LENGTH: Mid-Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2010
ISBN 978-1-60394-437-3                     

Download $5.50
(s&h not included in price) 

Lilith's life is starting to work out for a change. Her relationship with alpha werewolf Marco is going great. There's only one problem: Dracula is dying. Not from lack of blood, but for her love. Dracula would never ask Lilith to risk her happiness for him and so he suffers in silence. That is until Lilith finds out. She must come to terms with her feelings for Dracula and realize that the vampire is just as much a part of her as Marco. But if she accepts this, where does that leave the wolf king?"

Rating: Spicy/Carnal - graphic language, violence and descriptive sex.

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance.

A Dream Forbidden

 By

Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, June 2010

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, June 2010

ISBN 978-1-60394-437-3

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

I awoke that morning wrapped securely in Marco's arms. His big warm body was pressed tightly against the back of mine, molding to my every curve so that it felt almost like sitting back in a heavily muscled chair. His arm was stretched across me, and his hand cupped my right breast. As usual, he was sleeping closest to the door.

Marco and I had been spending a lot more time together. He wasn't at my house every night, but almost. Last night, I had fallen asleep in his bed, and I awoke to his familiar scent on the pillow beside me. Marco used scented body washes, and they worked well with his body chemistry. But he really didn't need them. Marco Barak is an alpha werewolf, and his pheromones were already in overdrive. His scent is not something easily described, or easily forgotten, and it had become as familiar to me as my own face. I was truly and deeply in love with Marco. From the moment I blinked my eyes in the morning, to the second I closed them at night, he was always with me.

As I ran my hand over the fine hairs on his arm, I took a deep breath and reflected on how absolutely perfect this moment was. Only one thing could make my happiness complete, and that was knowing Dracula was alright. The moment I thought of him, my heart beat faster.

"What excites you so early?" Marco's rough sexy voice, growled near my ear. His voice was deepened by sleep, making his gravelly baritone even more appealing. If I had to hear something at three o'clock in the morning, I couldn't imagine a more pleasant sound. I had forgotten he could hear my heartbeat, and tried to think of a reason to explain the fluttering in my chest.

"I was just thinking how happy I am," I said softly, stroking the back of his hand.

"That's not all you were thinking," he purred, while pressing his nose against my hair. "What's wrong, Red?"

I never could lie to Marco, even when we had been enemies. It was something I wasn't capable of and I should have known better than to try.

"Can you read my mind?" I asked, fascinated by his ability to see right through me.

"No," he laughed softly, "but I can read you. I know when something's on your mind."

Dracula had been burned by holy water recently. The same man who had challenged Marco only a few weeks ago for the leadership of the pack was responsible for the vampire's injury, and his furry hide was now displayed in Marco's living room. His name was Peter Davenport, and he had been my first love. The man who had once called me a monster had become one, and returned to our hometown to prove it. Not only had he tried to kill Marco, but he nearly did kill Elijah Jasper, a local cop, and my dear friend. As if that wasn't bad enough, he had ruined the one thing most closely associated with Dracula: his face.

He had thrown the phial of liquid toward me, knowing it wouldn't hurt me should it make contact. But he also knew that Dracula was my partner, and he would step in front to protect me. Vlad had yet to allow me to see his face. We spoke, but not as often as before, and I missed him.

As good as it felt to wake up next to Marco nearly every morning a part of me could not rest. That was the part that belonged to Dracula. With a sigh, I began to tell Marco I was still worried about the vampire. He knew I loved him, since I had also recently agreed to be his mate and to help him lead the pack. But he also knew I loved Dracula, because I had told him so. I refused to lie to Marco. However, I didn't love Vlad in the same way. I loved Marco the way you should love someone if you're going to spend your life with them. But I loved the vampire like another part of myself. Both emotions were strong, and I would not betray one for the other. If a time ever came for me to choose, the decision would have to be made for me, because I could not.

"I stopped by his theatre the other day," Marco said, snuggling me closer. "He seemed alright, considering."

He was right, Dracula did seem alright. But I knew different. Even though we had only spent one night together just before Marco and I started dating, it had linked us in some way. Though I suspected there had always been a connection between us, it was strengthened after that night. I could see right through him, and what I saw was miserable.

Dracula had opened a theatre known as The Bleeding Heart. It was located across the parking lot from his club Original Sin, and both were a huge success. Alek Ambrose, the wizard who now lived in my dungeon, was partners with him in the theatre. Alek had spent the last forty years hiding out in London where he owned his own successful theatre, and had written many award winning plays. Currently they were in preparation for the next big production, a story Alek had written based on The Phantom of the Opera. Dracula was playing The Phantom, and I had agreed to be his Christine. It was a part I had played before at the age of fifteen, and now, having just turned twenty six, I still knew every line by heart.

He had begun to wear a half mask like The Phantom in public, covering the right side of his handsome face. People just thought it was a promotional stunt, and it was working well for him. But I knew the truth, as well as a few others. Very few people knew what had happened, because he wanted it that way. He told me, "I do not need their pity."

Marco had suggested a few weeks ago that I ask Mathias about the possibility of healing Dracula's face. Mathias Alexander was my great, great, grandfather, and he was a wizard. He's also been dead for over forty years now, but that doesn't stop us from having a chat every now and then. When he passed along his powers to me, a part of his consciousness went with it, a scrap of his spirit, if you will, and this still exists in the back of my mind. I am able to contact him through meditation, but had yet to ask about Dracula. Truthfully, I was too afraid of what he might say. I was happy, really and truly happy, and I didn't want that snatched away from me. Mathias's solutions had a way of doing that. But I knew deep down that whatever he asked, if there was a way, I would do it. I would pay any price to see my beautiful vampire restored. He would never ask it of me, but it was something I would willingly give.

"The sun's not even up yet," Marco whispered as he brushed his face against mine. "Don't worry about it now. I know it bothers you, but you can't change anything right now." He sighed. "Right now, you can rest, and give me a few more hours in bed with the woman I love."

Marco had been more than understanding with regards to the vampire, and I couldn't deny such a tender request. I pressed his hand against my heart, as if to let its steady rhythm tell him how much I cared.

I settled back against him with a smile and drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

We were floating down a long corridor in a narrow boat. This corridor seemed endless, and I was alone with Dracula. He was in full costume, including the mask. I was dressed in a long silver gown. It clung to me, with thin slinky straps and a plunging neckline. I looked elegant. I knew how I looked because I could see myself through his eyes. It wasn't exactly like an out of body experience, but it was close. I turned to him and said softly, "I don't feel good, Vlad." There was no other way to describe my current emotional state.

As I turned to him, his dark hair stood out in disarray and his scars showed. The mask was off. I suggested he sit down.

"Someone has to row the boat," he answered.

I told him that it was my dream and the boat could take care of itself. So, he sat down, and the boat continued to move. He said that he looked like shit, so I shouldn't be too worried about feeling bad.

"At least you do not look like me," he said.

I moved closer and knelt before him. I placed my hands on his knees, and slid his legs apart. This allowed me to move closer against him, closer to his face which he had hidden from me until now. Dracula looked down, and his hair spilled across the right side of his face, hiding his imperfection from my sight.

"I can fix that," I said.

First, I ran my fingers through his hair. It was instantly smooth and well groomed. What was once in disarray, now hung in silken ebony locks to his shoulders. Dracula's hair is naturally wavy, and I smoothed the curls a few more times with my hands before I lifted back the hair from his face. With a hand to his chin, I tilted his face upward.

"Do not hide from me," I whispered.

And he didn't. Just for a moment, he allowed me to see what had been done to him, and I began to cry. He watched me, still looking so sad as I ran my hand over his face, not quite touching the ruined skin. It was almost like I was erasing the damage. As my hand moved over his face, he became whole and handsome again.

He asked if he could try this on me. I agreed. Dracula reached out his long fingered hand and began to smear my red lipstick. I never wear red lipstick, and couldn't imagine why I had it on in this dream. It was like he was trying to rub it off. He then moved his hand in front of my face, like a magician performing a trick. My makeup was gone. I asked him why he'd done this, and he replied, "You are just as beautiful without it."

So, I guess you could say that we both took off our masks. He began to talk about how lonely he was. I could relate. Even though I was not alone now, I was no stranger to loneliness, but I wanted a better understanding of what he felt. Dracula and I are both strongly empathic. Through our touch we can feel what others feel, and even see memories through their emotions.

He opened his shirt so I could put my hand against his bare skin. I reached out with my left hand and could feel his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, and I could also feel his heartbreak. I realized that he could feel all of my pain, my sorrow, and longing … I hadn't thought to block it, and I couldn't pull away. Involuntary tears slid down my cheeks. I opened my eyes and found him looking at me.

He was also crying. I knew that he understood what I felt and why I hurt. He placed his hand over mine, and I was able to break the contact. I did not snatch my hand away, even though I was afraid. I let The Phantom put my hand on his thigh.

I couldn't stop crying. He told me he knew I could relate to his pain.

"For every heartache of mine, I felt an echo of response in you," he whispered.

He began to describe my pain. And after a moment he asked, "Who is the man who 'took off the mask and had nothing left underneath'?"

I told him that was Bradley. He was a Hunter I had dated before Alfred. The line he quoted was from a book I once read and it described Bradley completely. He was so used to lying to people and putting on a front that when it came down to it, he didn't know who he was anymore. I told him that I would always love the man I thought Bradley was, and always be disappointed in who he turned out to be. He had known Bradley and I dated, but never the details. And now, I was open to him. His ability was stronger than mine, and I could not block him from my past.

I started to sob openly and The Phantom wrapped me tightly in his arms.

"He left without saying goodbye," he whispered as he stroked my hair.

I nodded. I hadn't realized how much it all still hurt until he mentioned it.

"Sometimes we think we have found something. We want so desperately for it to be true. Someone we can turn to … for comfort … somewhere in someone's embrace that feels like home. It hurts when we find it is only an illusion," he said.

What hurt even more was to hear my own thoughts falling from his lips. My heart and soul was pouring out through him. I wept at the depth of his understanding.

"What else do you see?" I asked.

Apparently I was an open book, and he was an avid reader.

"No man will ever live up to your father in your eyes."

That was true. Jacob Mercury, my father and commander of The Hunters was my hero.

"You are afraid of what would become of you if you did not have him. No one else could ever fill that void."

I cried harder and he held me tighter.

"You still love Peter," he said.

My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of his name.

"You were afraid that you would die, or the world would end and you would have never known love. You wished for it, you prayed for it. It never went away."

I hurt so deeply at the memory. It felt like someone had hit me … hard. I curled against him as I cried, laying my cheek against his thigh. My tears soaked his pants as he recalled my past heartaches in stunning detail. My dog getting hit by a car when I was six, every friend who'd ever moved away, or turned their back on me. I straightened up a bit and let him hold me against his chest as he continued. "I know that you have not been completely happy since you were eight years old. The world did not seem like such a bad place then. You trusted without question, loved without fear, and enjoyed life without guilt. You were innocent. Then the kind old woman next door was killed by werewolves. You overheard your parents discussing the gruesome details. You realized the world was not perfect."

As the memories got more painful he held onto me as if he were trying to keep me from falling apart.

"You are afraid to give yourself completely, because every time you do, it all falls apart. You feel alone and wounded. You have been looking for that feeling of safety … of home ever since you lost it. Every time you have almost found it, it is snatched away." He paused and pulled back with my face in his hands. "You know what else I see?" he asked. "You would not have missed it for the world," he whispered, smiling through his tears. "It is just as you told me once before. All of your love, your hate, pain, and passion has made you who you are." He paused again. "You are going to be alright. You do not hang out in crowds often, or like to attend parties. You are afraid that it will dilute some of what you are, your passion. You do not want to get involved enough with other people to let them put out your fire. Some day you will learn to use all of those powerful feelings to your advantage." He held me close again as he finished, "And it will move the world."

I opened up and let myself feel the peace, the comfort that I had been longing for in his arms. I trusted. I let myself feel complete. For a few moments I was eight years old again, and all was right with the world.

* * * *

I woke up crying. It was still before dawn, and I slipped quietly from the bed and closed the bathroom door behind me. I sagged to the floor and rested my head against the tub while I cried. I didn't make much noise, but I cried so hard I thought my insides were being torn out.

