Her Vampire’s Promise

  Her Vampire’s Promise

  Jordan K. Rose

  Ebooks/Books are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Jordan K. Rose, Publisher

  PO Box 714

  West Kingston, RI 02892

  Her Vampire’s Promise

  Jordan K. Rose

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9960847-1-0

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

  www.gobookcoverdesign.com

  Editors: Judith Roth and Jane Haertel

  Copyright © 2014

  Kimberley A. Dias

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Jordan K. Rose Publishing August 2014

  Click here to get started:

  http://www.jordankrose.com/Free_Download.html

  Chapter One

  Reade wished he’d thought twice about returning to this dump. The stale stink of cigarettes clinging to the walls and furniture assaulted him the moment he opened the door. He’d known better than to agree to take the assignment with Garrison, but curiosity had him crawling back for more. And here he sat in the same dingy bar where he’d wasted many a night in Central City.

  “Make fun of me because I’m not as smart as them. We’ll see who has the last laugh.” The woman sitting on the barstool beside him shook her head. “Jackasses.”

  He watched the bartender refill his shot glass. Maybe it wasn’t curiosity. If he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit it was the idea of having one more chance at vengeance. Twenty years was a long time to wait. It was a long time to think about what he’d do if opportunity came knocking.

  “When my moment comes, they’ll rue the day they laughed.” She snatched a handful of nuts from the bowl in front of her. “Then the tables will turn. Then they’ll see who’s the dog.”

  He’d been warned about coming back here. Nothing good ever came out of Central City anymore. That’s what he’d been told. But the warning didn’t stop him. He had to come. He’d do anything for one more chance to make it right.

  “Treat me like I’m stupid. Act like I can’t possibly understand basic chemistry. I know the periodic table.” She smashed her fist onto the bar, cracking open the peanut shell.

  In the last several weeks the desire to have his revenge burned hotter than it had in two decades. It festered deep in his gut, burning and screaming for release. He hadn’t felt this much angst since the incident.

  “And I’m not afraid. Wait. Just wait until they learn what I’ve done.” She picked the peanuts out of the shell. “Then they’ll be sorry.”

  He wished he hadn’t sat beside the pretty blonde. Problem was he’d always been a sucker for long hair and big boobs.

  But even his two favorite attributes couldn’t make up for her nonstop bitching.

  “Huh, tell me I’m not good enough. They told me I’m not one of them. They said I don’t belong.” She sucked hard on her straw once again, swallowing the last mouthful in her glass. “I’m smart enough. Smarter than they know. I’ve memorized things. Important things. I’ll show them.”

  If the bartender would turn around from the ball game on the television, he’d be more than happy to buy her another fruity concoction. Maybe it would keep her quiet for five damn minutes.

  Why had Garrison picked this dump? The guy always loved the crummiest places. It wasn’t as if meeting in the coffee shop down the street wouldn’t have worked. He was certain there was only one person left in Central City who’d recognize them, and that person rarely left Panthera.

  There had been talk of something happening at Panthera. New buildings being built. Production facilities ramping up. Possibly a state of the art laboratory. The company hadn’t produced anything worthwhile since one of the cofounders was killed in the explosion all those long years ago. If there was action now, Reade knew it was not to his benefit.

  Staking out Panthera was the perfect job for him.

  “I’m not good enough? I’m just as good as any of them.” She slapped her hand onto the counter top, then crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not afraid. I’m not the one who hypothesizes but doesn’t act. I’ll show them. When I’m through, they’ll never doubt me again.”

  Her foot tapped furiously against the leg of his barstool. The rapid banging was beginning to annoy him more than her babbling.

  “Family first? Oh, well, that all depends on how you define family. With a family like this, who needs enemies?”

  He pushed his seat over a couple inches.

  Her head snapped to the right. “What? I’m not good enough for you either?”

  Reade shook his head and didn’t bother to look in her direction. No sense in fueling her ire. “You can’t pick your family.” When he raised his shot glass to his lips the smell of very cheap whiskey assailed his nostrils, and he knew what he was about to taste wasn’t what he’d ordered.

  “No, but the smart ones get away.” She stared into her empty mug. The remaining few drops of her red girly drink pooled in the bottom, too small an amount for her to suck up into the straw, though he enjoyed watching her try. “They escape. The rest of us die slow deaths.”

  The turpentine burn of cheap whiskey roared down Reade’s throat. “You should be glad to have family. Some of us have none.” He replaced the glass on the bar and contemplated leaping over to thank the bartender for serving him swill. He could easily make his point without worry of being caught.

  Being one of only two patrons inside the dive, and noting no security cameras, he was certain no one would ever notice. It would be a breeze to make his point and have a little sip of the man without anyone in the establishment being able to tell a soul. God knew the woman beside him was too obsessed with her own misery to notice anything else.

  “The lucky ones.” She flicked her straw onto the bar.

