Desire Calls

  Desire Calls

  By Caridad Piñeiro

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  The piazza always provided a fine selection for dining, Stacia thought as she sat on the railing along the edge of the Bernini fountain in Rome’s Piazza Navona. She gazed at the choices available in various spots around the square. French. German. Italian, of course.

  Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It had been a day since she had eaten. Placing a hand over her belly, she rose and sashayed toward her first pick, but as she neared the Frenchman, she realized he was beyond loaded. The stench of cheap wine clung to his shirt and oozed from his pores.

  Shaking her head, she thought of the oft-repeated adage all those television chefs used: If it’s not good enough to drink, it’s not good enough for cooking. Or in her case, for eating. That cheap stuff just left a bad aftertaste in her mouth along with a wickedly nasty buzz.

  She preferred something cleaner on her palate tonight.

  Which definitely had her bypassing the Aryan god she had noticed just a short distance away from the Frenchman. Germans were always a trifle heavy in her belly. However, the broad set of his shoulders and well-muscled chest made her reconsider. She loved her men big and strong and so she lingered by the front of the outdoor café where he was seated. Even made eye contact with him for a moment.

  Amazing crystal-blue eyes twinkled with interest. That much was clear.

  Stacia smiled back, thinking that maybe he might be worth a nibble after all. Maybe they might actually even click, finally providing her with true pleasure after nearly two thousand years of undead life.

  Mr. Tall, Blonde and Brawny rose from his chair, seemingly intent on making a move in her direction, but suddenly an equally tall, blonde and muscled woman joined him. Seeing that his attention was on Stacia, his companion began a harangue loud enough to make heads turn. The man plopped down into his chair, looking like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs.

  No spirit. That was so not good, Stacia thought and moved onward, still in search of something to satisfy her hunger.

  She needed a man who could not only take a lickin’, but gave as good as he got. And not just when he was in a fight. It had been a good long while since any man had really satisfied her in bed, one of the downsides of having lived so long. Of being a vampire elder.

  Even her own kind avoided her at times, aware that with her age came vast power, but also vast hunger. For blood. For sex. For control over lesser vamps. She didn’t want to admit that in her case, she still hungered for love. For real passion and desire.

  Things she hadn’t felt in way too long.

  Some of the other elders said that she was foolish to yearn for such things. That she should let go of the last little bit of humanity within her that prompted such desires. Then, and only then, could she truly relish the immense vampire power that her age provided.

  Stubbornly, though, Stacia refused to relinquish that lingering trace of humanity. Of want for something more than an eternal existence filled with only….

  A fine-looking American caught her eye as he laughed at the antics of his rowdy friends in front of one bar. He was as big and blonde as the whipped Aryan she had bypassed earlier, but as his gaze met hers, she saw steel there. Luscious grey eyes were framed by a sheath of shaggy, sunbleached hair.

  Stacia circled Mr. Surfer Dude, making eye contact and clearly letting the young man know that this might just be his lucky night.

  It worked without her using even a bit of her vampire power. A flirtatious smile and her feminine wiles had been enough.

  He approached, leaned down from his greater height and in awfully accented Italian, asked, “Parla Inglese?”

  “Do we need to talk?” she said with a sexy wink and inclined her head in the direction of a nearby alley.

  The young man smiled broadly and after a quick glance back at his friends, who hooted and carried on at his “score,” he took hold of her hand and followed her.

  Stacia led him farther back into the narrow alley, although not so far that he would think anything was amiss. Just far enough that he would believe a strong shout could still be heard out in the piazza. Not that she would give him the opportunity to call out.

  Toward the middle of the alley, the night closed in around them, with only the dimmest light from the full moon above. Clothed in darkness, the young man surprised her by becoming the aggressor, grabbing her forcefully and pinning her to the jagged brick wall.

  “Like it rough, do you?” she said, but he didn’t answer since with quick hands he had already undone the laces on her leather vest and was gazing down at her breasts as they spilled free.

  When he bent to suck at them, she moaned, thinking that he was exceptionally gifted with his mouth. Between her legs, the throb of human desire rose up, aching for fulfillment.

  She quickly undid his jeans, reached past the loose folds of denim to the boxer shorts below.

  How she loved this new fashion that made it so easy to free him. To stroke the rather magnificent length of him.

  He bit down on one nipple as she caressed him, dragging a gasp from her.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, as he lifted the almost non-existent hem of her black leather miniskirt, cupped her bare buttocks and urged her upward.

