Holiday Bites: A Collection of Vampire Paranormal Romances (3 page)

“It’s going to hurt,” he said. “But you can handle the pain, Eve. And you can handle the pleasure.”

“Yes, Steven.” She knew full well that she merely had to ask him to stop and he would. Steven only wanted her enjoyment and everything he did was toward that aim. Slowly, she backed up. The nooses pulled taut and pain streaked her breasts. Sucking in a sharp breath, she lowered her hands to the bed.

“More,” said Steven. “Just a little more.”

Slightly dizzy, she scooted back another inch. Her reward was immediate. Steven slipped behind her and guided his cock into her aching pussy. “What a good girl, you are, Eve. You bring me so much joy.”

Eve closed her eyes as Steven’s cock slid in and out of her pussy. Her nipples were tormented nearly to the limit, which made them receptive to every movement. As Steven thrust inside her, the rocking motions brought her relief, then pain, relief then pain… she felt only the incredible sensations… then it was as though she floated upward.

“Come for me,” said Steven. He switched his angle of entry, bumping her g-spot.

“Steven! Oh God! Oh yes!” She flew over the edge, as wave after wave of bliss overtook her. The orgasm rolled over into another and as she rode the second crest, she heard Steven’s cry of release. As his come shot into her well-loved pussy, she felt his hand glide over her hip and onto her clit.

The third orgasm nearly made her pass out.

Later, when Steven released her from the chains and soothed her tormented breasts with kisses and a special herbal cream, she knew, without a doubt, she was in love with him. She felt so wonderful that she didn’t he mind that he’d tucked her into bed for another nap. Soon, they would celebrate Christmas Eve. She couldn’t wait. Her thoughts drifting, she easily returned to the arms of Morpheus.

“I will free you,” she said, frantic. Her heart thundered in her chest as she cut through the ropes that tied them to the chairs. “I must stay here and distract him.”

“No!” Warick took the dagger. “You will come with me.”

“He’s no mere mortal,” she said, tears in her eyes. “He’s older than you, stronger than you. And he will hurt you. He wants me … and I will give him what he wants. You will find shelter from him and from the sun.”

Warick gathered her into their arms. “I will return for you, Derina.”

“Yes. I know.” Derina brought Warick’s face to hers for a tender kiss. “Let me save you. Just this once, my love. Come for me tonight. I love you.”

Eve bolted awake, her heart hammering. The television droned, its flickering images barely penetrating the darkness around her. She realized that someone sat in the wingback a few feet away from the bed.
Steven.
“That wasn’t in the book,” she whispered. “Robert would never hurt Derina.”

“But he did. Robert’s jealousy robbed them of happiness.”

“You’re scaring me.” She swallowed heavily. Her lover radiated an intensity that did, indeed, frighten her. “Are you saying Derina was real?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said softly. “That’s the day I lost her. You’ve known, haven’t you? You’ve known all along what I am—and who you are.”

“No.” She scooted to the end of the bed, grabbing a pillow as if it would serve as a shield. “You’re just a writer. A very eccentric writer.”

“I tell stories for a living. You’d be surprised how many are true.” He sighed. “You said that you loved me. Is that still true?”

Eve hesitated. Even though his pensive mood was upsetting her, she couldn’t deny her feelings. “Yes. I love you.”

“I’m so glad, Eve. Please, let me tell you the rest of the story.” He moved from the chair to the bed, and she saw that he had donned a robe. He was careful to keep the distance between them. “In the year 1800, I immigrated to the United States from Germany. My family had been killed years earlier in a raid on our village, but I escaped. I wandered around the country until I earned enough money to get passage to America.”

“That’s the background of Warick.” Eve wanted to believe Steven, she did, but what he was uttering as fact, she had known only as fiction. Did he believe what he’d created to be real?

“It is
my
background. After two hundred years of living in the U.S., I lost the accent. I was made a vampire soon after arriving in New York. The one who made me disappeared. I haven’t seen him since. There aren’t as many of us as you might think. We don’t usually hang out with others of our kind.

