HeatintheNight

  Heat in the Night

  Margaret L. Carter

  Vampires don’t fall in love with each other. When a female enters one of her rare heat periods, she chooses a mate for a night or two of raw sex to satisfy their mutual lust and possibly conceive a child. But young vampire Ingrid, brought up by human foster parents, has absorbed human notions about love and romance.

  When she begins her first estrus, she gets thrown together with her dear friend Bron, who can’t stand to let any other vampire have her first. Realizing she has fallen in love with Bron, Ingrid embarks on a night of wild passion, determined to keep him from learning her shameful secret—that one night will leave her with a yearning for love that would baffle and repel most of her kind.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Heat in the Night

  Margaret L. Carter

  Chapter One

  With a sigh of sensual pleasure, the unshaven man in olive-green fatigues sagged against the front passenger door of the car, his eyes drooping shut. Ingrid licked the last traces of blood from her lips and pressed her fingertips against the tiny incision in his neck to stop the trickle of red.

  His vital elixir and the heat of his desire warmed her to the core. Why didn’t she feel as satisfied as she normally would? With her thirst quenched, she still suffered a gnawing need. A donor’s lust should spice the feeding with the psychic energy that made human blood an essential part of her diet. It shouldn’t make her skin prickle as if infested by fire ants, her nipples harden and the flesh between her thighs tighten.

  She shook her head with impatience at herself. Why evade the obvious? She craved more than blood, something she couldn’t get from an ephemeral. Her time was creeping closer by the hour.

  With one long fingernail, she tilted the man’s chin and turned his head toward her. “You won’t remember anything that happened after I picked you up. I gave you a ride and money for food. That’s all.”

  He responded with a drowsy nod.

  “You’ll walk to that fast food place in the next block and buy a meal. Then you will go to this shelter and ask for help.” She took a business card from a stack in the glove compartment and tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Understand?”

  He nodded again.

  “Then go.” Putting his Will Work for Food sign into his hands, she reached across him to open the car door. Even though he smelled cleaner than most of the homeless population and wasn’t tainted by alcohol or drugs, she didn’t want him around any longer than necessary. Not when his masculine body only taunted her craving with a promise it couldn’t keep. No human male had the stamina to satisfy a female of her kind.

  After her prey had ambled down the street out of sight, she pulled the car away from the tiny park where she’d stopped to feed and headed home in the gathering twilight. Maybe her mentor Morella would have answered her message by now. Ingrid couldn’t wait much longer to choose a mate for her first estrus.

  Back at her oceanfront townhouse in La Jolla, she paused on her balcony to savor the cool evening air, the crash of waves on rocks and the trail of moonlight on the water. Even the beauty of the night couldn’t distract her for long, though. Her normally cool skin burned so that she felt half tempted to strip naked and plunge into the surf.

  Instead, she poured a glass of brandy to take the edge off—for what little effect alcohol had on her metabolism—and switched on the computer in the dining nook she used as an office. To her relief, she found an email from Morella waiting. Surely by now her mentor would have found a willing stud. Female vampires chose their own mates but Ingrid had so few acquaintances among her own species that she’d asked for her adviser’s guidance.

  “You realize this has not been easy,” the message began. “It’s no fault of yours, but as I mentioned before, many potential mates are put off by what they regard as your excessively human tendencies. They think you’ve been weakened by your unconventional upbringing and are reluctant to have their offspring corrupted by such attitudes.”

  Ingrid snarled under her breath. As if any of them should care, the hypocrites. Vampire fathers served only as sperm donors and had no say in the rearing of their offspring. Those reluctant males probably didn’t want to look desperate by agreeing to mate with a female who’d been “corrupted” the way she had. Not that she considered the influence of Grandma Doris and Granddad Allen either corrupting or weakening.

  Of course, she knew perfectly well they weren’t her grandparents, even though she’d lived with them from the age of five. As her mother’s loyal servants, they’d hidden her in their cottage while a pair of vampire hunters had vandalized the main house and slain her mother. Afterward Doris and Allen had informally adopted her, posing as her grandparents to avoid questions in the town where they’d made a new home for her. Her mother’s murder was another reason why some of her kind viewed her bloodline with suspicion. If a vampire couldn’t protect herself against a couple of mere mortals, did her genes deserve transmission to the next generation?

  Ingrid sipped the brandy and turned her attention back to the email. “However, I’ve managed to persuade Leon Marcato to serve as stud for you. He’ll meet you tomorrow night at a cabin I’ve reserved for you on Big Bear Lake.” The address followed.

  “Managed to persuade.” I guess I should wallow in gratitude. She gnashed her teeth. She’d never met Leon but that scarcely mattered. Any male vampire would ignite with lust when exposed to her pheromones and that response would ensure that he’d supply what she needed. As for the cold tone of Morella’s note, that came as no surprise. She’d accepted the role of Ingrid’s adviser only because, as a distant cousin of Ingrid’s mother, she considered that task her duty. Morella didn’t try too hard to hide the fact that she shared the disdain for Ingrid’s “excessively human” behavior, such as rewarding her victims for their unwitting donations.

