Craved: A Vampire Romance (Marked by Night Book 1)

by Sara Thorn

  Craved

  Marked by Night Book One

  Sara Thorn

  Edited by

  CGW Edits

  Copyright © 2020 by Sara Thorn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Craved

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thank You For Reading!

  Read Book 2!

  Join The Marked!

  About the Author

  Craved

  Enter the dark, entrancing world of Mystreuce, where vampire kings’ rule and one girl can change the fate of two worlds.

  Ever since Athan plucked me from the streets of Boston to groom me as a dancer, I sensed that he had an unusual interest in me. But never could I have imagined that he wasn’t human, or that he was heartless enough to kidnap me from my own world and turn me into a slave.

  Now, trapped within their kingdom, I’m just another pawn in a centuries-old game between two rival vampire princes. Worse yet, there is an uprising brewing in this place laden with intoxicating parties and devious plots. If I want to survive Athan’s volatile rule, I’ll have to ally with the only man who could defeat him—his half-brother, Cassius.

  But even more dangerous than the courtesans and assassins who threaten to end my life is Athan’s desperation to never let me go.

  And even if I somehow manage to escape this place, I’m not sure I can run from my growing feelings for the arrogant and exceedingly handsome Cassius.

  Craved is the first book in the New Epic Vampire Romance Saga, Marked by Night from Author Sara Thorn. Perfect for fans of Stephanie Meyer, Bella Forrest, Cassandra Clare, and Jennifer L. Armentrout.

  Chapter One

  Every coin made a distinct sound against the side of the chipped mug as it was tossed in.

  The quarters had a rounder, heavier clang to them than the nickels, which made more of a deep thud. The clink of pennies was the most familiar of them all.

  People didn’t have much use for the copper coins anymore, so tossing them into a mug on the side of the street in exchange for a moment of entertainment didn’t seem like that much of a waste to most of the morning commuters. I’d been kicked out of the subway before. It all depended on how lenient the cops on duty in the tunnels were on any given day.

  For the most part, they left me alone; a pretty girl dancing in torn-up ballet shoes on a cold Boston night wasn’t the kind of thing that would start trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like I was raking in the cash. I usually made enough in change to buy myself a hot drink and a sandwich, and that kept me going.

  But when a pale man with the darkest eyes I had ever seen stopped to watch me dance, he stood there for longer than anyone had ever watched me before. I usually would have stopped after a few minutes and given pause for the next train to arrive and for a fresh crowd of people to walk past. I had a whole repertoire of choreography that I’d made up in my head to pull from. But this guy stood there in front of me transfixed until I ran out of pieces to dance, so I just kept going, making the moves up as I went. I figured that he would surely leave a fair amount of change in the cup if he enjoyed it enough to stand there as the trains came and went.

  I spun on my tattered shoes into a pirouette that landed with a graceful arabesque, and when I turned back around, he was gone. I stood for a moment with my hands on my hips and a very genuine pout on my face. I had spent all that time giving this guy a free performance, and there wasn’t so much as the sound of a single coin dropped into my mug. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, so he had obviously high-tailed it out of there, knowing that he was an awful and greedy human being for not tossing me a donation. I wasn’t sure what made my eyes stare down at my cup at that moment, but when I did, I saw it there. A crisp hundred dollar bill stood straight up in the cup as if it were waving for my attention.

  I remembered that night as if it were yesterday. I remembered kneeling down and grabbing that money up and stuffing it into my bra before anyone could see it and try to take it from me. I remembered learning my new favorite sound, the silent sound of a paper bill being dropped into the cup. I even remembered some of the random thoughts that flew through my head about what I should spend it on—food, obviously, but maybe even something more. Maybe I could buy a new pair of ballet shoes, not like I could afford that kind of luxury, but they were basically the only shoes I owned and the reason I had made this hundred dollar bill to begin with.

  I picked up my jacket from the ground beside me and shoved my arms through the sleeves. My long hair always caught in the zipper no matter how careful I tried to be, and then it became a war between the teeth of the zipper and the black tendrils of my long locks. I grabbed my mug with the rest of the clattering metal earnings inside and walked up to the street level to brave the cold air and get myself a hot cup of coffee.

  I felt like a princess that night as I sat inside a Starbucks and looked out the window at the people walking by. The barista had to call a manager over to break my large bill, and I smiled as I waited and wondered if they thought I was someone important. I was sure I hadn’t been the only seventeen-year-old girl who had ever graced the coffee shop with a hundred dollars, but it was definitely a first for me.

