Stalking the Dark Read online

  It had been just him and Julie for a quarter century, and if it weren’t for Alina, Sam imagined he’d feel quite alone. The fact she was staying for a few more days, seemingly eager to explore this thing between them, made him feel young again. Eager to form the sort of emotional connection he’d avoided for so long. And to explore this sexual compulsion that had captured them both from the moment they met.

  He smiled at the prospect of more nights like the one they’d just shared, and he looked forward to showing Alina his world. Drawing the gardenia close to his face, he inhaled the rich, sweet fragrance as he crossed his bedroom and laid it on the pillow next to her outstretched hand. As he did, a glint of sunlight off the dagger on the nightstand caught his eye.

  Oh, no. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that silver repelled vampires? No. It was silver bullets that supposedly would destroy a vampire, while ordinary bullets had no effect at all. Folklore, he told himself. Still, he put away the ceremonial silver dagger he kept on the table beside his bed and occasionally used to open mail. The dagger hadn’t seemed to bother Alina when they’d come to bed last night, but he’d take no chances. No way did he want to repel his beautiful vampire lover.

  “Good morning, love.” Like a lazy cat, she stretched. “Tell me you’re not rising at this ridiculous hour of the day.” Her voice sounded husky, sexy as hell—almost like a big cat’s purr. “Come to me.”

  “My pleasure.” He picked up the flower from the pillow and laid it in her outstretched hand. God, she made him feel good. As if his life were just beginning instead of marching toward its inevitable end. He got as horny as a teenager every time she smiled at him with those gorgeous emerald eyes. After handing her the flower, whose fragrance filled the room, Sam slid into bed beside her and drew her into his arms. Sightseeing could wait. He wanted to hold her, feel the satiny smoothness of her cool, pale skin, crush the silken fall of her blonde hair in his fist while they made hot, sweet love.

  • • •

  Alina stroked the length of Sam’s body, tangling her fingers into the nest of salt-and-pepper curls that cushioned his sex. The scent of the gardenia surrounded them, reminding her that this was sultry New Orleans and they were in the master suite of Sam’s beautiful home in the lush Garden District neighborhood not far from Audubon Park. She loved the heat that emanated from him . . . a sexual glow she hadn’t experienced for centuries. When he shifted onto his knees and straddled her face, she took him in her mouth and sucked while he buried his face between her thighs.

  “Oh, yeah, sweetheart. Like that,” he growled, his warm, damp, very mortal breath tickling her intimate flesh and making it swell and harden with greedy anticipation.

  He tasted so good, so alive, she wanted to consume him. No. What her body yearned for was for him to take over control and make her submit to his desires. She’d had to be in charge for much too long, for her vampire lovers deferred to her in bed as they followed her in life, never forgetting they’d been having sex with their queen—their mistress.

  None of them would dare to bury their hands in her hair, force her to take them deeper, swallow them, taste their essence. But Sam did. And she loved it.

  She loved the heat of him, the warmth he brought to her cool flesh. The velvety moisture of his tongue on her clit felt so good when he lapped her there. She wanted more, wanted him to take that nub between his teeth and suck her the way she was servicing him. She wanted to feel him tasting her honey, sampling her essence, taking his pleasure in whatever way he chose.

  She sensed he’d provide all that in his own time, at his own pace. The waiting was torture—delicious, tantalizing torture that fed her arousal, pushed her toward the final goal of her surrender.

  Alina closed her eyes. Darkness cloaked her, leaving her dependent on the sounds of Sam’s breathing, the sweet smell of the flower petals crushed beneath her. The contrasting textures of fine Egyptian cotton sheets against her back and Sam’s hard, lightly furred body above her made her feel pampered, deliciously helpless.

  Protected. Oh, yes. Sparks of sensation ignited and radiated, heating each nerve as they traveled through. Building . . . and exploding, over and over. Sensations overwhelmed her. She clamped down on his flesh and sucked him harder, surrendering to the ecstasy that came in undulating waves, carrying her to a place she hadn’t been for much too long. He growled against her flesh and then pulled away.

