Read Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) Online
Authors: Carmen Caine
Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1)
Monster
A Cassidy Edwards Novel
by
Carmen Caine
Published by
Bento Box Books
Edited by
Louisa Stephens
Cover Art by
Lind
Copyright © 2014 Carmen Caine
Ebook Edition
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To Kian
Keep flying no matter how much I whine about missing you.
Soar to the moon and beyond.
I have loved, currently love, and will love you for all of eternity and beyond.
Head-to-head and nose-to-nose forever.
Now – send me more story ideas if you don’t want to be disowned.
Monster
Table of Contents
A Contract with a Handsome Devil
A Highly Untrained Spell-finder
I Just Might Keep Ricky, After All
The Silver Swing and the Dog-Eared Book
Spilling the Beans … and Then Some
A Soap Opera of the Worst Kind
Revenge.
It’s all I’d lived for.
Revenge against those who’d turned my mother into a vampire, causing her to give birth to me—the first of my kind. All I wanted was justice. I wanted to change the rules. I wanted to change their destiny. I wanted to make them suffer the same pain, hunger, and isolation they had forced upon me.
I didn’t know, then, that I was the one who would change.
And certainly, no one knew the threat I would become.
My name is Cassidy. Cassidy Edwards.
I’m angry, and I want revenge. It’s all I live for now.
The cards were stacked against me from the start, but I’m going to change the deck.
I’m going to get even.
* * *
My birth was a bloody event. Vampires are made, not born … except in my case. I wasn’t supposed to live. When a pregnant woman is converted into one of the Chosen—as they call themselves—the fetus dies.
Becoming a Vampire isn’t pretty business. The human body remains empty for a few days when—if the conversion is successful—the new Vampire is born. It’s a painful and dangerous process. Most Vampires fail at the retaking of the body. Only a few succeed. But when they do, they become one of the Chosen. And for most, the enhanced abilities make it worth the risk.
My mother—Abbey as she was called in the human world—was already pregnant with me when she began a torrid affair with an Italian businessman by the name of Emilio. It turns out he wasn’t really a businessman, though his name really was Emilio. Emilio was a Chosen One—a Vampire—and an ancient and dark-minded one at that. When my mother attempted to end the fling, he became angry. He was a Marchesi, a founding member of one of the most powerful Vampire clans to roam the Earth—apparently, there were a handful of those, and as such, he wasn’t used to rejection.
Emilio wasn’t the kind to forget, lick his wounds, and move on. He had my mother converted, exactly how and by whom I’ve yet to discover—hence my thirst for revenge. Because not only did Emilio succeed in having my mother converted … I was converted as well.
My mother—now named Blair—almost didn’t make it. It took her four days to re-inhabit her human body, and when she did, I was miraculously born.
I became the first known Vampire infant … but with a twist.
I know what the majority of men saw. They saw an attractive young woman with auburn hair, green eyes, and a small, full-lipped mouth—pouting lips, I’ve been told. They were focused more on my curve-hugging catsuit than what I was doing.
Which is exactly what I counted on.
The causal trip of the feet, the fleeting touch of my palm over their heart … these were not the seductive gestures they took them for.
Most men are absurdly simple. I would say all at this point, but I have to statistically allow for the fact that there could be a few outliers out there who think with their brains first.
But I haven’t stumbled across them yet.
When dressed in tight black leather, I can count on the gawking, the overfriendly smiles, and the I’m-pretending-you-don’t-exist-because-my-wife’s-here-but-man-you’re-really-hot-and-I’d-love-to-oogle-you types. They’re all the same. At that moment, thoughts of me occupy an extraordinary amount of their brain cells. And they don’t pay attention to what I’m really after.
Which is—of course—their life-energy, their mana.
I wasn’t given a choice of how to survive. There are no niche markets that cater to human-vampire hybrids. In fact, I’m the only one that I know of who relies solely upon distilled mana to sustain my existence.
What is mana, you ask? Vampire’s suck blood for it. But, they have the fangs to puncture their victims and take what they need—the blood mixed with the life force that keeps the human heart beating. They can’t consume pure mana. It’s toxic to them. It would be kind of like a human trying to live off pure oxygen—only much worse.
My retractable fangs are only for show. They don’t actually work. They’re kind of like the human appendix, just leftovers of a past evolution. But no one knows that about me—except my mother.
Blair isn’t exactly what you call the motherly type. She’s tall and striking, seduction itself, with a head of dark lustrous curls and the full lips that I inherited. She cares more about her complicated love-life than anything else. But she has enough motherly loyalty to keep my secret.
She raised me alone. In fact, I didn’t even know until I met
him
that there were other supernatural beings roaming Earth—the Charmed, they’re called—besides my mother and myself … and of course, Emilio.