Seeing Dracula as himself would have been painful enough without seeing him as The Phantom. I have always loved The Phantom. I believe he represents the duality of human nature. We all have a face we show the world and one we keep in private. I could always relate emotionally, and later physically as well. There are several vicious slashes across the right side of my stomach, beginning level with my belly button, and extending to the front of my upper hip bone. Three diagonal cuts above my navel, and three cuts at an angle on the left side. However, I envy a part of other women that is not essential to daily interactions. How terrible would it be to look at men and envy their face? Especially to someone as beautiful as Dracula.  

LENGTH: Category
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-390-1                                       Download $5.50
Retail price $11.99
(s&h not included in price)

For Print: 

For Ebook:

He might be her enemy, but she could have this night. In the darkness he could be hers and with the light of dawn, no one would know what had passed between them in the night.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance.

WICKED CITY

By

Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, December 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, December 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-390-1

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

"I didn't realize I'd been dating a vampire until the night I died."

Lavinia watched as the girls' eyes widened appreciatively at her story. People were always wanting to know how she got turned. Vampires were all the rage it seemed. She told a different story every time she was asked, only this one was true. She wasn't schizophrenic or anything and it wasn't like she had trouble remembering how she'd been turned … or how she had been betrayed. She just didn't think it was anyone's business. So she usually made something up.

The two girls sitting across from her couldn't have been more than eighteen. They were dressed in black and one was wearing fake fangs. Lavinia fought the urge to roll her eyes. In over two hundred years she had gotten use to the "normal" reaction. Pitchforks, torches, stakes and crosses, that kind of thing. But this new vampire fetish had her stumped. Ever since they had decided to go public her afterlife had changed. Lavinia had always been able to mingle with mortals with relative ease. But now, with all their identifying traits made known, she often stood out in a crowd. Even when she didn't let her fangs show. Sometimes it was because she was the only one in a restaurant who didn't eat. Other times it was the near perfection of her alabaster skin that gave her away. Whatever it was, it seemed that everywhere she went, someone wanted to hear her story. Well, tonight she was going to tell it. At least, enough to scare them away.

"So you were bitten by your boyfriend?" the one with the fangs asked.

"Yes. He drained most of my blood and left me for dead." She reported the tale flatly, as if she were speaking about someone else. She hoped this made it even more frightening to the young women who were so interested to learn more about her. However it was all Lavinia could do to hide the pain she was feeling at just the mention of her true origins.

"Um … how old are you?"

Lavinia put down the papers she had been trying to read and sighed. "Old enough to know this is not a game. And these aren't fashion statements." She pointed at her own fangs. "Go home and find another hobby."

"But we just--"

"Go home," she repeated, but her tone was softer this time. "Interviewing vampires is not a safe pastime."

"Why, are you going to bite us?"

Lavinia raised a brow. "No. I have no interest in young girls. But I can't say the same for everyone else here."

Lavinia gestured toward the rest of the room. She watched as the two girls took the place in with a glance, and quickly departed. In a matter of seconds she was left with only the faint smell of their perfume and a smile curled her sensuous lips. Maybe she had saved their lives, maybe not. Either way, they had no business in this place. Lavinia took another look at her familiar surroundings. Dark chocolate colored drapes were pulled back, revealing the street outside. Soft rays of moonlight shown onto a few tables and reflected off the black and white checkered floor. Vampires sat in booths around the room. Some were there with companions, deeply engrossed in conversation. Others, like Lavinia, were alone. Unlike her, most did not prefer it that way.

"Sorry about that. I didn't see them come in."

Lavinia smiled at the familiar masculine voice. The vampire standing over her was named Judas and he ran A Whiter Shade of Pale. It was sort of like a coffee shop, except for vampires. They sold a substance known as Re-vita Life. It had only hit the market in the past couple of years. It was a blood substitute for vamps who were trying to be more politically correct and not drink blood in public. Lavinia wasn't much for PC, but she actually enjoyed the flavor. Besides, drinking from a coffee cup made her feel almost normal sometimes. She enjoyed what she was. However there were times, like when she saw fear in the eyes of those young girls, that she wanted to be normal for just a little while.

"That's alright," she said, smiling up at Judas. "You can't always keep out the fang bait."

"The usual?"

"That'll be fine."

She only paused a moment to watch him walk away, taking in the tight curve of his ass and the way his long red hair swished when he moved. Maybe she would see him over at Sinful Delights later. She could use a good romp in the sack. She smiled when Judas paused beside the counter and turned back, his long silken hair spilling over one shoulder and down his back. He gave her a wink that seemed to say he could feel her eyes on him, and he didn't mind at all.

Lavinia returned his wink and went back to reading the papers in front of her. They were written in an ancient language the two girls couldn't possibly have understood, so she hadn't bothered hiding them. In fact, she'd heard most vampires couldn't read it either. It was a language spoken only by the ancients and one she had learned a long time ago. From what she understood, most vampires knew nothing of its existence, nor did they care to. It was for this reason that Lavinia could read the death sentence in public.

Her orders were to be carried out tonight. She'd learned not to ask questions. Being an assassin wasn't the best job she'd ever had, but the money was good and business was never slow. She was known as The Reaper. Only one person knew her true identity. Most who had heard the name didn't even know if The Reaper was a man or a woman. But the master of the city knew and it was for him that she worked. He had saved her when she was left for dead all those years ago, and Lavinia felt she owed him her allegiance.

Time was growing short. She needed to feed, but business first. She finished her cup of Re-Vita Life and stepped out into the night. The streets were busy. Traffic moved in an endless flow of metal and people cluttered about on the sidewalks. Everyone looked intent on getting somewhere. People moved around her. No one seemed to notice that she stood still. They just moved around, like water flowing past rocks in a river.

Lavinia looked up at the moon, closed her eyes and breathed in the night. The darkness was her strength and her freedom. It enveloped her like a familiar embrace. The moonlight caressed her pale skin almost like a lover's touch and she smiled, just as oblivious to the people around her as they seemed to be to her. But there was no time to waste. She needed to get moving too.

Lavinia headed across town to her apartment. Being a servant of the master did have its advantages, and her penthouse was one of them. What furnishings she had were expensive, but she had never been much for decorating. Lavinia pulled the death sentence from her inner coat pocket and picked up a lighter on her way to the closet. She lit the papers on fire and tossed them into a metal trash can before changing clothes.

Blood didn't show up on black and it was for this reason she preferred the color. Lavinia had accepted what she was years ago. She wasn't squeamish when it came to blood and she wasn't shy when it came to her sexuality. After all, both were necessary to sustain a succubus. She wore a solid black bodysuit and knee high boots. Her long dark hair blended with the outfit which stood out in sharp contrast against her pale skin and blood-red lips. Her dark eyes sparkled in the mirror as she smiled her approval of her appearance before turning out the light.

Time to go to work.

Robert had been a pain in the master's ass for quite some time. He stuck his nose into too many places where it didn't belong. Honestly, she was surprised she hadn't gotten the order for his execution before tonight. Lavinia preferred to take out her targets from a distance. It made for an easier escape. But this specifically called for "up close and personal." Maybe that was because the order had come directly from the vampire council. Once the master spoke to them of Robert's nosy ways, they decided he had to go. And not in a pleasant way.

She was to cut out his heart and bring it back in a box "Snow White" style. Only she had forgotten to bring a box. She was halfway across town and closing fast on Robert's location when she realized her mistake. Lavinia could move at superhuman speed and preferred to go on foot to find her targets. That way she didn't have to worry about her car getting blocked in when she needed to make a fast get-a-way. She came to a screeching halt in an alleyway and started rummaging around for a decent box. A Chinese takeout carton was the best she could do.

"Gross."

She dumped the carton's half-eaten contents onto the pavement, careful to get nothing on her hands or clothes. It smelled like ass, but it would have to do. In a matter of minutes she stepped back onto the sidewalk. There were only a few people out at this hour and in a bad part of the city. Lavinia definitely stood out. Two men from across the street looked her way and she captured them with her eyes.

"Do not see me," she whispered.

The men went back to talking to each other as if she didn't exist and Lavinia took off once more toward her target.

She stopped several feet short of the building where he was supposed to be. The master had arranged for Robert to meet one of his representatives here. He had made up some bullshit business deal as a premise for the meeting and it looked like Robert had taken the bait. She moved slowly past his car and sat the takeout carton on the hood before stepping out of the shadows.

Robert had his back turned and she was quite certain that he was unaware of her presence. He had long brown hair and was only slightly taller than she. His dark eyes glimmered in the faint light as he turned to greet her.

"Lavinia," Robert said, moving toward her. "I didn't expect to see you."

"Well, I am a representative of the master. Have you obeyed his command and come alone?"

He spread his arms wide in a harmless gesture.

"Why, can't we do business if I brought a friend?" he teased.

"I'm afraid not."

"I'm alone," he answered, but she already knew that.

Lavinia was on him in a heartbeat and though he struggled, Robert was no match for a vampire over a hundred and fifty years older than himself. She wrapped her legs around his waist with such force that his ribs cracked. When he cried out in pain, she broke his neck, taking him to the ground.

Her hand was a blur as she removed the dagger from her boot and sliced off his head before setting to work at removing his heart. She packed the heart as neatly as possible into the carton before licking her fingers. Just as she did so a chill ran through her and the sky rumbled overhead.

"A storm must be coming," she thought.

Lavinia was starving, but feeding from his body was out of the question. If someone were to find him before dawn, it would give away the fact that The Reaper was a vampire. As it stood now, no one knew if The Reaper was human, vampire, or some sort of shape shifter. She was always careful not to leave any identifying marks behind in order to add to the mystique.

The taste of blood, though small, was enough to kick her libido into overdrive. Sex and blood go hand and hand for one like her and Lavinia knew when to give in to her cravings. Sex was a primal urge, a drive. A need as basic to human survival as food and shelter. That desire did not diminish with death, for the undead still hearken to its call.

She picked up a ratty old suitcase in another alley and put the carton inside it. She knew where to find the master and that's where she was headed. He would be at his club. The fact that he owned the largest preternatural sex club in Wicked City was just a bonus.

Sinful Delights wasn't hard to find. It was located in the heart of the city and sex radiated from the building in waves. Halfway there it started to rain, but that wasn't the only reason Lavinia was wet by the time she knocked on the door. A slot high on the door opened and a pair of pale blue eyes looked down at her. Lavinia saw the desire reflected in those eyes as they took in her appearance and a hungry growl could be heard on the other side of the door.

"Let me in."

She was well known here and didn't need a password to enter. The tall blond werewolf swung the door wide and motioned for her to step through. The building smelled like an old theatre, perhaps because it used to be one, but underneath that was the smell of cologne and sex. Lavinia breathed deeply as she stepped through the door and smiled.

"It would be my pleasure," he said, and his meaning was clear. If she wanted werewolf, he was on the menu tonight.

Logan always looked good enough to eat, but never more than he did tonight. He was six foot four and every inch of him was just as gorgeous as the last. Lavinia knew this from personal experience and she smiled with the memory as she reached up to place her hand on his bare chest. He was wearing black leather pants that fit well over the parts she recalled so fondly. His dark blue shirt hung completely open. She pressed a kiss against his skin and breathed deeply of his scent. He smelled of leather, whiskey and fresh night air. It was actually quite alluring. Lavinia kissed his smooth skin once more before pulling back.

"Maybe later," she purred. "Is he in?"

She didn't need to clarify her request. Logan knew she had come to see the master.

"Upstairs."

Lavinia moved past a few of the other rooms on her way toward the stairs. Sounds of sex could be heard from within and she felt her muscles tighten. She could feel desire emanating from the rooms, pouring from the very walls. And though she could feed from it, it was not enough to satiate her craving. She hungered for hard male flesh. Lavinia gritted her teeth against the sensations coursing through her and focused on the task at hand.

At the very top of the stairs, at the very end of the hall, behind a red door was where she would find who could best be described as her oldest companion. The door opened before she could reach for it and a familiar smile welcomed her into the room. Jean Philippe was more than every young vampire's wet dream, he was the master of Wicked City and from the looks of things, he was very glad to see her.

"There's my killer."

The master let his hungry eyes drink in the sight of her. She was absolutely beautiful. Her long hair was wet from the storm outside and it clung about her shoulders like a dark cloud. Her tongue darted out to wet heart-shaped red lips and he smiled at his body's reaction. In two hundred years his desire for her had not decreased in the slightest.

