Page 3 of Kentucky Nights (Dead Man’s Ranch #1)

Present day

My dead human mate’s photo is perched on top of the hand-carved wooden mantle. Daphne stares at me every day while I have my coffee.

She used to make my coffee. Every. Single. Morning. Black and bitter, but she’d always add a few drops of her blood to sweeten it for me.

I miss that.

I miss her.

I miss her kiss on my cheek when she handed me the warm mug before I began my day on the ranch. The memory of her sharing her blood for the first time morphs from her standing in the kitchen to cutting her palm with a knife in the bedroom.

Not once in all my years did I bite her.

There were plenty of reasons why. One was because I was afraid I would lose control and kill her.

Two, the thought of giving my bite to someone who wasn’t my fated mate stopped me.

It was this small voice in the back of my head, urging me not to.

Three, Daphne didn’t want me to bite her because she knew one day she would die, and she didn’t want to be addicted to the feeling of my fangs in her vein.

She wanted to remain human, and I think she thought the feel of the bite would tempt her too much.

Instead, we stocked up on her blood. Even in the bedroom, we were prepared.

I loved that about her—her humanity. I envied her for it too, but it was the biggest reason why my love for her never died.

The worn dark blue recliner squeaks as I stand, continuing to rock back and forth from my absence. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if her ghost is keeping my seat warm.

“I miss you. I hate living what I have left of my life without you.” I skim my finger down the glass of the photo frame, wishing it were her skin.

I have somewhere between twenty to fifty years left before I finally die. My two hundred years will be up, and I’ll turn to ash, ceasing to exist just like I should have all those years ago. I’ll finally get to be with Daphne in the afterlife—if a place like that exists for a monster like me.

I’ve lived too damn long to keep track of all the time I have been alive. The years, weeks, months, minutes, and seconds mean nothing to me. I have an estimate of changes to the world due to the evolution of society—if you want to call it evolution.

This timeline is quite peculiar.

I tend to keep to myself as much as possible now, which is another reason why I can’t remember my age. I’m old. I know that much, but I don’t look a day over forty—the age I was turned. That I do remember.

After what happened with Audrey, I told myself I was going to fade into existence. I thought that was what she would hate the most. I wanted my life to spite her in every way possible for stealing my ability to die when I was meant to.

The oceans are warmer now. The air is more polluted. The people are angrier. Love for anything in life that brings joy seems to be harder to find.

That’s when I had my epiphany.

My maker would absolutely hate it if I fell in love again—like how I wanted before she changed me.

Somewhere between the years of I-killed-everyone-I-came-across to isolating- myself-on-my-ranch, I met the woman in the photo sitting on my mantle.

And her name was Daphne.

The past: sometime in the 1900s

I never left home. I have mystified every single person, not to question why I never age. It takes a lot of work with young couples having babies and growing their families, but I was able to wait a couple of decades before I had to pull out the only trick I have in my vampire book.

If I have to live as this creature, I’m not going to inconvenience myself by moving every few decades. That’s not what I wanted when I was human, and it hasn’t changed since becoming a vampire.

No, I wasn’t about to leave my home when there was a simple solution to fix it, but I’m happy. I love being nestled away on hundreds of acres of land where people can’t bother me.

I only come to town when I need more stock in hay, feed, and blood.

I keep my head down and my Stetson low so no one will notice me.

That’s hard to do when a man like me is on a horse like Romeo.

He’s a large, muscular Friesian with a pitch-black hide and a long, curly mane to match, which ladies often fawn over when they see him.

What no one knows is that Romeo is a vampire too. It wasn’t easy making the decision to turn him, but around twenty years ago, he was shot for having an injured leg. The owner had left him to die in agony, and I couldn’t allow him to suffer.

I had used my vampire speed to get to him, and when I pressed my hand on his thick neck, I could hear his thoughts. I ended up getting one of those ‘gifts’ Audrey had warned me about.

“I don’t want to die.”

His big black eyes stared at me, a tear escaping from the inky pools. I could feel his pain, and it was a feeling I never wanted to experience again.

I was selfish in that moment. I had been alone, learning how to be a vampire on my own, and never coming across another like me. I was lonely for a companion. I sliced my palm open with my fangs, opened his mouth, and squeezed my hand into a fist to allow a few drops of blood to land on his tongue.

