Damien stood a good ten feet away from his guest, yet he was practically drinking in the scent of her hair, chamomile with a teasing hint of her pussy. He watched with wicked pleasure as she wandered through his sprawling, hundred-square-foot duplex penthouse in Nocturne Heights, his posh high-rise condominium, taking in the massive library and rare knife collections with that wide-eyed admiration he relished. About every twenty years, he swapped lives and donned a new identity, keeping suspicion at bay around his ageless face. He’d have no qualms leaving behind his New York writer-of-vampire-romances persona, but this place… well, this home, he’d miss.
In a flat brimming with every imaginable sign of luxury and indulgence, tall, slender LED lamps cast just enough light to be comfy while keeping the sultry dimness that Damien naturally craved.
“I apologise for the late hour,” he said, his tone devoid of any hint of regret. “But my days are dedicated to my writing.”
She turned to face him, and he was struck by her large, deep blue eyes and long, dark hair, utterly free of any dye. Her delicately made-up face highlighted those luscious lips and cheekbones that were truly a joy to behold. Damien couldn’t help but notice how her sports bra tightly accentuated her breasts, making it tricky to gauge their size, but he was nothing if not patient; he’d find out soon enough when he looked at her with that gaze that was hard to resist. She was petite, sure, but undeniably enticing. What excited him the most was her intellect.
“That’s alright,” she said, glancing at her watch with a flick of her wrist. “But perhaps we should get started.”
Damien flashed her a charming smile. With a simple yet graceful flourish, he gestured toward the chairs, positioned around a coffee table that held neatly arranged documents. There was also a glass of wine waiting for her.
She settled into the chair, her slender legs folding beneath her in a coy gesture that Damien found both adorable and enticing. He was all about the motto of work first, play later, but he couldn’t shake the urge to sink his fangs into her thigh and savour her sweetness.
“First things first,” the vampire announced, extending his slender, pale hand to present her with a cheque. “As we agreed, ten grand in your name, Harper Fenton.”
“Thanks,” she replied, taking the cheque from him. Their hands brushed, and she felt a slight shiver run through her. It caught her off guard, and she glanced curiously at Damien.
“I want to make sure you understand, Harper, that I’m only after the finest services and expect a hundred per cent commitment. I believe that a capable provider should naturally be willing to sacrifice everything for their client when delivering quality service. This should cover your journey to Europe and related expenses. Naturally, it’s just an advance.”
She stared at him, and perhaps it was the lamp’s light, but she could’ve sworn she glimpsed a crimson glint in his dark eyes. Every instinct told her to bolt, yet she felt inexplicably drawn to him—an emotion she rarely experienced and didn’t quite understand. Damien radiated sensuality and elegance, and he was surely accustomed to women falling into his arms. The thought made her lips curl into a faint smirk. It took effort to tear her gaze away from his hypnotic stare and focus on the pile of documents before her.
“I just want to clarify one thing,” Harper said. “I won’t be flying to England; I’m not keen on travel. Plenty of archives are available online, and I’m in touch with British colleagues ready to sift through the files and documents that are still in paper form.”
She had done her homework on Damien, confident he could be her best client, and if he agreed to let her publish her findings without revealing his name, her career would leap forward. She had the strongest motivation to take the cheque and do her job to the best of her abilities. Yet there was something primal, wild, and dangerous about him. Whenever she looked into his eyes, it felt as if she could sense his touch on her body; her nipples betrayed her, standing to attention against her will and clearly visible to him. She noticed he was taking in the sight of her body without any reservations.
Under normal circumstances, she would’ve protested. She demanded dignity and seriousness, regardless of being a woman. Yet here she was, teetering on the brink of surrender, caught in a magnetic pull that ignited something deep within her. The weakness that clawed at her was intoxicating, stirring a forbidden desire she had long kept buried. For a brief moment, she even considered refusing the cheque and walking away, but she didn’t. Instead, the thrill of the unknown and the chance to explore this dangerous attraction gripped her tighter, and she found herself inexplicably eager to dive deeper into the shadows that surrounded him.
