Thirst: The Kresova Vampire Harems: Aurora Page 3

  “I want you.” His words are low, his meaning clear.

  I smile in the darkness. “I know you do.” This cocky confidence thrills me at the same time it sickens me. I’ve never been one for casual sex. I want a connection, not a quick fly by night affair.

  I press myself into him and shake off my doubt with a shrug of my shoulders. Lightning fast, I press up against him. I’m hungry. Voracious for what he can give me. The feelings he can evoke while I lose myself in him. My front is plastered to him, my breasts flattened to his broad chest. I can feel his hard cock against my hip. The thought of my mouth on him makes me moan.

  Again, I tilt his chin up. I need his taste in my mouth. I pull at the three buttons on his shirt, and they go flying. I nibble my way up his chest through his shirt to his collarbone and swirl my tongue along it. His hands tighten their grip on my ass as I lick up to his pulse point. Once there, I take my time. I kiss and nip and lick. He moans. I open my mouth wide, the pressure in my gums gnawing at me to leave my mark.

  My mouth descends, and I bite down. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to have a good grip on him. I start to suck at his flesh. The ache in my gums increases. His hand tangles in my hair. I apply more pressure in hopes it will sate the pang of need inside of me.

  The logical humanity inside of me begs for me to stop, but I can’t.

  A scuffling noise alerts me that we are no longer alone, but I also no longer care. I need what he can give me. Need to have his taste inside of me.

  Do it. Bite him. Feed from him.

  Pulling back, I kiss around the mark I made, lavishing it with my tongue. Soon enough, I’ll have want I want. I move up higher to more tender skin. I open my jaw to satisfy this thirst and finally give in—but I’m no longer in his arms.

  Instead, I’m flying backwards a good dozen-feet away.

  I land with an oomph, roll and jump to my feet, teeth bared and hands clawed out like some kind of feral creature.

  My eyes search out the rooftop for whoever just had the balls to pull me back.

  It doesn’t take long to find the perpetrator.

  Six-foot two with lean coiled muscles, not bulky like my sex buddy here. The kind that come from decades of mastering your physical strength. He has wavy dirty blond hair which touches the back of his neck. His jaw is covered by a five o’clock shadow, and his nose is crooked. Probably from one too many fights. Basically, sex on a stick.

  Stepping forward, I hiss, and my entire body vibrates in rage.

  Did I just seriously hiss? What the fuck Aurora?

  This other dude isn’t even protesting. He’s standing there, eyes blank and dazed.

  “You’re done here, aren’t you? Go back inside and tell all your friends that you had a great time.” There’s an accent at the end of his words. French maybe? My sex buddy doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight. He just nods to blue-eyes’ commands and starts walking away.

  I step in front of him and snap my fingers. It doesn’t even phase him. He just keeps walking until almost plowing me over.

  “What the hell?”

  I turn, hands on my hips, and watch as he walks straight to the rooftop door and leaves. Once he’s out of sight, I turn my attention to the stranger who just ruined my good time.

  “And who the hell are you?”

  Chapter 3

  This beautiful stranger with arctic blue eyes throws his head back and laughs.

  He laughs at me.

  Who the hell does this fucker think he is?

  Without a second thought, I lunge for him, my movements lightning fast. Instead of taking him by surprise, he catches me with ease and tosses me down onto the damp cement floor. I land on my ass—hard. Above me, the stranger crosses his arms and chuckles.

  Asshole.

  The night sky blankets around his ash blond hair, and his sapphire irises reflect the crescent moon. “That is no way to greet a friend, chérie.”

  “You are not my friend.” Still reeling from my blood lust, I jump up, fully intending to kick him in the nuts and run, when his form shifts and evaporates.

  Okay. Definitely wasn’t expecting that.

  Powerful arms wrap around my chest like a vice. I struggle against his steely grip for few seconds before he spins me around to face him, locking my arms down at my sides with his biceps. His nose is only an inch away, and I swing my neck forward to head slam him, but he dodges and laughs again.

