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  Cover

  Stalking the Dark

  Following a brutal battle that left the sadistic vampire Louis Reynard severely wounded and sent him into hiding, the strikingly beautiful vampire queen Alina and the rest of the d’Argent clan are in New Orleans to celebrate the wedding of one of their own. With Reynard temporarily out of the picture, Alina is free to relax and indulge her deeply passionate nature.

  Sam Quill, the bride’s human father, has been widowed and alone for many years and finds himself irresistibly drawn to Alina. While he has no desire to be turned himself, their romantic interlude escalates to a fever pitch, and he’s more than eager to explore the unworldly pleasures Alina promises—pleasures that will take them both to erotic heights neither of them could have imagined.

  Lurking in the shadows is Wim, another of Reynard’s evil kind who’s just as dark, just as cruel, and just as hell-bent on destroying the queen and her entire clan. When he launches his attack, it’s Sam who confronts him, but he’s no match for the vampire’s demonic strength. And as Alina helplessly watches Sam’s torment, she’s forced to choose between honoring his wishes and letting him die, or changing him to a creature of the eternal night in order to save the only man who’s ever taken her to the blistering edge of sensual surrender.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Stalking the Dark

  Ann Jacobs

  Copyright © 2016 by Ann Jacobs.

  This is a fully revised edition of a story first told in Eternal Surrender by Shana Nichols, copyright © 2007 by Ann Jacobs.

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  ISBN: 978-1-940846-73-6

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Hunting the Dark Lord Series

  The Oil Barons Series

  About the Author

  Prologue

  In the shadows of ancient oaks festooned with Spanish moss, an intruder lurked, observing silently. Watching vampires cavorting with mortals at a wedding celebration that had begun in Chicago and moved en masse here to New Orleans, Wim Reynard seethed at the indignity of his assignment. His hatred for the fallen leader of his own vampire clan kept growing by the minute. Too sick now to fight, Louis Reynard had refused to let anyone else end his mad quest for vengeance. Instead he had sent Wim, as though he were some toothless lackey, with orders to observe the vampire queen who had spurned the old vampire’s amorous advances.

  Alina d’Argent didn’t seem to be fighting off the attention of the mortal father of her cousin’s bride. Not at all. Stroking the mortal’s muscular arm, she looked into his eyes like a simpering mortal being seduced by a lover. The bride and groom stood, holding hands, chatting with a group of tasty-looking young women, presumably the bride’s close mortal friends. Alexandre d’Argent joined the group, soon steering one of the women into the shadows of the oak trees.

  The abundance of goodwill that abounded between his clan’s enemies and the cream of New Orleans’ mortal society made Wim want to gag.

  It took no genius to see why Alina stole male hearts, even the rotten black excuse for emotion that belonged to his leader. Her beauty had been renowned for centuries, her goodness remarked on for as far back as Wim could remember—for most of his nearly four-hundred-year existence as a Reynard vampire. Seeing Alina, he almost believed the rumor that she could restore the virility of vampires she had made. He understood why Louis had believed that folklore and decided to propose to the d’Argent queen. Tonight her pale hair glowed in the light from a hundred torches as she swayed to a haunting jazz tune, her hands resting on the broad shoulders of the party’s host as she gazed not at the pulsating vein in his neck but into his gray eyes.

  Wim glanced at Sam Quill, the affable host of this event. The mortal projected power. Dominance. He didn’t appear the sort to play consort to a vampire queen. Still, Wim sensed an aura of sexual awareness surrounding the two, radiating like the sun’s rays, reminding him that unlike himself, the d’Argents were vampires born, able to mate and procreate.

  Damn it, he didn’t even have the memories of coupling that some of his clansmen recalled with more than a little nostalgia. Wim gritted his teeth, drawing a drop of blood from his lower lip. Why had he been turned when he’d been a mere child, too young to have experienced mortal pleasure? For the first three hundred years or so, being a vampire hadn’t been unpleasant because he’d always had a warm bed with his blood mother and ready sources of nourishment, something he’d never enjoyed as a street urchin in Brussels. But then he’d hit puberty and discovered the carnal urges he could never satisfy.

  He shook off the envy that threatened to overcome him. It was stupid to grieve for something he’d never known. He glanced around at the crowd, at mortals dancing with d’Argent vampires, and at other vampires sipping blood daintily from fine crystal stemware while mortals dined on local delicacies whose exotic aromas tickled his nose.

  The surreal scene made Wim uneasy. In his world, vampires viewed mortals as potential meals, not likely lovers. He zeroed in on a dusky-skinned beauty standing beside the bar. She had an enticing habit of baring her throat whenever she laughed at something her companion said. A potentially fatal habit. Wim’s fangs itched at the prospect of sampling the salty taste of her lifeblood, his sustenance, though her grizzled vampire companion seemed interested only in whatever it was she was saying.

