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  A VAMPIRE’S SIN

  The Order of the Black Oak - Vampires

  Marie-Claude Bourque

  Sea Storm Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A VAMPIRE’S SIN

  The Order of the Black Oak Series - Vampires

  Copyright © 2021 by Marie-Claude Bourque

  Sea Storm Publishing

  P.O. Box 15531, Seattle WA 98115

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Jennifer Bray Weber

  Cover Design by Frauke Spanuth

  ISBN: 978-1-956115-00-0

  Vampires of the Black Oak

  A VAMPIRE’S SPELL

  A VAMPIRE’S SIN

  A VAMPIRE’S SOUL (2022)

  A VAMPIRE’S FATE (2022)

  A VAMPIRE’S STAR (2022)

  A VAMPIRE’S BLOOD (2023)

  * * *

  Warlocks of the Black oak

  A WARLOCK’S KISS

  A SORCERER’S NIGHT

  AN ALCHEMIST’S DESIRE

  AN ARCHMAGE’S DESTINY

  A SPELLBINDER’S DENIAL

  A NECROMANCER’S LOVE

  A WARLOCK’S STORM

  WARLOCKS OF THE BLACK OAK (1-3)

  WARLOCKS OF THE BLACK OAK (4-6)

  * * *

  “Bourque develops a world of mages and sorceresses unlike any other. "

  -- Night Owl Reviews

  www.marieclaudebourque.com

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  French-English Glossary

  Cast of Main Characters

  Free Exclusive Novel

  Acknowledgements

  About Marie-Claude

  To Logan and Finlay, nothing is stronger than a mother’s love.

  Chapter 1

  Old-Montreal,

  Early March, Present Time

  Nyssa Vlahos marched into the Serpent Maudit nightclub. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a sharp contrast from the bright day outside. With a deep breath and straight spine, she slipped off her leather gloves but kept her winter coat primly belted at the waist.

  This meeting wouldn’t take long.

  She’d come to the club to talk to him countless times in the last three months, but today was different. Today, her quest was personal.

  The one she was coming to see was the most infuriating man of her acquaintances—as if nothing serious ever touched him. Keeping her persona at the highest level of professionalism was the best way to approach him.

  And there he was.

  She watched him work at his usual corner booth beside the bar.

  Magnovald St-Amand. Owner of this trendy Montreal nightspot, his actual wealth a secret, even to her. No doubt its origin tethering between both sides of the law, some legitimate and some probably criminal.

  And this time—even though it killed her to have to do this—it was the latter she had come for.

  Mag, as they called him, was pouring over a pile of ledgers spread across the table and punching numbers on a printing calculator, his demeanor unusually focused on the menial task.

  A nudge of respect rose with a flutter in her stomach to see him work on his own accounts.

  Such a contradiction. Nothing in his laid-back facade indicated a thriving business owner. As always, his dark hair brushed his neck, the curls a little too long above the plain black t-shirt emphasizing the defined broadness of his shoulders and arms. His skin—a tad too pale to be healthy—contrasted gently with the sculpted cheekbones and dark determined brows.

  And as she watched him check his calculations, she knew she had mere seconds before needing to brace herself from his immense charm.

  Once his dark gaze hit her, when his lips curled into that constant amused expression he had every time they met, she would have to fight hard her attraction for the man who was nothing like her.

  His life was far from the world she came from. His was late evenings and sensual pleasures. Dubious connections all over the city and the lording over its luxurious nightlife.

  Hers was pondered and orderly. Charity balls and business bureaus. A continuous quest to keep her tight hold on the Montreal’s real estate power.

  As she looked at him now with a slight weight lodged in her chest, in those few seconds before he would become aware of her presence, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was perhaps a possible place where they might be alike.

  But that small hopeful moment was soon over.

  He knew she was here.

  Magnovald St-Amand slowly lifted his head. With a profound inhale, she took hold of herself as the dark undercurrent of his gaze seized her and threatened her very soul.

  “Tiens, tiens. Nyssa Vlahos.” His lips curled into the familiar wolfish grin. “My favorite Greek tycoon.”

  She tightened her grip on her gloves and took another deep settling inhale while the back of her neck stiffened with minor irritation at his comment.