Jean Philippe still remembered the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. Even then she had been lovely, a blood splattered angel in his eyes. It was obvious to him what she had the potential to become. He could see it in her eyes. She was a tigress, a warrior. She must have been caught unawares, he'd thought. He saw Lavinia that first time as the predator she was and not the prey she had become. "Yes," he thought as he watched her hips sway, her prowess evident in the movement. "Definitely a tigress."

Jean Philippe's hair was in slight disarray this evening and he tucked a stray curl behind his ear as he moved to prop against the desk.

"I trust everything went smoothly tonight." He made it a question, but he already knew the answer.

His French accent was always a welcome pleasure and Lavinia smiled at the sound as she opened the suitcase and sat it on the desk beside him. Jean Philippe wrinkled his nose in apparent distaste as he removed the white, blood-stained carton from the case.

"Uh, this smells like ass."

"You didn't say what it needed to smell like. You just said what needed to be inside." She gestured toward the carton. "Robert's heart, as promised."

"And on time." Jean Philippe placed the heart back inside the suitcase. "Your payment will be ready within the hour." He spoke as pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands.

Lavinia took a step toward him and opened his vest. His long black coat hung over the back of the chair and his white shirt was already unbuttoned, leaving only his vest standing between her and his bare skin. She ran a finger down his chest and he shivered beneath her touch.

"I'll take part now," she said boldly. "And I'll take it in flesh and blood."

A slow smile curved his lips. "Whose flesh and whose blood?"

She opened his shirt wide, placing her hands directly over his nipples. "Your flesh and Logan's blood."

"Is that all?" he teased.

"That depends. Is Judas around?"

Lavinia stood waiting a few moments later when Logan entered the room accompanied by the tall redheaded vampire. He was wearing a silver shirt and skin tight black pants. He moved into the room with confidence and winked at Jean Philippe before turning his attention toward Lavinia.

"So good to see you again," Judas said, smiling. "How can I be of service?"

She liked to be in charge and they knew it. This was not the first time the four of them had played this game. She had had them in so many ways and yet she always wanted more. Hungered for it, in fact. Lavinia wasn't dating Jean Philippe, though she knew most people assumed that was the case. Their relationship wasn't even one of romance … it was one of need. He had saved her when she needed saving and now she turned to him for satisfaction. It was as simple as that.

"Help me take off my boots," she said softly.

Judas knelt at her feet and did as he was asked. When he looked up at her from the floor Lavinia felt a thrill run through her. She really liked Judas kneeling before her. It made her feel powerful and turned her on something fierce. From what the men had shared with her, they liked her in control just as much as she did, so it was a familiar game. However, that didn't seem to make the players any less excited.

The master preferred to watch and so he rested against the desk as the scene unfolded before him. He watched as Lavinia's dark eyes began to glow with passion. He had only known one succubus before her. They had met briefly in Asia before her untimely death at the hands of vampire hunters. She was significantly older than him, but nowhere near as powerful as Lavinia. And Lavinia was under half her age. The price of such power was an even stronger hunger for sexual energy. It was a price he was glad to help her pay, though he sometimes wondered if Lavinia grew tired of the necessity of so many lovers. Even though they were intimate on a regular basis, she let no one near her heart. Jean Philippe knew the reasoning behind this, but he wondered if she ever wanted something more.

Logan moved behind her and started unzipping the wet bodysuit. He ran his hands up and down her body with a growl before he started removing the wet fabric. He could smell her arousal, like a rich perfume mingled with the scent of fresh rain and he hungered for her touch.

"I hadn't realized it was raining so hard," the werewolf said, his breath a warm promise across her skin.

He licked a few drops of moisture from her back and she shivered.

"Not that I mind getting a little wet."

Lavinia was starving, but she hungered for more than his blood. Logan wanted her. She could feel it in his touch. She could smell his desire. But she needed to taste it, to drink it down into her very soul. She turned to face him and stared up once more into his pale blue eyes. White blond hair fell forward over his shoulders as he bent forward and she licked her lips in anticipation.

His lips were pale, pink and perfect. Her skin still tingled from the last time those lips had touched her and she ached for them to do so again. Lavinia stood on tiptoe and Logan moved to meet her kiss. His tongue plunged inside her mouth as Judas finished peeling the wet bodysuit down her legs.

From across the room the master smiled when he saw she hadn't been wearing anything underneath.

She opened the werewolf's shirt wider and pressed her bare breasts against him. She reached back to touch Judas and with her lips still devouring Logan she commanded, "Take off your clothes."

Her sensual command came out as more of a moan against the werewolf's lips, but Judas seemed to have no trouble understanding her.

LENGTH: Mid Novel
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-319-2       Download $5.50                        Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-58608-724-x
Retail price $11.99
Our Price $9.59
(s&h not included in price)

Jewel Mathers needed a good story for her next novel. She turned to the ancient journals in desperation. But fame and fortune comes with a price … and a couple of hot vampires.

Jewel was in enough trouble after she accidentally published Vincent’s diary. But now the head of the vampire council, Alucard, wants her for himself. Her fate is in his hands. How will she ever choose between them? Especially when her life may depend on that choice.

Rating: Carnal.

Genre: Paranormal Romance.

 DIARY OF AN INCUBUS

By

Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, June 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, June2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-319-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com 

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

Chapter One

Mankind is an extremely odd word. I can’t remember the last time I associated the word “kind” with man or even with woman for that matter. People on the whole are absolutely terrible to one another. Every job I’ve ever had has forced me to deal with the public to a certain extent. People look down on you if you’re in a position to help them in some way. Even if that’s just helping them purchase some new jeans. They seem to think that you’re there to serve them and therefore you’re beneath them in some way.

I’ve done everything from working as a secretary to working in a shoe store. It’s all the same. The holidays in particular bring out the worst in people. It was fall and I was already dreading Christmas. At the time I was working in a video store. Half the people I worked with were completely out of their minds. I don’t know if they had a legitimate disorder like being bi-polar or if they were just fishing for attention. If they fished any harder they might as well wear bait attached to their shirts. I swear if I wanted drama I’d go to the fucking theatre. That is if I could afford it.

All I have ever wanted to do is be a writer. That’s been my dream since I was a very small child. When we were asked in kindergarten what we wanted to be when we grew up I said “a storyteller.” The teacher misunderstood and said, “You mean you want to tell lies?”

“No, I want to tell the stories in books,” I replied.

“Oh, so you want to be a writer.”

I was fortunate to have a mom and dad who believed in bedtime stories. I was also fortunate that my mom loved fantasy and my dad loved science fiction. As you can imagine, I got to hear some pretty wild tales just before bed. The first time I heard an epic saga of good verses evil I knew that’s what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to be the hero--I wanted to be the one to tell his story.

So what the hell was I doing in a video store? Well, it’s like this. I was broke. I don’t mean that in the sense of the word that a lot of people do. When I say broke that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t afford a few luxuries in life. It means that I could barely afford to put gas in my car to drive to the damn video store.

I just couldn’t get over this feeling that I was meant for so much more than this. Like I said, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’ve stayed awake so many nights writing stories in my head, my heart swelling with emotion at the thoughts of sharing it with the world. My first book was published almost a year ago and it had even been a best seller. I was thrilled with that, but it wasn’t enough.

A lot of folks have the impression that a best seller means you’re rich. Wrong. It means that you’ve writtenone decent book. The trick is to follow it up with something else that readers will enjoy before everyone who actually remembers your name forgets you ever existed.

About the time my first novel got accepted, I lost my last job, as a secretary for a junior college. Well, I was forced to quit is more accurate really. I was so thrilled to have a publisher evenconsidering  my work that I told some of the people I worked with about it. I didn’t say it to brag. I said it like, “Isn’t this fantastic? I can’t believe it!”

Boy, was that ever a mistake. One of the twerps in the IT department got jealous and set things up to make it look like I’d been downloading porn on my computer. Okay, I barely had time to pee on this job, let alone look up pornography. Besides, I’ve got a computer at home for that crap. I was never allowed to see the supposed “evidence,” but told that my only options were to be fired or quit. I didn’t want my reputation ruined so I quit.

I had to spend the three thousand dollar advance on my contract just to live and still I lost my apartment. Thank God my car was already paid for. One year later, I was living with my uncle just outside Savannah, Georgia. He was good enough to put me up in his guest house. I will be eternally grateful, especially since it took me almost a year to even find the job I had then. Years ago when I first started looking for employment all I ever heard was “You don’t have enough experience.” Well, now I hear, “You’re overqualified.”

The only thing I really had going for me was my imagination and lately that had been on the fritz. There’s a clause in my publishing contract that had been on my mind a lot over the past week or so. See the editor believed in my work so much (at least that’s how I interpreted the clause) that I was obligated for three more books. It wasn’t that I didn’t have more ideas. My life had been in such turmoil for the past year that I hadn’t had time to bring any of those ideas into fruition. I didn’t even have a decent outline going. To make matters worse, I needed to produce at least a rough draft for my editor within the next four months or I would be in breach of contract.

As I walked into the empty guest house that night I tossed down my keys and said, “Honey, I’m home.” I took a beer out of the fridge. “From another shitty pointless day at work.”

My big orange cat, Tang leapt onto the back of the sofa and stared at me for a moment. Then he stretched out his fat rolls and made himself comfortable while I opened my beer.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” I said to the cat. “I’m twenty seven years old and I work in a video store for Pete’s sake. I should have done so much more with my life by now. It’s not that I’m old or anything … but I don’t want to be thirty years old and still be nobody.”

“You’re not nobody,” my uncle called from the doorway. “And you should learn to lock your doors.”

My uncle Randolph is around six feet tall with short black hair that’s started to gray at the temples. He says it makes him look older, but I say it makes him look dignified. He’s divorced and doesn’t seem interested in getting married again. He got a bad dose the first time around and seems content now to be by himself. Well, he was by himself until I moved in the guest house.

“I suppose there’s no point in asking how your day went?” he asked as he lowered his lean frame onto the couch beside me.

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you’re drinking and talking to your cat. You’re not fine.”

I decided not to argue the point. He was right.

“I’m depressed,” I admitted.

“More like afraid,” he said softly.

He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. He’d been doing that ever since I was little and it made me smile. No amount of straightening in the world could tame my wild hair without a flat iron and even that took effort.

“You’re right.” Emotion filled my voice and I found it hard to speak as I confessed, “I’m afraid of living and dying … and no one ever really knowing that I existed. I don’t want to live and die in mediocrity.” I sighed. “And I can’t seem to shake this funk I’ve settled into.”

He leaned forward and picked up my book from the coffee table, lightly tracing his thumb across the raised letters on the front.

“Dreams of the Vampire,” he said, “by Jewel Mathers. How great is it to see your name in print?”

“Wonderful, but it’s starting to wear off.”

“Don’t let it,” he said firmly. “You could finish unpacking if you need to get your mind off things. You’ve been here three months and there are still boxes stacked in the hallway.” He stood back up. “I won’t tell you not to drink, because I drink too. But I will tell you that whatever you’re wrestling with today will still be here when you sober up tomorrow.”

Wise words I should have listened to. But I was depressed and in the mood to drink. After my uncle left I finished my beer and decided I wanted to go out for a change. I stripped out of my uniform on the way down the hall. Blue shirt with the company logo across my left breast and khaki pants. I fucking hate khaki pants. They’re so pretentious, especially the ones with pleats.

The hot shower was a welcome relief. As the water fell over me I felt it begin to plaster my long hair against my back. My hair is a bright auburn and naturally full of waves. It isn’t frizzy like you might expect from natural curl. When I let it dry on its own it hangs in little ringlets. But tonight I wouldn’t have time for that. So, I decided that when I got out I needed to plug up my flat iron.

While I tried my best to wash away the sins of the day my mind kept drifting to the incubus who had inspired my first novel. Well, that’s what I called him anyway. I had no idea who he really was. I had always been fascinated with vampires, werewolves and other creatures of the night. My uncle knew this and picked up things for me here and there. Macabre little tidbits from his travels. He traveled a lot for his job, but he also took one big vacation a year, usually to a foreign country.