  Because he’d fed earlier today on a homeless creature in the ruined Ninth Ward of the city, which bore no resemblance at all to Sam Quill’s Uptown neighborhood, Wim wouldn’t need sustenance again for several days. It made no sense for him to stand here salivating over the wench. He couldn’t have fed on her anyhow, even if he’d been starving. Like the others of Sam Quill’s guests, she was strictly off limits. Louis Reynard’s instructions had been crystal clear on that subject, and one didn’t defy one’s leader. Not if one valued his continuing existence. Resting his back against a tree, Wim kept his eyes on the wedding party—especially the queen of the d’Argent vampires and the father of the bride.

  I will tell you when it is time. Until then, watch and wait. Do not allow the d’Argents to sense your presence. Defy me and I will destroy you. Louis’s words echoed
in Wim’s head as he recalled his recent meeting with the clan leader, gravely wounded from his encounter with the d’Argents and recuperating in an isolated lair deep in the Carpathian Mountains.

  The power of age. The aura of single-minded omniscience fueled by madness. Even in his present debilitated state, Louis had projected both. Wim glanced at the newly married Stefan d’Argent and his cousin Alexandre and noted the absence of their mutual uncle, Claude, who apparently was nursing wounds too severe to let him travel to join in the marriage celebration. Too bad the three d’Argent warriors had botched their most recent attempt to destroy Louis Reynard. When the time came, Wim would succeed where they had failed.

  First he would destroy Alina to demonstrate his power. Afterward he would persuade his fellow clan members to help destroy Louis, and he’d take over as leader of the clan. Though much of Wim’s determination was fueled by greed, he had another equally important motive. He shuddered, recalling his leader’s cruelty toward his own kind. Toward Wim’s blood mother. Wim had burst into her thatched-roof hut, seen the results of Louis’s torture, and realized she’d never again tend his wounds, cradle his head on her lap and sing him to sleep as the sun began to seep through cracks in the flimsy walls. She was gone. Beyond help. Wim bit down on his lip, tasting his own blood as he renewed the vow he’d made that day. He would destroy his leader, and when Louis Reynard was no more, Wim would finally have avenged his blood mother’s excruciating destruction.

  • • •

  On nights like these Alina could almost forget the danger that would always lurk as long as Louis Reynard drew vampire breath. She sipped daintily on a third flute of rare AB negative their host had found somewhere to serve at his daughter’s wedding reception. He’d spared no expense, either at the beautiful ceremony in Chicago two days earlier or now, at the elegant gathering in the courtyard of his New Orleans home. She was so happy for Stefan. And Julie too.

  Still, she couldn’t quite stave off the crushing loneliness affairs like these caused. Most of the guests would probably laugh at the idea that the queen of the clan could feel this way when almost any male could be hers with as little as a look in his direction. But if she summoned them, they’d serve her, following her lead when what she really wanted was what most women of all species wanted: to be swept off her feet, compelled to set aside her life role and accept the pleasures her partner offered. Though vampires often enjoyed various forms of domination and submission in their sexual entanglements, the obvious expectation was that the higher-ranking vampire did the dominating—and that when a vampire took a mortal lover, the vampire would be in charge.

  Vampire queen she might be, but Alina often dreamed of submitting . . .

  “You need to be dancing, chérie.” She turned when she heard the deep seductive voice of Julie’s father, Sam Quill. This was a mortal who’d intrigued her ever since they met, whose commanding height and take-charge manner had drawn her into his bed after the wedding . . . before he’d had to catch a plane and come back here to prepare for the reception. She loved his deep Southern drawl, the incredibly sexy way he sometimes dropped a Cajun French endearment into their sex talk.

  He hadn’t asked then, and he didn’t ask now before relieving her of her glass, setting it on a nearby table, and sweeping her into his arms. “What a beautiful night . . . a beautiful party,” she murmured, laying her head on Sam’s broad shoulder.

  “Had to send off my little girl right. You know, if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been feeling mighty old tonight.” When he pressed his hand against her back, just below her waistline, and drew her closer, she felt him growing hard against her belly.

  She tilted her head enough so she could look up into his beautiful gray eyes, see how the pupils had dilated with his arousal. “You don’t feel old at all. Besides, it’s not safe to remind a female vampire that she’s outlived her partner by a few hundred years.” His salt-and-pepper curls, cut no-nonsense short as though he was too busy to bother with trying to tame them, felt crisp against her forefinger when she circled the sensitive spot just above the hairline on his neck. His sigh and the nudge of his growing erection told her she’d found another of his erogenous zones.