  With a surge, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, then drove down, crying out as the long thick length of him penetrated her. He was deliciously big, much like the rest of him.

  His own groan was from the gut as she leaned back against the brick wall and he pounded into her, all finesse forgotten as he strove for release. He looked down and watched the play of his hips against hers, as if fascinated by that sight. His blonde curls brushing the naked skin between her legs.

  Stacia considered the emotions flitting across his face. Passion rose, dilating his eyes into shards of slate grey. Almost charcoal grey, she realized as he met her gaze before dipping his head down again to suck on her breasts.

  Inside her, heat built. Desire awakened the demon that hungered for so much. She threw her head back, allowed the beast to slowly emerge so that it could experience it all. The dark of the night enveloped them in its secrecy. The strength of his youth brought her closer and closer to completion. The musky smells of their lovemaking pushed her over the edge.

  She called out her physical completion and laid her face against his. Bent her head and kissed the crook of his neck. His skin was damp. Salty. His blood surged, singing through his veins as his heart beat quickened while he strove for his own release.

  Sweet, sweet blood. Pulsing beneath her lips.

  In a heartbeat, she finally loosed her restraints on the beast. Her fangs burst forth and pierced the fragile skin of his neck.

  He called out then in a strangl
ed cry laced with pain, but also with the acknowledgement of passion like no other he had ever experienced–the passion borne from a vampire’s kiss.

  Blood spilled onto her lips from her fangs as she drank, experiencing the surge of strength and lust that came from feeding. His sweet young blood brought the rush of life to her undead body.

  He tasted like the ocean and sun. Salty. So tasty that Stacia could have kept on going until she drained him dry, only he had done well by her tonight, satisfying one hunger while leaving another unfulfilled.

  The young man’s knees weakened from the loss of blood and Stacia hopped off him. With her greater vampire strength, she gently eased him down to the uneven pavement.

  He was rather handsome, she thought, gazing down at him as he stared up at her, disoriented. The bite mark at his neck was already healing and come the morning, he would remember nothing. Feel no worse off than if he had a bad hangover, she thought as she quickly closed up her vest.

  And she would feel–

  Still alone, she thought, hurrying from the alley as if by doing so, she could escape the bleakness of her existence.

  Once out in the piazza, she realized that it was time to move on. She would not find satisfaction here.

  As she strolled through the square, it occurred to her New York would be good this time of year. Lots of fine dining there and the wannabes at the Blood Bank were always good for a laugh.

  Imagine, wanting to be human again, she thought. What good was that? she asked herself, ignoring the little voice in her head which reminded her that with humanity came–

  Love.

  Chapter 2

  The Lair was hopping as it always was on a Saturday night. Not that Blake was a regular at that club, preferring the Blood Bank with its edgier clientele and higher volume of vampires. The people here–not even serious vamp poseurs–were just interested in a flirtation with the dark side, like visiting an Undead Disneyland.

  They loved the look of the place, from the faux stone walls to the hundreds of realistic bat bodies clinging to the ceiling above which created the illusion that you were in an underground cavern. Even the bar fed into the macabre fantasy: the sign for The Lair seemed to drip blood from its letters onto the bar’s gleaming stainless steel surface.

  Blake chuckled at the crowd, thinking that they paled in comparison to those true believers at the Blood Bank. Where a bloke could be guaranteed a nice shot of blood or a nip at a willing neck.

  His friend Ryder, the owner of this club, had no blood of any kind on the drink menu. Not even some hearty beef blood. Worse yet, he had a strict No Bite policy for the real vampires who occasionally dropped by.

  A shame, Blake thought, as one rather attractive young woman bumped into him and smiled, sending the clear signal that she was interested in his rather fine punk self. He ignored her, glancing through the murky light to the luminous steel counter of the bar, where his former love labored, either unaware of his presence or ignoring him.

  He suspected it was the latter since as her sire, they were irrevocably connected. But that didn’t mean they were meant to be together he had realized some months ago.

  Blonde, green-eyed and beautiful, Meghan stood behind the counter, smiling as she poured drinks and took money.

  Blake remembered that smile well. Recalled the night they had met at the Blood Bank, where Meghan had gone on a dare with a group of her coed friends. Even done up in her version of Goth, with black denim clinging to every luscious curve of her youthful body, her brightness had shone through.

  She had clearly been intrigued by his swagger and Cockney accent. They had gone off alone, just to talk at first because after over a century of life, it wasn’t all that easy to find someone to connect with. Bullocks, they had definitely connected, he recalled.

