Monster (A Cassidy Edwards Novel - Book 1) (17 page)

My mother pressed my cheeks together, squeezing my lips into a fish kiss. It was her way of focusing my attention. I hated it.

“You must do as he commands,” she said, sounding as if she wanted to swallow her words.

“Who?” I spat viciously, furious at her betrayal. “Dorian Ramsey?”

I figured if Dorian could get into 
my
 head, he’d probably have no problem getting into my mother’s.

She shivered at the sound of the vampire’s name. She opened her mouth to retort but swiftly clamped it shut again as her eyes locked over my shoulder. An expression of terror crossed her face.

I had no doubt who had just arrived.

A moment later, I smelled him. Strong. Unique. Powerful. I could sense his green eyes boring through the back of my head.

Well, I might was well face him. There was no avoiding it now.

Slowly, I turned on my heel as a figure emerged from the night shadows. I recognized him at once.

Dorian Ramsey.

The tall, ruddy, medieval Scot with impossibly broad shoulders and the brightest green eyes dusted with gold, a green that matched the kilt slung low on his narrow hips.

Overwhelming. Up close, he could only be described as overwhelming.

Crud.

What was it with men from the Charmed world? First, I’d met a warlock as handsome as sin itself. And now, I stood in the presence of a vampire who just might make swooning fashionable again.

I’d refused to acknowledge it before, I could deny it no longer. I’d heard it in his voice the moment it whispered through my mind. I’d known instinctively that he’d be like this: attractive, hypnotic, and more than a bit fascinating.

Could I hold my own? Or would I succumb to his influence and become just another one of his minions?

“At last, we meet properly, lass.” His voice was deep, holding a distinct Scottish brogue.

As he approached me, I wondered how one is to officially greet a vampire.

Handshake? A curtsy? Kissing cheeks—no, surely, that would be a bit too dangerous, placing your neck voluntarily under their nostrils.

I settled for a curt nod of the head.

“I see it wasn't that hard to find you,” I bluffed. I wasn’t about to let this Scottish hunk-of-a-vampire think he had the upper hand.

His eyes seemed to crinkle in amusement, but I couldn’t be sure. He just replied, “But, I never was hiding, lass.”

He’d stopped, so I took the opportunity to approach. Clasping my hands behind my back, I craned my neck from side to side, evaluating him before quipping, “You must be feeling better! You’re looking decidedly more
restored
 than your picture!” I wondered if he’d understand my reference to the newspaper photo.

He did.

He was definitely sharp.

His square jaw shifted a little, and a distinct twinkle entered his jade-colored eyes this time. “Aye, and you, lass, you’re a bonny one yourself.” This time, he circled 
me
, mimicking my appraisal with his hands locked behind his back. “Feisty. Brazen.” His eyes swept over my catsuit slowly, as if memorizing each of my curves before he added, “Ach, and a wee bit shameless.”

Only a wee bit? For a man from the sixteenth century, he seemed to be adjusting to modern-day customs rather quickly.

Stopping directly in front of me, he bent down until he was eye-level. “And just what manner of creature are you now, might I ask?” he whispered.

My heart thudded. He was a vampire. A real one—not some initiate like my mother hovering nervously behind me. What could I tell him? Surely, he knew I wasn’t really one of them.

Not knowing what to say, I decided to fake it. I simply bared my lips, just enough to show him my useless fangs.

He shrugged. “I recognize my sister’s handiwork. Do you think me a fool?”

Sister? I scowled. What did he mean?

The howl of a wolf rent the night air.

Heath.

Was I going to be rescued? Relief coursed through me, or maybe two-thirds of me. The other third was fascinated and wanted to stay. I didn’t feel in any particular danger. Yes, Dorian was a dangerous vampire, but I actually felt … well, kind of … safe.

Heath howled again.

“They’re coming for me,” I said, searching Dorian’s face for traces of fear.

He didn’t seem too worried. Actually, he appeared only amused. “Daft fool,” he commented in a dry tone. “He’ll have the wretches searching for him now, aye?”

“Wretches?” I repeated, allowing curiosity to overcome me.

“Scalawags,” he answered with a slight frown. At my deepening confusion, he added in rapid succession, “Commoners. Masses. The herd.”

