by Renee Rose
Alpha’s Blood
A Vampire Shifter Romance
Renee Rose
Lee Savino
Burning Desires
Copyright © April 2019 Alpha’s Blood by Renee Rose and Lee Savino
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors' rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Published in the United States of America
Renee Rose Romance and Silverwood Press
Editor: Miranda Johnson
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Want More? Alpha’s Blood
Alpha’s Temptation (Bad Boy Alphas, Book 1)
Alpha’s Danger (Bad Boy Alphas, Book 2)
Alpha’s Prize (Bad Boy Alphas, Book 3)
Alpha’s Challenge (Bad Boy Alphas, Book 4)
Alpha’s Obsession (Bad Boy Alpha’s Book 5)
Alpha’s Desire (Bad Boy Alpha’s Book 6)
Alpha’s War (Bad Boy Alpha’s Book 7)
Alpha’s Mission (Bad Boy Alphas 8)
Alpha’s Bane (Bad Boy Alphas Book 9)
Alpha’s Secret (Bad Boy Alphas Book 10)
About Renee Rose
Want FREE Renee Rose books?
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About Lee Savino
Excerpt: Sold to the Berserkers
Sold to the Berserkers
Also by Lee Savino
Chapter 1
Selene
The stage is an old battered platform, transformed by lush red curtains and glaring spotlights. How many Macbeths have died here? How many Hamlets? I wait in the wings, listening to the murmur of the audience. Goosebumps rise up and down my arms.
Relax, my mentor’s voice whispered to me. You’re going to perform splendidly.
I certainly hope so. I’ve trained for this moment my whole life. I’m wearing a strappy silky dress that drapes over my breasts and hips, molding to them with a nod to modesty while leaving my legs bare below mid thigh. The revealing attire doesn’t bother me, but without weapons I’m naked. Since the age of sixteen, I’ve always had weapons on me. I used to fall asleep cradling my favorite: a wooden stake.
This is your greatest role. Your ultimate performance, my mentor said. If you fail, you pay the ultimate price. His voice deepened. Do not fail me.
I will not fail. After tonight, my life will hang in the balance, but that is nothing new. It always has. I’ve waited, and cried and sweated and fought and lived and breathed and died for this moment. The training demanded all of me, and I have given it my all. Whatever happens after tonight was plotted long ago, my part in the plot custom-made for me. I was born to play this role. Everything in my life has led to this moment.
“Ten minute warning,” a black clad backstage hand calls. His gaze drifts over me like I’m a part of the set. I raise my chin and meet his gaze, staring until he drops it and scuttles away. I smooth my see-through garment and uncurl my lip. Tonight I pay a submissive part, but not until the curtains rise. I won’t cringe before these cockroaches. I don’t even bow to my mentor. It amuses him, my show of dominance. Or perhaps he thinks my alpha strength will protect me in my final mission. Either way, he allows my cheek. I’d be dead if he didn’t.
Two shadows move in the depths of the stage. I don’t bother glancing back. The guards are there for my protection, and to herd me onto the stage if I get cold feet. Unnecessary. I can’t wait to play this role.
This old theater is long past its use. The air is dusty, stale. The green room holds another, sour scent that only grows worse when you descend the stairs into the basement filled with cages. My mentor hustled me past them, ordering me to focus on the endgame. A part of me wanted to turn and face the cages, find the ones that were full and break the bars. Free the frightened shifters. In another life, that would be my mission. Maybe it still can be—if I survive.
Will they end up on stage? I asked as we climbed the stairs, escaping those glittering eyes.
Some of them, my mentor answered. Some of them are awaiting pickup. He caught my anger and disgust and leaned close. This is the perversion that Lucius Frangelico allows. When he is gone, we will right this wrong.
It was the perfect thing to say. When I step on stage, all I will think about is the king sitting in the audience. The end of his reign will send shockwaves through his corrupt kingdom.
But first, Lucius Frangelico has to die.
He is here? Right now? I asked Xavier.
On his way, my mentor answered. My spies report he will arrive in time. Once he is seated, we give the signal, and your part will begin.
My fists clench at my sides and I force them to straighten. Time to get into my role. I must perform perfectly or I won’t survive.
Another figure appears. An older woman emerges from the green room to give me a critical once over. I stand straight and let her study me. I even drop my eyes to the floor, acting like the submissive I’m supposed to be.
My hair is braided and pinned onto my head in a crown. I’m wearing minimal makeup: a hint of eye shadow, mascara, blush. Enough so the lights don’t wash me out, with a bold touch around my mouth: the red, red lipstick. The color of blood and vampire dreams.
You will catch his attention immediately, my mentor purred. He will be pleased. Xavier’s eyes swept up and down my half naked form. I told myself his attention was impersonal, clinical, but couldn’t help enjoying the approval glittering in his single eye.