He had been in London shortly before my eighteenth birthday and as a graduation present he purchased some journals for me at an estate sale. I had never finished reading them. They were too real somehow. However, I had scanned them and there was no date, no author mentioned, nothing. They were written like a journal, but no dates were listed for the entries. I could tell by the look of them that they were old. I had wondered often enough who wrote them. Whoever they were, I’m sure they were long since dead. I had finally decided that the journals were an unpublished work of fiction. After all, vampires don’t exist.

The story was told in first person and I had read enough to get a feel for the main character, about twenty pages or so. He never once described himself, but he was so real to me. His name was Vincent Marcellus and he was positively ravishing. The only reason I even knew his name is that as he recounted the story of his life, he mentioned it only once in the few pages I read. If I knew the journals were real then I’d say that he was the author. But Vincent had to be the character, not the author. The brief glimpse I had gotten simplyhad to be fiction.

I put the first journal down after reading those few pages. My heart was beating so fast I thought I might faint. My face was flushed and images of a man who had never been described filled my mind. When I finally slept that night he also filled my dreams. He touched me in ways no one ever had, not just with his hands, but with his voice. There was no part of me he did not touch that night, including my heart. That was almost ten years ago and to this day when I close my eyes I can still see his face and feel his long dark hair spilling across my skin. If I concentrate, I can remember the touch of the softest, most luscious lips I’ve ever kissed, and recall the look in the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. Eyes which held me like no one’s arms ever could.

It was the memory of this man, this vampire, which had inspired my novel. It was also the reason I had never picked up the journals again after that night. I had never experienced anything like that before. Although I’m fascinated by the paranormal, I wasn’t entirely sure I believed in it. The next morning I had checked myself repeatedly for bite marks, but then I remembered he didn’t bite me. There were no marks on my body of any kind, but I could still smell his cologne on my pillow. Thinking about it almost ten years later both aroused and frightened me. And as I stepped out of the shower I decided to put my mind back on my present situation.

I had moved to Savannah from Florida three months ago. I just couldn’t stand to be a failure in front of the people I grew up with. My uncle understood me better than most of my relatives and I never felt like he was judging me. That’s why I’d accepted his kind offer to let me live in his guest house.

I stood in front of the open closet while I dried my hair. I wasn’t really looking to impress anyone tonight. I just wanted to relax and unwind a bit. Maybe it would help me to come up with my next story. Finally, I selected a pair of torn jeans and a short green t-shirt. The emerald fabric was the exact same color as my eyes and went well with my hair.

As I slid into the jeans I noticed they were looser than I remembered. Even though I was broke, my uncle made sure there was food in the cabinets. I just didn’t have an appetite lately. I’d always tried to exercise and stay in good shape, but I didn’t need to lose any weight. I put on a bra that was supposed to help minimize my large breasts before pulling on the t-shirt.

Next, I put on a little bit of makeup before slipping on some sandals and heading toward the door. I almost picked up my cell phone before remembering I’d had to discontinue the service. Since I’d already been drinking I decided to walk into town. After all, we only lived about a mile out of the city limits and I could use the exercise. I didn’t have the strength or the patience for aerobics at the moment and exercise always helped to clear my head. So, I put my keys in my pocket and headed toward town.

As usual after conjuring up images of the incubus, he was hard to put out of my mind. I had always read heavily about vampires and was convinced that this vampire was an incubus. It was the dream, more than the journal which convinced me of this. Like I said, at the time I wasn’t entirely sure that I believed in the paranormal. But after that night I began to reconsider. According to legend, an incubus is a much more sexual type of vampire who visits his victims in their dreams, feeding from their sexual energy as well as their blood. Did I believe I had been visited in such a way? I wasn’t really sure. But I did believe that whoever wrote those journals was trying to describe this type of vampire. I shook my head as if to clear him from my mind again and focused on the night around me.

The evening was still muggy, but much improved from the blistering heat of the day. To me, Savannah was most beautiful at night. I loved the moss covered oak trees which were found all over the city, the old graveyards and the haunted houses. I finally made my way to the bar I was looking for, an Irish pub near River Street.

Cool air hit me in the face when I opened the door and I breathed a sigh of relief. The place was fairly quiet, but then again it was a Monday night. Only hardcore alcoholics and a few random tourists were there on Monday. Since I’m a resident, I guess it’s clear which category I fell into.

I had been to the pub a few times since moving to Savannah. There was a cute, blond bartender who always tried to talk to me when I stopped by. His name was Matthew and he spotted me when I came in the door. I’d never been unfriendly to him, I’d just never really felt like talking that much. If I was in the mood to drink, that normally meant I was in a bad mood. I didn’t believe in taking my bad moods out on other people, so I didn’t say much when I was upset. I figured that worked out best for everybody.

But his smile was contagious and his accent made my heart flutter. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out on him. He knew what I liked by now and when I sat down it was only a moment before he put a vodka tonic in front of me.

“And how are ye today lass?” he asked playfully.

“Not as good as I have been.” The answer was honest, though not overly friendly. I frowned when I heard my tone. I hadn’t meant to sound abrupt.

He continued to wipe down the bar. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly is it ye do?”

“I’d rather not discuss what I do,” I said softly as I took a sip of my drink. “No offense,” I added.

“None taken.” He shrugged and continued to wipe the bar. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get to know ye.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Are you really Irish?” I asked suddenly.

I’m not sure what made me ask such a thing and for a moment I was embarrassed. I could feel myself starting to blush as he answered, “No,” and all traces of accent were gone. “I’m an out of work actor,” he said bluntly.

“Well, congratulations, Matthew, you’ve just met an out of work writer.”

LENGTH: Mid Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-2775      Download:$5.50                                 Retail: $12.99
(s&h not included in price)

For Print: 

For Ebook:

Catrina’s world is turned upside down the moment she agrees to Viktor’s plan. Who even knew that Abraham Van Helsing had a younger brother? Not only that, but a brother who was turned by the King of Vampires and who held such obvious power. Now she must deal with the consequences of her actions and an attraction she can no longer deny.

Rating: Spicy/Carnal.

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance.

 Eden

By

Tracey H. Kitts

©copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, April 2009

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, April 2009

ISBN 978-1-60394-305-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

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

Dedication:

To my readers. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading my work and for encouraging me to continue doing what I love.

Chapter One

The black-cloaked figure waited silently at the end of the path. And as he waited his hunger grew. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer before she arrived. After all he’d remembered to call ahead of time to arrange this meeting. He looked around the park, careful to remain in shadow. Most likely he was not alone, but no one was close enough to hear their thoughts.

At last she emerged from the darkness at the other end of the path. Not that he needed the light to see her, but the soft glow of the street lights added to the shimmer of her long dark hair. She was dressed all in black, which probably meant she had been working earlier this evening. As she came to a stop in front of him, he took a deep breath before reminding himself that breathing was not a necessity.

His desire for her flesh was nearly as strong as his desire for her blood. Yes, he wanted her, but they had a deal. He and this human monster hunter had come to an accord, and it was important that he maintain their agreement until she said otherwise. After all, no one would suspect a human for what he needed.

“Good evening, pussycat,” he purred.

His smooth voice made Catrina shiver, but she hid her reaction well. She had worked around vampires too much to not understand the importance of remaining neutral. If they sensed a weakness they would exploit it. Especially a sexual one.

“Viktor,” she said with a nod. “How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“And how many times have I listened?” he replied with a smile.

“Listen sugar fangs, this isn’t a social call,” she said. Her expression hadn’t changed, though her comment was more playful than sarcastic.

“It never is.” He sighed.

Catrina ran a hand through her wavy hair, sending it in an ebony cascade down her back. Her green eyes sparkled up at him, though they were the only indication of the attraction she felt. She had even learned to school her body to a certain extent against his charMs. The key was to not be alone with Viktor if she could avoid it. Most of their business had been conducted long distance with only brief meetings. He had insisted on seeing her tonight, said it couldn’t be avoided.

“Why have you asked me here, Viktor? You know I don’t like to get too personal with my clients.”

His expression became serious as he confided, “The werewolf has gone too far this time. His bid for power must be stopped.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, all traces of sarcasm now gone. “I’m no match for an alpha male werewolf,” she told him honestly. “I’m good. I can say that with no pride. But I’m not that good.”

“Ah, but you are thinking in terms of a fair fight,” he pointed out.

The vampire took a step into the light and let the hood fall back from his dark hair. It was nearly as long as Catrina’s and only slightly less wavy. His silvery grey eyes glinted in the moonlight as he looked down at her and Catrina felt her heart beat faster. She put up stronger mental shields in an effort to keep Viktor out of her mind. He already had the hots for her. She couldn’t let him inside her mind, it would be her undoing.

He took another deep breath, something she was beginning to suspect was a nervous gesture, since vampires didn’t need to breathe.

“You smell like dirt,” he said abruptly.

The comment caught her so off guard she laughed before quickly composing herself.

“It’s cover scent.” He raised an eyebrow and she explained, “I’ve been tracking a shifter who was giving his ex some probleMs. He lives in the suburbs.” Her expression told him clearly that she wasn’t giving out any more information. After all, it would be a violation of client confidentiality.

“Will you sit with me for a moment?” he asked softly.

“Viktor, I--”

“Only a moment,” he said. With these words he reached out and touched her shoulder and quickly withdrew his hand, realizing his faux pas as the monster hunter stiffened underneath his touch.

“Please, indulge me. What I have to say is not easy for me.”

Catrina had known the master of the city for five years now and never in all that time during their brief meetings had she ever seen him show this much emotion. She followed him to a bench and sat down a comfortable distance from the vampire, turning slightly to face him. As per their agreement, he didn’t try to hypnotize her, so Catrina looked him in the eye as he began to speak.

“Someone very close to me was killed last night,” he almost whispered.

“A friend?” she asked, still not sure how to react to this new side of him.

“A very close friend, for the last fifty years.”

“I’m sorry.”

She moved closer, but fought the urge to reach out to him. If she violated their agreement, all bets were off. Not only could she not fight Viktor, she really had no desire to.

“I turned him myself,” he continued. “He was like a brother to me.”

“What happened?”

“He was found just outside his apartment a few hours before dawn. His blood was completely drained, but he hadn’t been bitten. There was a gash across his throat which looked to have been made by a large claw.”

“And you think Alexander did this?” she asked and immediately regretted evoking the name of the alpha werewolf.

“Yes,” he nearly hissed. “It’s no secret that he has long desired to overthrow me. It’s unheard of! A werewolf as the master of the city,” he scoffed.

“How do you know that’s what he intends?”

“He’s not content to live in peace, like so many have done before him. I’ve heard his complaints before about werewolves being ‘second rate monsters.’ He wants to be master of the city, a position which has long been held by vampires. In particular, by me.”

“Have you done something to provoke him?” she asked. His eyes narrowed and she clarified, “I’m just asking. If I don’t know what is going on, how can I be expected to help?”

“Let’s just say that he and I do not get along.”

Catrina steeled her nerves and asked, “So, what exactly is it you want me to do?”

Victor turned toward her and the look in his eyes was very human. He looked so hurt and alone. “Don’t be fooled,” she told herself. “He’s still a vampire and that makes him dangerous.” She had accepted vampires as part of society as well as shifters, but that didn’t mean she trusted them. The fact of the matter was, they were different. She had nothing personal against them, despite her job. However, it was easier than being a private investigator, which was the last job she’d had before monster hunting. It wasn’t that tracking down and capturing or sometimes killing monsters was “easy.” However, it was much preferred to sneaking down dark alleys and watching your neighbor’s wife screwing her personal trainer. That type of work disgusted her.

Strangely enough, it was mostly monsters themselves who hired her. And even more strange, she preferred to work with them. Most shifters or vamps were so glad to be accepted into society that when she treated them equally she found herself instantly in their good graces.

Catrina was licensed to carry a handgun and had a black belt in more than one style of martial arts. She was tough, but she knew her limits. Many monster hunters killed for money, but for her that was a last resort and a duty she had rarely had to perform. Both times was in self defense, so she hadn’t been charged with a crime. Not that the police were gung-ho about tracking down someone who killed a monster. It wasn’t fair, but it was true.

Viktor had yet to answer her question. She turned more to face him also, mimicking his body language. Finally, he said, “If you do not wish to take on the job, I will understand. But there is no one else I would trust with it.”

So, he trusted her? That was interesting.

“I’d like to renegotiate our agreement,” he said.