Blair didn’t know how to feed me at first. I didn’t thrive on formula. I vomited the blood. I cried inconsolably. It was only when I accidentally brushed my tiny palm over her heart that she felt it: The draining of the mana, the life’s energy that sustains all creatures, magical and human alike.
Mana is life.
I didn’t understand at first why she feared me. I know now it’s because I can drain the life from even those without beating hearts—the vampires themselves, and all with just the touch of a hand. But I didn’t know this until much later—when
he
told me—that I had this talent, this power.
As I grew, I shared the victims that my mother hypnotized and brought home. I learned to feed a little at a time, enough to not actually kill them. But I made mistakes. I never meant to be a killer. Those I touched for too long didn’t convert to anything. I didn’t understand that my mother had actually expected them to rise as vampires, or at least attempt it. She shared very little information with me, perhaps because she knew so little herself during those years. She was nothing like the vampire she’s become now. I just dimly recall her watching the dead bodies for days, pacing and muttering that there wasn’t even an attempted waking.
She monitored me closer after the first few, pulling me away until I learned to forget eating my fill and to just nibble instead. But nibbling left me with the constant nagging sense of always wanting more. I never had enough.
My existence became a curse.
I grew and our differences became more glaring.
I could walk in the broad light of day, but my mother couldn’t. She was a creature of the night.
She could move faster than sight. She was stronger than any human. And she didn’t bleed.
I did.
And while I moved faster, possessed strength greater than an ordinary human, I hadn’t attained her skill.
Our relationship was always a strained one. Whenever I asked about my father or if I had siblings, she would grow angry, slap me across the face, and disappear into the night.
Except that last night when I’d just turned eighteen.
That night, my mother inadvertently told me the truth, or some of it, anyway. I learned about Emilio and the circumstances of my birth. I learned that I
did
have a father, one who thought I—along with my mother—were dead. And I understood why she’d never told me before. I was old enough to know now that I had to
stay
dead.
It was only then that I understood my curse.
I was alone. Truly alone.
I wasn’t a Chosen One. And I wasn’t a human.
I was one of the Damned.
When I left my mother’s house the next day, there was only one thing on my mind.
Revenge. Revenge on Emilio for cursing me to always be hungry and to walk alone.
And even though I’d never seen him—this vampire who’d
turned
my mother out of petty spite, or for whatever reason—I now had his name. That was enough for me. I was going to spend the rest of my existence tracking him down, or die in the trying of it.
I’d just turned twenty-four, and I’d been on my own for almost six years when I met
him
at Mills Mall
.
I was in Philadelphia at the time, and I frequented such crowded places for food. Men were easier victims than women. It’s more socially acceptable to accidentally brush against a man’s chest than a woman’s. And men usually weren’t even aware of what I’d done. They were too busy smiling down at me in that ludicrous manner that I’d grown to detest. It was only after I’d gone that they felt a little drained or dizzy.
But that day, I smelled him first.
Cripes, he was delicious.
I’d just turned away from the ATM with a scowl on my face, annoyed that I’d have to get another job—and soon—when I caught his scent. For humans, I guess it was not unlike walking into a bakery to be greeted by the smell of fresh bread and cookies after you’ve been crash-dieting on cabbage soup for a year straight.
With my mouth watering, I scanned the sea of faces swimming around me in all directions.
And then I saw him.
Towering above the others, he was walking my way, apparently headed for the nearby jewelry store with his arm draped around a woman’s shoulders. I don’t even remember what she looked like. I caught only the fleeting impression of a bright red dress, silver pumps, and a white fur stole, because my eyes were riveted upon
him
.
Stunning. Clear, spectacularly sharp, and very pale blue eyes. Dark, almost black hair that fell past his shoulders. Lean and muscular. Fashionably dressed. In a word: yummy. And in more ways than one. I could almost taste his life-energy upon my lips.
I didn’t have a choice, really.
He was too overpowering to resist.
The mall was overly crowded. It was some holiday sale. Labor Day, I think. The humans enjoyed the sales for the bargains. I enjoyed the sales for the easy access to prey. My favorite holiday was Black Friday; the pickings were plenty then. I would gorge myself, enjoying the rare sensation of a sated appetite. But those special days were few and far between.
Mr. Delicious was almost abreast when I stepped out to
accidentally
bump right into him.
“Oh, excuse
me
,” I said with a practiced laugh. My voice was a bit husky by nature, and I used it to my advantage. It perpetually sounded like I’d just recovered from a sore throat, but I found most human males found it appealing.
I reached out to trail my fingers across his chest and cup my palm over his heart. I was eager to tap into his mana and indulge in the sweetness overwhelming my nostrils.
But I didn’t experience the mouthwatering taste that I longed for. Instead, it felt like I’d just placed my hand directly onto a smoldering, white-hot grill.