  “Gotta get inside you,” he muttered, whirling around, claiming her in one smooth, hard thrust that fed her own orgasm, enhanced it.

  Sam gave her the best sex she’d ever had. He stretched her, filled her, suffused her body with his mortal heat. Alina twined her legs with his, moved with him toward nirvana, toward the sort of mutual satisfaction she hadn’t found for centuries.

  Until last night. Until Sam.

  • • •

  Until Alina he’d lived two lives, one the mostly celibate widower, workaholic father, and the other—on those occasions when the needs of the flesh overwhelmed him—the masked club dom who imposed his sexual will on any number of anonymous sexual submissives. As he and Alina walked through the French Quarter late that afternoon, Sam glanced at the unimposing brass nameplate that marked the Club de la soumission.

  The mental picture of Alina in the club’s dungeon, laid out on a St. Andrew’s cross with her alabaster skin in glowing contrast with the padded black leather restraints securing her for his pleasure, had him incredibly aroused. Impossibly eager, for a guy his age who had come three times in the past twenty-four hours. He ached, though. His testicles drew up against his body. Sam willed himself to relax. After all, he had promised to play host, show her what remained of the attractions of the Big Easy. That’s what he would do.

  “There’s the Café du Monde. If you were mortal, I’d suggest we stop and enjoy a beignet and café au lait.”

  Alina slid her dark glasses back to perch atop her silky blonde mane. “I’m perfectly willing to sit in the shade and watch you enjoy a New Orleans treat. Yes, I know the sun has practically set, but your late afternoon sun still has enough light to make me a little uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t think. I wouldn’t damage your soft, soft skin for anything.”

  “It’s all right. But I’d enjoy sitting under that awning and feeling this sultry breeze.”

  When she gave him her hand, he led her to a corner table beneath the awning and held out her chair. “You don’t need to feed?”

  “After last night? Hardly. As many times as I raised my glass in toasts to Stefan and Julie, I must have taken enough nourishment to hold me for a week.” When she smiled at him, her eyes sparkled like emeralds. “You need not fret that I’ll suddenly become ravenous and decide to dine on you.”

  “I know.” In the past few weeks Sam had learned a lot about his son-in-law’s family. It had sunk in quickly that vampires, at least the d’Argents, were far from the creatures of the old B movies that flooded TV airwaves every Halloween. And though Sam worried because Julie had chosen to join Stefan for eternity and had given up her mortality to be his mate, he trusted fully that Stefan would love and protect his daughter with all his considerable powers. And that Stefan’s family would stand firm behind him if need be, in defense of Julie.

  Sam’s earlier impression of vampires as bloodsucking creatures not to be trusted had taken a hundred-eighty-degree turn. For the most part. Julie’s story of how one ancient, evil vampire had singled her out for death because of her resemblance to Alina weighed heavily on Sam’s mind. Even though both Stefan and Alina had assured him that Louis Reynard now lay near death—if that was how one referred to a vampire’s demise—in a hideaway in the Carpathian Mountains, Sam still suffered lingering doubts. Alina had assured him members of the d’Argent clan watched the would-be killer constantly, looking for signs that he might be recovering. Still, if Louis Reynard had survived the attack of three healthy young d’Argent vampires as Julie had said he did, Sam reasoned that he might easily elude
those who watched him convalesce.

  Something here, in this place where he’d taken breakfast almost every day for more than twenty years, gave Sam an uneasy feeling. A sense of being watched by malevolent eyes. Alina felt it too, he guessed from the way she clasped her hands together and was giving the once-over to each person who strolled by the café. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked.

  “I sense another vampire presence. Not one of the two from my clan that Maman insisted hover out of sight but within shouting distance, just in case I should need them. An evil vampire. Look. He’s standing in the shadows across the street.” She nodded her head in the intruder’s direction. “There.”

