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He gripped the stranger by the arm and shoved him up against the wall. The man let out a sound of protest as Sam crushed him there and then a gasp as the vampire punctured his throat with razor-sharp fangs. His victim grasped Sam’s shoulders hard, groaning as Sam drank.
Oblivion overwhelmed Sam. He swallowed greedily, his aim of a few sips forgotten, rocking his aching cock forward into the man’s pelvis. The stranger’s blood was thick and satisfying, even with the seam of alcohol running through it that went straight to Sam’s head. The human lust begged to be sated too. Sam tore at his own trousers, released himself to masturbate while he drank.
He wasn’t a rapist. He didn’t force himself on anyone, and pleasuring himself while he drank was enough. But his victim seemed interested in joining in. He shivered and rubbed sensuously against Sam and the vampire caught his breath. He groped the man’s groin, found him hard, and for a moment, his drinking faltered as something of equal worth caught his interest. God, the man reallydidwant to participate, and Sam hadn’t done anything to coax him. He could magnetise his victims if he wanted to, but that was really the same as rape in his eyes and that would make him no better than Emil. He didn’t need to start thinking about that long dead despot while he was engaged in his favourite activity.
He looked at the man’s flushed face for a moment, the thick, dark lashes trembling on his cheeks, and then he started work on the man’s belt, unfastening it before unbuttoning his trousers. He thrust his hand inside, felt the man’s erection through his underwear and groaned in excitement at the same time his victim did.
He’d taken enough blood. If he took any more, the man wouldn’t be fit to consent. He swallowed a last mouthful and withdrew his fangs before releasing the man’s cock from his trousers and gripping both their dicks in one hand, sliding his palm down their shafts, lubricating them with their combined pre-cum and shivering at the sensation of hot, hard flesh against his own.
The man moaned. He grasped the back of Sam’s neck and stretched up, catching his lips in a heated kiss. Sam gasped against his mouth in shock. In general, he kissed Istvan and Stephen in the heat of passion and no other. He didn’t kiss his victims as a rule unless needing to soften them up. The kiss was long and deep. Sam thrust his tongue into the man’s mouth and wondered if the taste of his own blood would put him off. It didn’t seem like it. The man met Sam’s tongue with his own and the two of them grappled with each other against the wall, lips not breaking, Sam jerking them both hard to conclusion.
The man gave a soft cry against Sam’s lips. His legs gave way as his cock spurted and Sam held him against the wall to stop him falling. He spread the man’s semen over both their cocks as his own orgasm surged through him, adding to the silky mess. He panted for breath, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth back against the man’s neck, licking at the wounds he had left.
Silence finally penetrated his ecstasy. He looked at his slumped victim, to see his eyes were closed. Was he dead? Sam cocked his ear, listening until a thready pulse made itself known. Sam sighed with relief. He had enjoyed himself too much to kill this victim. He hoped the man would awake with a headache and drag himself to bed.
When he let go though, the man slithered to the ground in a limp heap. Sam looked down at him. He couldn’t leave him here like this. Especially as questions would be asked if anyone saw the wounds on his neck. He used a handkerchief to clean the man up before tucking him away and fastening him up. He definitely wasn’t in the habit of doing this. Once he was clean himself, he went through the man’s pockets and found a key. Apartment four.Fine. He was soft for doing this, but he’d do it anyway. The man had given him a great time. Sam would repeat the performance in a heartbeat.
He scooped the man into his arms and carried him up the first flight of stairs to the door of apartment four. Opening the door with the key, he carried the man inside and closed it behind them. Once inside the pleasantly furnished rooms, he found the bedroom and lay the stranger down on the bed before he removed his coat and shoes. He covered him with a blanket and stood looking down at him. He had the odd urge to curl up beside him and hold the man, breathing in his human scent and watching his chest rise and fall. The only human he had ever shared a bed with in five years as a vampire was Stephen. The rest of them were quick interludes in dark alleyways. He shook his head to break the languor stealing over him. The man was human. Sam had no place here.
He closed the door behind him and shook his head as he went down the stairs. Really, his conscience was too much. Istvan had taught him well.
