A Vampire's Obsession a Billionaire, Paranormal Romance - Ava Mason Page 0,1

a vise on her throat, crushing her esophagus, and she struggled to push it away.

Slowly she descended, and she counted the seconds it took to reach him. One. Her sleeping daughter, still enfolded in her blankets, safe and sound under her protective spell. Two. Her secret about the fae. The one she’d guarded close. Too close. The one she never told anyone and now she never would. Three. The woman buried under her house, that she hoped would never rise again.

The man’s breath reeked of rot and lust, and it flit through her nose as he sat up, slightly loosening his hold.

“Baash…” She pulled him close so that his lips were on hers, dropping the athame. “…Tard.”

“I know your thoughts, witch.” He tasted like death as his tongue slid through her lips, searching for any remnants of the feathers. Finding none, he twisted his fingers, splaying her bare as his sliding fangs bit into her neck. Her breath caught in her throat, and she grinned as a warmth spread down to her privates. At least she would be satisfied in death.

1

Detrand

The funeral began as soon as the last of the sun’s rays were swallowed by the cold earth below, bringing a dark stillness to the night. It was a strange time for those who did not understand our ways, but they followed our traditions nonetheless. My footsteps were soundless as I made my way down the street, the pavers under my feet filthy until they reached the boarders of the church.

The priest here was a proud man, proud in the ways of God and community and the desire’s of man’s heart. He gave willingly to those who wept at his feet, submissive in their need to repent, and was strict with those who sought repentance as a way to rationalize their innermost dark desires.

And so, the streets, the courtyards, and the brick walls of the church were spotless, a payment for their dirty deeds.

As I walked, I kept a wary eye on the other strigoi lined across the walk, parked on the beautifully carved wooden benches and under the street lamps. One in particular, a woman with pale blonde hair that floated down to her mid-back and had eyes as dark as the murky skies overhead, watched me closely. I languidly trailed my eyes to her legs which stretched from the slit in her skirt.

Understanding my lusty glare, she arched her neck invitingly at me, while positioning her nearly indecent skirt so that I could see right up it. Her eyes roamed over my thick body, entwined with rippling muscles and olive skin that wrapped around my physique, then up to my face where my dark hair masked my knowing eyes.

At my sharp look, she slunk back into the shadows, hiding behind the bulky male strigoi sitting beside her.

The scent of her filled my nose as I strode past her, headed towards the large church door. I could sense the strigoi still behind me, in the way that only the strigoi can, their stares burning into my back as I strode boldly up the brick stairs.

The door creaked loudly as I opened it, the sound reverberating off the high ceilings of the inner chamber. As I stepped inside, there was a collective gasp behind me. Most strigoi, a breed similar to vampires but with a few genetic differences, couldn’t enter the most sacred of holy buildings and the mere fact that I was wholly unimpressed with my ability to do it spoke to my power and rank.

As I turned to shut the door, they huddled together at the entrance to the church, their eyes wide. As I coolly met their stares, their expressions turned from shock to fear. The woman with the blonde hair fell to her knees and bowed her head, showing the milky whiteness of her cleavage. As I slowly shut the door, I envisioned the satisfaction I would feel as my fangs latched onto her later.

Turning away from such thoughts, I walked down the middle aisle of the main sanctuary and studied the intricate details of the ceiling, ignoring the fact that all eyes were drawn to me. Traveling from Italy on a ship was perilous, especially for a strigoi such as I, and I had not arrived comfortably. I was the only one who was late. Still, even in death, the living did not disrespect the man in the wooden box at the front of the room: the ‘young,’ rich bachelor, and the most powerful man