I stroked his neck, doing my best to calm him in his biggest moment of fear. “I have to kill you now if you want to be by my side for whatever time I have left. You like the name Romeo, by chance?”

I was a big fan of Shakespeare.

“Save me,” he begged.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my heart at my throat. “It will only hurt for a second, I promise,” I told him.

Romeo nudged me, almost as if he were urging me to do it.

With my new strength, I snapped his neck, and his limp head fell into my lap.

I laid him on the ground and stepped away to give him space.

His neck cracked into place, aligning his cervical spine again.

He reared back on his hind legs and tossed his two front legs in the air, neighing louder than the thunder rolling above us.

The gunshot wound stitched itself back together, leaving him reborn into the monster I’ve been fighting like hell to accept.

His eyes bled from black to scarlet. His face became sunken and more skeletal. Fangs gleamed in the sun as he reared his head back and neighed, feeling the power of his new life.

The only thing I remember thinking was, “How the hell do I feed a vampire horse? What was I thinking?”

Over the years, Romeo and I have learned that his eyes stay red, and he likes to hunt in the woods by himself. He eats other animals, ranging from squirrels to deer, only a few times a week. He’s self-sufficient.

I slide off the saddle, tying the reins around the rail above the water trough. Romeo begins drinking, and I pat his shoulder. “Drink up. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go biting anyone.” I step away, then pause, glancing over my shoulder. “Again.”

“He deserved it,” he replies without taking his mouth away from the water.

I’m not sure I will ever get used to talking to animals.

My spurs clink with every step on the dusty wooden pathway.

The loud thumps of my boots have the locals giving me a wide berth.

They must sense something different about me that they can’t quite put their finger on.

They are smart too. I can smell the spike of fear in their blood when they get too close to me, and I’m too tempted to rip their heads from their shoulders.

The violence I constantly feel—the craving for blood—they never fade.

I open the front door of Hank’s Feed Store, the bell jingling to announce a customer’s arrival.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” an older woman stammers when she bumps into me.

I keep my head down, my Stetson casting a shadow to hide my face. “No problem, ma’am. I insist.” I open the door wider, gesturing with my arm out for her to walk into the store first.

“What a gentleman. Thank you.”

I smirk, hiding in the casted shadow. “You’re welcome, ma’am.” My gaze catches the bold vein on her wrist as she lifts her hands, her dainty purse dangling from her elbow.

She walks with sass and attitude, sashaying her hips and demanding attention in the store.

I can tell she’s married to a wealthy man.

She wears fine gold jewelry with a large, tacky diamond on her ring finger.

The extravagant-looking older woman is even wearing a stylish light blue hat with a white feather on top of her perfectly styled hair.

I can’t remember a time when women didn’t have to worry so much about their appearance. It must be a lot of pressure to always feel like you can’t be less than perfect. They deserve more.

“Mrs. Bell. How are you today?”

The sugar-laced voice has me stepping inside the store and lifting my head so I can try to find the face it belongs to.

“Oh, Daphne, honey, I hope you can help me.”

My, oh, my.

Daphne just became someone I need to know.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice pulls me from my stupor.

I blink, realizing I’m standing in front of the door and people can’t get in. “Apologies.” I pinch the brim of my hat, giving my chin a small tilt to my chest.

My eyes lock on Daphne, the lovely young woman behind the counter, helping out Mrs. Bell. I don’t even try to hear what they are talking about as I slowly walk the edge of the room to get closer to her.

She has strawberry blonde hair that falls to her shoulders. Half of it is pinned back, revealing the delicate features of her face. Her subtle pink lips have a perfect curve to the top, while her bottom lip is just a kiss plumper.

My, oh, my.

Ms. Daphne is a sight for very sore eyes. My spurs still clink with every step until I find myself, unknowingly, standing next to Mrs. Bell.

“Oh, thank you, Daphne. I appreciate your help.” Mrs. Bell’s eyes lift to meet mine before drifting back to Daphne. “I’ll just go. I’ll let you know if I need anything.” She nudges me before whispering, “She is a very sweet young lady. Don’t go messing it up.”

I grin, taking off my hat like the gentleman I am, and press it against my chest. “I have no intention of doing that, Mrs. Bell.”