Текст книги "One Immortal"
Автор книги: Tia Louise
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
One Immortal Derek & Melissa
Tia Louise
TLM Productions LLC
Contents
One Immortal
Dedication
Copyright
1. An Encounter
2. Craving
3. Groundwork
4. The Old One
5. Tasting
6. Complications
7. Special Forces
8. Betrayals
9. Discoveries
10. Options
11. Change of Plans
12. All of Me
13. The Hunted
14. Clues
15. Confrontation
16. Changes
17. Find a Way
18. Moving On
19. Revenge
20. Give and Take
Epilogue: Little Gypsy
Your opinion counts!
Thank You for Reading!
Extra! Extra!
Books by Tia Louise
One to Leave
One to Keep
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One Immortal by Tia Louise
Derek & Melissa
Melissa is a vampire; Derek is a vampire hunter.
When beautiful, sad Melissa Jones flees to New Orleans with her telepathic best friend, she is looking for a cure—not an erotic encounter with a sexy former Marine.
Derek Alexander left the military intending to become a private investigator, but with two powerful shifters as partners and an immunity to vampire glamour, he instead rose to the top in paranormal justice.
At a bar on Bourbon Street, Derek and Melissa cross paths, and their sexual chemistry is off the charts. Acting on their feelings, they are pulled deeper into an affair, but Melissa is hiding, hoping to escape her cruel maker.
It doesn't take long before the shifters uncover her secret. Still, Derek is determined to confront the Old One and reclaim her mortality—even at the risk of losing his.
A STANDALONE PARANORMAL ROMANCE with an HEA based on characters from the One to Hold series. Contains voluptuous vampires, alluring alpha military heroes, scorching-hot shifters, beguiling witches, and panty-melting sexy times. Keep the fans nearby... Readers 18 and older only, please.
To all my Derek & Melissa fans, and to
everyone who loves a sexy thriller as much as I do!
As always, to Mr. TL, my One.
If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or win it from an author-sponsored giveaway, this book has been pirated. Please delete it from your device, and support the author by purchasing a legal copy from one of its many distributors.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
One Immortal
Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2015
Printed in the United States of America.
Cover design by Steven Novak, Novak Illustration.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.
Created with Vellum
1
An Encounter Derek
My search for the vampire has led me home.
It’s been six years since I walked the streets of New Orleans—the hot, moldering streets of this historic city time forgot. How well I know these ancient buildings stubbornly hanging on centuries after Napoleon left, the dark green vines climbing every stationary object. The air is heavy with music and spices, mystery and decay.
I’ll need a day to get used to the climate, another to ease back into the smooth-talking, greased-palm way of getting information. The little wink and a smile, the lazy request accented with a darling or a cher. Even among the undead, it’s all about the sugar in the Crescent City.
My phone blips, and I quickly pull it out of my pocket. Patrick Knight, my new partner, is checking in from our offices in New Jersey.
Any signs of nonlife?
He’s always one with the jokes.
Not yet. I reply. I’ll alert you if anything appears.
He doesn’t miss a beat.
Or doesn’t.
Shaking my head, I slip the thin black phone into my pocket. When Patrick first joined his older brother Stuart and me in Alexander-Knight LLC, I thought on more than one occasion we’d made a mistake. As the weeks have passed, however, I’ve come to appreciate his subculture contacts, and his knack for turning up fresh leads on stale cases. It helps that he has extrasensory abilities.
The Knights come from a long line of shifters—their preferred form being large-breed dogs, although I once saw Stuart shift into a grizzly. In human form, we’re all around the same height, six-foot-give-or take-a-few-inches, but while I release my tension in the weight room, the Knights prefer working out between the sheets. One thing about shifters, they’re horny as hell.
The result is I outweigh them by at least thirty pounds of straight muscle. Still, I’m no match against the undead on my own. My special gifts are my training and my weaponry. If I’m outnumbered, it’s best to have an oversized lycan at my side.
On the books, I’m a private investigator and occasional Law Enforcement Online instructor at Princeton University. Much further off the books, in the deep background, I’m one of the top three paranormal detectives in the States, specializing in vampires. When I started I was one of four, but sadly, in this line of work, the fatalities are quick and untraceable. As such, we’ve established regions. New Orleans is not mine.
Only two people know why I’m here, and it’s not because I don’t respect our rules. I’m here because this time it’s personal. An Old One is at work in the city, and from what Patrick’s been able to flush out, it appears to be the one I’ve sought for a long time.
I’m taking a big chance coming here alone, but I have one more secret—I’m immune to vampire glamour. Acting alone, it’s possible I’ll catch the killer off-guard. Still, if I’m detected, at least I won’t be hypnotized.
Settling in at the dim-lit Korner Bar, I survey the patrons. College girls clearly looking to get wasted and get laid twist and giggle on the dance floor. Their shiny slip dresses barely cover their asses, and they lick their lips while tossing back their hair, leaving their necks and arms wide open and vulnerable.