And if he doesn’t take the bait? I asked.
He will. If not tonight, one of my colleagues will purchase you and show you off. Wave you under Frangelico’s nose. It is up to you to catch his attention. Xavier’s large hands closed around my arms, his grip cruel and painful. His fingers left bruises, marks I accepted gratefully. My training didn’t allow for comfort or friendly contact, but it left plenty of marks. I welcomed them like kisses or hugs. Pain became pleasure, and each bruise made me stronger, a honed weapon.
Xavier increased his grip, and I bit back a moan.
Good girl, he said, and my spirits soared. I wasn’t sure if he meant to hurt me until he stepped back and let the makeup artist do her work. When she would cover the marks with makeup, he ordered her to leave them. They catch the eye. Xavier chucked me under the chin. Remember all I’ve taught you. I’d bowed my head and the one-eyed vampire walked off. The makeup artist shuddered, and I gave her a small smile of solidarity. Big, broad as a wrestler, with the ruined side of his face made barely presentable by an eye patch, Xavier was scary. He’d rai
sed and trained me with unrelenting focus on my final goal: revenge. His methods were brutal and cruel. If he hadn’t given me everything I’d need to avenge my slain pack, I’d hate him.
Maybe I do hate him. In my world, hate is an emotion not so far from love.
The makeup artist gives a brisk nod and walks off, her heels clopping on the scarred stage. With my eyes trained on the floor, I can’t escape the signs of shifters—the shed fur, the scrapes on the floor where the guards forced the shifters onto the stage. The shifters who waited in the basement now, shivering in cages. I couldn’t save them tonight. Maybe if I survive.
A flurry of activity in the wings, and a short bald man in a tux strides onstage, clutching a set of notecards. He flips through them, muttering under his breath. “Lot nine, special goods. She-wolf, trained, untouched. Unblooded.” He glances at me, assessing. I might as well be a piece of meat.
I take a deep breath and get into character. Meek, submissive she-wolf trained to be a vampire’s companion.
Frangelico won’t be able to resist you, Xavier told me as he fastened a white collar around my neck. You’re beautiful. It wasn’t a compliment. In my world, beauty is a weapon. A weapon I was trained to use.
A stage hand hands the man in the tux a microphone.
“It’s time,” the auctioneer says and flaps his hand at me. I take a deep breath, raise my head, and glide barefoot onto the stage.
Lucius
“Sire, so good of you to join us.” A bowing vampire greets me as I step out of my limo. My bodyguards block his way until I motion them to step aside.
“I was told this is the place to buy a shifter.” I survey the rundown building, the empty marquee.
“Yes, yes, you are correct.” Dante gives a little laugh and runs to get the door. “The first half of the auction is over, but the remaining lots are sublime, I’m told. The creme de la creme. This way, please…”
I stride past the obsequious vampire. Why did I turn him? All my sired eventually disappoint. It’s my curse.
Groups of well-dressed vampires discreetly watch me pass. I didn’t expect to slip in unnoticed, but the way Dante keeps bobbing alongside me and babbling, I might as well have a spotlight shining on me.
The theater is old, but holds its own charm. A glass chandelier glows above my head. The red stage curtains have been brushed recently. But not even the strong cologne and perfume worn by the vampire audience can overpower the scent of shifter fur and fear.
I’ve been told the shifters are willing. Desperate for a protector, they agree to be sold to a vampire with a taste for shifter blood. There certainly are enough of us willing to pay good money for a pet.
“As you can see, our renovations have only begun. We’ve worked to preserve the integrity of the 1920s architecture—” Dante stops his tour abruptly when I lower myself into an aisle seat.
“Sire.” His hands flutter in front of him. “We’ve prepared a seat for you in the middle of the aisle. This row has not been replaced—”
“It is fine,” I nod to my protective detail and they take up stations around the aisle I’ve chosen. Six of the best bodyguards money can buy, their weapons hidden under their suits. They’re the guards people can see. I have more layers of protection than anyone can guess. After a thousand years of assassination attempts, one learns to plan ahead.
Dante hovers close, still trying to get me to move to a larger, newer seat. “These old seats have springs that aren’t very comfortable.”
He’s right, one spring is digging into my backside at this very moment.
“I prefer this seat.” I turn my attention to the empty stage.
Dust motes dance in the too-bright spotlights. The curtains ripple and the room fills with the audience’s expectant murmur.
I stretch out my legs and ignore Dante’s nervous hand fluttering. The fact that the vampire wants me to move hasn’t escaped my notice. He keeps turning and signaling someone in the balcony.
My sired are plotting something. From the pains they took to stage this auction, their plot has been in the works for some time.
