Read Online The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) by Aiden James, Patrick Burdine - Free Book Online
Authors: Aiden James, Patrick Burdine
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nice!”
“Thanks, babe,” he replied. “There’s still dessert… and more to come after that.” He raised his wine glass in salute.
There was that smile again. My man’s dreamy eyes told me there was a
lot
more niceness to come.
“I can wait for dessert,” I told him, smiling coyly. “But what else have you got in mind?”
“Are you sure you can wait for some devil’s food?”
“I’d rather save the devil for later tonight. As for the cake, maybe in a little while.”
The seductive wink I added brought an immediate effect. His smile faded slightly, but the twinkle in his eyes told me his arousal would soon match mine. Everything was heading for the night of passion I hoped for. I cleared the dishes from the table and piled them up in the sink, then motioned for him to grab his wine glass and the half-empty wine bottle and follow me back to the living room. We had just stepped out of the dining room when the lights suddenly went out. My first thought was that the darkness was a romantic touch on his part, and my heart fluttered with anticipation.
“What in the hell?” he murmured, setting his glass and the bottle on the coffee table. My heart dropped into my stomach.
Shit!
This was an unfortunate coincidence. Most likely, it was just a fuse that went out. It seemed logical when I glanced out the window and saw that Peter’s neighbors still had electricity. Then I noticed, none of the appliances were working either—anywhere on the main floor. Luckily, the fire burned brightly in the fireplace, with plenty of wood to get us through the night.
Peter moved into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. He had just rejoined me by the fire when I heard the first creaks upstairs.
Someone was moving around in Stephen’s bedroom.
“Nobody’s up there… right?” I hoped the softness in my voice didn’t give away my rising panic.
“Yeah, Stephen left this afternoon. Remember?” He looked worried—definitely not a good sign.
He moved quietly over to the stairs and pointed the flashlight up to the second floor landing. I moved up right behind him as another footstep resounded. Whoever was there was still in Stephen’s room. Peter started to climb the stairs, but suddenly a terrible feeling washed over me.
“Don’t do it!” I whispered, with enough harshness to sound like a hiss.
Before he could turn and respond to me, a similar hiss sounded from upstairs, followed by a low growl.
My mind went blank.
Stark fear will do that to you. Only continual bombardment can condition a person to function somewhat normally while in a state of unease and terror—which I’ve learned firsthand since. But at that moment, I felt paralyzed.
“Who in the hell’s up there?” Peter shouted, his protective instincts kicking in.
Another growl, more menacing than the first, resounded, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared for a split second as his flashlight’s beam traveled across the landing. Whoever—or
whatever
—was there scurried toward the top of the stairs.
In the seconds that followed, two things hit me. The first was obvious, that we had to get the hell away from the stairs. The second was the memory of a small basement that had been converted into a bomb/storm cellar.
Peter and Stephen had shown it to me and Stephen’s girlfriend, back in September during a party. I remembered how we all marveled at the money spent to outfit the cellar with modern comforts such as plush carpeting, a refrigerator, and even a small restroom. Not to mention the steel-reinforced door and reinforced cement walls, and extra two-by-fours in the ceiling. Apparently, the original owner feared either the rare tornados that could hit the area, or more likely, a possible nuclear meltdown at nearby Oak Ridge. Stephen thought it might be cool to turn the cellar into a recording studio someday. I just hoped it would keep a chupacabra vampire at bay. And, that we could reach it in time.
“Peter, follow
“Thanks, babe,” he replied. “There’s still dessert… and more to come after that.” He raised his wine glass in salute.
There was that smile again. My man’s dreamy eyes told me there was a
lot
more niceness to come.
“I can wait for dessert,” I told him, smiling coyly. “But what else have you got in mind?”
“Are you sure you can wait for some devil’s food?”
“I’d rather save the devil for later tonight. As for the cake, maybe in a little while.”
The seductive wink I added brought an immediate effect. His smile faded slightly, but the twinkle in his eyes told me his arousal would soon match mine. Everything was heading for the night of passion I hoped for. I cleared the dishes from the table and piled them up in the sink, then motioned for him to grab his wine glass and the half-empty wine bottle and follow me back to the living room. We had just stepped out of the dining room when the lights suddenly went out. My first thought was that the darkness was a romantic touch on his part, and my heart fluttered with anticipation.
“What in the hell?” he murmured, setting his glass and the bottle on the coffee table. My heart dropped into my stomach.
Shit!
This was an unfortunate coincidence. Most likely, it was just a fuse that went out. It seemed logical when I glanced out the window and saw that Peter’s neighbors still had electricity. Then I noticed, none of the appliances were working either—anywhere on the main floor. Luckily, the fire burned brightly in the fireplace, with plenty of wood to get us through the night.
Peter moved into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. He had just rejoined me by the fire when I heard the first creaks upstairs.
Someone was moving around in Stephen’s bedroom.
“Nobody’s up there… right?” I hoped the softness in my voice didn’t give away my rising panic.
“Yeah, Stephen left this afternoon. Remember?” He looked worried—definitely not a good sign.
He moved quietly over to the stairs and pointed the flashlight up to the second floor landing. I moved up right behind him as another footstep resounded. Whoever was there was still in Stephen’s room. Peter started to climb the stairs, but suddenly a terrible feeling washed over me.
“Don’t do it!” I whispered, with enough harshness to sound like a hiss.
Before he could turn and respond to me, a similar hiss sounded from upstairs, followed by a low growl.
My mind went blank.
Stark fear will do that to you. Only continual bombardment can condition a person to function somewhat normally while in a state of unease and terror—which I’ve learned firsthand since. But at that moment, I felt paralyzed.
“Who in the hell’s up there?” Peter shouted, his protective instincts kicking in.
Another growl, more menacing than the first, resounded, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared for a split second as his flashlight’s beam traveled across the landing. Whoever—or
whatever
—was there scurried toward the top of the stairs.
In the seconds that followed, two things hit me. The first was obvious, that we had to get the hell away from the stairs. The second was the memory of a small basement that had been converted into a bomb/storm cellar.
Peter and Stephen had shown it to me and Stephen’s girlfriend, back in September during a party. I remembered how we all marveled at the money spent to outfit the cellar with modern comforts such as plush carpeting, a refrigerator, and even a small restroom. Not to mention the steel-reinforced door and reinforced cement walls, and extra two-by-fours in the ceiling. Apparently, the original owner feared either the rare tornados that could hit the area, or more likely, a possible nuclear meltdown at nearby Oak Ridge. Stephen thought it might be cool to turn the cellar into a recording studio someday. I just hoped it would keep a chupacabra vampire at bay. And, that we could reach it in time.
“Peter, follow
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