Harper fished out a tiny, 12-inch laptop from her bag, flicked it open to a document already brimming with notes, and began jotting down her thoughts. She hoped that once her brain switched into work mode, all those pesky feelings about her client would vanish, but no such luck. The attraction she felt for him was becoming increasingly unbearable. She caught herself shifting in her seat, quite flustered by the thrill coursing through her.
“Enough of this,” she told herself firmly. Raised in a puritanical household, she knew a bit of flattery from some lecherous cad wouldn’t change her principles. She’d had her fair share of disappointments and knew all too well what men were after.
“I understand,” she said, her eyes glued to the black letters on the screen, “that you’re a distant relative of Damian Beauchamp-Wyndham, son of Maugerette and Tybalt Beauchamp-Wyndham, Viscount and Viscountess of Ashcombe, who lived in early 15th-century North Yorkshire.” Unable to resist, she glanced up at him, noticing the pleased smile playing on his lips. Quickly, she returned her gaze to the laptop. She couldn’t quite grasp why she couldn’t put her foot down, why she couldn’t tell him that his stares were making her uncomfortable.
Were they really making her uncomfortable?
Damien didn’t respond. He was clearly amused by her flustered state. People with their base thoughts, as clearly mirrored in their faces as in a reflection, were quite pitiable. He could snap his fingers and have her at his feet. He could lean in closer and hypnotise her, compelling her to do the shameless things his depraved mind concocted for her. But he decided to prolong the thrill of anticipation, waiting for her to succumb to the feelings swelling within her without his supernatural persuasion. Only then would he truly have her.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve been quite fascinated by my namesake, Damian Beauchamp-Wyndham, which is why I have a wealth of data and documents regarding him. I request that you focus on his mother, Maugerette. She disappeared without a trace in 1474, and your task is to uncover what happened to her.”
“Some of your notes from the day she vanished and that entire period are astonishingly detailed,” Harper said. “Yet you’re absolutely certain she didn’t die that day. May I ask how you know that?”
“No,” he replied bluntly.
She gasped. A simple “no” with no embellishments or apologies was decidedly out of fashion these days. His straightforwardness and the air of superiority with which he treated her both irritated and provoked her.
“Of course,” she replied, shifting in her seat once more. Internally, she cursed herself for leaving her sweater in the car and opting for a thin, light-coloured blouse. To her rather unpleasant surprise, her nipples were so hard they nearly poked out an inch from the fabric, a delightful yet unwelcome revelation she hadn’t realised they were capable of. Her knickers were utterly soaked from the dampness of her arousal.
She glanced at her notes, even though she didn’t need to; she knew them by heart. However, she had no intention of looking into those demonic eyes unless absolutely necessary.
“At that time, England was embroiled in several conflicts, particularly the Wars of the Roses. This had cultural and economic impacts across the entire country. The relations between England and France were also incredibly tense, but when haven’t they been?”
“I didn’t hire you for a history lecture,” Damien said. His voice was deep and hard. Authoritative. He forced her to raise her eyes and meet his gaze. He smiled. Today, he would let her escape, like a little rabbit fleeing from the deadly trap of a flawless cobra, clinging to the vain hope that it was her cunning and speed, not the predator’s careful calculations, that ensured her survival. The fear and mounting horror that accompanied the hunt were undeniably part of the thrill.
“Of course, I apologise,” she said, flustered. She snapped her laptop shut, gathered the copies of the documents Damien had placed into a thick folder, and stood up to leave. She didn’t wait for him to rise as well; like a frightened little creature, she dashed to the door, struggling with the lock for a moment before managing to unlock it and bolting outside, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Damien remained seated, comfortably crossing one leg over the other. He was pleasantly surprised. He had expected that for the sum of ten thousand dollars, he would receive more than just a thank you and some assurances. He had allowed her to slip from his grasp, and now he felt hungry—aroused.
The monster within him stirred; for a moment, his gentle, domesticated face transformed into that of a killer with bared fangs. He craved sex. He also needed blood. New York awaited; the night was still young.
Damien slipped into a tailored dark grey Italian suit, complemented by polished black shoes he had custom-made in France. Instead of a tie, he adorned the collar of his lightly striped shirt with a flamboyant red silk scarf. Desire and hunger gnawed at him, his wolfish instincts clamouring for immediate gratification.