No matter. In my long lifetime, I’ve found one coup is much like another.
Theophilus, one of my sired, takes a seat a few rows ahead of me. He turns and bows his head. I tip my own in acknowledgement, and beckon him over.
“Sire,” he says when he reaches my side, and bows. “How may I be of service?”
“How many auctions have been held here?”
He glances around the dimly lit room. “A fair amount. I only heard of them a few months ago. This is my third time.”
“And the shifters are willing?”
“As willing as they can be.” He grimaces. “Most are rare species. Without a large clan to protect them, they fall prey to stronger shifters.”
“So they agree to this?” I wave a hand at the stage. “Is it better to belong to a vampire?”
“I am not a shifter, so I would not know. My guess is a life in servitude is better than no life at all.”
I press my lips together. Most shifters I’ve met would rather be free. After all, they are part wild animal.
“Do you have any further questions about the auction?” Theophilus asks. Of all my sired, he’s the least likely to conspire against me, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t.
“Not at this time.”
“Do you intend to bid, Sire?”
I study Theophilus’ face for a hint of emotion. Interest, hope, anything. “I haven’t decided.” I give him an enigmatic smile.
“You might be surprised. Many of these shifters are naturally submissive. Owning such a powerful creature can be exhilarating.”
“That is something to consider,” I murmur.
“When you live forever, there are so few new pleasures to enjoy.” Theophilus glances at the stage and licks his lips. A blatant show of anticipation.
Perhaps there is nothing nefarious about these auctions. In the long life of a vampire, it’s easy to succumb to boredom. Boredom begets deeper and deeper perversions.
“When you live as long as I have, there are no new pleasures,” I say. “You make do with the old.”
Theophilus bows his head. “With all due respect, consider bidding tonight. Some of the shifters agree to the auction, but put up delicious resistance after they’re bought. Subduing them provides months of entertainment, if you draw it out.”
“Months? You surprise me, Theophilus,” I drawl, baiting him. “With patience, an expert can enjoy a victim for years.”
He flushes. “These shifters will not last years. You can’t turn them, after all.”
“As you say,” I pretend to agree. “I suppose the shine wears off after a few weeks. Months, if the victim is special.”
“Shifters are stronger than humans, but no one can withstand a vampire. They all break, in the end.”
“Yes,” I turn my attention back to the stage. “Everyone breaks in the end.” Even vampires.
Minutes pass and I pretend not to notice the audience members studying me. I steeple my fingers. Tonight I will sit through the auction, feigning interest. In a month I will host a party with a select number of my lieutenants. By then I’ll know which of my sired plotted against me. I already have an idea.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The final part of the auction is about to begin.”
The house lights go down and a ripple of anticipation runs around the room. The curtain parts.
And she appears.
Selene
“Lot nine, special goods,” the auctioneer announces.
I stand on the small platform, staring into an ocean of white light. The spotlights blind me before I remember to lower my gaze to the floor. I’m supposed to be submissive. A perfect little pet for a vampire.
“Female, wolf shifter, twenty-two. She has been trained in the submissive arts but…” the auctioneer pauses and lowers his voice. “She’s never been blooded. Never been mounted either. That’s right ladie
s and gentle vampires… she’s a virgin.”
Do I imagine an excited murmur in the rows beyond the lights? My training kicks in and smooths my features before my lip curls in disgust.
“Turn around, sweetheart, give us a show,” the auctioneer orders.
I pivot dutifully, returning to my resting stance. I bow my head a little.
“Bidding starts at one hundred thousand,” the auctioneer calls. “One hundred thousand for this pure, untouched virgin. Do I have one hundred—yes, there in the back. Gentleman in the red bowtie. Anyone else want to own this fine specimen of shifter beauty? Can I get two—” The bidding goes higher, spurred by the auctioneer’s excited prattle. I squint into the lights. How many people are in the audience? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Somewhere, perhaps in the balcony, Xavier watches.
It doesn’t matter. I’m only here for one vampire, and one alone. Lucius Frangelico. I need to capture his interest.
I drop my gaze to the stage and try to look meek. What will entice a vampire king to bid on me? I lick my red lips, but can’t bring myself to take a sultry pose. Not when I want to punch someone for subjecting shifters to this disgusting event.
My fists itch to clench. I force my shoulders to relax.
This will be over soon.
Lucius
She’s not submissive.
That’s my first impression of the beautiful she-wolf. She glares at the floor in front of her bare feet. Whenever the auctioneer mentions her virginal status, the corner of her mouth twitches. They dressed her in a soft bit of nothing, a garment closer to a negligee than evening wear. Something silky that begs to be ripped off. She has bruises on her arms—a sign she’s been manhandled—but nothing about her is fragile. She’s tall, tempting, an Amazon with a crown of white gold hair.