  She had made him laugh. Made him remember just how wonderful spending time with someone could be. That hadn’t happened in…forever.

  When Meghan had agreed to go with him to one of the back rooms at the Blood Bank, he hadn’t intended to sire her. He had just wanted to savor her sexy All-American looks, lithe body and the promise in her forest green eyes. Revel in the way her sexiness was laced with humor and light after his long life in the dark.

  But somewhere along the way, he had lost control.

  The wonderfully sexy and too human interlude had awakened a longing he hadn’t acknowledged for some time. When he released the demon, he told himself it was just to take a nibble of all her goodness. To just savor a little longer the lovemaking that had been so fulfilling, so alive with light and passion and just sheer fun.

  Her skin had been soft against his lips as he bit down on her neck. Her scent, so fresh and clean, had obliterated the earthier odor of the blood. And her body…

  She had screamed out at his possession, but not just with pain. When she clutched him to her, he realized that he hadn’t wanted it to end. Ever.

  Blake had nearly sucked her dry. By the time the extent of his feeding registered, he had been left with a painful choice. Let her die or sire her. He had taken too much blood for her to survive.

  So Blake had turned her, earning her hatred as Meghan fought the reality of her new existence. In the past year, he had redeemed himself by saving her life and that of her guardian, but things would never be right between them. Which was why he lurked in the shadows, wishing that he would find someone else who could bring light and love to his life. Someone else to connect with again since his chance encounter with Meghan had shown him that love was still possible for someone like him.

  You’re a pitiful bloke, he told himself, straightening and pulling his black leather jacket closed. It was time he moved on and found another young thing to satisfy him. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life worrying about the little chit who would be forever twenty-one thanks to his actions.

  Most women would be pleased by that possibility, vain creatures that they were.

  Turning on his heel, he left The Lair in a burst of vampire speed, exiting out onto the streets of Tribeca. Leaping up the landings of a nearby fire escape until he was on the rooftop of an adjacent building.

  The moon was full, bathing New York City in silvery light. A nip lingered in the early spring air, not that it bothered his vampire thermostat. But he was a mite peckish and needed a bite of something to ease that hunger.

  He leapt from one rooftop to the next until he arrived at the familiar alley before the Blood Bank.

  Blake slipped down from the roof, landing noiselessly on the cobblestones. He sauntered to the door and flashed some fang at the bouncer who let him in past the long line of people waiting to enter.

  Inside, it was as dim as The Lair, but without all the theatrical touches. Worn chairs and tables bore the scars of the violence for which the Blood Bank was known in the undead world. Opening his vampire senses, he recognized the hum of power that said there were others of his kind here. But more importantly, he detected the commanding vibrations from an elder. A very familiar elder, he thought and glanced toward the bar.

  Stacia in all her glory.

  The night had finally taken a turn for the better, Blake thought and walked toward the bar.

  Chapter 3

  With a rather bored sigh, Stacia placed the glass filled with blood from a nouveau yuppie fresh fr
om Chelsea on the gouged counter before her. She had been hoping to run into some familiar faces, but other than Foley, the owner of the bar, the night had been quiet, until…

  She swiveled on her stool as she sensed a familiar vamp energy and took note of him as he approached.

  Blake. In his best Billy Idol get-up. His chain-studded jeans tight against lean hips, black leather jacket strained against his broad shoulders. Playfully spiked blonde hair revealed a face with marvelous bone structure.

  As he realized he had her attention, the swagger in his step increased. A broad smile spread across his face and swept up into his deep blue eyes.

  Stacia found herself smiling back, even if it was just Blake.

  When he stood before her, he placed his hands on his hips, drawing aside the jacket to reveal a black T-shirt that clung lovingly to his muscles. “Blimey, luv. It’s been too long since you’ve visited.”

  “Been missing me? That’s a surprise,” she said and with a wave of her hand, signaled for the bartender to bring Blake a drink.

  “Why would that be a surprise, luv?” He slipped onto the open stool beside her. When the bartender placed a glass with blood before him, he raised it and offered up a toast. “To old–We’re definitely old, but are we friends?”

  Stacia laughed harshly and picked up her glass, but didn’t return the toast. Eyeing him over the rim of the glass, she said, “A gentleman wouldn’t mention a lady’s age and as for being friends…Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

  Blake, ever confident and even more playful, leaned toward her and whispered close to her lips, “Should I be?”

  Picking up her hand, she inclined her head toward the direction of the vampire bartender and made believe she was squeezing. The bartender suddenly dropped the glass he held and grabbed at his throat, fighting for air.