But he wouldn’t give in.
Determined to relish a sultry, seductive evening, he hopped into a cab as prim and proper as any rushed, uptight New Yorker. An elderly Indian driver, reeking of tobacco, whisked him away to a luxury hotel near the airport.
As he sauntered into the hotel bar, his nostrils flared with delight, and he felt a stirring in his trousers. The thrill of the hunt had not dulled with the centuries.
His entrance caught the attention of several lonely women. He had no interest in the professionals; while he could appreciate their skills between the sheets, their blood was less appealing. It tasted cheap and watered down by desperation and self-loathing—even on the rare occasions they didn’t reek of some venereal disease. Of course, being immortal, Damien couldn’t catch anything, but he preferred the freshness of women he could spend a little time wooing.
He’d chosen a woman perched on a barstool in jeans and a rumpled blouse, deeply engrossed in her book. Clearly, she hadn’t come here looking to pick anyone up—just the sort of challenge he relished. Her tired, makeup-free eyes hinted at a long-haul flight. As he brushed past, her scent told him she was only on her first drink, savouring it slowly. Her hands revealed she was around thirty, well-kept, likely athletic. He never gave much thought to trivialities like wedding rings—whatever commitments the woman he intended to drink from had were of no concern to him.
His target was perched on the edge of the bar, with only one other stool nearby, inconveniently taken. No problem, though—the blonde on it, all hair extensions, lash extensions, and painfully long manicured nails, had been one of the first to smile and cast an inviting look his way when he’d walked in.
Damien settled himself at a low table by the window. When a tall, slim waiter finally approached, he ordered a Daiquiri—the very cocktail the blonde was sipping. Then he waited, catching her eye once again, casually flashing a roll of notes hidden in his hand. Within minutes, she was by his side, sliding onto the chair across from him. Taking her hands warmly in his, he placed the money right in her grasp. Without a second thought, she pocketed the cash and reached for the drink he’d ordered, allowing him to slip seamlessly into her seat at the bar.
Let the games begin.
The unassuming woman in jeans and short brown hair went by Elena, her gentle Eastern European accent marking her words. She was in town for a conference, the name of which Damien happily forgot the instant she mentioned it. She didn’t quite pose the challenge he’d hoped for, and forty minutes later, they were already riding the lift up to her room.
In the lift, Elena pressed herself against him, leaning in for a kiss. But he wasn’t having it. He took hold of her wrists, pinning them behind her, pulling her close as he felt an electrifying wave ripple through her. Her knees weakened slightly, but his hold was firm. His lips traced their way to her neck, right over her pulsing artery, as his fangs slid into place, gleaming and sharp. Resisting the urge to sink them into her skin, he let his tongue graze her neck instead, savouring the shiver that ran through her as she let out a soft moan.
When they reached her floor, he allowed her to lead the way, trailing behind and indulging in the sight of her body—a body that would soon be entirely his. He pictured her curves, lush and full of promise, just waiting for him to make his move.
The moment the door to her hotel room closed behind them, she was at his mercy. She was his plaything, his delectable cocktail, and the perfect vagina for him to find satisfaction and peace.
He leaned against the door, watching as she walked across the spacious room, fully aware of his gaze. What she didn’t expect was to turn and suddenly find him standing right in front of her—without having seen, heard, or even sensed him move. His eyes glowed a fierce crimson, and his bared fangs, sharp and wolflike, stood menacingly wide.
“Who… are you?” she whispered.
Damien had to forgo the pleasure of letting her terror fully bloom. Thin hotel walls weren’t ideal for the kind of scream she might unleash, so he gently hypnotised her, softening the edges of her fear.
“I’m a vampire,” he stated simply.
“Oh,” she replied, her gaze locked on his, mesmerised by the dark depths that revealed his curse, his monstrous nature, his pact with hell itself. She tilted her head slightly, exposing her neck—a silent, instinctual offering of the vein he’d lingered over in the lift.
But he wanted more, much more.