  She should never have told him about her family background—her dad an immigrant from the old country and who had started their large family business by managing apartment buildings in town. Magnovald brought it up at every encounter. She was never sure if he was teasing her, or truly considered her an outsider, his own family having been in the country since the foundation of the city centuries ago.

  Her stomach still quivering, she strode toward the devastatingly handsome club owner with all the confidence she could muster, her chin high, her chest opened and her gaze aloof.

  The grin was still on his lips as he reclined and stretched his arms along the wooden railing behind him to consider her. His gaze trailed down her body from the tip of her classic leather boots all the way up to the flushed skin of her bare throat. The attention nearly changed her mind about the purpose of her visit.


  Thank goodness for her coat, the heavy wool garment providing a little protection from his appraisal. She would not let him see how he affected her. Their relationship had been purely business since the beginning and would remain that way.

  She swallowed, pursing her lips as she realized that today was an exception. Her request was very private.

  “Mr. St-Amand,” she drove right to the point with a curt nod, “I need your help.”

  He raised an inquisitive brow then the cocky smile returned. “Mag.”

  She frowned and leaned back on her heels with her arms crossed at her chest.

  “I’ve told you before, poupée.” An impossibly dark twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Call me Mag.”

  “Fine.” She shook her head and took a decisive step forward. “Mag, I need your help.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” He lazily stretched his long leg under the table as he watched her with a slight tilt of his head. “No new offer for my club today?”

  She nodded at the finance paperwork scattered on the table in front of him, momentarily distracted from her current purpose. “You’re not up to code, Mag. It’s just a matter of time before the city board forces you to comply.”

  She surveyed the area and the exposed wires alongside the mirrored wall behind the bar. The steps leading to the stage by the dance floor were crooked and old pipes were exposed just over the DJ area. The place was an opulent den at night under the colored strobe lights, but the day exposed its potentially harmful flaws.

  “I can offer you more money than you can spend in a lifetime,” she added.

  “A lifetime, really?” he snorted. “You’d be surprised about that.”

  “Look, I’m not here for your club.” Her current quest was so much more important than making him another generous offer for the premises. She just had to go for it. Ask him for his help. Now.

  “Then you came for me.” His features lightened, a crinkle appeared at the corner of his eye. “About time. Want to go upstairs right away? Or you want romance first, maybe dinner?”

  “No.” She brushed his banter aside with a wave of her hand. There were no chances in hell she’d ever go out with him.

  Perhaps it was her own assumptions, but everything seemed a joke to him, from the casual banter he constantly used on her to the laid-back way he ran his business. Life was no laughing matter. Hers had been a challenge which she had met head on at every turn.

  But all that was not important right now. She eyed him hard. “I need you to give me access to Moreno.”

  “Ennio?” He chuckled and slid his tall body back farther. “What happened? Are you late with your protection payment? I thought you’d be the type to go straight to the police.”

  “Mr. St-Amand.” She huffed, correcting herself. “Mag.” She grabbed a chair to sit across him. Her back stiff, she leaned in towards him. She had no time to beat around the bush. “It’s about my little sister. Stepsister, actually. She’s missing.”

  He shook his head and his expression changed. His forehead creased with gravity for the first time since she’d walked in. “Missing?”

  “She ran away with her boyfriend. He’s much older than she is. Some rapper named Oliver LaChance. My sources say he’s connected. She’s only thirteen.” Nyssa swallowed, her mouth parched. “Mr. Moreno might know where to find her.”

  “A kid. Sacrament.” Mag leisurely ran a hand through his hair and bent forward, unease warring upon his features. “Not sure I can help you, though.”

  With her heart racing, she pushed her shoulders back. Her gaze was unwavering. “I’m willing to trade for your help.”

  “Trade?”

  “I promise not to bother you about the club for at least one year if you only give me an introduction.”

  “What about that petition you sent to the board about my so-called code violations?” He shot her a harsh squint.

  “Dropped. Called it off this morning.” That was the least she could do. She had hoped rescinding the appeal would be her olive branch. That the gesture would convince him to at least make a call to the mob boss on her behalf.

  “Really?” He remained unnaturally still, a brow slightly raised.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, you’ve been a pain in my ass for months. You’d really drop it? No more visit to the club before opening hours?” The easy grin returned, and she shifted on her seat.

