VAMPIRE: COLLECTION - TWO HOT & PASSIONATE Vampire Short Stories to Tickle You Numb! (MMF, Menage, Threesome, BDSM, Vampire Romance) by Celia Styles Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Celia Styles
of the skyscrapers. It was as close as I could get to being in that light, and I'd instructed Reshi to go the long way.
"I'll just hear his case," I said. "If I don't do at least that much someone will start asking questions. And we absolutely can't have questions."
"True," he agreed. "But I don't have to like it."
The restaurant was the Fat Goose, a spin-off of London's Fat Duck. Like everything American, it was everything the original was, except bigger, more excessive. I saw Charles at the bar, waiting for me. He had a bottle of wine and two glasses, and as I walked closer he began to pour. Right away I realized that something was off--what he was pouring was blood.
"Are you trying to intimidate me?" I asked, as I joined him. "I'm here. What do you want?"
"I just thought you'd appreciate this," he said, handing me a glass. "It's supposedly young virgin, but you know how dealers can be."
We clinked glasses. I had to admit that the blood was a nice gesture. I'd gotten used to picking at dishes and pretending to drink, and it was nice to actually be able to partake in something so simple as drinking from a glass.
"I'm afraid dinner is a little more base," he said, as he led me to our table. "While I could convince the bartender to let me bring the extraordinary 'vintage', trying to arrange for a platter of fresh blood is a bit difficult, to say the least."
"You can dispense with dinner altogether for all I care," I said. "What do you want?"
"Business, business. Very well. I want your womb."
To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. Minutes crawled by before I realized that there was no punch line, that this wasn't a set-up to some other request. "You--you want me to have a child with you?" I asked, finally.
"Yes," he said. "I would compensate you for your troubles, of course. But consider--a child with our two gifts, able to venture into the sun--"
"It would be an abomination," I hissed.
"To the contrary," he said, pulling out his phone. He showed me a picture of a beautiful girl, with dark skin, hair as black as coals, eyes as green as emeralds. "This is the daughter of Enya Rey-Tan and Madison Fong," he said. "They live in Malaysia. I met them while travelling on business."
"But how--"
"Apparently our kinds are not as incompatible as the common view would have them be."
"What's in it for you, then?" I asked.
"A daughter of my own. Or a son. A legacy of my kind, newly written." I felt a warm furry thing snake around my legs under the table. It was his tail, sensuous but not enticing, just reminding me that he was a being like me. "We are dying out, Sybil. There are only a few hundred of my kind left--without this infusion of new blood we'll be gone in a few years. As will yours."
"The Order Chiefs can make more of us as they wish," I scoffed. "You know that."
"And ten of the twelve have died in the last five years," he reminded me. Nine of them had perished in a plane crash, the last one had been drugged and taken outside in a kidnapping attempt gone awry.
"Two Order Chiefs is plenty," I said.
"Yes, but not when they've gone mad."
I felt a coldness in the pit of my stomach. The Order Chiefs were old, true--but they were supposed to be immune to the madness that takes my kind in the end. He showed me his phone again, this time a report about a man who'd burst into flames spontaneously. "This was yesterday," he said softly.
I gulped. One Order Chief was technically enough to complete the ritual, but it was incredibly risky. I saw the name of the victim, and realized that the remaining Order Chief was 200 years old--if he was still around. He'd gone to Siberia 80 years ago. Nobody had seen him since. I began to feel dizzy.
"So you see, it's a matter of survival."
"Get me out of here," I said hoarsely. "I can't--I need to think--"
We got up and left. He tossed a few hundred on the
"I'll just hear his case," I said. "If I don't do at least that much someone will start asking questions. And we absolutely can't have questions."
"True," he agreed. "But I don't have to like it."
The restaurant was the Fat Goose, a spin-off of London's Fat Duck. Like everything American, it was everything the original was, except bigger, more excessive. I saw Charles at the bar, waiting for me. He had a bottle of wine and two glasses, and as I walked closer he began to pour. Right away I realized that something was off--what he was pouring was blood.
"Are you trying to intimidate me?" I asked, as I joined him. "I'm here. What do you want?"
"I just thought you'd appreciate this," he said, handing me a glass. "It's supposedly young virgin, but you know how dealers can be."
We clinked glasses. I had to admit that the blood was a nice gesture. I'd gotten used to picking at dishes and pretending to drink, and it was nice to actually be able to partake in something so simple as drinking from a glass.
"I'm afraid dinner is a little more base," he said, as he led me to our table. "While I could convince the bartender to let me bring the extraordinary 'vintage', trying to arrange for a platter of fresh blood is a bit difficult, to say the least."
"You can dispense with dinner altogether for all I care," I said. "What do you want?"
"Business, business. Very well. I want your womb."
To say that I was shocked would be an understatement. Minutes crawled by before I realized that there was no punch line, that this wasn't a set-up to some other request. "You--you want me to have a child with you?" I asked, finally.
"Yes," he said. "I would compensate you for your troubles, of course. But consider--a child with our two gifts, able to venture into the sun--"
"It would be an abomination," I hissed.
"To the contrary," he said, pulling out his phone. He showed me a picture of a beautiful girl, with dark skin, hair as black as coals, eyes as green as emeralds. "This is the daughter of Enya Rey-Tan and Madison Fong," he said. "They live in Malaysia. I met them while travelling on business."
"But how--"
"Apparently our kinds are not as incompatible as the common view would have them be."
"What's in it for you, then?" I asked.
"A daughter of my own. Or a son. A legacy of my kind, newly written." I felt a warm furry thing snake around my legs under the table. It was his tail, sensuous but not enticing, just reminding me that he was a being like me. "We are dying out, Sybil. There are only a few hundred of my kind left--without this infusion of new blood we'll be gone in a few years. As will yours."
"The Order Chiefs can make more of us as they wish," I scoffed. "You know that."
"And ten of the twelve have died in the last five years," he reminded me. Nine of them had perished in a plane crash, the last one had been drugged and taken outside in a kidnapping attempt gone awry.
"Two Order Chiefs is plenty," I said.
"Yes, but not when they've gone mad."
I felt a coldness in the pit of my stomach. The Order Chiefs were old, true--but they were supposed to be immune to the madness that takes my kind in the end. He showed me his phone again, this time a report about a man who'd burst into flames spontaneously. "This was yesterday," he said softly.
I gulped. One Order Chief was technically enough to complete the ritual, but it was incredibly risky. I saw the name of the victim, and realized that the remaining Order Chief was 200 years old--if he was still around. He'd gone to Siberia 80 years ago. Nobody had seen him since. I began to feel dizzy.
"So you see, it's a matter of survival."
"Get me out of here," I said hoarsely. "I can't--I need to think--"
We got up and left. He tossed a few hundred on the
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