With one swift flick of his sharp thumbnail, he rid her blouse of its buttons in a single stroke. His supernatural speed left her none the wiser—one moment the blouse was buttoned up, and the next, buttons scattered at her feet, her blouse falling open to reveal a plain cotton bra.
Damien lifted her effortlessly, setting her atop a polished table crafted from rich American walnut, positioning her chest perfectly at eye level—right where he wanted her. He pressed his mouth against the little bow at the centre of her bra, biting through the fabric, so that her bra parted just as her blouse had. In an instant, her natural, round, perky tits spilt into his hands, fitting perfectly, as if they’d been waiting for this very moment.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice filled with nothing more than simple curiosity.
He didn’t like that. She was far too submissive, too pliant. So, he eased off his power over her, and in an instant, terror flickered in her eyes as she took in his exposed, wolf-like fangs. He smiled in satisfaction.
“My dear,” he replied in a low, rough voice, “I’m afraid I’ll be taking your body in a way you won’t quite appreciate. And I’ll see to it.”
“No, please!” she gasped, just as he pressed his hand over her mouth.
“Shhhh, show me how you can be submissive,” Damien said as he ran both thumbnail nails down the sides of her jeans as if they were knives. He wasn’t trying to be gently, and then when he pulled the remains of her pants off, there was a streak of blood down both outer thighs to her calves.
The smell of blood rankled him. It aroused him. He unzipped his fly and allowed her a glimpse of his huge, hard cock. She shuddered. He knew full well it was fear, but more than that it was lust. He could smell her moist pussy, she was wet and ready for him.
He yanked her off the table, harshly and severely, until she landed on all fours. She tried to turn to defend herself, but it was no more than a thought, for with his supernatural super-speed he was immediately on top of her.
Damien grabbed the woman’s hair and jerked violently, and she winced in pain. At that moment, he shoved his giant cock so hard up her arse that she burst into tears. She whimpered again, this time softly so as not to startle him.
With a swift motion, he rolled over so that he was sitting on the floor with her in front of him, impaled on his cock. He grabbed her soft buttocks and let her ride him up and down. Her legs dangled helplessly in the air and he had quite lost control. He jerked her neck sharply and bit into her. He sucked and swallowed, her blood trickling down his lips, gulping it down, yet a bloody stain remained on his shirt when he was done with her.
He rolled over so he could see her face underneath him.
He bit down on her breasts, soft and smooth, all the while shoving his hard, firm dick into her cunt. She was no longer wet and ready, she was tight with terror, and she wrapped herself nicely around his plump pride.
He was out of control. He allowed himself to fully awaken the evil beast inside him that wanted blood and wanted it all.
He stared into her eyes as he banged her, fucking her harshly. He took her hand and she didn’t resist. Too bad.
He sank his fangs into her wrist and nearly bit off a chunk of her hand as he swallowed greedily. He was nearing climax as he slammed her hard, her firm breasts jiggling beneath him, her stiff nipples pulled against him. Her face paled, her cheekbones jutted out, and the veins popped in her bulging eyes. He didn’t blink, just watched the life drain out of her. The moment she breathed her last, the moment she uttered “God have mercy,” he certainly didn’t have it.
He left his seed in her dead vagina with a massive cumshot.
Sated, relaxed and supple, he rolled off. Dawn was still an hour away, so he didn’t have to hurry. He wrapped the body in the sheets and cleared the room of blood in less than a minute. As he left, still at his super speed so that the cameras in the hallways registered only static, he held his victim on his shoulders with no sign of life. In the cemetery, he broke into a dungeon over a hundred years old and laid the motionless, ripped body there tenderly. He placed a soft kiss on the nearly white lips before disappearing into the fading night.
He staggered down the street like a drunk, a bloodstain on his light-coloured shirt partially covered by a red scarf. By this time, only those who didn’t want to be seen themselves passed through New York.
In his luxurious suite, he took a long shower before retiring to sleep. He knew he had gone far this night. He had to admit to himself that Harper had impressed him more than he was willing to concede.
He hadn’t had a reason to get to know a woman in a long time, and she had given him that purpose. They definitely had a few weeks before she could tell him his mother’s fate. Far more than he would need to make her long to be his alone.
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