Apparently, the Charmed had quite a few pet names for ordinary humans. I wondered what Lucian called them.

“I get it,” I said, slightly amused in spite of myself. “Sheeple.”

“Sheeple?” he pondered a moment, stroking his chin, and the twinkle reappeared in his eyes. “Now, that’s a name I fancy. Sheeple.”

Yes, he was a powerful vampire—an ally of the Terzi. Someone I’d assumed was an enemy. But he was strangely interesting to talk to. Perhaps because I’d never met anyone from the sixteenth century before—that I knew of, anyway.

Heath howled again. Much closer.

“Shall we, my lady?” Dorian asked, extending a hand.

I didn’t know what to do, but it was moot to strategize because he didn’t give me a chance. Reaching down, he lifted me up and hefted me over a broad, muscled shoulder. And then with unholy speed and exceptional grace, he set off through the streets of Venice so quickly that the buildings passed by in an indistinguishable blur.

Spilling the Beans … and Then Some

Dorian stopped in an eerie dark alley and set me down in the crisp night air. Buildings and trees blocked the sky and any other sources of light so that I could hardly see. It made my hearing overly sensitive. The complaints of a few tipsy tourists searching for their hotel over in the next block rang unusually loud.

At first, by the way his eyes gleamed as he listened to them, I thought Dorian was going to hunt them down for a quick bite. He looked like a greyhound itching to dash away, but then in the wall next to us, a gate unexpectedly creaked open and someone thrust a torch into our faces.

I winced at the sudden light.

“Ach, ye gorbellied gudgeon!” Dorian swore, knocking the newcomer back. “Have a care! ‘Tis not a way to greet a lady.”

The vampire quickly stepped back. “Sorry, ma’am,” he murmured, bowing a hasty apology. He was young, freckle-faced, and of slight build. He looked no more than fifteen, but his fifteenth birthday could have been several hundred years ago.

With a grand sweeping gesture, Dorian signaled me to enter with the polite murmur of, “After you, my lady.”

I ducked through the gate and stepped into a neglected garden. It seemed a tad familiar. Dark trees shadowed the pathway. Weeds grew in the cracks of a broken sidewalk beneath my feet.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim circle of torchlight, I recognized where I was—the old house next to the archaeological dig.

The vampire lad lifted his torch and led us to a side entrance of the house. There was no sign of electricity. The place smelled of mildew and dust. I couldn’t really see much, but torchlight reflecting here and there revealed an interior in worse shape than the unkempt garden outside. I had no doubt that the entire property should be condemned.

We ascended an ancient staircase with creaking steps to take a sharp left before entering a small, windowless room. A fire crackled on the hearth, its smoke hanging in the air to give the place a woodsy, outdoors smell. Comforting. Adventurous. A large wax candle graced the mantle. Old furniture covered in cobwebs crowded the room, but someone had dusted off a large wing-backed chair near the fire.

In short, the place looked positively gothic. And with Dorian in his kilt standing by my side, I wondered briefly if I’d been transported back in time.

After lighting the candle on the mantle, the vampire lad withdrew.

I was alone with Dorian.

One would think that I would be afraid. But strangely, I wasn’t.

Yes, I was suspicious—that brief, brisk 
walk
 in the midnight air had cleared my head enough for me to recall a most important thing: vampires seduced their prey. Everyone knew that. And Dorian. Well, Dorian was seduction itself, and he also held the unfair advantage of accessing my mind as he pleased—even though he hadn’t tried it yet so far. But all-in-all, I truly felt in no particular danger.

Reason informed me that was likely incorrect, and so, deciding to err on the side of logic, I decided to go on the offensive.

Rounding on the kilted vampire standing before the fire with his arms crossed and his feet planted wide apart, it suddenly dawned on me he looked every inch like he’d just stepped off the cover of a deliciously yummy highland romance novel. But I began my move anyway.

“Why am I here?” I asked abruptly, slouching a little. Not because I was tired or copping an attitude. It was for easier access to my silver-bladed knives.

Dorian’s razor gaze shifted to me immediately. In a rough-edged voice, he asked a question of his own. “Tell me, what spell has yonder warlock cast? Or did you? No longer can I reach your mind, lass.”

That took me by surprise. I can’t say that I wasn’t pleased—if it were true.