“Eighty-eight years later, I met Derina. She loved me, but she was a Christian. She believed that she would give up her soul and lose her place in heaven if she became a vampire.”

Eve blinked, fascinated by Steven’s tale. Even if he was crazy, worst scenario, or yanking her chain, best scenario, she was compelled to hear the rest of his … er, confession. “Derina was a Christian? Yeah, right. How much of that book did you make up?”

“Not much. Most of her background is correct. She was young, rich, and recently widowed. We fell madly in love and after her year of mourning was concluded, I married her. And because she was a submissive, she felt it acceptable to do anything her husband and master asked. So, when she met Robert, another vampire, and I saw her attraction to him… I brought him into our bed.

“After a while, Robert wanted her only for himself. He captured me to bait the trap. She swooped in to save me and I let her. I was weak from torture and blood-letting. I had to go to ground to heal and regain my strength. I knew I could return the next night, on Christmas Eve, and save
her
. I thought that would be a romantic gesture. I would rescue my wife on the holiday she treasured most. But I was wrong.”

“W-what happened?”

“Robert drained her and turned her. When she realized what he’d done, that she’d lost her soul, she escaped into the dawn. She committed suicide because she had nothing to lose in the afterlife—and she refused to live as a vampire.

“Even though Robert’s jealousy and possession had blinded him, he really did love Derina. He followed her into the sunrise. Maybe he hoped to be with her in the afterlife. If there is a hell, though, I hope that’s where he is. He didn’t deserve her.” He sighed again. “I wrote
Swelter
as a way to remember the good times we had together.
Swelter, Too
was mostly fiction—perhaps my own longing for the way things might’ve been had we’d lived happily. But then … I found you, Eve.”

In her anxiety, she nearly squeezed the pillow flat. Endless tears trailed her cheeks.
Am I Derina reborn?
Is that why he wants me?
Even as she denied the possibility, her heart knew differently. She had loved
Swelter
, had read and reread it because she’d connected to character of Derina.

When she met Steven, she had recognized him on a soul-deep level. No man had ever stayed in her life for long because no man, in any lifetime, had measured up. “That’s why I got invited to the reader’s party. So you could meet me and see if I was … her.”

“You sent me that lovely fan letter. It sounded like her. And the way you signed your name … I swore that was Derina’s handwriting. Oh, Eve. Forgive me. I thought I could recapture what I had lost.”

It hurt to him admit that he’d wanted her because he believed her to be someone else. And now, when he was admitting that he loved her, how could she believe him? “You expect me to believe that I’m your reincarnated lover and that you are a vampire.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe in reincarnation. I love you not because you might be Derina, but because you are Eve. However, I can prove that I’m a vampire.” He smiled and she saw the gleam of his fangs.

Holy damn.
Eve wondered what it would feel like to be bitten. Quivering, she put a hand to her throat and kept her gaze on Steven. He had never shown her his fangs and had never bitten her. The questions must’ve shown in her eyes.

“I protected that part of my life from you. In this day and age, I don’t have to hunt humans for sustenance. Blood banks deliver. Darling, I can smell your fear,” he murmured. “Your heart is beating a mile a minute. Sweat is prickling your brow. Don’t be afraid of me, Eve.”

“I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in.” She looked at him and saw the longing and desperation in his expression. “Do you want to turn me?”

“I want to love you. I want your happiness. I want to give you the world and everything in it.”

“In
Swelter
, you mark Derina. Is that fact or fiction?”

“Vampires mark their mates.” He withdrew a black velvet box from the pocket of his robe and set it in the middle of the bed. “I want to marry you, Eve. I want to make you mine in every way that counts.”

“I’m not Derina,” she said, her gaze on the box. Her heart thumped wildly. “And I won’t pretend that I am.”

“Have I ever asked that of you? A fragment of her soul may reside in yours,” said Steven, “but it is you I love, Eve.
You
are my mate.”

She saw the truth in his eyes. Now, all she had to do was believe in him. In them. Early in
Swelter
, the tortured Warick had asked Derina, “How do you love a vampire?” And she had responded, “With your whole heart.”

Eve tossed aside the pillow and crawled to Steven. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. Then she pulled away and said, “Mark me.”