He paused for a moment to gage her reaction before elaborating. When Catrina didn’t immediately object he plunged forward. “I have a plan for infiltrating Alexander’s defenses and if you are to help me with it, our original agreement cannot stand.”

He’d begun to formulate the plan almost immediately after learning of Harold’s death. If anyone would be able to help him pull it off, he was certain it was Catrina.

“What part do you want to renegotiate?” she asked, careful to keep any emotion from her voice.

Viktor leaned forward slightly, but stopped short of making contact. He was near enough now that she could smell his cologne. Catrina took a deep breath and fought the urge to sigh. Damn he smelled good.

“I need to touch you,” he said softly.

His words carried more emotion than he’d intended. Though there was nothing obscene in what he had said, his tone was meant for a more private setting. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her off. Her cooperation in this was crucial. Not to mention, he really did want to touch her for reasons that had nothing to do with revenge. Viktor had made no secret of his attraction, just as Catrina had made no secret of wanting to keep things on a professional level.

Her heart jumped painfully at his words. However, she tried not to overreact.

“Why?” she asked as calmly as possible.

“Hear me out,” he said, lifting his hands in a harmless gesture. “Alexander hates me. I believe the best way to get close to him is to have you pretend to hate me as well.”

“Fine, but what’s that got to do with touching me?”

The smile he gave her showed only part of what was going through his mind, and that was enough to make Catrina slide backward on the park bench.

“You know what they say about a woman scorned?” he purred.

“You want to scorn me?” she asked skeptically.

“I want to date you,” he clarified.

“Date me?!”

“It’s only for appearance sake,” he assured her. “Be seen with me, pretend to love me, then leave me. We’ll make up some horrible story about why you left, fake a public break-up and everything.”

Catrina leaned back, crossing her arms and legs as she studied the vampire for a moment. His expression was earnest. As best she could tell, he seemed sincere. But then again, Viktor had been trying to get into her pants for five years now. She scolded herself mentally for thinking the worst of him. No matter what he might say or do, she was convinced that Viktor would not have murdered his own best friend in order to form an elaborate plan to seduce her.

“Suppose I did go along with this, how is that supposed to help get information on Alexander?”

The vampire was thrilled to get to explain his plan further. “Alexander likes to consider himself a gentleman. You know, coming to the aid of ladies in distress and all that.” She snorted and he said, “Obviously, you’ll need to work on your damsel in distress routine.”

“I get the picture, so then what?”

“Go to him with your sob story. By that time, word will have reached him of our involvement. I don’t exactly live a very private life. Claim to want revenge. Get close to him, earn his trust. If he trusts you, he may confide in you.”

“Say he does, then what?” she prompted.

“Seduce him.”

Catrina rose from the bench with a speed that surprised even the vampire.

“You want me to sleep with him?! Forget it. I think you’ve got me confused with an escort service.”

She turned to go back the way she came and instantly found the vampire blocking her path. Viktor was tall, six foot five compared to her petite five foot four frame. He looked down at her and waves of long dark hair fell over his shoulders, framing his handsome face.

“No,” he said softly. “I do not want you to sleep with him and I could never confuse you with a prostitute.” She crossed her arms again angrily and glared up at him. “I want you to get him alone where I can kill him.” Catrina opened her mouth to protest again, but he held up a hand to stop her. “If he proves to be the one responsible. Otherwise, I promise to let him be.”

“I don’t know, Viktor. This really isn’t what I do.”

“I know that. Don’t worry, you will be well compensated for your trouble.”

He mentioned an obscene amount of money and Catrina replied, “It isn’t just about the money.”

“Then what is it about?” he asked.

“Look, you’re my oldest and most loyal client, so I’ll be honest with you. I’m not sure if I can do this. Acting is not exactly my strong point.”

“Give it some thought,” he said reasonably. “I’m not asking for more than that.”

About that time, his stomach growled loudly, reminding Viktor that he hadn’t fed this evening and reminding Catrina that she might be on the menu. Instinctively, her hand went to one of the silver plated Escrima sticks strapped to her thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have not yet fed this evening.”

“You should take care of that.”

She watched as Viktor pulled up the hood of his long black cloak before reaching inside his coat. Pressed between two of his long elegant fingers was a slip of paper which he held out toward her.

“Think it over,” he said. “And when you’ve reached a decision, you can find me here.”

She nodded, taking the card without taking her eyes off of him. “I’ll let you know within the week,” she said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to follow you home?” he offered. “Eden can be a dangerous place at night.”

“Eden can be a dangerous place during the day,” she said with a smile.

“Very well then.”

With a swish of fabric he was gone. He disappeared so quickly that for a moment she wondered if he’d even been real. The still frantic beating of her heart was the only indication that she had been alone with the vampire only moments before.

Her mind raced as she walked back across the short distance to her motorcycle. The vintage Harley had been a gift from her late uncle who was a collector. She’d had some saddle bags custom made to hold her weapons, and once she reached the bike she checked to be sure they were all still there.

Eden Park was quiet most of the time, but when there was trouble here, it was BIG trouble. Catrina threw one slender leg over the seat and put on her helmet. Entering the park hadn’t been a problem, maybe that had been because she had Viktor to occupy her thoughts then. But as she left, she found her eyes wandering to the clearing near the middle of the park.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” she told herself. “Looking won’t make the memory go away.”

Catrina began to focus intensely on the path before her, ignoring as best she could the spot where her older sister had been brutally raped nearly twenty years ago. Catrina was only eight at the time though she understood enough to know what had happened. It not only changed her sister’s life forever, but Catrina’s as well.

After seeing the devastation wrought on her sister, Mandy, Catrina made a promise to herself: She would never be a victim. Her mother didn’t object when she wanted to start taking martial arts classes. Muay Thai had been her first style. When she was seventeen, she signed herself up for Savate and Escrima as well. The French style of boxing or as they called it “footfighting” known as Savate had come naturally to her. As for Escrima, well she just liked to beat things with sticks.

A prospective client had asked once about her martial arts knowledge and said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Catrina had often asked herself the same question. And every time she thought of Mandy she had the answer, “No.”

LENGTH: Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy/Carnal

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2009
ISBN: 978-1-60394-277-5    Download $5.99
Trade Paperback ISBN: 1-58608-
Retail price $11.99
Our Price $9.59
(s&h not included in price) 

For Print: 

For Ebook:

Sandra Ashton is a witch who suddenly finds herself dating three vampires. So, what do you do when you’ve got three immortal beings professing their undying or is that undead love for you? You agree to what they like to call, ‘joint custody’.

Rating: Spicy/Carnal.

Genre: Paranormal Romance.

 BITTEN

 By

 Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, February 2009

Cover art by Alex DeShanks, February 2009

ISBN 978-60394-277-5

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

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

Chapter One

How do dead men attract so many live women? I can’t, for the life of me, understand it. It was Halloween night, and I was yet again trying to unravel this mystery. I might have had more success without the alcohol. But I’d been suckered into the whole situation, anyway.

I was at a bachelorette party in a club called Lucy’s. Who the hell has their bachelorette party on Halloween night? My friend, Karen. While I watched the tall, leggy blond celebrating her last night as a free woman, I got distracted by … the wildlife.

One of the main attractions at Lucy’s was its dancers. Taking center stage was a luscious piece of meat by the name of Alex. He was a weretiger. I knew this because he’d purred at me earlier. His lithe body moved easily to the music, like a well-oiled machine. He was beautiful, but I didn’t pay much attention. While he gyrated to some of Ms. Lennox’s greatest hits, I found what sweet dreams were made of—and it wasn’t on stage.

He was around six-feet tall with long auburn hair and the most magnificent backside I’d ever seen. I couldn’t wait to see what his front looked like. While I took in the view, the lyrics of the song combined with my blood alcohol level made me think I might like to be used by him. Better yet, what it might be to abuse him.

Whoever he was, I was willing to bet he wasn’t human. The really hot ones rarely are. Everyone knows Lucy’s isn’t run by humans, though the patrons are almost exclusively human, but I was still surprised to come across someone so obviously …other.

As I watched him, I knew he was aware of my gaze. How could he not be? As my grandmother would have said, I was “staring a hole through him.” On my way to the restroom, I had to force myself to look away from the redheaded stranger before I ran into a table.

My red dress was still in good shape, even after a night of bar hopping with a bunch of drunken twenty-something’s. It was strappy and short, but not short enough to look slutty. The color went well with my dark hair, and I ran a hand through my long wavy locks as means of freshening up. After rummaging in my little red evening bag, I powdered my nose and reapplied lipstick before leaving the restroom. If that tall, handsome … whatever he was decided to look my way, I wanted to give him something worth looking at.

I reentered the main room, and he turned toward me as if he’d read my mind. His hair fell in a silken mass about his shoulders as he turned. His eyes were a stunning shade of green, which matched his shirt perfectly and complemented his hair. I admit that I have a weakness for redheads, but this one made me literally weak.

The top few buttons on his shirt were undone and I tried not to stare at the pulse in his throat as he approached. My smile just wasn’t working, and I’m sure I looked as nervous as I felt. Before he could get closer, I walked out the back door. Yes, I know it was a cowardly thing to do, but I wasn’t about to pick up a strange preternatural being. I’d also had quite enough of the party and was taking out my cell phone to call a cab when I froze.

Something was coming toward me. I looked around and realized I’d walked out into a dark alley. Stupid is too mild a word. Whatever it was, it growled as it approached, and I saw amber eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Going somewhere?” a deep voice growled.

Before I could answer, I was pinned against the wall. My cell phone fell to the ground along with my purse. A werewolf had flung himself at me and was pinning me by the throat against the wall. I could barely breathe, let alone summon up a scream.

He leaned in and began to sniff my midriff as if he were breathing in a steak on the grill. But before he could bite into my flesh, he was gone. I hit the ground and stared in numb shock as the redheaded stranger flung the werewolf down the alley as if he weighed nothing.

The wolf yelped like an injured dog and ran, but my savior didn’t pursue. As the stranger turned to me, his eyes glowed as well and with his long hair now covering his face, they were all I could see.

“My name is Navarre,” he said, and his voice was like velvet. “I don’t know who you are Miss, but you should stay out of dark alleys.”

“I’m Sandra.”

“Well, Sandra, it looks as if my dinner has escaped this evening.”

Then I understood. He was a vampire. I looked into his eyes once more and knew what Navarre wanted as a reward. I tilted my head and instantly felt his lips pressed against my throat. I’m not sure the exact moment he bit me. Excitement and arousal coursed through my veins like the greatest thrill. He smelled of expensive cologne and his hair fell across my face as he embraced me. Just as the pleasure became almost too much, I felt the slightest pain, and he withdrew from me.

Navarre thanked me for my generous reward, and I made it home safely that night.

“You may think I’m crazy, but that won’t be my last visit to Lucy’s. Blame it on my weakness for redheads, but I’m going back for more,” I told my sister.

“You’re crazy,” Priscilla said with a laugh.

“You should have seen him,” I insisted while fumbling around in the cabinet for some aspirin.

“Are you going to tell Zanna?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Zanna is my grandmother, though we’ve always called her by her first name. She’s also a witch, like most of our ancestors, which might explain some of the odd behaviors of my family, but certainly not all of them. She runs a shop in town called “Potions, lotions, and other wicked notions.”

“But, I thought you were working today?” Priscilla asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“So, those marks are obvious,” she teased.

As she said this my sister rose from her chair and pulled back my hair, exposing Navarre’s bite.

“You have a point.” I sighed. “I’ll just wear a turtleneck until it heals.”

“Oh,” she said, dropping my hair back into place. “I’ve got just the thing,” she assured me as she took off toward her room.

Priscilla and I both live with our grandmother. Our parents died when we were young, and life with her is just about all we’ve ever known. Zanna has a large, though very strange, home built by her great grandparents years ago. The style is eclectic, to say the least. It’s not exactly Victorian, but it’s close. Priscilla lives at the top of what we used to call “the tower” when we were little, and I live in the guesthouse which is connected through the greenhouse.

There are plants growing all over our home. Whether it is in the greenhouse, or up the side of the porch. At a glance, it might look overgrown. But upon closer inspection, you can see how lush everything is and that the place is actually well tended. It’s almost like one big garden that just happens to have a house in the middle of it.

While I took some aspirin, I heard something crash at the top of the stairs.

“Not another of your remedies, Pris,” I yelled. “The last one broke me out in hives.”

“This one will work,” she called.