  “It’s withdrawn,” she stated with a slow nod.

  “No more letters. No more calls?” The change in his voice almost sounded as if he’d miss her contacts. That he would miss her. No. That was a wild thought.

  With her jaw tight, she lay her gloves flat on the table. She let the fact that she was a purely goal-oriented woman sustain her. It had helped her escape her troubled home life, had helped her build her empire. And now her drive would help her save her sister. She would never let something like lust for a bad boy club owner distract her from her mission.

  “One year.” She held his gaze in hers steadily.

  “Even for one year, I’m shocked to see you back off so easily.” Despite his laid-back manners, she detected a hint of interest in his tone.

  She scowled, her teeth clenched with impatience. “I will, I promise.”

  “Just for an introduction?” He showed genuine attention now.

  “It’s my sister.” The pain she had so far managed to keep in check bubbled to the surface to lodge itself at the back of her throat. How could she explain to him that her stepsister had no one but her in life? No one who cared.

  Her breath was seized by visions of what may have happened to Cat—her body lying in a frozen ditch somewhere along the highway, or hunkered in a sleazy basement room with that rapper, forced into things she was not ready for.

  Nyssa closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose while taking a deep inhale. Panic would not be useful here.

  “I wish I could help you.” Mag’s tone was apologetic, his brows drawn together.

  “Why won’t you?” Her shoulders drooped. If he didn’t help her, how on earth would she be able to approach the known mob boss without a recommendation?

  Her mind raced through the possibilities but nothing sensible came to mind. She had been adamant in running her business as clean as possible—following safety protocols and builder unions demands to the letter. There were definitely people who did not like her methods. Ennio Moreno being one of them.

  She sighed. “I’m willing to add another year.”

  She would have to say goodbye to her plan for a series of condominiums with quaint street-level shops in the area. She had desperately wanted to renovate this neglected part of old-Montreal—months of historical research, costly handshakes and late-night deals—but right now it did not matter. She had her sister to think about.

  A sudden numbness hit her limbs. She would sell her soul to the devil to get her sister back. “Anything you want,” she pleaded.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Nyssa. Another year won’t make a difference.” With a slow exhale, he cast her a pained look, his voice tainted with a trace of emotion. “Didn’t you know? Moreno’s dead.”

  Chapter 2

  Her sister. Damn. Nyssa Vlahos had a little sister that she cared about.

  For the first time in the few months he’d known her, Mag looked upon his favorite ice queen with something like empathy instead of his usual amused attraction.

  In the moments she digested the news of Moreno’s passing—like every damned time she came to his club—his blood tingled with the need to touch her.

  He wanted to let his fingers skim along the vulnerable line in the sway of her neck. Wanted to taste that tender part of her skin.

  He felt a tiny prick of fangs brush his tongue and tightened his fist. There was nothing he could do to quench that deep desire that had not let go of him since they met.

  He had thought of compelling her, as his kind would do. Oh, it would have been so easy. But something strange and powerful in the recesses of his
mind had always stopped him.

  “Dead?” She wrung her hands together with anguish over the leather gloves she had set on his table.

  “Heart attack. Just fell over his dinner at Enzo’s Palace. Sometime last weekend.” He offered her a small nod. “Funeral’s tomorrow.”

  She slumped back in her chair, her body seemingly curled upon itself.

  An unusual heaviness settled across his chest at witnessing her distress. He had never seen Nyssa Vlahos defeated. Since they met, she had been nothing but an elegant blonde radiating a frost that was colder than any Montreal winter day.

  She carefully patted her straightened hair, smoothed the flyaway strands escaping the well-coifed head. The tiny vertical scar that broke the perfect curve of her lip was an imperceptible gap in the glossy red lipstick. He always wondered how she’d hurt herself. One day he’d have to ask her.

  But now she needed him. And despite decades of not caring about mortals and their problems, this time was different.

  “Okay.” He threaded his fingers together upon the table. “Tell me.”

  She straightened her spine and stared at him with a blank look.

  “Tell me about your sister,” he urged.

  “Catalina.” She licked her bottom lip and took a deep exhale. “My dad remarried, when I was a kid and he and my stepmother had a child together. The kid’s a mess. She’s turned rebellious all of a sudden and lashes out at everyone.”