He responded by embracing her and sinking his fangs into her neck. As he drank her blood, her body responded in a primal way. Closing her eyes, she felt her nipples harden, her pussy swell, and her skin prickle. Her whole body tingled with pleasure. Then his hand her between her thights and two fingers delved inside her sex, curling upward to press her g-spot.

The orgasm caused stars to burst behind her eyes.

Then it was over.

Steven kissed the spot on her neck where his mark would be seen by any who knew where to look. Eve felt changed somehow, as if her soul had forever-bound to his. He gazed at her, love in his eyes, and said, “Merry Christmas, Eve.”

Candy for Valentine

VALENTINE CARTER SAT down at a corner table and watched the merriment around her. Every year, the Heart of Romance Readers’ convention was held the second weekend of February. The party started on Friday evening and continued through Sunday afternoon. Tonight was Friday, and the Rock n’ Roll Rave kicked off all the fun.

She sighed. Since she’d checked into the hotel at 4 p.m. she’d been snubbed by authors
and
readers, approximately 142 times. Her “posse,” the loyal women who posted comments on her review site, The Blog Bitch, and who emailed her daily, were not here.

She was alone. At least until Eve and Steven arrived. Valentine surveyed the dancers bopping around at the front of the ballroom.
A
DJ was set-up in the far left corner, spinning songs such as “Rock Around the Clock,” “Tutti Frutti,” and “Peggy Sue.” Sitting by herself at the large table with its shiny white plates, folded napkins, and sweating water glasses, she drank a glass of Chablis and moped.

A flash of red caught her attention and she looked up. Madra Milton. The author’s novel,
Take Me Away
, was up for a Reader Heart award. In December, Val had reviewed the book, recommending that readers use it for kindling. Now, she felt a sliver of shame. Not for the first time she wondered if her friend Eve was right about the reviews on The Blog Bitch.
Do I really get more pleasure out of trashing the books than I do reading them?

Madra, wearing a red-and-white cheerleader’s outfit, sauntered toward a table filled with people. She posed then shook her single pom-pom in a pseudo cheer. Her audience clapped and laughed.

Val looked away. She couldn’t recall ever having a moment like that—where a bounty of friends and fans welcomed her. She
felt
that way online, when others gave her cyber high-fives and added their own cutting opinions to hers. She’d been disappointed when none of her Internet pals could come to the conference. She had envisioned snark sessions at parties like this one, laughter and joke-telling, and doing in-person what they did on the blog.

Once again, doubt fluttered in her mind. She had always thought of herself as a romance reader. And so, she believed her blog had attracted other romance readers. Like her, these readers were tired of the same old plot devices, cheesy dialogue, skinny, simpering heroines, and heroes who were either Navy SEALS or ancient vampires.

But maybe she’d merely attracted other cynical women who didn’t believe in love anymore. Her negativity had gathered more negativity. Was The Blog Bitch a service to readers who wanted the real scoop on romance novels? Or merely a place where she could use romance novels as scapegoats for her bitterness about love?

“Hi there! Looks like you need a friend.”

The southern drawl belonged to a pretty woman with platinum locks pulled into a ponytail; she was dressed in a white sweater and blue poodle skirt. As Elvis crooned “Don’t Be Cruel,” she plopped into a chair. Her affable smile jolted Val out of her morose thoughts.

“Isn’t this the greatest? I mean, it’s only day one and all ... but wow oh wow. First reader’s conference for me. What about you?”

“Yes,” said Val. “First one.”
And last one
. No way would she suffer through another event where people saw her nametag and bolted mid-conversation. She had finally taken it off, but most people knew her face now. If she wasn’t scheduled to participate on two panels—Bloggin’ The Review and Honesty in Review Writing—not to mention presenting a category award at the awards banquet, she would’ve booked a flight out of here tonight.

“Are you a reader or writer?” asked the bubbly blonde.

“Reader.”

“That’s terrific! I’m an author.” Out came a business card, which she presented to Val. “My first novel came out last summer,
Kiss Me Once
. The next in the series,
Kiss Me Twice
, hits shelves in June. I’m so excited!”