  Sam turned to glance in the direction she indicated, only to see a tall, skinny man standing in the shadow of a canvas awning that shaded the display window of an antique shop. “Looks as though he doesn’t want us to notice him,” he commented, schooling himself to remain calm when he looked back at his companion.

  “He’s one of the Reynards.” Alina closed her eyes. The tip of her tongue came out, moistening her upper lip. Julie’s voice, filled with wonder when she’d spoken the other day about Alina’s powers, flooded Sam’s mind.

  She’s using her powers of telepathy, Daddy. It’s amazing, how she can share thoughts with someone far away, without picking up a phone. I’m learning to do it too.

  Fascinated, Sam watched Alina’s expression change, reflecting myriad emotions, though she never said a word. Emotions including if not fear, at least a good bit of unease. Sam clenched his fists, started to rise.

  Alina stopped him. “Wait. It’s not Louis. I think—no, I’m certain it’s one of the Reynard youngsters. I wager he’s here to keep an eye on Louis’s prey while Louis recovers.”

  “But Julie and Stefan have gone.”

  “It’s not Julie who Louis truly wants. It’s me. That’s another reason I stayed here, so my protectors might have some respite from the fight.” She looked into his eyes, smiled as she laid her hand on top of his. “That, but mostly because I want to spend this time with you.”

  • • •

  Wim let out a disgusted snort. It positively sickened him the way Alina simpered over the mortal. Even from his vantage point across the street from Café du Monde, he had no trouble recognizing the sexual tension that sizzled between the two. No trouble at all. Resentment simmered for a moment, and then built to a full boil, overflowing his mind. Wim turned on his heel. He had seen more than enough. For a moment Wim considered taking on Louis now, but he quickly reconsidered. Now was not the time. Besides, Wim wasn’t at all certain he had the strength to defeat Louis one-on-one even now, while the ancient vampire lay nearly helpless in his lair.

  After all, Louis had fought off three of the d’Argents’ best fighters and survived, battered but determined to heal and take them on again. “Obsessed” was the word another of the Reynard elders had used to describe their leader’s unwavering determination to destroy the d’Argent queen.

  When he had been back at the Reynards’ main community, he’d noticed the elders were annoyed. Very annoyed. Wim understood and agreed. The usual business of the clan had largely ground to a halt for more than a year now while Louis pursued his bloody quest. When Wim had thought about it, he’d decided the clan was ripe for a takeover.

  A takeover not by one of the other elders who had foolishly acceded to Louis’s demands for personal vengeance, but by young blood—someone like himself. He wouldn’t stay here any longer, blindly obeying Louis’s orders. He’d head back, not to the clan leader’s mountain hideout but to the Reynard clan’s main gathering place in southern France. Somehow he’d manage to persuade his fellow Reynards that the time was ripe for a coup d’état.

  • • •

  Sam sized up the deathly pale, skinny young vampire who stared at them from across Decatur Street. He could undoubtedly take the man in a fair fight, but . . .

  “Vampires don’t fight fair, Sam. Especially the Reynards. And even the puniest specimens of vampire males have strengths and powers that make them virtually invincible against even the strongest of mortals.” Alina laid a hand over his, lacing their fingers together. “Especially Reynards. Leave it alone. See, he’s going now.”

  Damn it, she knew what he was thinking. Sam found that particular vampire skill unnerving. “I see. Still, I wouldn’t let anything—anyone—hurt you.” If I could help it. He had a feeling he couldn’t, and that rankled.

  “I know. Come on, I want to visit that fabricant de parfum that Julie told me so much about. Perhaps the shop owner will choose a fragrance for me. I want one that will drive you wild.”

  When she leaned over and nibbled his ear, Sam’s sex came to full attention. No woman had affected him so strongly for years. Perhaps none ever had. “Trust me, you don’t need perfume to entice me. Behave. Now we’ll have to sit here a while longer.”

  “But why, mon cher?” The sparkle in her eyes told him she knew damn well why, and it amused her.

  “You like the power you’ve got over me, don’t you? Wait until I get you home.” Or to his club. The more he thought about it, the more he leaned toward showing her the dominant side of his sexual makeup now, before she wound her way too tightly around his heart.

