Blood and Kisses Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Title Page

  BLOOD AND KISSES

  KARIN SHAH

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  Copyright

  BLOOD AND KISSES

  Copyright©2011

  KARIN SHAH

  Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-018-2

  ISBN-10: 1-61935-018-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Dedication

  To Nikhil, Natalie, and Roman,

  and to my family, here and far away,

  without your love and support

  I would never have written a single word.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Debby Gilbert, without whose tireless efforts and wise input Blood and Kisses may never have come to fruition, and Central Ohio Fiction Writers, particularly Patricia Sargeant, who told me truths I wasn’t ready to hear, but I now understand. You guys are the best!

  I would also like to thank my son, Roman, for thinking of the new title and my daughter, Natalie, for helping generate the idea. You both are writers in the making!

  Prologue

  The corpse on the stainless steel table wasn’t Lily. It couldn’t be.

  Lily’s skin glowed with a peachy tan, nothing like the icy pallor of this poor soul. Her cousin’s lips were fuller too, the lines of her face more angular. And her eyes, well this woman’s eyes were closed, but there was no way she had summer-sky eyes like Lily’s. And Lily’s hair had been golden, not this dull sandy blonde.

  Thalia Kent shook her head in denial, closing her eyes against the burn of tears. Death had bleached the brightness of her cousin’s skin and hair, stolen the plumpness from her lips and bloated her face, but despite the protests of Thalia’s grieving mind, the lifeless body before her was Lily.

  Thalia leaned forward, tracing the contours of her cousin’s beloved face. The grinding ache in her chest made it hard to breathe.

  Lily looked so cold lying there under the merciless lights. Thalia knew it made no sense, but she reached out a shaking hand to tug the thin sheet a little higher.

  Lily’s eyes flew open, pupils glowing red. Thalia recoiled, swallowing a scream. Lily lurched up and clamped Thalia’s wrist with a hand transformed into a frigid claw. Her pointed nails bit into Thalia’s flesh. Thalia wrenched her arm back, trying to break free, but Lily was too strong. Her cousin snarled, exposing two-inch fangs, and pulled Thalia closer. A glacial wave of terror washed over her.

  Lily’s eyes flashed red-hot. “You’re next,” she said.

  Air exploded into Thalia’s lungs with a whoosh as she sat up in bed. Panting, she gazed into the darkness of her room. Sweat chilled her bare skin. Dread constricted her chest.

  A nightmare. That’s all it was. Nothing but a terrifying dream—except the first part had been real.

  Lily was dead.

  Murdered.

  And although Thalia was certainly the weakest witch of her family line, she knew the second part of the nightmare for what it was—a prophetic dream.

  Goddamnit.

  Chapter 1

  She was being watched.

  The feeling had arrived with the dream two nights ago, and now it crawled across Thalia’s skin like a spider. Adrenaline spiked the tiny hairs at her nape.

  Swallowing, she scanned the dark street where she waited. Streetlights and neon signs gave the deep shadows the buildings cast the murderous edge of a razor. A thumping baseline vibrated from the nearby club. She stuffed a hand inside her purse and grasped the polished wooden stake. In the days since Lily's murder, she hadn't gone anywhere without the weapon.

  She turned full circle, eyes struggling to cut through the shadows. Her heart skittered, her lungs fought for air.

  Nothing. No movement. No spooky shapes or glowing eyes.

  But still the feeling pressed down on her like a veil, whispered that she was not alone, that something dark and malevolent lurked somewhere, just out of sight.

  Why hadn’t she asked Damek to meet her somewhere safe?

  Get a grip, Thalia.

  Two nights without sleep had her jumping at shadows. Whatever was out there, she could handle. She had to. It was her job.

  She was the Champion. If she’d had a card, it might have read, “Got magical malfeasance?” Like her mother before her, problems or crimes of a magical nature were her business. Too bad she wasn’t half the witch her mother had been.

  Thalia surveyed the area again, straining to ignore the sound of her heart thundering in her ears. She muttered a searching spell and reached deep within to find the energy to turn the spell from words to intent.

  Tiny blue stars, visible only to magical eyes, danced in front of her, as if born from the air, then coalesced into a ribbon of shimmering light. The streamer of energy surged to her, waist high, then spun away, weaving around street signs and telephone poles. A fine sweat chilled her cheeks and forehead as she struggled to give the spell purpose while readying her body for a physical attack. Her legs began to weaken.