“Good,” was all I said.

He just lifted a brow. An amused one.

Cripes, but he was attractive. I really hoped that he 
couldn’t
 run amok in my mind—not with the physical response leaping through me right now.

Distracted from my unformed plan involving knives and such, I allowed my gaze to drop of its own accord over his brawny arms and spectacularly muscled calves. I hadn’t known that kilts could look so stunning on a man, so overwhelmingly … I couldn’t think of the word. Maybe there wasn’t just one. Sexual. Seductive. Attractive. Raw. Potent. Why weren’t kilts in fashion anymore? The women of the world were losing out.

He gave a deep chuckle.

I met his gaze.

There was an obvious expression of smug superiority on his face. He clearly enjoyed the effect he had on me. Immensely. In slow and measured moves, he unfastened his collar and the top two buttons of his shirt, keeping his green eyes locked on mine the entire time.

Had the seduction begun? There was no doubt about it. Should I continue with my offensive? Undoubtedly.

Right after a few more seconds of ogling.

“And you have a thought as to why?” he prompted in his soft Scottish burr.

Why? Why what? It took me an inordinately long time to recall what he’d been saying before I’d gone off on the admiring-his-physicality tangent. A spell of some kind? What had he asked? Something about not being able to reach my mind?

Had Lucian done something?

I didn’t have a clue what the warlock might have done—if anything—but if he had, I sure hoped it would last. I couldn’t have a force like Dorian sharing my private thoughts. Not when they were so … well, out of control.

Reining in my raging hormones, I resolutely lifted my chin with the full intention of drawing a blade, pressing it to his heart, and taking back control of the conversation.

But he chose that moment to stand directly behind me, moving with the most impressive vampire speed. One moment, he stood before the fire. The next, I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck.

He was huge. Intense. Incredibly hot.

So much for controlling the hormones.

“Such a bonny lass you are,” he breathed on my earlobe. “Draw men to you like flies to a pot of honey, no doubt.”

Well, I did draw men to me—intentionally, but only to siphon their mana.

I inched away. “I bet you say that to all the ladies,” I teased half-heartedly.

What was he up to? And … what was my plan again?

He chuckled again and inched after me. “Nay, ‘tis not so.”

I watched, spellbound, as his large hand gently brushed the length of my arm to capture my fingers and slowly—ever so slowly—lift them up and to his lips.

The kiss sent shivers down my spine.

Whatever else Dorian Ramsey could do, he was most definitely a master of seduction. Most likely, I should run screaming out of the room as if the devil himself was after me. Maybe, but after a few more minutes, and just one more kiss.

“Allow me to beg forgiveness, my lady,” he purred in his deep, Scottish brogue. “Bringing you here with such rude abruptness. Aye, ‘twas a harrowing experience, no doubt.”

In one last attempt, I shook my head, ordering myself to get out—or to at least try. “I’m not the weak, wilting-type you seem to be used to,” I retorted, or attempted to, anyway. It came out as a whisper.

Odd.

He cradled my hand against his lips, and then lacing his fingers with mine, dropped our entwined hands slowly, sliding from my neck to my waist before suddenly pulling me back closer, hard against him.

I gasped—in pure delight.

“I could show you pleasure, pleasure such as you’ve only dreamt of, lass,” he promised.

There was no doubt in my mind that he could. Already, I was speechless and eager for more.

He nuzzled my ear. “But tell me, my lady, how is it that you can stand in the light of day?”

His voice was deep, enthralling. I could just listen to him talk all night. Especially if he continued to press himself against me and nibble my ear like he was doing now.

He drew back a little.

I frowned, arching my neck back towards his unbelievably delightful lips.

“Hmm?” he prodded gently.

“I’m not like you,” I said, wriggling back to get closer. “I’m not really a Chosen One.”

Somewhere in my haze of lust, a warning bell sounded. But I brushed it off. It was annoying. And it just got in the way of all the yummy sensations he was evoking.

He slid his arms around my waist, drawing me tighter against his hard chest. “Ach, but you are. You’re one of the clan. I can smell it on your skin. And you could hear me in your mind. Only true members of the clan can do such things,” he murmured in my hair. And then bending down, he drew my earlobe between his lips. His mouth was hot—so hot.