Val tried not to flinch. She had blogged about
Kiss Me Once
and like most of her reviews, it hadn’t been favorable. She looked at the pink rectangle: Lanie Haart was scrolled across the top with a big red “kiss” in the center. Lanie’s website address and email were at the bottom.

“Thanks,” said Val. She was reluctant to reveal her own identity. After all, Lanie was the first person to speak to Val since she’d arrived at the party. “Do you have fun writing?”

“My most favorite thing in the world. Of course, I just got published, so I don’t make enough to quit the ol’ day job.” She laughed.

“What’s the ol’ day job?”


“Rocket scientist.”


“Really?”


Lanie grinned. “Nah. I just like to say that to see how folks react. I’m a waitress
.
Just me and my little girl, making do in our little corner of Savannah. Been that way ever since my husband ran off with a movie star and moved to the Bahamas.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Yeah,” admitted Lanie. “It sounds more glamorous than saying he got tired of being a husband and a daddy and left. Five years ago, he took a twelve-pack of Budweiser, our dog Jester, and the truck. Haven’t seen him since.”

Val waited for the punch line.

“Oh, no, that part’s true,” she confirmed, waving a hand as if being abandoned by her own husband wasn’t a big deal.

“I got divorced more than a year ago,” Val said. “I was a paralegal and he was a lawyer. Frank and I had been married for about three months when I found out he was sleeping with my boss.”

“What a rat!”

Val nodded. She couldn’t quite believe she was confiding such painful memories to a stranger. Maybe she was so damned desperate to connect to someone at this conference she would say anything to keep ’em around longer than five minutes. “Turns out they’d been sleeping together before the wedding, too. I don’t know why he walked down the aisle with me. It took longer to get divorced than we were actually married. God, I was so in love with him.” She gulped the rest of her Chablis then shrugged. “But that’s why we read romance novels, right?”

“Happy endings are the best,” agreed Lanie. She pointed at Val’s empty wine glass. “Hey! Let’s get us another drink and make a toast to bad husbands.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Lanie rose from the table and plumped her skirt. “Where are my manners? I didn’t even ask your name!”

Val’s grip on her purse tightened. She got up from the table, her heart in her throat as she extended her hand.
She probably won’t know who I am. Or if she does recognize me, maybe she’ll thank me for all the publicity
. “I’m Valentine Carter.”

Lanie’s hand slipped away from Val’s. She was still smiling, but the friendly light went out of her eyes. “Oh. The ... uh ... Bitchy Blog or Bitch Who Blogs ... right?”

“The Blog Bitch.”

“Well, bless your heart. Brave of you to come to a conference with so many authors attending.”

“I was invited.”

“How nice for you.” Lanie bit her lip, obviously engaging in an internal debate. Valentine waited. Either Lanie would suck up to her, hoping to get a better review for
Kiss Me Twice
or she would lambaste Val for every mean word in the review for
Kiss Me Once
. No matter which choice Lanie made—Val had lost a potential friend.

“I feel sorry for you, Mrs. Carter,” Lanie finally said. “You’re a decent writer, y’know. You shouldn’t waste your time tearing apart other people’s hard work. You should stop blogging about books and try writing one.”

“I don’t discount the time and effort an author puts into her novel,” defended Val. She’d heard this old saw before. Authors often claimed that reviewers should consider how they’d sweated and bled and wept for their art.

“You don’t listen worth a hoot,” said Lanie, rolling her eyes. “Quit wasting your time and your talent on that blog and use it to write a book. Why do you think I wrote
Kiss Me Once
? Got me right over that rough patch when Benny left me. I didn’t have a job or a car or a cent to my name. All I had was an apartment with overdue rent and a toddler who kept crying for her daddy. Some women drink or eat or
blog
... I wrote a novel. I went to work and I took care of Katie Lyn and I wrote.”

“That’s great,” said Val, holding on to the vague hope that she and Lanie might yet be friends. “You’re realizing your dream.”