  Reade sat back. She might have a point, though he certainly did miss his mother. He’d had little to no use for his father or his older brothers, who’d been raised to be as cruel as the old man.

  His mother, now, she had been a saint. He still remembered the sound of her voice so clearly and the way her smile reached all the way into her eyes. Yeah, he missed his mom.

  The woman beside him huffed. “Assholes.” Her voice muffled into her glass as she tipped her head back, letting the last few drops of her sugary drink roll into her mouth.

  He watched her long neck swallow and felt an ache in his gut. He hadn’t fed tonight. In fact, he hadn’t fed in two nights. Without realizing he swallowed along with her.

  Despite her incessant babbling, something about her intrigued him. Her scent was familiar, though he was certain he hadn’t encountered her before. The pretty little crazy ones were impossible to forget. They were the ones who sparked his interest.

  She banged her mug onto the bar and waved the bartender over. “Mic, I’ll have another.”

  The bald man glanced over his shoulder, turning his head so slowly Reade wondered if he’d ever stop. He gave her an almost unnoticeable nod and headed to the blender.

  “Make sure you add the liquor this time.” She snickered at the tattooed Neanderthal. “Cheap bastard. Always trying to cheat the customer. Like I need to be jerked around by him, too.”

  The bartender shook his
head. “You’re the one who ordered the virgin daiquiri.”

  Reade chuckled.

  “What are you laughing at?” She gave him a sideways glance, her pale blue eyes narrowing to slits. “You laughing at me, too?” She turned to face him, resting one hand on the bar.

  Her right hand balled to a fist, and she clenched her jaw.

  Reade couldn’t help but smile. She’d said she was pissed. She’d spent the last twenty minutes ranting about why. She’d been very clear about wanting to smash someone. The little thing wanted her fight, and she was willing to have it with anyone.

  But a fight was not part of his plan tonight, least of all with a woman.

  “I’ve had just about all I’m going to take of being laughed at today. So, unless you want me to move that stupid grin to the back of your head, I suggest you lose it.” She leaned forward, one hand gripping the bar hard enough to turn her fingers white. The other hand curled so tightly her nails had to be cutting into her palms.

  The pungent scent of anger perfumed the air. Anger and blood.

  Reade shook his head. The poor girl was just aching for a chance to unleash a world of pent-up rage. She was so consumed by her anger she couldn’t possibly be thinking straight.

  What woman challenged a man twice her size, a stranger even, and never mind the fact that he was a more lethal predator than she could possibly know?

  If she held a gun in her hand, she still stood no chance against him. With vampire speed and the ability to seduce any woman or man he had no worries. He hadn’t lost a fight in years, decades, quite possibly two centuries.

  His gaze dropped from her face. With her chest puffed up her boobs stood out nicely. He guessed her size to be a full C cup, if not a D. His mouth watered. What he wouldn’t like to do to her. The possibilities were endless.

  “That’s it.” She jumped up from her seat. “You were warned.”

  Reade saw the blur of her hand. He even noticed the lion’s head carved in her ring before it made contact with his nose. The fact he was lying flat on his back on the barroom floor was less surprising than the echoing sound of bones crunching under the power of her little fist. His ears rang with that awful noise.

  “Ow!” He grabbed his nose, pressing fingers on either side and forcing it back into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing, woman?”

  Chapter Two

  “Nobody laughs at me. Nobody.” Lawrie stood over the jerk, hands at her sides, wiggling her fingers. They itched for another chance to hit him. The next time she’d knock his lights out.

  She felt strong, a tad bit out of control, and angry. Her senses were much more heightened than usual. Her heart beat like a battle drum. Blood zoomed through her veins. It was exhilarating. For once she was powerful.

  How dare this stranger mock her? Hadn’t she suffered enough indignity? Wasn’t she entitled to a moment’s peace? She’d come to the most remote establishment she knew, the one she always hid in, not to be laughed at, but to relax and focus on herself and anything that might seem different, to be able to sit in a place where she didn’t have to hide for fear someone would make fun of her inadequacies and yell out that she was an idiot, a useless dolt.

  Her hand ached a bit, not much, but it did hurt a little. She’d never hit anyone before. In fact, she’d never lifted a finger to anyone. Generally, she wasn’t a violent person. In all truthfulness most of the time she shied away from confrontation as it never seemed to end well. At least that was her experience. It never ended well for her. But tonight was different, very different.

  She felt strong, confident, indestructible. She wasn’t taking crap from anyone, least of all some stranger who didn’t know her and had no right to shun her.

  “You broke my nose.” His deep voice was much more nasally than before. He sounded ridiculous. Several locks of chestnut-colored hair flopped into his face.

  Lawrie snarled. “Jerk.”

  Blood dripped down his chin as he cradled his nose.

  Anger shown in his dark eyes, more like anger-filled hatred. That look had appeared many times before and on several faces. She hadn’t deserved it then and she didn’t deserve it now.

