Page 2 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

Die, witch. Just die already.

It is her.

The lavender ghost.

She is here as I push my way up from the ground, soil clinging to my naked body, mud caked between the claws on my toes and in the crevices of the webbing on my wings as I leave the cold, comforting earth and once again join the world above.

Two years I’ve been here in the dirt waiting for this moment. Trying my best to bide my time. And now, finally, all my waiting is over.

The little witch has dreamwalked right into my forest. I sense, rather than see, the lavender fog that comes with her dreamwalking. I sense her, as well. Can’t see her, of course. The old witch is strong with the Black magic that comes with her Black blood. Even now, as weak and frail as her body is, I can feel her power. From this long distance, even as the veil of death creeps over her, that power is persistent.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. The old witch is dying and that means I will see the little witch soon enough because when the old witch dies, so does her magic. Once that happens, things will quickly get interesting.

I am days—perhaps hours—away from seeing the face of my lavender ghost for the very first time. The one I have been waiting for.

I bet she is lovely. Her grandmother, wretched as she is in the present, was very, very nice to look at when she was a child.

I do so, so, so love beautiful things.

The sense of my lavender ghost fades before I’m even standing upright, but she was here. Looking for me, perhaps?

Oh, you eager thing, you. Little tease, aren’t you?

But oh, if I could only smell her. That sweet, sweet smell of untainted blood that rushes through her veins.

My mouth waters. It’s been two years since I last fed.

I stand in the forest and breathe like it’s my first breath ever. The air is misty and refreshing here in the Rocky Mountains. Even a monster such as myself can appreciate that.

It’s why I stay.

Why I’ve made this place my home.

My first destination is a little cabin nestled along the Beaverhead River several miles outside Twin Bridges, Montana. One man lives inside. It’s a fishing outfit. He runs guided tours or something. It’s not late, but there are no lights on. But even if he’s sleeping, I’m going to wake him up.

I walk up to the cabin, twist the knob on the door—breaking the lock—and let myself in. Vampire lore in the human world is fascinating. I have watched it morph over the centuries, becoming more and more ridiculous, more and more hopeful.

But they always get it so, so wrong. They give me the most idiotic weaknesses.

Sunlight. Please. I relish the sun after a good feed.

Invitations. They are stupid and unnecessary, but at least I understand this one. Humans want to feel safe in their homes. They want to believe that they are in control, at least in this one place. But I do not require an invitation to walk across a threshold. That’s just stupid.

It goes on and on like that. Garlic? Stake to the heart? Wooden bullets? Who comes up with this stuff? Really. The writers need to get an imagination. It’s all so ridiculous.

I close the door and the man is already up. He’s naked, so I deduce that he has a woman in his bed. He’s pulling a pair of sweatshorts up his legs as he hops out into the living room.

“My lord. I wasn’t expecting you.” He says this same thing every time, as if I am required to inform him of my itinerary.

“I need blood. I need a shower. I need clothes. I need that Jeep outside.”

He blinks at me, confused because he is still half-asleep.

So I add, “Please,” to give him an extra moment to catch up.

He snaps to it. “Yes, my lord.”

“Who is that?” A sleepy woman peeks out from the bedroom door, pulling a white sheet across her ample breasts. She studies my naked monstrous body with unabashed lust, her eyes lingering on my cock for a moment. Then her lips form a small smile.

Possibly an invitation of another kind. One I might like to take her up on. The girl is very beautiful. Her breasts are top-notch. And her hair is long, and golden, and tousled, letting me know that she has just had a wonderful time with my slave.

How interesting. I’m in my natural state—which, even I consider quite hideous compared to my beautiful state—but this one sees through my exterior.

Fascinating.

My slave informs the woman of what will happen next. “You need to go, Isabella. Now . No questions. I will call you later.” He has already picked up her clothing and is pushing her towards the door I just stepped through. Her eyes go wide when she gets a glimpse of my wings.

“Hold on now.” I grab her arm before the slave can push her out the door. “If you would like to stay, I won’t mind.”

“She would not .” The slave says this emphatically.

I push him and he goes stumbling backwards. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”

I’m too rough. I realize that. But this girl is quite sexy. My eyes are on her and her eyes are on me. This is one thing the lore got right. We can enchant humans rather easily. But this little trollop doesn’t need it, does she?

She drops her sheet and lifts her chin up. Like I just dared her to do that.

“Isa bella .” The slave is sending her warnings. “You need. To go. Right now.”

“I don’t know.” Isabella side-eyes me sexily as she lifts one shoulder in a beckoning gesture. “This is all pretty fascinating, if you ask me. What are you? Some kind of devil?” Her eyes do a little winky thing and her lips pucker around her words.

“You could say that.”

She turns her body into mine. We are already naked, so I’m practically chuckling at the ease of this new development. Sex hadn’t even crossed my mind. Wasn’t even in the top ten list of things I require this slave to provide me before I make my way home to check on my sick feeder.

I reach out and drag the back of my forefinger down her sweet cheek. “You are so lovely. But unfortunately, darling, I have pressing matters to attend to. Perhaps another time.”

The slave huffs out some kind of objection.

But the girl… the girl kisses me through the air and practically moans out the word, “Perhaps.”

Then the slave is bundling her up in that sheet, shoving her clothes into her chest, and pushing her out the door into the frigid winter air.

“I’ll call you later.” He slams the door in her face, turns to me, and bows low from the waist. “My lord. I have everything you need.”

I sigh, wishing I had time to fuck the girl. But the feeder is not doing well. And it bothers me that neither Lucia nor Josep bothered to come tell me about this development.

Something is amiss at home.

And then there is the lavender ghost who dreamwalked her way into my awakening.

Finally, the spell will be broken and I can get on with things.