One might expect the undead to favor a more historic spot like Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, or the subculture atmosphere of Oz. One would be wrong. Vampires like the easy kill, the kill that goes down without a fight or that is readily subdued. These women are prime targets.
I consider the foolishness of youth when my eyes land on her. She’s alone at the bar, nursing a Sazerac. Her eyes are sad, and while she’s young and beautiful, her expression is world-weary. Long, dark hair ripples over one shoulder, and I can’t resist the pull of curiosity. She’s far too elegant for this bar. It’s almost as if she’s hiding.
I watch her lift the old-fashioned glass with a slim ivory hand, and her full red lips pull together as she sips. It’s a seductive movement, but suddenly she winces and does a little jump. I can’t help a grin. It’s unexpectedly cute.
Almost as if she feels my gaze, her sapphire-blue eyes blink up, across the darkness, straight into me. It’s like a thousand-watt volt of electricity, a Taser blast straight to the brain, and all the years I’ve spent alone hit me like a medicine ball to the chest. She blinks a few times, and the smallest smile lifts one corner of her mouth. I’m on my feet at once, headed in her direction, my target temporarily forgotten.
The bar is only half-full as I pass behind patrons engaged in animated discussions. Hands wave, drinks are put in peril, but I’m oblivious to the commotion.
My eyes move down her cheek to her neck, and I can see the slight uptick in her breathing. Allowing my eyes to move lower, I linger on the deep V of her midnight-blue dress. Her breasts rise and fall faster, and the fly of my slacks grows tight, until at last I’m standing in front of her.
I wait as her gorgeous eyes travel from my Italian leather shoes up my grey pants, hesitate at my waist, before blinking quickly to my face. She knows I caught her, and her cheeks flush the sexiest shade of pink.
I don’t remember the last time I approached a single woman in a bar, but I guess it’s like riding a bicycle. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She turns to face the amber beverage in front of her and gives it several pokes with a skinny red straw. “I have a Sazerac.”
Her voice is soft and high in comparison with mine. I want to hear it melt into a moan. “You don’t like it.”
Her gaze moves to my mouth, and I give her a little smile. It seems to put her more at ease.
“How do you know?” She blinks those gorgeous blue eyes back to mine.
I lean in, as if it’s a secret. “You make a face every time you sip it.”
“Why are you watching me?” Her eyes narrow, and I see she’s smart—and strong. Very sexy.
I ease back just a bit, extending a hand. “I should introduce myself. Derek.”
Her eyes hold mine for several moments longer. She’s sizing me up, and I confess, I’m holding my breath a little.
With a smile, she places her smaller hand in mine. “Melissa.”
My fingers close gently around it, and I resist the urge to pull her to me. I do allow my thoughts to slip out, however. “Sweet Melissa.”
“I’m not so sweet.” She takes it back, smile fading.
“Aren’t others supposed to make that judgment?” Waving the bartender over, I order for us. “Cava. Two glasses. Make it your best.”
He nods and quickly retrieves a dark green bottle from the refrigerator at the end of the bar.
“Cava?” Her eyebrows rise. “That’s not a very New Orleans choice. Shouldn’t you have ordered a hurricane?”
Every sass, every glimpse of her personality, fans my smoldering desire. She’s hypnotic, like the sexiest New Orleans voodoo, and my mind floods with images of us together. I want to be inside her. I want to taste every inch of her body, and fuck her with my tongue. I want to bend her over and take her from behind, pull her dark hair until she screams my name. I want to have her again and again.
Shaking the pornographic images away, I answer. “Cava is for celebrating good things.”
“Did you get a promotion?”
“I met you.”
The glasses are in front of us, and we lift them. I give her a little clink, and we take a sip of the sparkling Spanish white wine. It’s crisp and refreshing. Perfect for what I have in mind. A little tease, the slightest easing of inhibitions, and a night of unbridled passion. I touch my bottom lip with my tongue and her jaw drops. She quickly looks away.
“So,” she clears her throat, straightening in her seat. “Are you here on business?”
“Meetings,” I hedge. “At the Royal Sonesta.”
“Nice place.”
“Where are you staying?” Her lips press together, and she blinks down. “Sorry—you don’t have to answer that.”
She lifts her chin as if defying something invisible. “I’m staying at the Hotel Monteleone. With my best friend Elaine. Girls’ weekend.”
New Orleans is infamous for such things, but usually the “girls’ weekends” on Bourbon Street are fueled with too much alcohol, raucous dancing, shrieking, and showing tits.
Knowing she’s staying at a historically traditional hotel off Royal Street tells me a lot—as if I hadn’t already deduced Melissa is a bit too classy for such behavior.