  “I anticipate my punishment with the greatest of pleasure.”

  Her husky purr did nothing to relieve his arousal—nothing at all. “Be careful, my darling, or I’ll show you what real punishment is.” He slipped a hand under her skirt and stroked her cool, satiny thigh, grateful that the tablecloth provided an adequate shield.

  “Is that a promise, mon cher?”

  “Oh, yes. A promise I’ll enjoy fulfilling.” Sam moved his hand higher and traced the lacy tops of her stockings, then leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I want to take you to play at my club. My dungeon.”

  Her eyes widened. “The Club de la soumission we passed on the way here?”

  She’d noticed the words on the brass doorplate most passersby ignored. Noticed and remembered. Surely she wouldn’t have unless . . . “Yes. Would you like to go there, play at being my devoted sex slave?”

  “Play?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t expect you to embrace the lifestyle permanently. It would hardly befit a vampire queen.”

  Sam noted a shadow crossing Alina’s face, almost as if his disclaimer disappointed her. When she laid a hand on his thigh, the electricity between them practically crackled. “Even vampire queens must have their times to be only women, submissive to their lovers. It has been so long . . .”

  How long? Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing, even as unreasoning jealousy rose in his throat, for some unknown lover two weeks or two centuries ago who apparently had introduced Alina to the pleasure of being under a man’s control. The thought that she enjoyed submission made him want to take her, test how far she liked to go in the BDSM game. Testing them both, he reached out and caressed her throat, watched her pupils dilate and her tongue dart out to moisten her full pink lips. Having her look at him that way sent blood surging out of his brain, pounding into his already aroused sex. “You need wait no longer. Come. My dungeon awaits you.”

  But as soon as he’d said it, he realized it did not. His club was where he went to exert control over nameless, faceless subs. Alina was much more than that to him. She’d engaged his emotions along with his libido, the way no woman had done since he’d lost Julie’s mother years ago. “On second thought, I believe we’ll play our games at my home.”

  Chapter Two

  Excitement—and a bit of trepidation, Alina admitted—bubbled up in her when Sam escorted her up a sweeping staircase to the beautifully appointed room where she’d slept in his arms last night. Her own personal fragrance, created just an hour ago by a wizened Creole woman in a crowded shop on Royal Street, surrounded her, mingling with the scent of Sam’s cologne and the sex they’d shared earlier.

  “Tell me what you like.” His breath bathed her neck in warmth and dampness, remindi
ng her he was mortal and she was not. “The responsibility of a master is to please his slave.”

  “Take me. Tell me what to do to give you pleasure. Give me no choices. Let me be not a clan leader but a woman, at least for a little while. That is all I ask.”

  He traced the plane of her belly, the calluses on his long fingers grating lightly against the lightweight silk of her shirtwaist dress. “Take this off, then. Let me feel you with nothing between us.” He sat on the bed, looking only at her, watching as though his only desire was that she display herself to him.

  “Like this?” Slowly, in a dance of seduction older even than she, Alina shrugged out of the dress and watched him follow the soft material with his gaze as it slithered over her hips and floated to the floor. The longing look on his face told her better than words that he desired her. That he found her beautiful. Emboldened, she raised her hands to the front clasp of her bra and opened it, freeing her breasts for his pleasure.

  “Beautiful. Touch yourself. Roll your nipples between your fingers. Tell me what having me look at you does to your body . . . your mind.” Sam’s deep voice aroused her, sending waves of desire flowing over her, making her wet even though he hadn’t touched her.

  His gaze seared her as surely as the noonday sun would scorch her cool skin. She wanted to mesmerize him, make him take her as no one had for centuries. She longed for him not only to take her body but to capture her will and make it his own.

  In slow motion she brought her hands to her breasts as he’d ordered. She stroked them and pinched the nipples until they stood in rigid peaks. Her flesh heated, and she longed to beg for the warm wetness of his mouth, the bite of mortal teeth.