  I’m getting really sick of him laughing at me.

  I kick my legs out, but again, he anticipates my actions and drops my arms to grip my ass, wrapping me tight against him. The slutty vixen in me is enjoying this game, but now my hands are trapped between his arms and my hips.

  I bare my teeth at him. “Let me go, you fucking psycho.”

  “Mon Dieu, what a mouth on you. Tell me, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  “Yeah, I do. Now let me go, or I’ll scream.”

  “No. You won’t.” He smiles knowingly.

  I want to slap that pompous smirk off his face.

  “Why won’t I? Huh? What’s stopping me?” I’m still struggling to break his hold. Jesus, he’s strong. Freakishly strong—and fast. With my new-found strength and speed, I should be able to easily break his hold. But I can’t.

  In all of my anger, I overlooked a major fucking point. This dude isn’t human. There’s only two options, he’s either like me, or he’s something else I don’t know about yet. Either way, I don’t know if that makes him more dangerous—or less.

  “Because I have information you will find useful. If you would only stop struggling, I would tell you, chérie.”

  Not gonna happen, but I’ll take the bait to distract him. “What information?” I ask. I sense a weak spot in his grip and slam my fist into his ribs. He doesn’t even flinch.

  Instead, he tsks at me like a naughty child. “Information about your predicament.”

  “I already know what’s happening to me.” He smells like sinful nights and dark chocolate mixed together with pure male musk, and as much as I want to punch him, I also want to nuzzle against his neck, bite him, and potentially bang him.

  Apparently, I can’t just be a vampire. No, I have to be a whorish vampire who wants to sleep with anyone and everyone.

  “Perhaps you do, chérie. But knowing the ‘what’ doesn’t mean you know the ‘what’ to do next.”

  Screw him for making a good point.

  “I can help you.”

  I’m desperate for answers and guidance, but I’m not about to go lay down in the wolves’ den. “No one can help me. Now let me go.”

  “Why is it that beautiful women must be stubborn?”

  I try to ignore the flop of my stomach at his compliment. “I’m not stubborn. You’re. A. Stranger.” I struggle again to loosen his hold. “A stranger who’s holding me captive.”

  “Carvell Marceau.”

  “What?”

  “My name, chérie. Now I am no longer a stranger.”

  “Knowing your name doesn’t make you any less of a stranger to me, dude.”

  “So, you will make love to a nameless man, but you will not have a conversation with a man whose name you know?”

  Bleh. “I wasn’t making love to him,” I say, trying to mimic his accent. And it’s French, definitely French.

  “Ah, perhaps it was a simple fuck, as you Americans prefer to call it.”

  Holy hell. The way he says fuck has me completely undone. My hips instinctively thrust into him, and I want to melt into the earth out of humiliation. He doesn’t mock me or push me away. He simply raises a brow.

  Get it together, Aurora. He’s still holding you hostage. I have to steer the conversation somewhere else. . . immediately. “Fine. Dazzle me with your knowledge.”

  His piercing gaze is both unnerving and alluring, and it’s making me feel all kinds of funny.

  “Well?” I snap.

  He frowns at my outburst and then drops his grip on me. I land on my feet and push h
im back a step so I can breathe.

  He’s watching me.

  Studying me.

  I start pacing with my hands on my hips, and his head follows my movements.

  “You know, usually conversations involve two people talking.”

  I’m expecting an immediate response, but he simply continues to regard me in silence.

  “Liste—”

  “Taisez-vous! Do you ever stop?” he interrupts me, his mouth a hard line.

  I cease pacing and pretend to zip my lips shut.

  He takes a dramatically long pause before he speaks again. “Merci. Now, where was I? Oh yes, your information.” He stops and taps a finger on his lips. “You seem like you’re in a hurry, so I’ll just, how do you say?” He tilts his head to the side. “Rip it off like the dressing?”

  I correct him automatically. “Rip it off like a band aid.” He glares in my direction, and I raise my hands in defense.