From the sound of things, she was already on her way downstairs.

“Here,” she said, holding a little jar out in front of her.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

I took a whiff of the contents and nearly passed out.

“Don’t ask,” she answered. “Just rub a little bit of this over the bite and it will be well by morning.”

“Are you serious?”

“Just do it,” she said urgently. “I swear this one will work.”

Priscilla is three years older than me. She’s a bit strange, but brilliant. There was only one problem with her spell work. Her potions either really worked, or theyreally didn’t. Still, I didn’t want to have to worry about covering up my neck for longer than a day or so, so I let her rub the mixture over the small puncture wounds.

“There,” she said, smiling. “Now, you’ll only need to wear a turtleneck for today.” She took a closer look at me and asked, “Exactly how did you get home last night?”

“I must have taken a cab,” I said, turning back to the coffee pot. It was still really early and if I was going to make it through the day with a hangover, I needed some caffeine.

“Must have? You mean you don’t remember?”

“Not exactly, no. But I was really drunk,” I reminded her. “The point is that I made it home in one piece. I could have been killed by that werewolf, but as it is, I’m unharmed.”

“Unharmed?! You were bitten by a vampire and don’t remember how you got home!”

I shut my eyes tight against her shrill voice.

“You don’t have to yell, Pris. I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Sure you do, but not about the bite. You just feel bad because you drank too much. What you did last night was very dangerous.”

“You’re not my keeper,” I said angrily.

“No, I’m not. But you know what Zanna always said about vamps. They can’t be trusted. They just aren’t human anymore. They see the world differently than we do. Okay, so he was hot. There’s nothing wrong with that, but you can’t get mixed up with him.”

“And that fling you had with the wereleopard—that was all right I suppose?”

Priscilla rolled her eyes. “No one needs to know about that. Besides, that was different.”

“How so?”

“I just wanted a good fuck.”

I laughed and it made my head throb.

“What makes you think I’m looking for more than that?”

She grew very serious and to my surprise, she hugged me.

“Because John was a redhead.” She sighed. “It’s not just a weakness, honey. You’re looking for a man who doesn’t exist.”

“I’m not looking for John,” I answered softly.

“Then what are you looking for that a living breathing human can’t satisfy?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and walked back with it through the greenhouse and into the guesthouse. Two thousand square feet all to myself, was normally enough to make me smile, but not today. No one had mentioned my John in a long time, and I couldn’t help but be a little sad at his memory.

We were married right out of high school. He was the love of my life and for two years we were perfectly happy. We’d even decided to have children. But before I could get pregnant, John was killed on his way home from work one night by a drunk driver. To make matters worse, the driver was one of my ex-boyfriends. His name was Jamie, and no matter how much he apologized, I still hated him.

I found Zanna’s copy of the Necronomicon and was going to attempt to resurrect John, but she stopped me. Thank goodness for that. I was out of my mind with grief and only later saw the foolishness of what I had almost done.

I wanted to curse Jamie too, but I never did. Still, it didn’t matter. He killed himself two months later. He left a letter explaining that he blamed himself for John’s death. Even though he was going to serve time for involuntary manslaughter, Jamie didn’t feel that was a harsh enough punishment for what he’d done. To my discredit, I agreed. However, I had never forgiven myself for hating him. Even though I had never performed the curse, I wished it on him with my hatred. Jamie’s death was my fault, and there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t pray for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” Priscilla said from behind me and I jumped. I hadn’t heard her following me. “I shouldn’t have mentioned John,” she said softly.

“No, it’s all right,” I said. “That was nine years ago. You’d think I could hear his name without falling to pieces by now.”

“Come on,” Priscilla said with a sigh. “Get dressed and let’s go to work. I’m supposed to brew up some more ritual bath wash today.”

Ritual bath wash was one of our best sellers, and something that my sister did well. Her cleansing magic never failed and as she smiled at me that morning, I felt like my spirit was being washed clean.

“All right,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Give me about twenty minutes and I’ll be ready.”

Today was the day I was supposed to collect some fresh ingredients and order others online. Our shelves were getting a little bare in some areas. You’d be surprised what a market there is for already prepared spells. Or better yet, those who are willing to pay to have a spell performed. Sure, there were plenty of people who still hated us for what we were, but there were plenty who didn’t, and we were well out of the Burning Times.

Our house was on the outskirts of a little town in South Carolina called Westley, and it was beautiful this time of year. October was my favorite month of the whole year, and fall, my favorite season. Unfortunately, this day was November first, and my favorite holiday had passed. I’d much rather have dressed up and passed out candy to the kids last night instead of being dragged along with Karen. But I was going to be her maid of honor this Saturday, so I really had to be there.

As I selected a comfortable pair of jeans to wear, I reminded myself that if I hadn’t gone along, I never would have met Navarre.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked my reflection while I brushed my hair. “You can’t get involved with a vampire. Pris is right.”

But while I plugged in my flat iron, I didn’t listen. In a few minutes, I had straightened out my long dark hair and found a comfortable blue turtleneck. Priscilla, who was always hot-natured, met me at the door wearing Capri pants, a T-shirt and sandals.

“It’s sixty degrees out here,” I said incredulously.

“Yeah, it feels great,” she said.

LENGTH: Borderline Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2008
ISBN: 978-1-60394-221-8
Download $5.50
(s&h not included in price)

Jane Masters had no idea she was a necromancer … until she raised her dead boss. Luis Phillippe is the vampire responsible for the power mingled in her blood. When Luis reveals the details of her past life and the source of her power, her heart remembers him. But will she survive to love him this time?

Rating: Sensual.

Genre: Paranormal Romance.

BRAIN DEAD

By

Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, August 2008

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, August 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-221-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

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

Chapter One

“Sheep’s clothing doesn’t come in my size.” The words jumped off the page of the magazine Jane Masters was reading. It was featuring an article about an overweight female werewolf.

“Here,” she said, turning to her coworker, Josie. “You can read it now if you like. I’ve had my fill of overweight werewolves and psychotic psychics for one day.”

“Anything interesting?” Josie asked, taking the latest copy ofParanormal Times from Jane.

Jane shrugged. “Bite and Run accidents are on the rise.”

“Burning Desire,” Josie read the next headline out loud.

“Yeah, it’s about some pyromancer who accidentally set fire to his whole neighborhood.” Jane turned toward the door. “I’m going to take a break.” she added.

In the past month she had been demoted, kicked out of her office, and forced into taking over the duties of not only the secretary, but the receptionist, as well. If this was how life was always going to be, Jane had begun to seriously consider that life wasn’t worth it.

What was the point? She had yet to have in her twenty seven years,one positive work experience. Everyone it seemed was ruthless, lacking in basic compassion and human kindness. Human, that had become such a strange word. Funny, how no one seemed to treat her as even that.

“Do you want anything?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Josie answered with a laugh, “a million bucks and a hot vampire.”

Josie wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t too busy flinging herself at all the male students who came into their office, having hot flashes, or actually showed up sober. The way she’d swaggered into the office early that morning let Jane know that today was not one of those days.

Jane had two true friends in the university where she worked and met one of them on her way downstairs. Keri Underwood worked as a secretary on the third floor. She was petite and blond and much too bright to work in a place like this.

“How’s it going?” Keri asked. . “Did you find anything in the classifieds worth looking into?”

“Let’s face facts,” Jane said. “We live in the South, and if you’re not a good ol’ boy, you don’t go far. I don’t have a high enough education or the right equipment between my legs to get a better job. So, I’m stuck working for barely above minimum wage for a bunch of jerks who think they know it all.”

She thought about the ‘bite and run’ article and tried to control her smile as she wondered if anyone would be willing to bite her boss and run. The thought gave her much unexpected pleasure while she fished some change out of her pocket.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Keri said.

“Same shit, different day,” Jane answered miserably.

“You get another nasty note from Jason?”

Jason Walters was Jane’s boss. He taught English and was good at what he did, but should never have been given a management position. She still remembered their conversation about ‘management’.

“I treat them all like kindergarteners,” Jason had said.

“What?” Jane asked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Have you ever tried to manage thirty college professors?” he asked. . “I’m telling you, Jane, the only way to get them to cooperate is to treat them all like children.”

When she’d told Keri about this she laughed until she realized there was no punch line. That was just Jason’s warped way of thinking. If any of the other faculty knew how he thought of them, she doubted whether or not he’d be able to keep his head, let alone his job.

Jane had spent the last three and a half years of her life trying to live up to his standards, and she was at the end of her rope. If it wasn’t one stupid thing with him it was another. He simply couldnot be pleased. Jason was in his early fifties and considered himself well acquainted with the education system.

“What was it you said he did before Jason was hired as the dean of Arts and Sciences?” Keri asked. “He was a high school principal for … I forget how many years,” Jane answered.

“And hestill refuses to take meds for his OCD?” Keri inquired.

“He doesn’t think he has it!” Jane replied angrily. “He thinks everyone else has a problem. During the last week of registration I caught him picking lint out of the carpet!”

“No way.” Keri laughed.

Jane recalled vividly having to walk down the hall past the line of students waiting to be registered.

“He was on his hands and knees with a comb ‘grooming’ the carpet,” she said. “I told him to get up that he didn’t need to be seen that way. I was trying to save what was left of his dignity, but he wouldn’t let me.”

“Why? What did he do?” Keri asked.

“He told me the place was a mess and kept trying to comb the carpet.” Jane laughed. “I finally took him by the arm and told him he was embarrassing himself and took him back in the office.”

“Good grief.”

“Yeah, it took a full month for people to stop laughing to his face. Now they just do it behind his back,” Jane said.

Jane had been hired as Jason’s personal assistant only because she’d made no errors on the ‘test’ she was given as part of her interview, which consisted of producing several graphs and charts as well as a three page letter in less than thirty minutes.

Now due to budget cuts the other secretary, Lindsay, had been let go.

“So, have you heard from Lindsay?” Keri asked.

“Yeah, last I heard she was working at a strip club on the other side of town.”

“Really?” Keri seemed stunned.

Lindsay hadn’t finished her education either and was kind of screwed when it came to the job market. She was nearly six feet tall, blond, and magnificently tanned. She looked great, every bought and paid for inch of her.

“I have to admit she does look the part.” When Jane laughed Keri added quickly, “I’m not insulting her. It’s got to be hard to get anyone to take you seriously when you look like that. So, why do you suppose Josie wasn’t laid off?”

“Oh, I’ve got my suspicions,” Jane said darkly. “And it’s got something to do with carpet burns and the need for proper dry cleaning.”

Keri laughed and nearly snorted her soda.

But Jane was right about Josie. The woman was a moron whose thoughts ranged between ‘duh’ and ‘vodka’. Jane knew this because she’d read her mind. Of course she didn’t spread around the fact that she could read minds, but it sometimes came in handy. Jane was a strong enough telepath that she blocked out the world in general and only tuned in to what she wanted to know. Unless she was really sick or drunk, this normally wasn’t a problem.

“Are you listening to me?” Keri asked, shaking Jane’s shoulder gently.

Jane hadn’t even realized Keri was speaking.

“No, I’m sorry. I got another stupid note from Jason this morning.”

“That’s what I was asking about. What did it say?”

“He’s writing me up this time for excessive errors. You know the drill. At least once a week he finds another excuse to write me up.”

“Excessive errors?” Keri looked confused. “Where does he come up with this shit?”

“I think he pulls it out of his ass,” Jane said. “I madeone typo when I was working on my evaluation yesterday,” she practically growled while beating on the snack machine.“Fuckingpiece of shit.”

This time Jane kicked the machine and it delivered her candy bar. Then she looked at the snack and wondered if ‘sheep’s clothing’ would continue to fit her if she ate many more of these.

Keri looked alarmed and she explained, “I need some chocolate if I’m going to make it through the day without killing somebody.” She was kidding, but Keri gave her a cunning look.

“Somebody needs to kill that prick,” Keri said. . “I’m surprised you haven’t done it by now.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”

Jane was being honest but would never seriously consider such a thing. She’d had the sort of thoughts that most overworked, underpaid people have. Thoughts like if their boss had an ‘unfortunate accident’ they wouldn’t mind. But, Jane didn’t belong to the mob and wouldn’t have the faintest clue of how to go about causing such an accident.

Keri shrugged. “Yeah, well if we all went around killing the people we didn’t like …. Hell, everybody doesn’t like somebody.”