  My parents had been gone for several months, and I had managed to make it on my own this long with nothing but the three things I carried with me everywhere—my jacket, my ballet shoes, and my mug. There were enough shelters and random decent people to find places to sleep and blankets to borrow. But never had I hit the jackpot with this much cash before. If I had been smart, I might have thought more about why a stranger would leave me such a large tip. But I chalked it up to him being some wealthy businessman who took pity on me. Until, that was, he came back again the following night, and the night after that. By the fourth night, I just stood there and stared at him, refusing to move until I found out what his deal was.

  “Are you some kind of stalker?” I asked as I tried to look taller and less fragile than life on the street had made me.

  “No,” he answered without elaboration.

  “Are you going to stuff me into the back of your trunk and kill me?”

  The man laughed, although I didn’t find the suspicion of murder to be particularly funny. “I don’t even own a car,” he said.

  “Then why do you keep coming here and watching me dance? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the hundred dollar bills you leave every time. But you have to admit this looks weird, right?”

  The man smiled, and when he did, I noticed how very handsome he was. His dark hair tousled lightly against the top of his ears, and his eyes were such a deep inky-brown that I could have sworn they were solid black. He was super pale, so I guessed he had some kind of inside profession, maybe an engineer or a writer or something. But he also looked far too muscular to have a desk job.

  “You’re a very gifted dancer,” he said. “It’s difficult to find such raw talent. With the righ
t training,” he paused and looked down at my shoes before continuing, “and the right equipment, your technique could be polished into something truly special. Have you had dance lessons before?”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “When I was a kid and my parents were still around.” I thought back to how much I used to dream about being a ballerina. I spent my early years in high school convinced that I would end up auditioning for some prominent dance company someday and would become a world-renowned choreographer. That was before things started getting weird, though, and before my parents had disappeared.

  “Where are your parents now?”

  When I didn’t answer, he just kept talking as if not to press the issue. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You look like you’re almost an adult anyway. I want to make you an offer.”

  I braced myself for this strange, albeit utterly handsome man to try to talk me into being his kinky pole dancer in some underground basement. I didn’t have anything to throw at him if I needed to make a run for it, except for my mug.

  “I’m a dance instructor at the Boston Conservatory, and I’d like to offer you a scholarship to attend the contemporary dance program there.”

  I felt my mouth drop open so widely that it made my jaw ache. “What?”

  “It would include everything, of course, room and board, food, dance equipment and gear, and access to some of the finest dance classes and teachers in the country. You would be expected to keep up with the rigorous program, and the moment you decide to slack off, you’d be right back out here on the street. But…I have a feeling that isn’t likely to happen.”

  I didn’t know what to say or how to react. It was too hard to believe that what he said was actually true. He must have noticed my disbelief because the next thing he did was pull out his conservatory ID badge and show it to me. Sure enough, he was legit.

  “Why would you do this for me?” I asked, still stunned. “There must be countless other dancers who are much better than I am, who have auditioned, and have a whole lot more to offer than I do.”

  “Yes, there are countless other dancers,” he agreed. “But everyone has something different to offer, and I’d like to see what that is for you. I’m not doing this for you; I’m doing it for me.”

  The night that I first met Athan seemed like ages ago, when, in fact, only three years had passed since then. I now had less than a year to go until graduation and until I could get my degree in contemporary dance. I could barely remember most of my nights on the street prior to coming here, but I always remembered the night that Athan had plucked me from obscurity and brought me back with him to the conservatory and set me up in a dorm room. I was too excited to even sleep that first night.

  Things were very different now, though. Not only was I at the top of my performance class, but I had managed to move out of the dorms last year and get my own little apartment in Central Square. Athan didn’t understand why I would want to leave the dorms and give up free room and board, but I just felt like it was time. He had given me so much, and I wanted to spread my wings a little and prove that I could make it on my own. So, with a small stipend from my scholarship and the little bit of extra money I made teaching private dance lessons to some of the younger students, I was able to secure my own place. Granted, it was in a shady area of town, and it was a studio apartment less than a quarter of the size of the dance practice rooms, but still, it was mine. I loved coming home to my little apartment each night. I even kept my chipped mug on top of my dresser to remind me how far I’d come. One day, after I graduated and landed a spot with a prestigious dance company, I’d be able to move someplace nicer. Maybe even someplace like Beacon Hill. But for now, I would focus strictly on dancing and proving to Athan that his decision to take a risk on me was a good one.

  “Why are you always late to class?” Gillian asked me as I walked past the others on the barre and quickly found my spot next to her.