  “You know you were bitten, yes?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “And you know you are turning?”

  “Into a vampire.” I speak slowly, dragging out the last word because no matter how many times I say it, it still sounds ridiculous.

  “Kresova.” He corrects me.

  I tilt my head. “What—now?”

  “Kresova. An ancient race of vampires. You are turning into a Kresova.”

  “Vampires have races?”

  He nods. “As humans do, yes.”

  I raise my hands into a stop position. “Wait, so what exactly does that mean? Turning into a Kresova versus a different type of vampire?”

  “Kresova are the most powerful and the ruling faction.”

  “So, I’m a royal vampire?”

  He chokes out laughter. “No, chérie.”

  Apparently, the thought of me being royalty is somehow funny to him. “And you are Kresova?”

  “I am.”

  I freeze, realizing I forgot the most important of questions. “Wait, what are you doing here? Were you looking for me?”

  “In a way, yes,” he says.

  “Dude, that is creepy as hell. How did you even know I existed?”

  “It is my job, chérie.”

  “To find new vampires?”

  His jaw ticks a second too long before he answers, and I know whatever he says next, it won’t be the entire truth. “No, not exactly. It is my job to discover your creator.”

  “Why does that matter?” I plop myself onto the side of the ledge. “Aren’t vampires made all over the place?”

  “No, chérie. Vampires breeding is tightly controlled. Especially for the Kresova.”

  He says breeding, and again, my mind goes straight to some dirty sex on the floor. I lean back and try to put more space between us, but he takes a step closer to where I’m seated.

  “Your sire, what do you remember of him?”

  “Why do you assume it was a man?”

  “Outside of the Queen, vampires can only be made by men.”

  An interesting, albeit sexist, fact. “I don’t remember much, but it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s dead.”

  His brows bend into a deep frown. “How do you know this?”

  I didn’t feel right revealing Mama Lisette, or dragging her into this, but I don’t have a good explanation. As I open my mouth to spew out a creative lie, a gust of wind blows from behind him, and Carvell’s scent floods my nose again.

  Fuck, he smells good. Too good.

  My breathing picks up, and my heart accelerates, and I’ve taken to counting the cracks on the cement floor to distract myself. I’m practically panting like a dog in heat. The whole thing would be completely mortifying if I wasn’t so fucking horny.

  “It will pass, chérie.”

  I snap my head up to meet his eyes. “What?”

  “The desire. The urgency.”

  “When?” Now that we’re talking about it out loud, my need triples. It’s as though my body knows that an able-bodied man—vampire—whatever, is near enough to sate my wants.

  “When your transition is complete.”

  “And there’s nothing I can do in the mean time?” I feel as though I’ve got the worst rash covering my entire body, and I can’t scratch at it.

  “Well, yes.” He rubs a hand through the golden tips of his hair. “There is.”

  “Great, which is what?”

  He looks up at me from under thick lashes, “Make love, chérie.”

  “Stop calling it that.”

  “You prefer the term, fuck, yes?”

  My entire mouth dries out like the Sahara, and I have to clear my throat. “Well you interrupted my efforts to do that, so. . .”

  He chuckles. “A mortal man would never satisfy the needs of a Kresova.”

  “And let me guess?” I pivot on my arm, “Only a Kresova can satisfy me? How convenient for you.”

  “Chérie, if I wanted you, I could have you. There is no question.” He takes another step toward me, then stops himself. “But for now, that is not my purpose.”

  “Self-confident, aren’t we?”

  “No, chérie. Self-aware.”

  God, he had the best comebacks. I needed to take control of this conversation again, before my desire takes control of me.

  “How can you even be sure I’m Kresova?”

  The sensual playboy retreats, and the calm vampire returns. “I don’t think you are Kresova. I know you are. I can smell it on you.”

  I go rigid. “I smell?”

  “Non. You don’t smell. You are emitting certain pheromones that tell me you are changing into a Kresova.”

  “So, I don’t smell?”