“This is true,” Jane said as they made their way back up the stairs together. She’d worn heels and was seriously regretting it after making it to the third floor.

“He made you type your own evaluation?” Keri asked incredulously, opening the door for Jane.

“Yeah, after he called me into his office and took thirty minutes to tell me all the reasons I suck.”

This was how Jason Walters conducted evaluations with everyone in his department. He felt it was better to let them know the reasons he was not recommending them for a raise, because he rarely recommendedanybody for a raise. Jane had never had a raise, and her friend Michael, who taught astronomy, hadn’t had a raise in four years.

“Shit, I’m so glad Dr. Merick is my boss instead of Jason Walters. Dr. Merick isn’t perfect, but she’s not that bad.”

Keri worked in a different world just one floor down, and she was glad of it.

Jane walked Keri to her office, and once Keri looked around to be sure they were alone she asked, “Do you have class tonight?”

“Yeah, biology.”

“You seeing Shawn?”

Jane almost cringed at the sound of his name. Every time she thought of him, she knew that being involved with Shawn was a mistake. But it was one she wasn’t aware of in time to stop herself. Shawn Bradley was the married security guard she had been dating for the past two years. Well, you couldn’t really call it dating. Whatever sort of relationship they had it wasn’t normal. She hadn’t even known he was married for over a year. Now they were sort of off again, on again. He kept telling Jane that he’d left his wife, and she kept being foolish enough to believe him. After a week or so, she’d break down and read his mind and find out he was lying again.

Jane kept hoping he would leave his wife and Shawn kept hoping his wife didn’t find out about Jane. They’d started out as friends and as far as she knew he was single. Once she’d begun to trust him Shawn started putting the moves on her. Jane wasn’t stupid, but she was a romantic at heart and desperately wanted to believe his lies. He knew enough about her to really play up the romantic part until he had Jane where he wanted her.

“I might,” she said. “But I’ve already decided that something has to give and it’s got to give soon or we’re through. I’ve already made up my mind. I can’t keep seeing a married man. He keeps swearing he’s separated from his wife but that’s bullshit. It just isn’t right. I’m ashamed of myself for being with him in the first place.”

“So … are you going to tell him this tonight?” Keri asked.

Keri was her confidant and the only person who knew about Shawn besides her friend Michael , the astronomy professor. They had both been as surprised as her when she found out Shawn was married. After her initial anger, Keri had suggested Jane start dating her hot mailman instead. Yes, Burt was hot, but he wasn’t really her type. Rather than explain this to Keri, she’d just smiled and said, “I might.”

Now she gave the same response when Keri asked about Shawn again.

“I might.” I’m really getting sick of his shit. Speaking of shit, I’ve got to get back to work.”

Jane made her way back up to the fourth floor and met Michael as she came into the office.

“Hey, Michael,” she said as he walked past her.

“Hi,” he said softly and kept walking.

When he didn’t make eye contact Jane knew something was wrong. She paused behind the file room door and took a look in the full length mirror. Jane winced at her own appearance. She ran a hand through her shoulder length black hair and wiped some of the smeared mascara from underneath her eyes. She felt like hammered shit and it showed.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Mmhmm.”

Josie was sitting quietly at her desk typing. What the fuck? Josie never did any real work. Something must be bad wrong. Then she saw it and she nearly had a panic attack. Her heart fluttered miserably then seemed to sink into her stomach. There was an envelope on her desk with the university’s logo in the top left corner. In Jason’s handwriting the word ‘confidential’ was written clearly in all caps.

“Two notes in one day? He is really getting on it,” she said.

She shot a look toward Josie, but the older woman was deliberately not making any sort of eye contact. If Josie opened her mouth things had a tendency to come out and Jane was certain she had been told to keep it shut.

“Damn, I didn’t even get to eat my candy bar. I’m going to the restroom,” she said, snatching the letter off her desk.

Both women were accustomed to the routine. Neither of them could stand to open Jason’s letters where someone else might see them. They were never good news and he never had the courage to say it to their faces.

Jane walked numbly down the hall into the women’s bathroom and locked the stall door. She slid to the floor and sat for several minutes with her forehead resting against her knees. This was the position she sat in to prevent herself from hyperventilating. Every day had become a living hell and there seemed to be no end in sight. Tears slid down her cheeks and she knew her mascara was running again. Until a few months ago, she hadn’t cried in years, but now it was an almost daily occurrence.

“I can’t do anything right,” she whispered as she broke the seal on the envelope.

“Dr. Charlie McBride and I request to meet with you at five fifteen this afternoon in my office,” she read out loud.

Jane got off at five thirty, so that meant he didn’t plan to be long winded about whatever she’d done this time. As usual, the letter didn’t state the nature of the meeting.

It involved her. Jane figured the least he could do was tell her what it was about, but she’d made the mistake of asking that question before. The answer was always no. He was more than willing to talk about anyone behind their back, but when it came to a face to face meeting, you never knew what to expect.

She had little choice except to suck it up and try to make it through the rest of the day. When she looked in the mirror Jane opened the collar of her blouse to find she was already breaking out in hives. Jason had that affect on her. The blotches would be gone within an hour if she could ever manage to calm down. The last time he’d called one of these little meetings she’d thrown up twiceand broken out in hives.

What griped her the most was that there was nothing she could do about it. Jane was more than capable of taking care of herself, but she couldn’t beat him up, and she couldn’t afford to get fired. While she wiped at her smeared mascara she wondered if Lindsay needed any help at the club, then quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She wasn’t judging anyone. It just wasn’t something she wanted to do.

“You okay, honey?” Harriet asked from the doorway. Harriet was the maid assigned to the fourth floor.

“I’m fine,” Jane said. She wiped at her makeup a little faster.

“Girly you’re about as far from fine as I’ve ever seen, but if you don’t want to talk about it that’s alright by me,” Harriet said.

“I’ll be alright,” Jane assured her.

Harriet gave her a skeptical look while she replaced the paper towels.

Jane washed her hands, sprinkled some cold water on her face and took three deep breaths. She went through the motions of smoothing down her black slacks and blouse just to make herself feel better. She’d been around Jason long enough that having things in order calmed her nerves and it made her angry that his OCD had rubbed off on her. Jane steeled her courage and walked back to the office.

When she walked back in she didn’t say a word to Josie who was clearly ready to talk now. She had also adjusted the temperature while Jane was in the bathroom. Josie was in her early forties and in denial that she needed hormone replacement therapy. Then again, just plain therapy would have been helpful. Josie had so many issues she should have just bought a subscription. She fidgeted in her seat and fluffed her spiky brown hair before turning to Jane.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

As if you care, bitch, Jane thought.

She knew the only reason Josie asked was so she could find some sort of way to use it against her. For someone with the IQ of an amoeba Josie sure was conniving.

“Fine,” Jane answered curtly and turned back to the test she was supposed to be typing.

* * * *

At five fifteen Jane marched into Jason’s office and sat down like she owned the place. She would be damned if he got the best of her. They had to wait five minutes for Dr. McBride to join them and it was torture. Both of them sat there quietly, trying not to make eye contact with the other, but she got sick of that.

Jane began to stare him down, daring Jason to look her in the eye. She wanted him to see the hatred there. The eyes truly are windows of the soul and Jane’s had fogged up a long time ago. She’d never felt this way about anyone else, and it frightened her. Then again, no one had ever treated her so badly. If Jason knew how close he was to his own death he would have backed down before now. It wasn’t that Jane was a bad person.

On the contrary, it was like she’d explained to Keri recently. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to do the right thing.”

Since that had gotten her so far in life she’d decided to do something purely selfish, thus the affair with the security guard. Recently, though, she’d become fond of another fantasy, killing Jason.

When Jane worked out it was his face she envisioned in front of her punching bag. Her years of martial arts training had taught Jane to see through the target. So, she didn’t visualize her foot hitting Jason in the head, she envisioned going through it. Her workouts had never been so intense. She was getting into great shape but possibly at the cost of her sanity, and that was a price she wasn’t willing to pay.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Jason offered.

“No thanks,”

He could be so nice sometimes it was amazing. Maybe he was bi-polar,and obsessive compulsive.

Since they had a moment to themselves Jane sat back, crossed her arms and legs and took a good look at the source of her anxiety. Jason Walters was around six feet tall, average build that bordered on thin, thick glasses, an artificial smile, and he was bald on top. What was left of his hair was brown and what was left of his soul was black. He knew the affect he had on Jane and somewhere in his twisted mind Jason thought he was doing her a favor. He thought that by showing her all the things she did wrong it would motivate her to be more efficient, like him.

Jane onlythought she was the only one who caught hell. As it turned out, ‘hell’ was handed out randomly. He liked Josie, but he’d told her the week before that if she took one more day off within the next three months she was fired. Naturally she wouldn’t say anything to Jane about it, because Josie got a break for spying on Jane at his request. He chose to overlook the fact that she balled most of the faculty as long as she gave him some good inside information from time to time.

Once everyone had taken a seat Jason said in a very calm patronizing voice, “Now, Jane, exactly what time did you arrive this morning?”

“I was here at seven forty five, just like we’re supposed to be,” she said without hesitation.

“Okay,” he said. He nodded humoring her. “Now you may have ‘arrived’ at seven forty five, but you weren’t at your desk at seven forty five.”

She sat staring at him unblinkingly. Jane was afraid that if she opened her mouth she might actually snarl at him. She could feel her cheeks flushing and knew her face was turning redder by the second.

“Because I saw you walk in here at seven fortynine this morning,” he pointed out.

Fucking bastard, she wanted to yell but bit her lip in order to keep quiet.

He deliberately set his clock faster than anyone else so that no matter what time she arrived she was ‘late’. Jane took a deep breath and dug her nails into the leather upholstery on her chair. She always took the same chair in Jason’s office. It probably had permanent dents from her nails by now.

“Now, you need to be at your desk by seven forty five,” he continued in that same patronizingly mild voice. “I’m gonna need you to sign out for those four minutes.”

If looks could kill, Jason would have been dead right then. It might have been a cliché, but killing Jason with a look was very appealing to Jane. As he droned on in his mild tempered voice she began to fantasize about looking at him and watching him choke, like something out of a science fiction movie. The thought kept her entertained enough to stomach the rest of his little speech.

When the meeting was over and she was filling out her leave slip for four minutes Dr. McBride approached her desk. Dr. Charlie McBride was a tall woman with short white hair and bright blue eyes. Her kind smile did Jane good.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked, patting Jane’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” she lied.

Jane had every intention of going home and having a glass of wine to settle her nerves. She looked back down at the form, still unable to sign her name for four stupid minutes. Glass, hell, she might just have the bottle.

Charlie knew Jason was harder on her than Josie, but she didn’t know why. She had only a few years before retirement and though she hated to see Jane get screwed over, Charlie didn’t want to risk her pension by getting involved. Jane read these thoughts just as clearly as if she’d spoken them out loud. She couldn’t really blame Charlie for not wanting to get involved but part of her hated the older woman for being such a coward.

LENGTH: Borderline Full Novel
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Alex DeShanks 2008
ISBN: 978-1-60394-252-2

Peter was Lilith's first love--and the first person to call her a monster. Despite their past, Lilith would save him if she could, but when Peter is infected with lycanthropy and becomes determined to challenge Marco for the position of lupinus regalis, wolf king, she faces a hard choice.

Rating: Spicy.

Genre: Futuristic/Paranormal Romance.

ORIGINAL SIN

 By

 Tracey H. Kitts

© copyright by Tracey H. Kitts, December 2008

Cover art by Alex DeShanks 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-252-2

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

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

Dedication:

 To my friend Priscilla, who has loved Marco from the beginning … almost as much I have.

Chapter One

In the month since the laws of vampiric tolerance were passed, Dracula had made quite the sensation. He has announced to the media that he is the original vampire. And naturally, the press jumped on the name “Dracula.” Ever since he had become my partner, I had been sucked into his little popularity whirlwind. The first time we were seen together, the media went into a frenzy. It seemed like the announcement of real live, well I suppose you could say, they’re alive, vampires was going to pass by quietly. But that had only lasted about a week.

Of course the werewolves were not forgotten, least of all pack leader, Marco Barak. Actually, I had a date with him that night, and my heart was pounding in anticipation of his nearness as I approached the mailbox.

