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At eighteen, Raelynn Pierre has her life all figured out. When her eccentric grandfather sends for her to visit him, she takes the opportunity to meet the family she has never met. But the journey takes her to a stranger on the train who needs her blood to heal... and steals her heart as well. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ I reached for my notebook and stared at my hand in confusion. There were red stains all over it. I turned my palms over, finding no cuts anywhere, then turned back to the man. Maybe he really was an undercover agent. I turned fearful eyes to the door, my breath held as I waited for men in black suits and guns to charge in. A minute passed. Then another. I was being ridiculous. Maybe this man was really a woman and he- she was just on her period! My gaze caught the strong jaw and perfectly masculine features and I shook my head. Of course not. No woman could be this good looking. And I felt his body when he fainted on me earlier. He was definitely male. He was injured. I should go get help. Tentatively, my fingers reached for him again, my heart thumping against my chest so loudly that I was worried I would wake him up by the sound of it. I kneeled beside him and examined his black suit. It was wet earlier and I assumed it was just water. I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open. I gasped. The white tuxedo shirt underneath was stained with blood. I watched with a rather sick sense of fascination as the whites started making way for more red and then pulled myself together when I realized that was because he was still bleeding. He was going to die here and it was going to be my fault. "I'm going to go get help," I said to the unconscious man, standing up with the intent to run to the train conductor so he could stop at the nearest station and get us help. His hands lurched forward suddenly, pulling me back. "Don't." He warned darkly, his grip on my wrist so tight I was certain he was leaving bruises. His breathes came in slow, heavy pants as he clutched a hand to his stomach. "You're injured. Maybe there's a doctor a board," I said, panic seizing my heart. I tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened more. Even suffering as he was, he could still chuckle. "Doctors can't help me now." I stared at him. Was he dying? Did he come here to die? "Tell me how to help," I said. His eyes opened then, finding me instantly and I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, to even breathe. "You... want to help?" He grinned. It should be illegal for a man bleeding out to look so positively seductive. "Yes," I said. "I want to help." He stood up then and walked towards me. There was no hesitation as he unbuttoned the bloody shirt he was wearing and pulled it off his body. My eyes widened at the sight of the gashing wound on his stomach. I wanted to look away, discomfort gripping my belly at the sight but my body had other ideas. I reached for the wound in his stomach and wondered if I could close it together if I pressed hard enough. His hand gripped my wrist, stopping me midway and he pressed our hands to my heart, feeling my rapid, panicked thumping beneath his fingertips. "Are you afraid?" he asked.
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Lust & Monsters 4
Supernatural Romance, Short Story, Domination & Submission
Copyright 2017 Daisy Rose
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters depicted in sexual acts in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older. No part in this book may be reproduced, transmitted, stored, or distributed without permission of the author or publisher.
This is short story contains steamy scenes involving a sexy vampire and an incredibly loving werewolf. Chapters with 18+ scenes are indicated with an asterisk (*).
It was one of those soft, flawless days when the sea and the sky seemed to meet and the world was an exquisite shade of blue that filled my mind with a sense of peace and serenity.
I stretched and laid back to the cushioned rattan chair, feeling marvelously at peace with the enchanting world of sunshine. A cool breeze caught my cheeks, ruffling my hair back and I gave a soft little sigh of pleasure.
At this time on Saturday morning, the traffic would be streaming along the motorway, angry drivers honking loudly at the unending traffic, eager to be on their way. I was grateful not to join them.
I let my eyes linger on the crystal-clear water and smiled at the sharp contrast the countryside provided. If I shifted my head lightly, I could see beyond the unending blue and spy small boats with fishermen checking their traps.
In the kitchen, I could hear the comforting associated sounds of my mother preparing a delicious brunch for us both. The aromas followed soon after, and I drifted into the kitchen for a bite.
My mother was beautiful and didn't look her age at all. People often mistake us for sisters. The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman pulled off summer dresses better than I ever could. I inherited my pale skin from my father while her creamy skin was vibrant with life. She adored cooking and had made a career out of it, delivery lunch boxes to almost every office in town. My stepfather, who was a whiz with numbers and computers, handled the logistics of the business while my mother continued to do what she loved best - cook. I had been unhappy to share my mother's love when I was younger, but he was the best stepfather a girl could ask for.
"Coffee?" my mother asked when she saw me enter.
"Yes, please," I answered brightly, noticing an odd expression on my normally cheerful mother's face. Her long hair was pulled back and she looked wonderful in the blue and white dress we had bought just a day earlier in town when we were doing her deliveries. She didn't turn around after talking to me, staring at me with eyes that were so bright and sad. "What's wrong, mom? You're looking at me as if I had grown a second head."