  Shaking off these negative thoughts, Ingrid closed the browser and stood up with a long stretch. She could hardly stand the idea of waiting until the following night to quench the heat that sizzled in her veins. Her nerves twanged. She pressed a hand to her mound and moaned aloud. She couldn’t appease her own arousal the way a human female could. She’d already tried and only made the torment worse. Maybe a brisk run along the beach followed by a swim in the chilly Pacific would help after all. Not in the nude, though. No point in shocking any ephemerals she might encounter and having to wipe their memories. She hurried into the bedroom and switched her blouse and jeans for a bikini.

  * * * * *

  Early the next evening, after a restless day of sleep plagued by scarlet-tinged dreams, she drank a warmed-up unit of blood from the supply in the refrigerator, followed by a vanilla milkshake for dessert. Milk gave her sustenance too, though it couldn’t replace blood. Next she flipped through her closet for something to wear to the rendezvous with her prospective stud. She settled on a lilac sheath dress that highlighted the violet flecks in her silver-gray eyes, clung to her willowy shape and contrasted vividly with the sable hair cascading to the middle of her back. Checking her reflection after she finished dressing, she had to laugh at herself. What difference did it make how she looked? Appearance had little effect on a vampire’s appetites. Her scent would goad her mate to instant lust and the outfit wouldn’t last more than half a minute.

  Bron would understand why I care how I look. He’d take a second to compliment the dress before he ripped it off.

  Not that she would consider inviting Bron Griffin to initiate her. She wouldn’t risk distorting their relationship that way. It had been Bron, a friend of her mother’s, who’d searched for her after the hunters’ attack, refusing to give up until he’d found her. Grandma Doris and Granddad Allen had hidden their
new home so carefully it had taken Bron ten years to unearth them. Bron, not Morella, had supplied most of Ingrid’s instruction in how real vampires behaved. Her foster grandparents had conscientiously ensured that she knew her true nature despite the human guise she had to live under. They’d taught her she belonged to a naturally evolved species at the top of the food chain, not an undead creature diabolically resurrected from the grave. They’d made sure she didn’t pick up any of the superstitions that handicapped some of her kind, such as fear of crosses and silver. They’d supplied animals to nourish her with their blood when she outgrew the ability to digest meat. Still, she’d had a lot to learn when Bron had tracked her down, just at the stage when she’d begun to need human blood and life-force.

  He’d lavished endless patience on her without showing any contempt for what others called her “weakness”. They’d developed an unusually close friendship for their solitary species. She would have reveled in taking him for her first mate.

  Which is exactly why I won’t do it. Sex between vampires was supposed to serve purely biological functions, relieving lust and begetting offspring. Emotional attachment had no place in the frenzy of mating, a fact Morella had emphatically impressed on her. Ingrid wouldn’t shame herself by exposing her emotions to Bron at this vulnerable time.

  After packing a change of clothes, she started the drive northeast before the sun had fully set, eager to meet this Leon person and discharge the pressure building in her loins. Even with dark glasses and the tinted windows of the car, she developed a headache from the fading light. Or maybe the pain behind her eyes was another symptom of her heat rising to its height.

  Dark had fallen by the time she headed into the San Bernardino Mountains and finally reached Big Bear Lake. She followed a winding road through the woods to the cabin described in the directions. A black sports car was already parked in the driveway under an overarching tree. She pulled in behind it, her pulse accelerating and a trickle of wetness welling between her thighs. She didn’t care how Leon looked or what he thought of her as long as her scent made him hard enough to fill the hollow place within her.

  Although the cool air of the May evening refreshed her flushed skin, she didn’t pause to enjoy it. She grabbed her overnight bag and rushed up the porch steps to the front door. Finding it unlocked, she flung it open and dashed inside.

  The moment she stepped into the wood-paneled living room with exposed ceiling beams, a fireplace and pseudo-rustic furniture, a familiar scent wafted to her. Cool and metallic with a hint of masculine musk, as she’d anticipated, but not the spoor of a stranger. Her nostrils flared. No, it can’t be.

  Chapter Two

  The last man she’d expected strode into the room. Five inches taller than her own five feet nine, he had the same alabaster skin as all their kind but flame-red hair in contrast to her black. In the near darkness the centers of his silvery eyes glinted crimson. Glowering, he grabbed her shoulders and loomed over her. “I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.”

  His hands seared her skin through the light cloth. “Bron! What the hell are you doing here? I was supposed to meet someone named Leon Marcato.”

  “Leon.” He practically spat the name. “As soon as I learned Morella chose him for you, I contacted him and told him to forget about it.” He shifted his grip to her bare upper arms and dug his fingers into her flesh.

  An ache spread between her legs. Fighting to ignore it, she said, “What made that your business? How did you even find out?”

  “You thought I’d forget you’re almost thirty and ready to go into heat for the first time? Or I wouldn’t hear about it when Morella starting looking for a stud? I got her to tell me what she’d arranged.”

  “But why?” Ingrid’s head was spinning from his aroma and touch. She couldn’t surrender to the stimulation until she got this puzzle straightened out.