  Dammit. Unable to spare more energy for the spell, Thalia let the power die into the humid air. Night blind from the sudden darkness, she groped for the building behind her. The rough brick abraded her searching palms.

  Something scraped the pavement nearby. A shape swept past the corner of her eye. Still blind, she had no choice but to attack. She whirled, brandishing the wooden stake and launched a double front kick in the direction of the motion. The two-legged kick landed hard, and the figure, a man by his outline, went down easily.

  Too easily. Took her with him. For a moment, the air was knocked out of her, but she sucked in a breath, straddling his hips and raising her stake high to drive it into his heart.

  “I would have g
one for ‘Hello, how are you?’ but you’re the witches’ Champion not me.” The amused voice of the man beneath her was deep and resonant. She stiffened, then dropped the stake to her side. She knew that voice.

  Like whale song, the tones were almost unbearably beautiful. They echoed in her chest, stirring something deep within her, something that urged her to join the song. She stilled the rush of liquid heat that pooled in her abdomen. He came by that heavenly voice dishonestly. After all—he was a vampire.

  And this was not a song of love. It was yet another volley in a cold war waged between their two peoples.

  Her vampire-befuddled mind sorted past the feelings his voice provoked and translated his words. Fingernails pierced her palm around the stake as she fought to keep her hand at her side. Grow up, Thalia. When will you stop wanting to cover your birthmark when you hear your title?

  She shook her head to banish the stray thought. There were far more important matters at hand.

  It was no surprise he recognized her. He knew her from the mark branding her cheek. Her family had worn the mark of the Champion for hundreds of years. And she knew him from his voice, though they’d never formally met. Despite their mutual enmity, or possibly because of it, the witch and vampire communities made it a point to keep tabs on each other.

  “Mr. Damek,” she said finally, her voice a husky whisper. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and his features were now visible. His skin was dark for a vampire. The lines of his face fascinated her, and she let herself drink them in, the lean planes of his cheeks, the sensual lips, the almond shape of his obsidian eyes. She could stare at him forever.

  Time stopped. Lost in the intensity of his gaze, she forgot everything. The desperation that had driven her fell away, replaced with need. The need to give herself over to him, to exist only as a part of him. She sank deeper into the mire of the connection between them. Her heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that inspired it to race. She licked her lips, unable to look away.

  His gaze locked on her throat, and she realized he could hear the soft shirr of her pulse. A flame blazed in his eyes. The need to feed?

  She shifted and identified the hard length pressing against her inner thigh. Her eyes widened and air rushed into her lungs as she suddenly remembered to breathe. Conscious of her body in a way she’d never been before, she inhaled his scent. Spice with a hint of musk filled her nose, and the desire to rub her body against him washed over her.

  What am I doing? Vampire magnetism. No doubt the cause of her body’s uncharacteristic response.

  Suddenly aware of her position astride his hips, and the knowledge he was no doubt privy to the shameless reaction of her body, her face went hot.

  She scrambled to her feet and stepped into the light. “What kind of game are you playing? I could have hurt you! Why did you sneak up on me?” She spoke more harshly than she’d intended. After all, she needed him.

  His help, she corrected. She needed his help.

  “Hurt me? I don’t think so.” He smiled, and she wanted to smack him.

  In a heartbeat he was up, sharing the harsh pool of light spilling from the streetlight, his shadow thrown over her like a black velvet cloak. He moved like a magician, with a swift powerful grace intended perhaps to distract—or ensnare.

  “And sneaking? No.” He shrugged. “Getting the lay of the land before introducing myself to a beautiful woman? Yes.”

  Was he flirting with her?

  His eyes glittered, carved jet in the light. “And when you know me better, you’ll discover I never play games.” He reached out and stroked back a dark swath of hair she’d purposefully left out of her ponytail to soften her mark. The touch was almost a caress, and Thalia quashed the startled gasp that rose like a helium balloon from her chest. She stood frozen, allowing the intimate gesture, her heart rapping inside her chest. He lowered his gaze to her cheek. “Especially not with the Champion.”

  Thalia flinched as he used her title again. Really, she had to get over this ridiculous reaction. She was lucky he was being so polite. Many vampires would have simply called her “witch” or used the “P” word.

  He shoved his hand in his pocket. “And please, call me Gideon.”