  When she parted her lips and pressed her body closer, he didn’t draw back with embarrassment as a younger man might have done. Instead, he welcomed her invitation, drew her closer so not even the sultry breeze could find its way between them. He slid his hand lower on her back, his smallest finger curved discreetly over the curve of her buttock. “I’d like to take you over in the shadow of that grandfather oak and fuck you . . .”

  “Don’t tease me, Sam. I’m already wet for you.” Alina looked longingly at the ancient tree, with its wide canopy of darkness. But when she sensed an evil presence lurking there she tensed.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam’s arm tightened around her and he swung them around, presenting his broad back to whatever danger she sensed beneath the tree. For a moment she was too astonished to reply. He thought—a human thought—to stand between her and danger, not questioning his deficit of strength or quickness against a male of her species.

  From the hard set of his mouth, which seconds earlier had been curved in a smile, she wondered if Sam might be far more dangerous than a vampire would imagine. He certainly challenged her more than she’d expected, on several different levels. Despite the absurdity of it, she found that his instinctive desire to shield her made her want him even more.

  She cupped his cheek with one hand and looked over his shoulder, concentrating on identifying and reading the unseen foe. “It’s all right. A Reynard lackey sent to keep an eye on us while their leader nurses his wounds. He’s seething because his leader has ordered him to observe, not attack.” A good call, she thought, considering the number and quality of defenders who would rush to the defense if he confronted her. She found herself including Sam in her mental tally of strong male protectors, another foolish thought since not even the most powerful mortal was a match for the puniest of vampires.

  • • •

  Sam curled his hand around her wrist, turned his head to put a kiss there and—she gasped at the audacity of the move—to graze her flesh with his teeth. His gaze held hers. “Your cousins may be otherwise occupied tonight. To keep you safe, I think I’d better keep you in my bed.”

  He wasn’t sure where that had come from. Yes, he was confident and assertive with women. And on the few occasions when he wanted a woman—and he wanted Alina the way he hadn’t wanted a particular female in years—he went after her. He didn’t think she was using vampire allure on him, one of those vampire abilities Julie had told him about. Every time he looked into Alina’s eyes, he sensed something he’d discerned before in women who had a taste for sexual submission. That called out the dominant—the master—in him.

  He’d think he was crazy, knowing what she was, except that when he told her he was taking her to his bed her eyes got hotter. Her nipples peaked, their hardness obvious through the material of the thin green dress she wore. “I will look forward to it,” she whispered, punctuating her words with a soft nip on his earlobe. “Meanwhile, you need to pay attention to your guests.”

  “I need to pay attention to shooing them out—politely, of course.” As the music faded, Sam turned her once more and came to a halt before the table where Julie and Stefan sat holding hands. The way lovers should. The way he held Alina’s fingers laced firmly with his own, his knuckles brushing the firm flesh of her thigh through the thin veil of her skirt. When he looked at Stefan, he recognized a sense of urgency that nearly matched his own. “It’s getting about time to wind this party down,” he said, and nobody voiced a word of protest.

  When he nodded at the bandleader, the man held up his baton. A moment later the courtyard filled with a jazz rendition of “Good Night, Ladies.”

  Chapter One

  She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The most exciting lover he’d known in fifty-plus years on Earth. Lithe yet curvy in
all the right places, Alina d’Argent had satiny pale skin that reminded him of the finest China silks his importing company stocked for its most discriminating customers.

  She was his daughter’s cousin by marriage. And she was a vampire, queen of her centuries-old clan.

  Sam Quill rose early, as was his habit each morning, ready to greet a bright new day. Today, though, he hurried to the French doors that overlooked a courtyard garden and drew the drapes. Still naked, he stepped outside and plucked a creamy gardenia from a nearby bush. He moved to one of the wrought iron tables and picked up a champagne flute the caterers had apparently missed last night while cleaning up.

  The reception had gone well. Better than he’d hoped it would when his daughter had told him last month that half the guests would be vampires like her new husband . . . and herself, now that she’d opted to join Stefan for an eternity in a shadow world Sam still couldn’t quite understand.

  Saying good-bye to Julie when the party had wound down had been hard, but Sam couldn’t have asked for a more loving bridegroom for his only child. By this time tomorrow the newlyweds should be settling in at Stefan’s castle on the Normandy coast.

  For a minute Sam wondered how Julie’s mother would have felt about Julie giving up mortality to be with her lover. He honestly didn’t know. Though he’d loved Madeleine with all his heart, remembering her now after so many years brought no more than a twinge of regret that she’d died much too young, before they’d had the chance to know each other as well as they knew themselves.