  “Why didn’t you ask me first?” he countered. “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?” He reached around her to pull down the zipper of the dress.

  Cool air from an open window whispered over her exposed skin. She wore no bra, not needing one with her small, firm breasts. “That’s exactly why not.” She caught herself panting and drew a deep breath to steady herself. “I didn’t want to complicate things. You’re my friend and mating isn’t supposed to involve emotions.” Hardly aware she was doing it, she insinuated her hands under his polo shirt.

  “You don’t believe that tripe.” He shoved the dress off her shoulders and let it slither down her body. “That’s not what your human family taught you.”

  She froze, a flood of humiliation mingling with the heat that suffused her. “So you think I was corrupted by them too?”

  “Dark powers, no. You know I’ve never thought that.” He pushed her hands aside and peeled off his shirt. “They cared for you at the risk of their own lives. I appreciate their value even if some of those other idiots, including Morella, don’t.”

  “Then what’s your point?” She splayed her palms on his chest, which felt cool in contrast to the scorching brand of his fingers on her shoulder blades.

  “If we have the relationship I thought we did, I should initiate you, nobody else. Hell, I suspected you passed me over because of my lack of experience.”

  “Your what?” She didn’t know a thing about his sexual history.

  “I’ve never been chosen to mate before. After all, I’m not much older than a hundred and fifty. I assume that’s why Morella didn’t bother to approach me.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your experience. My reason was just what I said.” Wandering down his chest with a life of their own, her fingers reached the snap of his jeans.

  “I want to make tonight the best possible for you. There’s no valid reason it has be impersonal rutting. Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s get out of these blasted clothes.”

  Her eyes widened at the fire in his. “You really want to mate with me?”

  He buried his face in her neck and inhaled a long, hissing breath. “Ah, gods of night, you have the most intoxicating fragrance. What do you think I want?” Clasping her hand, he guided it to a hard ridge in the front of his pants. “I didn’t expect the reaction to build so fast.”

  “Neither did I.” She jerked his zipper down and helped him strip off his jeans and briefs. She unbuckled and tossed away her sandals, noticing he was already barefoot. Wrapping her arms around him, she raked his back with her nails. The scent of blood blossomed in the air, different from human but still tantalizing. Why that should happen when vampires couldn’t nourish each other, she didn’t know. How would it taste? Since mating didn’t usually involve blood-sharing—much more intimate for her kind than sex—she would never find out. She brushed aside the question, incapable of concentrating enough to analyze her response at that moment.

  His erection jutted out. She stroked the shaft—like satin over marble—evoking a groan from Bron.

  “If you keep that up, I’ll shoot off without you.” His cock twitched, nudging her triangle of hair just above the place that ached most urgently.

  “Don’t you dare.” Her skin felt too tight, a sensation painfully intense in her nipples and clit. Her pulse raced beyond any hope of controlling it as she normally could.

  “Your aura is blazing.” So was his, roiling with swirls of lurid red. His heartbeat pounded in her ears. “And you’re wet. I can tell from your musk.” He slipped a finger inside the elastic of her panties as if to test that perception.

  He glided over the swollen bud and dipped into her slit. Liquid warmth welled up inside her and her inner muscles rippled. “I need you right now.” She pushed him toward the nearest couch.

  With a feral smile, he let her shove him into a sitting position. Not waiting for her to step out of her panties, he ripped them off and flung them aside. When she straddled him, he clawed her back as if to retaliate for her scratches. “Your blood smells like champagne.” He clamped his hands onto her waist.

  With her
hands on his shoulders, she hovered above him, her legs trembling. She lowered herself onto his cock and he met her with an upward thrust. Her sheath clenched around him.

  He shuddered under her grasp. “That’s incredible,” he growled. Since he wasn’t shielding his emotions, she felt his arousal, like hunger and thirst, but centered lower.

  The same craving burned at her core. She rocked back and forth, reveling in the subtle changes of pressure as he moved within her. But she needed more.

  So did he, judging from the way his hands spasmodically clutched her rib cage. They urged her upward while his hips flexed. She straightened her thighs slowly, then abruptly descended. At his gasp, and the wave of excitement that surged from him, she repeated the motion over and over, faster by the second, plunging up and down. His thrusts shot bolts of electricity through her entire body. Her head spun and a crimson mist hazed her vision. The pressure inside her expanded to an explosion that ripped a scream from her throat.

  He locked her in his arms, both of them shaking with the force of their shared release. Although more intense than tasting a victim’s passion, the climax was centered in one spot instead of diffused like the pleasure of drinking human life energy. Ecstatically satisfying yet a bit strange.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Bron gazing at her with a lazy, feline smile. His eyes glowed in the dark, which wasn’t dark to their nocturnal sight. The moonlight gave them all the illumination they needed. Glancing at the open window, she emitted a wordless sound of dismay.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “This cabin is isolated enough that we don’t have to worry about anybody hearing us. And I liked the way you showed your appreciation.”

  With a mock growl, she ran a nail down his chest. A thin line of blood appeared. She knew the scratches she’d inflicted on his back would already start healing. “I don’t have to ask if you appreciated it. I felt you coming with me.”