Blurb: There is nothing as strong as the bond between a
sire and his vampire.
But what do you do when you find out your partner’s
sire is also your own?
Jonah had been a vampire for over a hundred years
when he met Sebastian, the owner of the vampire-themed nightclub in downtown
LA. Twenty years later and Jonah and Sebastian are stronger than ever.
But when another’s jealousy brings their sire to the
club, will their relationship be able to withstand the strength of their bond
with Vincenzo, and their bond with each other?
Excerpt:
“What
can I get you, sir?”
Jonah
looked up at the bartender standing in front of him and quickly scanned the
array of microbrews behind the man. “You know what, surprise me,” he said
boldly, then handed over his twenty and rested his elbows on the bar. He
grinned when the bartender waited for his opinion on the beer he had put before
him and returned Jonah's smile when he nodded his appreciation after the first
mouthful. He let his gaze idly roam the club after the bartender had moved on
to his next customer and he marveled at the lengths some of these freaks had
gone to in order to get into the whole vampire thing.
Jonah
felt his stomach tighten when he saw a girl lift her companion's wrist and sink
her teeth into the soft flesh. “Jesus,” he whispered to himself as he watched
two rivers of dark red blood drip from the man's skin and onto the table in
front of them. He was transfixed as the girl drank greedily until she pulled
back and licked the excess blood from her lips. “Holy fucking shit,” he
mouthed, unable to believe what he was actually seeing. Then his mouth dropped
open in stunned surprise when the man ripped what looked like a used condom
from his wrist and tossed it onto the table, before he slanted his lips across
the woman's and licked the blood from her mouth. It was fake. It was all fake; just
a bunch of Twilight wannabes with their little tricks and bags of theater
blood. Or maybe it was corn syrup, just like they used in Carrie. He sighed heavily and took another draw of his beer.
Had
he really expected to find what he was looking for here? That his search would
be over? How long had he waited? Well, this was his fifth pass through higher
education, so long enough. He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the
bar. He didn’t look bad for his age. All one hundred and fifty-six years of it.
Well, one hundred and seventy-seven if you counted the twenty-one he’d notched
up when he was human. Jonah picked absently at the label on the beer bottle and
gave himself a mental shake.
What am I doing?
A
vampire, pretending to be human, in a club full of humans pretending to be
vampires. Freud would have a field day with this one. Although, having met the
man himself on several occasions, Jonah was sure he’d have thrown some sort of
Oedipus complex in for good measure. At least Anne Rice had gotten something
right. The loneliness and despair. The desperate craving for solace only others
of your kind could provide. Contrary to popular opinion, vampires didn’t band
together in cozy little nests and, those that did, were the sort of vampires
not even other vampires wanted to run into. They mindlessly followed a
self-appointed leader and lived for the hunt.
Jonah
swallowed a slightly hysterical laugh before it could escape. Tonight he’d been
at the mercy of Theo’s dick; that
night so very long ago, he’d been at the mercy of his own. As he’d dressed to
attend the town fair with his family, he was filled with excited anticipation.
The fair was the highlight of the year and this time he was old enough to join
his father in the drinking tent. His older brothers had been raggin’ on him all
week and if he said he wasn’t looking forward to tasting his first drop of
alcohol, he’d be lying. If he’d known his first would also be his last, he may
have stayed at home—
Jolted
from his reverie by the slide of someone’s hand down the curve of his ass,
Jonah sighed heavily. He turned to look at the owner of the hand, a polite
rejection ready, when a strong arm was wrapped around his waist and pulled him
against a firm body.
“Look,
man,” Jonah said as he looked into eyes covered with the now familiar contacts.
“I'm not interested. I'm just here with a friend.” He expected the guy to just
nod and move on, so annoyance warmed his belly when the arm around him tightened
and lips parted to reveal sharp white teeth. “I said I'm not interested,” he hissed, and tried to disengage himself with as
little fuss as possible. Obviously, he could have dispatched his unwanted
admirer with one finger, but this was hardly the time, or the place to attract
even more attention. But when his assailant wound spiteful fingers into his
hair and pulled, it took an iron clad grip on his senses not to send the moron
hurtling across the club. When the man’s hand slipped lower and palmed his crotch,
the tenuous hold on his temper was stayed by the sound of a voice from behind
him.
“I
believe the gentleman said he wasn't interested.”
Jonah
turned his head and winced at the pull on his hair the movement created. The
man holding him took one look at the owner of the voice and released him.
“I'm
sorry, Sebastian,” the oaf slurred, obviously drunk. He turned back to Jonah and
held his hands out in an attempt at placation. “I should not have been so
forward. I overstepped. Please forgive me.”
“Yeah,
whatever,” Jonah said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the crowd that
seemed to have assembled around them. He turned away and looked down at his
beer, desperately willing the people to disperse so he could die quietly. He
started when a slender hand fell onto his shoulder and he looked into eyes the
color of which could only be described as violet, in a face so ethereally
handsome that his mouth actually dropped open.
“I'm
Sebastian O'Keefe,” his savior said softly. “I’m the owner of this establishment
and I would like to extend my apologies for the way you have been treated this
evening, Mr…?”
“Roberts,
Jonah Roberts,” he replied, hoping he didn't sound like a complete moron,
because his tongue was currently stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.
“Mr.
Roberts, again, my apologies. Braden will furnish you with a drink on the
house.” He motioned to the bartender. “Please, enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Sebastian nodded politely and turned away.
“Wait,”
Jonah said on a rush of breath, not entirely sure what he was doing, but
certain in that split second that he didn't want to Sebastian O’Keefe to leave.
“The least I can do is buy you a drink after you defended my honor.”
“Thank
you, but no,” Sebastian replied, his violet gaze traveling over Jonah slowly
from beneath lowered lashes. “I have some work to do in the office, and I don't
really care for alcohol.”
“A
soda then?” Jonah blurted as the man turned away. “Tea, coffee?” He held out
his hands in a hopeful gesture. “I've got a breath mint in my pocket…” Jonah smiled as Sebastian's lips twitched and
he tilted his head, hitting him with his best hang-dog look. “Just one?”
“Very
well, Mr. Roberts,” Sebastian replied. “Just one.”
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