  Sprawled on the floor, she couldn’t quite tell his height, but he was certainly large, larger than she’d realized when he was seated beside her. His shoulders were easily twice as wide as hers, maybe wider.

  The top few buttons of his blue shirt had popped off, leaving a clear view of his hard chest. The fabric of the sleeves stretched tightly around his biceps. Dear God, his muscles were enormous. His arms had to be three times as thick as her spaghetti limbs.

  “You laughed at me.” She repositioned herself, stepping back a few inches to give herself room. Bringing her arms up in front, dukes ready to attack, just as she’d seen her cousins do when they fought, she waited.

  Barely able to control herself, her body hummed with energy. Anticipation. Excitement. The thrill of not being afraid pulsed within her.

  When the man sat up every muscle from his chest to his waist flexed. His glare never left her face. Deep within his eyes something lethal prowled. She sensed a part of him waiting to be set loose, waiting to spring.

  Experimenting on herself might not have been the best idea. Clearly it had caused her to suffer impaired decision-making skills, not to mention her language was more vulgar than usual.

  The man’s head dipped low, his stare remaining deadly. Lawrie knew that when he stood, if he took a swing at her, no matter how much RH+ she’d taken, she was dead.

  Rocking back and forth, she kept the bar to her back and her fists at the ready. She would take her next shot. There was no way she would go down without a fight.

  He scrambled to his feet, backing away from her and protecting his face. “Being laughed at is no reason to break my nose.” He scowled at her, though with the now disheveled clothes, nasally voice, and defensive posture he wasn’t nearly as scary.

  “Where I’m from we don’t take kindly to being laughed at.” That was an understatement. Anyone foolish enough to laugh at her uncle or cousins never did it twice. In fact, she wondered if they ever did anything again.

  “Is that so?” He angled toward her.

  He might have been right. She probably shouldn’t have slugged him. Normal people, normal, well-mannered people who had been raised in a family who loved them didn’t hit strangers in bars for laughing. But, she wasn’t raised to be well mannered. The truth of the matter was she’d practically raised herself.

  “Where I’m from ladies don’t pick fights.” He swiped his hair out of his face. His eyes were the darkest blue she’d ever seen, darker than his jeans, and no longer filled with anger. Now he simply appeared in pain. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Maybe she had overreacted to his smile. But she was clearly running on instinct. Instinct and RH+, which might be why her instinct was running amuck.

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t help how her instinct reacted. They’d driven her to it. They’d made her crazy with the incessant bickering and the constant insults. She’d become a product of her environment.

  This was a thought she needed to catalogue. Was there a difference in how a specimen would react to RH+ based on that specimen’s upbringing or current state of physical, emotional, or mental well-being?

  It was only logical to assume the answer would be yes, however, a good scientist would test this theory. How would someone raised in a loving family with people who genuinely cared for her react to RH+? Lawrie had no idea nor did she know how she’d test that question.

  If she had more, could she simply slip the RH+ into the drink of one of the lab techs? She could start with just a few drops to see if there was any reaction. She thought she recalled overhearing one of them say she loved her mother. Maybe she’d use that woman as a…what was she thinking? She couldn’t simply experiment on people without their permission. She wasn’t her uncle. She was better than that. She was Lawrence Tyrone’s daughter. She had morals. Scruples. She car
ed.

  Once.

  The man with the broken nose groaned. “I’d forgotten how much a broken nose hurts.”

  It was like she needed detox in order to be out in public. Lawrie hated what she’d become. Maybe she should apologize. She frowned. Why was she always the one who had to apologize?

  The muscles in his cheek bulged, his jaw set, and he winced as more blood dripped down his chin. “Damn it.” He growled and reached toward her.

  Survival instincts kicked into high gear.

  There was no way he was getting his hands on her. She didn’t care if she had been out of line. He shouldn’t hit a woman. She could never defend against him. He was too big. As fast and hard as she could she yanked her knee up in one smooth, swift motion.

  “Ooow.” He doubled over. Not missing a beat she punched him in his cheek. “Aah.” He landed on his knees, one hand holding his face and the other cupping his groin.

  “My hand. Oh, my hand. My hand.” Lawrie bent forward, cradling her hand and whimpering. “Oh, it hurts. It hurts.”

  She’d never been in a bar brawl before. Generally speaking, she was a coward. Tonight’s events were a bit out of character. She’d make a note of that fact when summarizing her experiment, assuming she lived through the night and remained human.

  That was just one other potential side effect she’d chosen not to focus on earlier, though it probably should have been more of a consideration before taking the RH+.

  “Why does it hurt so much?” She dropped onto the floor beside the man she’d just beaten, unable to bring herself to look at her hand. She thought for sure it was crushed. “Oooh.”

  “Lawrie, have you never seen a real fight?” The bartender leaned over the bar to stare down. “A real fight is much uglier and a lot more painful than in the movies.” He lowered a bag of ice cubes. “Here, buddy. This might help your balls.”