  He shakes his head and relief spreads through me. I hate the fact that I want to appear attractive to him.

  “And when does this change end?” I ask.

  “Your desirous state is the pinnacle, so to speak, just before your crest.”

  I nearly hiss in frustration. “I need a timeline here, partner. Are we talking days? Hours? What?”

  “Hours to days.”

  “And how does it end? What is this ‘crest’ as you called it?” I swallow down hard before I ask my last question, the one that’s been swarming my mind for days. “Am I going to kill someone?”

  “No, chérie. I won’t let that happen.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He looks taken aback by my question, “Why? I have told you.”

  “No, I want the truth.”

  “Someone is attempting to make unsanctioned Kresova. I am to discover them and bring them to our Queen.”

  “And what happens to me?”

  “That is for our queen to decide, chérie—when you meet her.”

  My entire body jerks. “What? No.”

  “Yes, chérie.”

  “No.”

  He steps closer. “This is not a request you can decline.”

  I can’t explain why, but every instinct within me revolts at the idea, and my fight or flight urge is working in overdrive. “Why would she care to meet me? I’m no one.”

  “Becoming a vampire is easy, chérie. Surviving, is a whole other obstacle.”

  “I thought you said men can make them.”

  “Yes, new vampires can be made, but they cannot survive the first twenty-four hours of their transition without the blood of their queen.” He pauses and tilts his head to one side. “You are the only one to do so since the Queen herself was turned. She wishes to see you—immediately.”

  Why did it feel like a target had suddenly appeared on my back?

  Panic stabbed my chest, and nausea crept up my neck like a slow-moving snake. “I need to get home, I can’t—” I wrapped my arms around my chest and franticly moved toward the rooftop stairs.

  “Calm down, chérie.”

  Carvell reached out toward me, but I dodged his hands. “Reina, my friend, she’s probably worried about me, and I . . . I can’t do this right now.” My emotions felt as though they were riding on a turbulent sea, high one mom
ent and low the next.

  “Listen to me,” he commands gently.

  But I don’t. Instead, I try to bolt.

  I get barely a half a step before Carvell’s chest slams into me. Gravel and god knows what else tears open the skin on my palms and my bare feet. Before I can open my mouth to scream—or bite—he clamps a hand over my mouth and leans down.

  “Listen to me, chérie. Your life depends on what you do next. It is an act of treason to not submit to our queen. If you run again, I will be forced to eliminate the threat you present to all Kresova and the rest of our kind. I do not wish to do that, but if you force my hand, I will.” He pauses for a moment, and his words sink in. “If I don’t take you to her, others will come who will, and it won’t be pleasant.” He focuses the beautiful blue hue of his eyes on mine. “There is no other option. Do you understand.”

  I nod my head and stay still.

  “Good. Now, I’m going to let you up. Hopefully, you are smarter than you have behaved.”

  He gets off of me and extends a hand down. I swat it away and get up on my own with a grumble and glare at him.

  “Are you going to run?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to run.” My chest is tight, and my eyes burn with unshed tears of frustration mixed with a violent tornado of contradicting emotions.

  “Please.”

  “Please?” he repeats, his brows raised high in confusion. “Please what, chérie?”

  “I need to go home and sleep. I need just one more night of normalcy, Carvell. Please.”

  He studies me with thoughtful eyes. “Carver. Most call me Carver for, as you say, smaller.” He smiles.

  “Carver for short, you mean,” I correct him again. “The expression is for short. And I’m Aurora, Aura for short.”

  He tilts his head and continues on as if I didn’t speak. “I already know your name.”

  I want to ask how. How he knows my name, but I can’t find the strength in me to hear any more unsettling facts.

  “I will give you this, Aurora, but make no mistake, I will come for you tomorrow. You must see the queen.” He walks toward the edge of the roof. “Do not make me regret my leniency tonight.”

  Seconds later, he’s gone, and I’m left alone atop the roof, the sounds of Fat Tuesday playing on around me.