“Where is your friend now?” Glancing toward the dance floor, I can’t imagine she’s one of the kids out there.
“She went back to the hotel. We only arrived this evening. Elaine was tired, but I wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep.” She gives my torso another slow sweep, and while she might be too classy for flashing her tits, she might be open to a private meeting of the minds. “What’s your line of work?”
“Upper management. Investigations.”
“You’re a PI?” Shifting again, she re-crosses her long, sexy legs.
“Basically.” Digging in my pocket, I pull out a twenty. “I should walk you back to your hotel. It’s after two.”
“I didn’t realize I was calling it a night.” A sexy smile curves her lips.
“This place is closing soon, and I won’t rest unless I know you’re safely at your hotel.”
A brief pause, and she slides off the stool toward me, putting us face to face. Her palms are on my chest, and that soft lip slips between her teeth. The pressure in my chest grows tighter. I want her.
“Are you trying to make me believe you’re safe?” she says softly.
“I’m not safe.” My hand moves to her lower back. “But I would never put you in danger.”
“I’m not sure I trust you.”
Leaning down, I catch her eyes. “You can always trust me.”
Melissa
Heat. I’ve been warned about the oppressive New Orleans heat. I’ve heard stories about how on his first visit to the Crescent City, Sir Paul McCartney went for a jog and thought he was having a heart attack, drowning in the heavy air.
Now, pressed against the damp, cool wall of Pirate’s Alley, my eyes flutter closed from the heat radiating between my thighs.
This gorgeous man wants me. He’s the last sensual escapes I might ever have, and damn if I’m not taking it.
I moan at the velvet of his lips followed by the scruff of his beard against my skin. All of my senses are heightened, my nipples hard and tingling.
He lifts me as if I weigh no more than a doll, and I luxuriate in his strength, the width of his shoulders, the way he dwarfs me with his enormous frame.
For a moment, my eyes drift open. The full moon shines enormously white over our heads, casting everything in a pale-bluish hue. Smaller orbs, the ancient streetlamps line the cobbled streets, making rainbow reflections in the puddles.
It’s possible these sights are only vibrant in my eyes, but I don’t have time to follow that train of thought. Derek catches my chin, pulling my attention back to him.
He covers my mouth with his, forcing my lips apart roughly. Our tongues collide, and I can’t help another moan. His virility floods my veins like a drug, so seductive. He’s a decadent indulgence, and a dangerous one. He tastes like champagne and mint, and something deeper, meaty and masculine at its core.
My blood races beneath my skin. Desire burns between my thighs, and as badly as I want to fuck him, I want to taste him. I want to drink him in and feel him inside me beating with my heart.
He unzips the back of my dress, and the straps fall down around my elbows. Reaching around behind me, I unfasten my bra. A hungry groan rumbles from his throat, and my breasts strain for his rough touch. I’m dripping wet. I’ve never felt so wanted, so craved.
We’re secluded from the main street. No one can see us. It’s possible we could be heard, but it would take some searching to find us.
Now. The word thrums in my ears like an ominous drum. Now is your time.
Shoving the voice from my mind, I focus on the moment. Lips brush my nipples, teeth pull them into pebbles. This incredibly gorgeous man is feasting on my breasts.
Feast.
“Take off your shirt,” I order in a hoarse whisper I don’t even recognize.
He lowers me briefly and whips the thin, navy sweater over his head, revealing a lined torso, olive skin dusted lightly with hair.
Oh, god. My mouth waters, and my gums ache. He’s so beautiful. He’s the sexiest man I’ve seen in my life.
Take him.
His eyes darken as he watches me appreciate his body, and I see the tent in his designer slacks grow. Energy floods my core, surging through my pelvis. I can smell the strong, healthy blood in his veins.
Take him.
“Café au lait,” I murmur, sliding a finger across his chest. “Delicious.”
In a sweep, I’m off my feet again. My legs are back around his waist, my back pressed against the cool, damp wall. I pull him closer. I want all of him touching me.
The light hairs on his chest tease my breasts. “Oh, yes,” I sigh.
“I’m clean, but I’ll use protection,” he grinds out, shifting me so he can retrieve a condom. I hear the metallic clink of his belt buckle, and I don’t bother telling him it doesn’t matter.
Two thick digits plunge into me, and I gasp. “Jesus,” he hisses, finding me more than ready for him. All my senses heighten when he gives me a quick lift… then plunges deep into my clenching insides.
“Oh god,” I moan. He’s huge. I’ve never been so full in my life. I’m not sure I can breathe for a moment, and he starts to thrust. Over and over…
I haven’t fucked like this in… never. And from the sounds of it, neither has he. Only, I can’t believe that. Not this mountain of sex between my thighs.
My head drops back, and my mouth opens, savoring the sensation of being stretched and massaged in the most erotic way.