At least twice a week I got letters from animal rights activists bashing me for my wicked ways. Some were sappy notes from touchy-feely soccer moms who couldn’t believe I had been making a living off killing people who just “happened” to be part animal. Most of the activists were cheesy or laughable. But every now and then they managed to hurt my feelings, because they were right.

Aside from this type of correspondence, I had the tabloids to thank for my other letters. Ever since a few headlines had managed to associate me with Dracula, I had been getting “fan mail” from crazed goth princesses. Some of them were six-page letters where they proclaimed all the ways they loved him. They would tell me that I could never understand him, or ‘worship’ him the way they could (gag). I usually dry-heaved a few times after reading these. But, my favorites were the one-liners like, “Burn in Hell,” or “Eat shit and die.”

Of course, I never responded to any of these; it would only add fuel to the fire. Besides, someone who writes “eat shit and die,” isn’t looking for a response. They were delivering a message. Fine. I got it. What would I say anyway? “Fuck you very much, sincerely, Lilith Mercury?” This was what my mail mostly consisted of since his arrival. To be honest, some small part of me felt sorry for the countless women who begged me to pass on a message to the vampire. But it was a very small part, and I’m not his damn secretary.

However, there were some that I was tempted to answer. The ones who sounded intelligent and just genuinely wanted to know what it was like to be with a werewolf or a vampire. But with my luck, if I did respond the answer would probably end up for sale on an Internet auction.

It was mid afternoon when I collected my new pile of mail, and as reentered the house, the phone rang. A storm was gathering outside, and a small tree branch hit my kitchen window, so I screamed instead of answering “Hello.”

“Lilith?” Marco’s frantic voice replied.

“I’m alright,” I explained. “A tree branch just hit the window.”

Marco informed me briefly that we would need to reschedule our date. Tornados had touched down near his apartment above Club Red, and completely devastated some areas. Even though he was unharmed, there was no way he would ever make it out of town to start the two-hour drive to my house.

Damn southern weather. I told Marco I understood, but it was hard to keep the disappointment from my voice. It was only the second week of March, and already we were experiencing severe weather watches. I really don’t know why they call it the sunshine state. I’ve always loved a good storm, and the rain is very peaceful to me. But I didn’t like anything standing in the way of me seeing Marco.

We had only been dating for a month, but I had known Marco since my days as a trainee with The Hunters. His training was about to finish as mine started. Of course, you’re considered still in training for the first five years, but after six months of training, you can be paid for your services. Marco worked as a Hunter for a little over a year before he was attacked.

I had wanted him since the first moment I saw him, and now nine years later, he was finally mine. We had agreed to take things slow, but my heart wouldn’t listen to reason. The more I was honest with myself, the more I realized I was falling for Marco. And I don’t mean just stumbling a little bit. Once I finally hit the ground, I was going to bounce.

After we hung up, I remembered I needed some things in town. I figured I might as well go before the storm got worse. As I was picking out a bag of fresh cherries I remembered Alfred used to always buy them for me, and I nearly had a breakdown in the middle of the produce isle. It had only been a month, but it seemed like a lifetime since I had been led to the locked drawer in his bedroom by a vision of Alek Ambrose. In this drawer, I discovered that Alfred had not only been assigned to be my partner eight years ago, but my murderer as well. The former commander of The Hunters had ordered Alfred to kill me if I should ever start to become a monster. What hurt the most was that he had signed the paper. The moment suddenly seemed unreal. I felt cold to think of returning home without Alfred there. It was like I was wearing a jacket and someone snatched it off and that warmth was gone. I wasn’t his anymore.

Maybe someday the pain would ease, but not today. I put a hand over my heart as I finished selecting a bag of cherries. If anyone was watching, maybe they’d think I had indigestion and leave me alone. My eyes stung and my chest hurt. I coughed a few times and tried to pretend it was allergies. I thought back to the papers and Alfred’s signature at the bottom of the last page. This helped me to muster up enough anger to keep from crying.

In the time since that discovery, the wizard who’d recently befriended me, Alek Ambrose, had come to live with me. He had set up an apartment in my dungeon. Dracula was my new partner, and they were both members of my Hunter Assault Team for Violators of Werewolf Code, better known as H.A.V.O.C. I had been elected to not only head up the division of H.A.V.O.C. in my area, but head up all divisions on Earth and Terra. I reported directly to the current commander, my father, Jacob Mercury. Initially, I had been very leery of this new responsibility, as well as the celebrity it brought with it. However, I had come to realize that most division leaders could handle themselves. I would only ever be called if there was a severe problem.

I also needed to accumulate some more members in my area. The main problem was that my team was expected to be the best of the best. It’s not that all of The Hunters weren’t qualified individuals, but the members of my team would be watched more closely. It wasn’t fair, but it was true. When I thought of the best, one name came to mind, Johnny Angel. I was on my way home to call him as I drove by the corner gas station and saw a familiar sight.

The instant I saw him approaching, something about him caught my eye. It wasn’t the motorcycle he was riding, or the hot pink t-shirt he wore. Even at a distance, and with only a glance, there was something about the man that felt familiar. I kept looking back, and trying not to run off the road, or miss my turn. He pulled in at the station, and as he walked into the store, I recognized him. I’d know that walk anywhere. It was Peter.

I didn’t get a good look at his face before I turned, but I didn’t need to. The years may have changed his features, but his confident swagger could never be mistaken. I was too shocked to have much of a reaction at the time. But as I thought of him on the way home, my heart didn’t flutter. I was proud of myself. It could be that I was hurting too much over Alfred to spare any heartache for Peter. Either way, I was still proud of myself for not falling to pieces.

Twice over the years I’d caught a fleeting glimpse of Peter. Both times I’d gone home and cried. It had been a good five years since my last glimpse, and this time I didn’t cry. Still, I wondered what he was doing around here. Last I’d heard, Peter had moved away. I was also pleased to hear of his divorce. Not because I wanted him, I just didn’t want her to have him. That was cruel and spiteful of me, but it was the truth. Peter had been my first love, and a part of me had never really let him go.

As I gathered up my groceries and carried them in the house, I remembered the night I had told Peter about my attack. He called me a monster. I picked up the phone and called Johnny to keep from crying. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to Johnny, mainly because Alfred hated him so much. We had dated for a while, after Julius, and before Bradley. I cared for Johnny, but he was too deeply in love with himself to have time for anyone else.

I knew through headquarters where to reach him, and dialed the number with trembling hands. It had been a long time. What if he didn’t want to talk to me? Nah, that wasn’t like Johnny. I steeled my courage and pressed the call button. He picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?” His speech sounded a little slurred, like he’d been drinking, but I knew that tone. I had woken him. He was pleasantly surprised to hear my voice and didn’t miss the opportunity to tell me so. “It’s been a long time,” he said, still with that slur. “I have to tell you, sweetheart, it’s good to hear you.”

“You too,” I admitted.

“Let me guess, you called to beg me to come back to you because I’m absolutely marvelous in bed.”

Even though he was a self-absorbed asshole, I smiled at the sound of Johnny’s voice. We’d had some good times, but I think we were too much alike.

He was currently in Texas, near the border. I explained the situation to him, and told him I’d like for him to be a part of the team. I was a little surprised when he agreed so easily. You know the expression, there is no “I” in team? Well, there is no team in Johnny Angel. Don’t let the name fool you. He said it would take him a few days to wrap things up, and he’d be on his way. I didn’t want to know what “things” Johnny was wrapping so I ended our conversation by saying I looked forward to seeing him. As I hung up, I was shocked to find it was true.

* * * *

It was barely dusk, but it looked like the middle of the night outside. The storm had gotten much worse, and I was moving some candles into the sitting room when I heard someone ring my doorbell. I have a large silver doorknocker. It’s a lion’s head with a ring hanging from the mouth. Most people enjoy the novelty of it, and prefer to use the knocker. The fact that someone had avoided the silver led me to believe there was a werewolf at my door. I was wrong.

Dracula owned some property about an hour away, though I’d never been there. Surely he must have grown wings to reach me so quickly after sundown. He was wearing a white tunic-style shirt devoid of ruffles, and a tight pair of black pants with an intricate gray dagger design. It was about as close to casual as Dracula ever got in public, and I tried to ignore how good he looked in those pants. When I opened the door and took in this sight, I couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through me. But I tried to hide it.

“May I come in?” He spoke softly and his voice seemed to touch me all over at once. That was a loaded question, but I chose to assume he only asked for entry into my house.

“Of course.” I stepped aside and watched in fascination as he glided toward my sitting room. He possessed a grace of movement I had not seen before, even on the dance floor. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen Dracula, and though I’d missed him, I wasn’t ready to be near him. I was never ready to be in his presence, but I also never wanted to leave. Being close to Dracula is something you have to prepare yourself for. When I say he is gorgeous, I’m not trying to flatter his ego. He is beautiful in a way that falls short of description.

I was disappointed at not getting to see Marco, and still a bit shaken from seeing Peter again. Not only that, but since Marco and I were moving slow, which meant no sex. Even the sound of Johnny’s sleepy voice on the phone had turned me on. Don’t get me wrong, he’s sexy and all, but that was over a long time ago. I don’t want Johnny, and I definitely didn’t want Peter. But having so many emotional jolts in the last few hours had left me vulnerable, and when the devil knocked at my door, I let him in.

As I entered the sitting room, I found the vampire casually draped over my sofa, with his arm propped across the back. The space beside him looked remarkably inviting, and so did the curve of his thigh.

“You seem ill at ease, my angel. Is anything wrong?”

The more I looked at him, the stronger my craving grew, but strangely, it was for chocolate. No, nothing was wrong. In fact, I couldn’t find anythingwrong with the man, and that was part of the problem. As I watched him, waiting expectantly for my answer, I made a decision. I would feel better if I talked about it, and I was going to talk to Dracula.

“How much time do you have?” I asked.

His expression became serious. “I have all night, if you need me. Come,” he said as he reached for me, “Tell me your troubles.”

I slipped easily against his side, curling up underneath his arm. Even though I tried to hide it, I had longed for Dracula’s embrace. There was a solace in his touch that no amount of meditation could provide. The intoxicating smell of his cologne filled my lungs as I breathed deeply and started telling him about my day. After a few hours, I had not only told Dracula about seeing Peter, we’d discussed my relationship with Julius, Johnny, Bradley, and Alfred.And I’d made the unfortunate mistake of letting it slip that Marco and I weren’t having sex. His only reaction to this was to raise his eyebrows, but coming from him, that was a strong reaction most of the time. He had spent years learning how to hide his emotions from people, and he was good at it. Now, even when he wanted to share, it was sometimes difficult. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel, although to the casual observer, it might seem that way. On the contrary, Dracula felt very deeply. Because he, like myself, was empathic.

Through my touch, I have the ability to feel what other’s feel, to see what images these emotions conjure. Thanks to my inherited ability from Mathias Alexander, my great, great, wizard grandfather, I was more than just empathic, it was my strongest psychic ability. Thank God my abilities are associated through touch, and not just walking into a room. Sure, I get some feelings, first impressions, but I’m able to shut the rest off. That took some practice, but not as much as you would think.

Elementary school was difficult. People thought I was just a cry baby up until about the fifth grade. I felt everything going on around me. I remember sitting next to this one kid who had gotten in trouble at school and was dreading going home, because he knew it would be worse. He wasn’t crying, but I was. I could feel everything that he was afraid to express, and I sat there and cried for him all day.

At around eleven years old, I learned to shut it off. I finally realized one day that it wasn’t my emotions I was feeling. Consequently my grades improved significantly after that. I knew the vampire sitting beside me must have experienced some of the same things as a child, even though that was ancient history by now, because he possessed the same ability.

In the time it had taken me to tell Dracula my entire romantic history, I’d eaten half of a chocolate bar and was about to get up and make hot chocolate when the power went out.

“Shit.”

“You do not wish to be alone in the dark with me?” he inquired softly.

I snickered. “It’s not that. I was just about to make hot chocolate.”

I stood up and began lighting the candles and Dracula sighed heavily. At first I thought it was because we were no longer “alone in the dark.” But that wasn’t it.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I used to love chocolate.” He smiled sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I felt like a jerk. Then I had an idea. I remembered how Alfred was able to experience my memories through touch, as well as how Alek had entered my mind through dream visitation.

“How would you like to taste it again?”