While I’ve been thinking these thoughts, the slave has hurriedly taken a bag of blood out of the freezer and is putting it in a blender to chop it up. “Do you want me to heat it?”

“Yes, of course. I’m not an animal.”

“No, my lord. You’re not.”

He’s not afraid of me. Nor should he be. I’m not going to hurt him. I’m certainly not going to drink him. The vampire lore really fucked up everything regarding the blood. We can’t simply drink anyone we wish. That’s ludicrous. We feed on the Black blood of Black witches. Evil creatures, they are. Even more despicable than my own race. At least vampires don’t breed girl-babies to offer up as feeders, do we?

Not that I’m complaining. I need that blood from those baby girls. All three of us do, these days. Oh, that’s another thing. Covens of vampires?

It’s laughable.

There are three of us in all of North America. Me, Lucia, and Josep.

Although we are all unique. Not even the same race, actually. I am the only pure vampire of the group. The bloodlines of the other two are very muddy.

So there’s me. And that’s it. We’re not hunting the humans looking for food. We mind our own business. We keep to ourselves. We do our own thing.

Most of the time, anyway.

I look back at the door, once again wishing I had time for sex.

The slave sighs, noticing my attention is still on his woman. “She’s nice.”

I look over at him. He was born into this position. His family has been taking care of me for hundreds of years now. It’s a good family. A fantastic arrangement. His name is Hutch. “Good. You should fuck her some more, get her pregnant, and give me a boy. You’re what, twenty-four now? You’re running out of time, Hutch.”

“Um, yeah. Maybe. I like her—”

“I don’t care if you like her. I need you to produce me a boy. We need to keep on track—you won’t live forever, now will you? And that little tart has mother-of-monsters written all over her.”

I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking… Maybe I can get out of this curse somehow? Maybe I can save myself, or my future wife, or my future child from this life of slavery?

But he can’t.

I won’t kill him, but I have other ways of making him comply.

“You have eighteen months, Hutch. If that girl has not produced a boy in eighteen months, there will be consequences.”

“But what if it’s a girl?”

“You wish. You’re not even capable of producing a female. Haven’t I mentioned that?”

He looks at me, confused.

So apparently this was a forgotten detail. But I’ve been at this for so long, I can’t be held responsible for leaving miscellanea out of the story.

Hutch sighs. “Isabella really is a nice girl.”

I nearly guffaw. “Not nice enough to be spared. She was going to let me fuck her, Hutch. Right in front of you. I might still take her up on that, but I don’t have time at the moment. Get her pregnant, give me a boy, and find another one to settle down with. Is that so hard?”

She’s not a nice girl, she’s a slut. We both know that. But I have mistaken his infatuation for lust. They were already asleep and it’s barely seven PM on New Year’s Eve. And they had obviously already had sex. So. He’s falling for her.

“She’s not worth it. She’s not good enough for you.”

“I don’t want her to be the breeder, Paul. I just—”

“Too bad. I like her. I want her babies. You will not marry this one. She is mine. Now heat up that blood while I shower.”

“Yes, my lord.”

I leave him there and get in the shower, thinking about that girl and what sort of boy child she might produce.

Hutch is one of my favorites. I am particular about the slaves I keep. I like them to be beautiful. He was an adorable child.

He’s been attending to me since he was seventeen, so only a few short years. But I’ve been around since his birth. He’s not my child, but I treat him like one and I’m looking forward to a new baby in my life. I don’t take care of them, of course. And this new one won’t come live at the mansion until he’s old enough to follow directions and take care of himself.

But that’s a good ten years. A lovely decade of me and that slut playing house together.

She will be a reason for me to stay above ground. She will give me a place to go and rest. I will fuck her relentlessly, and I will watch her tend the baby, and she will cook for the boy and have bags of blood in the freezer for me.

A vampire can dream, can’t he?

It’s more likely that she will be a complete bitch, I will grow tired of her within a week, and she will die a dramatic death after I take the child and leave her behind.

Hutch should not be complaining. The sooner he produces the child, the sooner he can move on with his life.

I finish showering and choose clothes from the wardrobe Hutch keeps for me. Even though my body heat is enough to warm a whole house, I dress in layers like the locals. Montana in January might as well be the Arctic.

But I cannot put the shirt on until the wings are gone, and the wings won’t go away until I drink the blood that Hutch left for me on the dresser. This blood is old. But old blood is best if it comes from a young feeder. And this batch does. I took this blood from the old dying witch when she was but seven or eight years old. It’s been on ice since then. Many decades.

It is body temperature when I drink it down. And I fantasize a little about what it would be like to drink it from the source again.

Naturally my thoughts wander to the lavender dreamwalker. Soon. It’s happening, finally. The protection spell will wear off in, what, hours? Days? Hell, it could be minutes for all I know.

This motivates me. I dress in a pair of black canvas work pants, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved thermal, a pair of wool socks, boots, and a black canvas work coat. Then I pause to look at myself in the full-length mirror near the door.

Another fail in the lore.

Of course we can see ourselves in the mirror. We are not phantoms. We are flesh and blood.

And with the new old blood, the wings are gone and the demonic attributes have all but disappeared. I look human. If humans were ever this striking. Very tall, with dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a muscular body.

I am beautiful, and formidable, and cunning.

So cunning.

Hutch looks sad as he stands next to me. I meet his eyes in the mirror as I adjust my coat. “There will be other women, Hutch. There will be other babies. I provide you with so much. A life, all the money you need, food, shelter. All I want in return is a little boy. You know I will love him. I love you, don’t I?”

He nods. But he’s not convinced.

But that’s OK. I don’t need him to be convinced.

He will not disobey me.

He is a slave and I am his master.

I pat his shoulder sympathetically, and then I walk through the door and leave him behind.