  She bit her lip. His presence fostered a wild rush of desire tinted with equal parts fear and awe. She struggled to mask her unease. Acting like a cat in heat or a frightened rabbit would hardly impress him. “Let’s go where it’s a little quieter.”

  In the distance, she could hear a train passing over the highway. Its syncopated cadence seemed to chide, “Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea” as it sped into the night. She pushed the thought away. It was far too late to turn back. She took a deep, steadying breath, scooped up her bag, then gestured down the street, toward the pedestrian bridge that forded the chasm sculpted long ago by the Genesee River.

  He tilted his head, his gaze latching on hers as if searching for something. Finally, he nodded.

  No more than a regal inclination of his elegant head, but Thalia breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief. Whatever his reasons, it appeared he was willing to listen.

  The warm, mid-June night held only a hint of breeze. An ornamental iron railing guarded the bridge. Streetlights provided small oases of light in the desert of shadows. Thalia located an empty concrete bench near the center and headed toward it, trying not to look at the man by her side.

  He walked like a tidal wave, flowing with sinister purpose, immense, forceful, inevitable. Crushing, a tiny shred of reason insisted, but she ignored that, too.

  She focused straight ahead. She loved this area, but tonight had no time to enjoy the heady weather or savor the beauty of the dramatically lighted waterfall or the delicious aromas drifting from nearby restaurants.

  Back across the gorge, she could see people dining on well-lit, open terraces. Fashionably dressed, they ate, and drank and laughed, their lives so alien to her it was as if they performed in a play.

  As they neared the bench, Thalia broke the silence. “There’s been a murder.” Her gaze flicked up to graze his face.

  His expression was as closed and unreadable as the decorative bricks that surfaced the bridge. “Murders happen every day. This one is different because...?” He sank down on the cement bench and looked in the direction of the falls. Bright, orange-tinted light bounced off the exotic planes of his face and should have flattened his features, made him seem normal, ordinary. Instead, it caressed his countenance, highlighting his preternatural beauty.

  Thalia sat next to him, leaving several inches between them. Despite the distance, she imagined she could feel his shadowy aura brushing hers. She shivered. Fear or desire?

  It didn’t matter, both were equally forbidden.

  Swallowing again to clear the sudden blockage in her throat, she pulled a slim, manila folder out of her amber-beaded bag and handed it to him.

  He opened the folder to reveal a color photograph of a body. A young, blonde woman sprawled, naked, by the side of a road. “And naturally you assume it’s a vampire.” The dark honey of his voice held a rough edge.

  “For one thing, she was almost drained of blood—”

  “Could be a delusional human—.”

  “This for another.” She leaned over and pulled a second picture from beneath the first, forcing herself to ignore the electric current that raced through her at the brush of his arm against her shoulder. The photo showed a close-up of the woman’s face. Her pale blue eyes were open, frozen as if looking through a window into a world of unearthly beauty. Her wide mouth was stretched into an ecstatic smile.

  “Drug overdose?”

  Thalia eyed him impatiently. Her desperation overpowered her caution. “Is that what you really think?”

  He closed the folder with a crisp flick of the wrist. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Will you?”

  He stood, his body eclipsing the light from the nearby streetlight, giving her the odd sensation she’d suddenly shrunk. “The
vampire code forbids us from taking a life, especially while feeding. I am the oldest vampire in the community. I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Oh?”

  “The victim is, was, my cousin.” Thalia straightened, proud of the hard-fought steadiness of her voice. Good. No hint of tears.

  “A Poi...a witch?” His voice rang with incredulity.

  She leapt to her feet, body stiff, fists clenched. “No. My cousin was not a Poisonblood, as you people so kindly call us. If only she had been. At least this would be over.” Tears burned in her eyes for a moment, but she forced them back. There would be time to grieve later. “She was a petty. Not a speck of magic ability. I came to you for information, that’s all. I’ll handle the investigation. I’m the professional.”

  “You may be the Champion of the witch community, but what makes you think you could bring down a vampire?” He moved toward her, crowding her with his muscular body.

  She took a fortifying breath. “Pettys have successfully hunted vampires for centuries. There’s no reason a witch shouldn’t be just as successful.” She’d come this far. She refused to be intimidated now. Especially not while the scrap of paper bearing his name burned in her purse. Found with Lily’s belongings, it’d led her to him.

  And even if he were innocent, she needed him. He was the most respected—most feared—vampire in Rochester, and without him, the vampire community wouldn’t give her the time of day.