to throw me as extravagant a party as we could afford. It would still be a simple party because we couldn’t afford anything else, but if the Blood-Seer’s prognosis was good enough, he, like all the other fathers, would go into debt to make sure all of the best families—all the rich families—knew my blood was pure, my body ripe for pregnancy.

  I fell asleep in the car on the ride home, my head on the cool window, lulled by the steady throb of the engine. I’d helped rebuild it the last time it broke down. When Mom woke me, her voice was warm and filled with happiness. She believed the Blood-Seer would tell us great things. At twenty-five, she had gone to a Blood-Seer beneath the almost new Blood Moon and had been told she was barely Fertile and would have difficulty getting pregnant. She feared she’d never find someone to bind with and never be a mother. She had been lucky, she always told me, that Dad had looked past her bad blood. When Dad had gone to the Blood-Seer in his time, he had been deemed fully Fertile. She believed—she hoped—I would take after him.

  It was a whirlwind two weeks of work and preparing the celebration for my coming of age. At the end, mere days before my party, word came from the Blood-Seer and my world crashed down.

  I was Infertile, she said, and my mother sank to her knees and clawed at her face because her tongue had died and her hope melted away.

  August 2010 - Blood Moon

  Darren’s fingers closed around my wrists. He held me still, as if he feared, as I did, that I would fly at him, nails bared. As if he feared, as I did, that I would tear out my heart so it hurt less.

  He had just come of age and the Blood-Seer had played me a nasty trick when she performed her science-magic on his blood.

  Though I had loved him for most of my life, she had proclaimed him Fertile. He had to help save our society, he had to be a father and help repopulate our world, and his family would see to it that he was bound to someone whose blood was worth more than mine.

  April 2011 – Metal Moon

  “Amalia, please.” Darren leant across the hood of his car and I flinched a little. It was a classic ’73 BMW 3.0 CSL I’d modded because he loved to go fast and I hated the thought that he might dent the metal. “It’s just dinner. We used to do dinner all the time.”

  Sure, back when I thought we’d someday be bonded, when his family didn’t look at me like I was trying to steal his fortune and good name.

  “Please,” he said again. I bit through my lower lip. Each time he asked, it was more and more difficult to say no. He didn’t visit me every day, sometimes not even every week, but it got harder to push him away and watch him leave. I knew he’d be back. I rejoiced in it.

  He ran his hand across the hood, stroking the slick paint, and watched my face closely, his eyes half-shut so it was nearly impossible to tell exactly where he was looking, but I knew.

  I couldn’t deny him everything any longer. Maybe if I gave in on one thing, I could stay strong with the rest, the really important parts. My heart broke when I knew we would never be bonded, would never share blood in front of our families, but worse still was trying to stay away from him completely. I missed his friendship.

  “Fine,” I said, but even I could hear the relief in my voice. “Dinner. Why not? We both have to eat.”

  “Great!” He shoved off the hood, the metal screeched some, and I winced again. He was far too rough on his car. “It’s a date.”

  “No. It’s dinner.”

  “Sure.” His grin disarmed me. “Whatever you say.”

  It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake.

  “Give me a minute to change.” I kept clothes in my office just in case I had to run somewhere straight from work. Not that I participated in many society events.

  “Sure,” he agreed, all affable like, but his smile was wicked. “As long as I get to watch.”

  My laugh stuttered in my throat. I winked at him, and if I swung my hips a little more when I walked away from him, it was good to feel like a sexy, wanted woman.

  I had tight jeans, pin-striped trousers, and button-down shirts hanging behind my door, but I put on a knee-length chocolate suede skirt, so soft I took a minute to stroke it, and a purple blouse. I never wore heels, no matter where I went, and my worn flats looked a little out of place, but I preferred comfort to fashion.

  My brown hair was pulled back for work, but I tugged it out of the ponytail and ran my fingers through it. It ended up a little fluffy with fly-away pieces at my temples, but it was good enough.

  After all, t
his wasn’t a date.

  I smoothed the skirt over my hips, took a deep breath, then forced myself to calmly walk back into the garage. Darren stood in front of my tool box, his hands tucked behind his back. I hated when people touched my things, moved them out of their places. It warmed my heart that he was so careful not to displace anything.

  When he turned to look at me, he grinned and his whole face lit up. He made no attempt to hide the way he checked me out, from the pointed toes of my shoes to the sweep of my hair across my shoulders.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his expression serious, then he broke into a grin. “Or can’t I say that to you either?”

  It probably would have been better to tell him no, but I liked the compliment too much. I twisted a little, showing off the lines of the skirt, and shook my hair out of my face.

  “Thanks.”

  Darren tossed me his keys and my heart stuttered in my chest. He didn’t care who drove his car, but for me, it was a big deal to be with someone’s vehicle. Cars were my life, my love, and though I knew they didn’t matter to him, he knew how much they mattered to me.

  His scent permeated the car and the heat from him washed over me when we settled in our seats. I started the engine and lingered with my hand on the gearshift, breathing him in.

  When he put one finger on my wrist, I jumped a little, startled, but his touch was light. “Thanks for this,” he said, and his voice was so sincere it gave me chills. Everyone knew how sexy he was, it was blatantly obvious. Not everyone got to see this side of him, the earnest little boy inside the popular man. He’d grown up well, despite being pampered by his family. I liked the man he’d become.