My mother smiled instantly, trying to dispel the demons in his eyes and when that wasn't convincing enough, she hid them from me by looking away. "Nothing's wrong," she said quickly, loading the table with fruits and piping hot ham-filled omelets garnished with button mushrooms and freshly chopped parsley. Small, crusty rolls emerged from the oven, still warm and smelling heavenly.
"I wish I could cook like you," I said at the table. "Why is it that everything I cook comes up tasting like cardboard?"
"You just need more practice," she murmured, but we both know that wasn't true. I'd had plenty of practice cooking with her growing up. I just never developed the palate to cook like her.
I set the table as she filled the table with more food than either of us could ever finish in a lifetime. I grinned at her enthusiasm, "Are we expecting a party, mom?" There were no delivery boxes around the room today.
"I just like to cook for you," she murmured in a rather half-hearted fashion. I sensed a 'but' coming up, but it never appeared.
"What's wrong?" I asked, knowing I sounded a little frustrated, but it was mostly fear and anxiety. The last time she had cooked this much was when Chris had been unreachable on his business trip. My stepfather contacted her a day afterwards, reassuring her that he was fine, but by then she had cooked enough for the whole city. We ran out of flat surfaces to put food on.
Chris told her that he was robbed on the way to his hotel and his phone was stolen along with most of his money. She flew to him immediately after putting down the phone.
"Nothing's wrong," she insisted. "Come, let's have a bite to eat first. I've been looking forward to spending time with you. Just the two of us."
I narrowed my eyes at her, distrustful, but sat down and indulge her with an roll and coffee. "You were fine this morning. What happened?"
Instead of sitting down on the table with me, she was getting started with another omelet, which was not a good sign. "Mail," she said after a long pause. She waved her hand holding a spatula, trying to appear dismissive but there was a heaviness in her voice that betrayed her. "A letter from Grandfather Pierre," she said finally, enunciating with upmost precision a name that had always upset her.
"Grandfather Pierre?" I echoed, the name was ringing no bells. Judging from her tormented exterior, I guessed that it was to do with my father's side of the family.
She murmured something intelligible and stared blankly out the window, uncaring that the eggs she had started cooking was sizzling and burning. I rushed to the stove and turned it off.
"What does he want?" I asked, my hand on her arm. She didn't even register my touch as she continued to stare at something only she could see.
"Do you remember him?" she asked, forlorn, not even caring that the beloved pan Chris had bought for her from France was stained with burnt egg.
I shook my head.
"You weren't quite five when we left... and I can't believe how much you've grown already. I can't pretend I'm not surprised the letter came at all... I wish they had forgotten about you... But I can't tell you not to go. They're family," she said, words tumbling together and making little sense.
"They've invited me to their home?"
"Yes, to America. They even wrote you a check in case you needed money."
I laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going," I said. "Come on, join me for brunch. It's no fun eating alone while you brood over silly things like forgotten relatives."
"I'm not brooding," she said calmly.
"Show me the letter. We'll look through it together and figure out what's put you in such an odd mood," I suggested.
"No!" she said, her hand going to her pocket immediately to make sure it was still there. She sighed, "It's addressed to me, and it would upset you."
"Why would it upset me?" I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Your father's family is... interesting," she started, choosing her words with great care. "They were particularly unhappy when I decided to take you away after your father passed. And even unhappier still that I left the country altogether." Casually she broke off a roll and brought a piece to her mouth. She avoided my eyes when she said with false flippantness, "Grandfather Pierre was especially fond of you, Rae. It broke his heart when I took you away. It's not surprising they didn't invite me."
"Assholes," I said.
"Watch your language!" she scolded, but chuckled a little. "I'm only telling you that they've requested your presence at the castle. Grandfather Pierre is a very powerful man... but I think he may be lonely and wants to see his granddaughter," she said. "The letter also mentioned a rather large inheritance that is available for you, now that you're eighteen."
I felt the hair on my arms rise and a static forming around me. "An inheritance?! And where was this money when you needed it?!"
She looked back at me with her humorous brown eyes, "I never wanted the family's money, Rae. I wouldn't have taken it even if it was offered to me."
"It would've been of them to offer!" I countered. I fell silent for a moment, giving my mother the chance to try and change my mind.
"It would be good to see your father's family, darling. Aren't you curious?"