“You can only realize a dream if you have one,” said Lanie. “And that’s the difference between you and me, isn’t it?” She picked up her glittery blue purse and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll bid you good night, Mrs. Carter. I’m sure you understand why I can’t have that drink with you.”

“Yeah,” said Val. “Sure.”

Lanie Haart zipped away as fast as her bobby-socked feet could carry her. Val watched her walk toward the dance floor. As she passed the table where Madra held court, the author waved her over. Lanie squeezed into a chair between Madra and a good-looking man with the bluest eyes Val had ever seen. For a split second, the man’s gaze snared hers. Val felt a lust attack of epic proportions before the man looked away. The amorous fires died instantly.

Feeling monumentally depressed, Val left the Rock n’ Roll Rave and headed to the one place that always offered solace to the unwanted: the hotel bar.

VAL ORDERED A Jack and Coke from the cocktail waitress and settled into the corner booth. The space was dark and cozy and well away from the rowdy women who’d claimed the bar. Envious, she watched the tight-knit group, all wearing red shirts sporting “Madra’s Minions,” drink margaritas and laugh at their own goofy antics.

Sighing deeply, she decided she couldn’t spend another second watching other people enjoy life. She would go upstairs, order room service, and stay in bed until the first panel session, which began at 10 a.m. tomorrow.

“Hello,” said a sexy male voice. “Mind if I join you?”

Val looked up and met the gaze of Blue Eyes. Did Pierce Brosnan have a twin? Because this guy was hot. Oh, yeah. He was Remington Steele-James Bond-Thomas Crown HOT. Still, she shook her head. “You should probably know that I’m Valentine Carter, owner and publisher of The Blog Bitch. If you are an author, the relative of an author, the friend of an author, or the true-blue fan of an author, chances are good you hate my guts.”

He chuckled, scooting into the booth and sliding over two drinks. “I snagged one from the waitress and got you a second one.”

“Thanks.” Val pushed over a twenty-dollar bill, but he refused the money.

“It’s my pleasure to buy drinks for such a pretty lady.” He smiled, his teeth flashing white. “I’m Dominic.”

A sexy name to go with a sexy man. Her gaze flicked to red shirts at the bar. Several others had joined the minions, Madra and Lanie among them. Was it weird to want to be over there, one of the many basking in the glow of friends than here, with the gorgeous guy?

“I saw you with Madra earlier,” she said, wrapping her palms around the chubby glass. “You a friend of hers?”

“I’m a cover model,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not gay.”


“Perish the thought.”


“I spend time with everyone. I’m up for the Best Cover Model award, whic
h
requires votes to win.” He looked at Val. “I hope I can count on your vote.”


Val nodded, though she was disappointed that he was only schmoozing her for a dumb contest.
Valentine, if you were a flower, you couldn’t attract a bee
. She sucked down half the drink. It was cold and crisp and tasted more of Jack Daniels than of Coca-Cola.

“How long have you been a reviewer?” he asked.

Hmm. Had he inched closer? “I’ve reviewed books here and there for websites and stuff for a long time, but
I
started The Blog Bitch a little over a year ago.”


He nodded, looking as though he were interested in her every word. Wow. Sh
e
actually felt like he gave a shit. She started on the second drink, which tasted better than the first.

“So, how many books of Madra’s have you reviewed?”


“Her last three. I’m afraid I’ve been rather mean to her.”


“Really? Did she deserve it?”

He leaned forward. “Some of these romanc
e
authors think they are God’s gift to writing.”


“Yeah,” agreed Val. “Damn right. I think Madra’s stories are kinda pompous
.
Every time I read her work, I feel like she’s talking down to the reader. Like we can’t get what she’s saying. I mean if she wants to be all hoity-toity she should write a literary novel and get it over with. Why write romance novels if she doesn’t like them?”

“That’s an interesting viewpoint.”

Val blinked. Somehow a third Jack and Coke had arrived and she was damned near close to finishing it. Counting the Chablis—she was two drinks past what she usually imbibed. “Whew. I’m kinda buzzed. I ... uh ... y’know, better get back to the room.”

“Of course,” said Dominic.

Val managed to free herself from the booth, but the second she got to her feet, the world tilted.