Chapter Two
Bavaria, Germany, 1921
Night had fallen swiftly and stars already glittered in the velvet sky. An owl hooted somewhere in the forest and was answered by another. The vampire Raphael stared from the tower room of the castle down onto the plot of once freshly-turned earth, now overgrown with grass, in the grounds below. He’d always kept an eye on Emil from a distance and a good job he had, for he was on hand for Emil’s undoing in Vienna five years ago. His most powerful protégé just couldn’t help tangling with the lesser vampires he’d made years ago—Severin the German from Bremen, Istvan from Budapest, and their assorted lovers, including the human who had struck the fatal blow, striking Emil’s head from his body.
Raphael found such petty revenge exhausting, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt deep bone-searing loss and rage when he’d entered the townhouse and found Emil decapitated, swimming in a pool of his own blood.
He’d gathered up his protégé—a vampire most thought was the king, no one behind him pulling the strings—and wrapped him in bed sheets. With help from his minions, they had taken Emil to an undertaker, procured a fine coffin for him, and set off across Europe to home.
Raphael’s castle was in Bavaria, only a few miles from Emil’s, and none of the other vampires had ever known. They’d sensed something though when they’d attended Emil’s gatherings at Schloss Meissner. All of them had been on high alert. The forest itself made them nervous. Humans shunned the place and wouldn’t venture anywhere near. When Severin had attacked Emil in 1895 and stolen his pet human, Raphael had found Emil ranting and raving like a madman, screaming bloody murder and vengeance. He’d understood Emil had to make the wayward German pay, but if he hadn’t insisted on courting vampires who were not loyal to him, the unfortunate situation wouldn’t have arisen. Crushing them under your iron will was the only way to go, and Emil hadn’t managed that. He had paid the ultimate price.
The wind soughed through the trees. Clouds swallowed the moon. Raphael sighed.
He had never attempted a resurrection before.
But then he had never thought he would bring his finest creation home in pieces.
Chapter Three
Budapest, Hungary, 1921
Sam was still thinking about the man he had left for dead the next night when a note summoned him to the apartment of Istvan and Stephen in Pest. He walked despite the cold night and stopped off on his way to choose a book of war poetry for Stephen from his shop. He suspected the musings of Siegfried Sassoon might still be too resonant with his friend but nonetheless, he had escaped from the slaughter with his life. It didn’t do any harm to remember the millions who hadn’t.
Of course, the irony was that it washe, and not Stephen, who suffered terrible nightmares and flashbacks of France. At times he thought that his mind must be disordered. Shell shock, they called it, a disease crippling soldiers. Sam was just surprised that vampires dreamed. He had never asked Istvan if he did too. The nightmares came thick and fast at times and Sam would wake tangled in soaked sheets, shouting aloud. He dreamed about dying alone in that shell-hole and a man with burning amber eyes bending over him. At times his hand shook, the one he had clenched around the rifle that killed untold Germans, and loud noises made him jump in fright. Hardly the behaviour of a seasoned vampire.
The sun had been down for some hours so Sam had already fed. He had taken only a few sips that evening though, mindful of what he had done the night before. The man near the Basilica played on his thoughts. He presented himself at the apartment and was shown in by Istvan’s solemn butler. The vampire and his human lover sat in the drawing room next to each other on a chaise longue.
Stephen smiled when he saw Sam and stood up to hug him. Sam always felt a little tug on his dead heart when he saw Stephen. Such feelings he had carried for him in the trenches in France when they had both been denying what they were and it had taken Istvan to shake them up.
Stephen had been twenty-one, the same age as Sam when they had met in France. Now he was twenty-six, while Sam remained forever twenty-one. His friend was tall and well-built. He had recovered all the muscle once wasted in France. He wore his dark hair closely-cropped and his blue eyes glimmered with silver sparks visible only to vampires. He had been stunning when Sam was human. As a vampire, Sam found him irresistible, and he had nearly paid the price from Istvan for attempting to drink from Stephen. Sam had been newly made. He hadn’t known any different. Now he did and when he tangled sexually with Stephen, he kept his fangs well away for fear Istvan would smite him down.
Istvan stood too and held out his hand and Sam shook it, always respectful of the older vampire. Tall and lean, Istvan’s amber eyes burned like flame. His chestnut hair reflected hues of red from the fire light. Whatever fascination the deposed vampire king Emil might have once had with Istvan, Sam understood it.
A knock at the door had Sam turning his head and Istvan greeted a newly-arrived stranger into the drawing room.
He was a vampire. Sam sensed it the moment he stepped over the threshold. His wary glance turned to a stare.