"When I was younger, immeasurably," I admitted. "But I'm happy now, mom. I have you and Chris and his crazy family," I said honestly. We were all each other had growing up. Mom took odd jobs around the country to make ends meet, working her way up from dishwasher, to sous chef to owning her own little business. She met Chris a few years ago and having a man around the house had been good for her. She was a lot happier nowadays. Chris had a large family that took us in instantly, inviting us to all their family events and making us feel like we had always been a part of them.
"And I don't need their money either. My artwork is selling pretty well online," I smiled, grateful that she let me pursue the dream. "We don't need the money," I paused and looked at her suspiciously, wondering what else she was hiding from me. What was in the letter that she didn't want me to see? "Do we need the money, mother?"
"Oh goodness no!" she laughed. "You don't have to go if you don't want to, darling. But your grandfather is a powerful man. If he wants to see you, I suspect he would be able to find a way to get you there," she said cryptically. "And there are some things about your father that you should know...
"What about him?" I asked, a fleeting image of a pale man with bright blue eyes carrying me in his arm appearing in my mind before it was gone again. I didn't remember much about my biological father and she didn't like to talk about him. It always made her sad so I learned to stop asking when I was much younger.
"I'm not the right person to ask, darling," she sighed. "But see, you're already curious! It's my duty as your mother to encourage you to spread your wings."
"Uh huh," I mumbled dismissively, though my mind was a whirlpool of thoughts.
"How much do you remember about the castle?"
"Nothing much," I said honestly. I had been sick a lot as a child and didn't remember much about my past other than the brief glimpse of a handsome young man that pictures told me was my father.
"The castle is beautiful," she said, "if a little secluded, but that's how they like it. Your grandfather is splendidly rich. As I recall, he owned the whole town as well as one of the most prosperous sugar farms in the country."
"Sugar farms?" I raised my eyebrows at her.
"They're a deceivingly opulent business," she said with a shrug. I had a sudden recollection of tall black boots and beautiful great trees with juicy mango fruits, colorful bougainvilleas plants crawling over everything, their sharp thorns deterring me from putting my hands on them.
I turned my head quickly and caught the lingering expression on her face, faintly sad. "I'm not going to go, mother. You don't have to worry," I said quickly.
"I'll worry more if you don't go," she said. "Your father's family is as interesting as they are persistent. If they want you there, it's best you go."
"They sound dangerous."
"They are," she said without hesitation. "But you're blood, so you'll be safe with them. Perhaps you'll be safer with them than you will be here." There was such a curious expression on her face that my blood ran cold. She looked worried, almost fearful. I had never seen my mother afraid before, safe for the time she couldn't find Chris. "It would be good for you," she said with an air of finality. "You would be able to get plenty of inspiration and create more of those wonderful masterpieces."
I wanted to argue with her, but I had a feeling her mind was all made up and there was nothing I could say that would change her mind.
"Your grandfather was awfully fond of you," she added thoughtfully. "He'll be ecstatic to see you again."
"Explains the years of keeping in touch," I mumbled a little unhappily, but she only laughed and set about scrubbing the burnt marks from her pan.
"They have their reasons for keeping away, darling. And you have to remember I was the one who took you away from them, not the other way 'round," she said. "They were happy with me staying in the castle, but the constant reminders of your father was too much for me..."
It was the most I had heard my mother say of my late father. "How did he die?" I asked for the millionth time, not really expecting an answer. I had always been met with mummers of an 'accident' along with tears and silence.
To my surprise, she turned around and sat down in front of me. "Your father didn't die in an accident," she said finally. "Nathanael is- was a hunter. He tracked and hunted down beast that terrorize people. He was killed by a wild beast he had been hunting. He brought it down in the end, but not before suffering a fatal wound," she said, tears spilling from her eyes. She tried to laugh it off. "I'm sorry. I should've told you years ago! It's such a silly thing to hide, but I didn't want you to grow up being afraid of animals. You've always had an affinity for all creatures..."
I interlinked my fingers with her and squeezed her hand. "It's alright, mom."
She sniffled and wiped her tears away with her apron, then laughed in embarrassment. "There's so many things about your family that you need to know, Rae," she said. "I can't tell you. It would be too... unbelievable."
All my life she had been answering my questions about my father with more questions. This was no different. I didn't really mind now, having gotten used to it. "Perhaps we should ask what Chris thinks about this?" I suggested with a sigh.
There was a heavy pause while I got up to pour fresh coffee for the both of us.
"I've never been to America. Maybe you're right. I could go earlier and explore a little before visiting the old man."
By the time we finished the coffee, we both knew that my mind was made up. The decision had already been made and it presented itself with me packing my bags that very evening. I was, without question, going to America where I would be known and accepted as Raelynn Pierre, heiress to the Castle Pierre.
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