  “Because she can be,” David laughed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said as I lifted my leg onto the barre and started the warmup stretches.

  “Come on, Mara,” he said, looking at me from between his rounded fingers that swept up into first position. “Everyone knows that you’re Athan’s pet prodigy. You couldn’t do anything wrong in his eyes if you tried.”

  “Actually,” Athan’s voice bellowed from behind us, “that isn’t entirely true.”

  Athan walked to the front of the room and stared at all of us as we straightened into first position and awaited his direction.

  “One might think,” he said as he started to walk alongside the barre next to us, “that a group full of responsible twenty-somethings such as yourselves, might make more of an effort to be precise with things.” He tapped his shoe against one of the girl’s feet to correct her form, before walking up to stand next to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I tried not to look too long into his deep eyes. Even after so much time spent together, I still had trouble not getting swept up in his stare. His eyes were so unnaturally captivating. “I’ll be on time the next time,” I promised.

  “No, you won’t,” Athan laughed.

  I could feel David rolling his eyes beside me at the way I wouldn’t get in trouble or scolded, but instead would be granted my usual pardon of staying after class to assist Athan with whatever tasks he threw at me.

  After practice, I helped Athan clean the rosin off the wooden dance floor to get ready for the contemporary class. I’d gotten used to him watching me. I guessed I had been ever since that first night when we had met. It was never in a creepy sort of way, but more like he was fascinated with me. I could see why people might get the wrong idea, but I always just felt kind of honored that he took such an interest in my dance career. If it weren’t for him, I’d still probably be living on the streets and dancing for spare change.

  “Dance for me,” Athan said.

  “What do you want me to practice?” I asked.

  “I don’t want you to practice, I want you to dance. Choreograph something—something modern, like a ballet fusion.”

  I pulled up iTunes on my phone, and when the music started to play, I closed my eyes and used my body to create what I saw in my head. Sometimes I could still see the subway station in my mind when I closed my eyes; it wasn’t the room that made the dancer. It was all on the inside. I did always want to dance on the stage of the Boston Opera House, though; that would be my dream come true. When the music stopped and I finished dancing, I noticed that Athan’s gaze was even more intense than usual. So intense that I felt my cheeks get warm.

  “That was beautiful,” he said. “As always.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled.

  “You know, someday, you’re going to do something very special. You’re going to entertain some of the greatest and most powerful people in the world.” His voice sounded like it was far off in the distance somewhere, even though he was standing close enough for me to touch.

  “Well, I can hope to at least be able to dance for a bigger crowd than in the subways now,” I laughed.

  Athan grabbed my chin with his fingers and held my face directly in front of his as he spoke. “You don’t understand,” he said with a sense of urgency in his voice. “You are going to be such a special dancer. One who deserves even better than what this world has to offer you.”

  Aidan was pretty eccentric, and he definitely took a special interest in me, but I always found both of those things to be endearing. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this, though. It was a bit strange, even for Athan.

  Chapter Two

  The crowd at Inside Out was packed. It surprised me how being a gamer-geek suddenly became the new “cool.” This was the only virtual gaming den in Boston, and it was the only place other than the conservatory that I felt at home. I would spend hours upon hours getting lost inside the virtual worlds, and I now knew most of them by heart.

  Tonight they had a brand new game, one that David, Gillian, and I had been dying to check ou
t. It was called Mystreuce, and the owner of Inside Out said it was the hottest new game around.

  Apparently, a few other virtual gaming dens that were in some of the trendiest cities in the country had received the game a few months ago, and now it had finally made its way here to Boston. I couldn’t have been more excited. Gaming had always served as an escape for me, even before my parents went missing.

  I remembered spending half of my middle school years with my face stuck to my computer screen at home and the sound of my mother’s voice hollering up the stairs at me that it was time to go to bed. But now technology had come far enough to actually be immersed in the game, which made it even easier to lose track of time and reality completely. Plus, Mystreuce was a fantasy game, and fantasy was my favorite thing next to dance.

  “This is going to be lit,” David said as he walked back toward Gillian and me.

  “Did you get the key?” Gillian asked David he handed us our virtual reality headsets.

  “Yeah. The owner said, and I quote, ‘Mystreuce is a world like no other.’” David grinned like a boy waiting up for Santa on Christmas Eve.

  “Nice!” Gillian squealed.

  We walked toward the room number on the labeled key—seven. The gaming den had thirteen rooms, and each of them was a private virtual experience for a guest or their group. Each room was programmed with the game you rented, along with the headsets, and as soon as you went in and closed the door behind you, the game began.