Faster, deeper—he groans with every push, his large hands grip my ass so hard, I know he’ll leave marks. Tingles of orgasm snake up my thighs, and I feel the change beginning. My gums ache as my canines grow.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. He doesn’t.
Sweat lines his brow, a bead trickles down his cheek, and I lean forward to lick it away. His salty flavor fills my mouth, and I almost can’t control my urge.
I must control it. I can’t resist the building pleasure, but I can fight what comes next. Every push of him deeper inside me drives me higher. If he were to stop now, my heart would explode. I’m not sure what would happen then.
“Please don’t stop,” I beg louder, teetering on the edge of orgasm.
Each hard thrust is punctuated with his growls. “So… Fucking… Good.”
Every muscle in my body tightens into an irresistible ball low in my stomach. Tighter… tighter… Too much! …It bursts in shuddering pleasure down my thighs. A cry escapes my throat, and I’m flying through the heavens. My hazy eyes open, and I think the moon is singing. Perhaps it’s the stars.
My orgasms are even more intense now. They radiate in my brain, and I never want them to end. Working my legs, I ride him as the waves of pleasure continue rippling through my insides.
His forehead is against my shoulder, and I feel him coming. He bucks and holds me tight. A low groan, and the muscles in his hips flex as he throbs again and again deep inside me. My eyes close as I drink in the energy of his release—another new, intensely erotic sensation.
Two more slower thrusts, and he stills, pressing his face into the side of my hair.
“Fuck me.” His voice is ragged.
We stay that way several long moments, riding out the last whispers of pleasure. I don’t want him to pull out. I want more, so much more it’s overwhelming. Only one thing would be better than this. His salty taste is still on my tongue, tempting me with his flavor. With my eyes closed, I visualize doing it, piercing his skin, feeling him slip down my throat as I swallow all his coppery richness.
Every time he moves, another shimmer of residual pleasure tightens my core. I want to go all the way this time. I want it to be with him, this man between my thighs. His hips move slowly, and I whimper.
“I love that sound,” he breathes against my neck. “It’s so fucking hot.”
His words thrill me. I’ve never felt this way with a man. Not even with… the man who changed me. It’s the most I’ve ever wanted to cross that invisible line of no return. Somehow I’m certain going there with Derek would be unforgettable.
But I can’t go there with him. I can’t give in. I hold his broad shoulders and measure his strength. It’s a striking contrast to how weak I’ve become. Every day I grow weaker. Perhaps that’s why he’s so tempting—his incredible strength.
He presses another burning kiss against the top of my shoulder, his chest hair teases my nipples one last time. He’s still inside me, holding, until we both seem to have reached temporary satisfaction. Strong arms are around my small waist, and I’m captured in the most secure embrace before he lifts me and slides out.
Lowered onto shaky legs, he waits as I regain my balance, inside and out.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, and I’ve almost decided this is a dream.
Did I doze off at the bar? His steel blue eyes capture mine, and I know it’s no fantasy. Lowering my chin, I touch my lips lightly with the tips of my fingers, making sure it’s safe for me to speak.
“Thank you,” I say back, turning to the side so I can refasten my bra, slide the straps of my dress over my shoulders.
He retrieves the thin navy sweater and turns it right side out before slipping it over his head, leaving his dark hair in messy waves. He’s hypnotic.
Looking down at me with that intense gaze, he smiles. “How long will you be in the city?”
“Until Sunday.” My voice is soft, and he steps closer.
“I’ll be tied up with meetings during the day, but tomorrow I’ll be at Mr. B’s at seven. I hope you might stop in.”
Mr. B’s Bistro is across the street from my hotel. It’s known for having some of the best cuisine in the city. It also has a nice bar. But that’s not what Derek wants. Like me, he’s hungry for more.
He places a large hand on the wall beside my face, and his enormous bicep is right at my cheek. A thick vein draws my attention. “I’d like to see you again.”
I’m walking a treacherous line, so close to giving in to my cravings. One minor slip could be the end.
“I love Mr. B’s,” I say, and a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth.
I want to thread my fingers in that glossy dark hair again. I want to taste his mouth one more time. I want that sensual beard roughing my skin. I want more of everything about this moment we just shared, but I know how potentially deadly that would be.
“Shall I escort you to your room?” he asks.
I shake my head no, and walk away from him the half-block to Royal Street. He’s still in the alley, leaning against the brick wall, watching me. The streetlight is behind him, and he looks like every fantasy I never knew to have.
“Goodnight,” is all I say.
“Goodnight, sweet Melissa,” his deep voice touches me through the darkness, and I’m overwhelmed by despair. It drops like a heavy cloak over my shoulders.
My life is over.
He starts to move, and I hasten away, up the block until I’m far from him. A few more steps and I push through the revolving door of the Hotel Monteleone.
I might have escaped my fate tonight, but my grip on control is rapidly failing.
