[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Paranormal Romance, M/M, vampires, HEA]
Newly undead Chase Emery travels to Anarchy with hopes of confronting and perhaps bringing to justice the man he believes turned him into a vampire without his consent. His plans are derailed, however, when he meets Dalton Thorpe, another vacationing vampire from Los Angeles. In spite of his vow not to become distracted from his investigation, Chase soon finds himself falling for Dalton, who appears to have a few secrets of his own. He also seems a little too interested in Chase’s reasons for being at the resort.
Soon, a human valet at the resort is found drained of blood and in the process of transitioning. Though he still isn’t quite sure where Dalton fits into the whole disturbing puzzle, Chase accepts his offer to help prove the identity of his sire. He also has an entirely new dilemma—once they uncover the identity of the rogue vampire, what will happen to the growing bond between them?
A Siren Erotic Romance
“Well, there you go, Chase. If Izzo strikes out, you can make a move of your own on Anarchy’s most famous guest. Maybe Jonas will even convince you to start watching the show…assuming you’re also single, of course.”
“I am.” Chase forced a grin and offered a self-conscious shrug. “Unfortunately, I’m not into those show-business types. They seem to expect endless adulation. I think that would drive me nuts.”
“True, but you know the old saying—deep down, they’re just regular vampires like the rest of us. One bottle of blood at a time.” Izzo pantomimed drinking one of the bottles. “That’s where I come in, of course.”
“Thanks for the tip, but you don’t need to worry about any competition from me. I’ll be content just to watch from a distance.” Chase finished as much of his bottle as he could bear to and pushed the half-full vessel back toward Izzo. “Think I’ll take off now. I still have some unpacking to do. When I got here, it was almost dawn. I only had about an hour to settle in. Nice meeting you, though.”
“Well, we have a long night ahead of us,” Dalton said. “Maybe we’ll run into each other later—out on the beach or somewhere.”
“Yeah, I guess you never know.” Chase hated the evasive tone in his own voice. Normally, he would have been thrilled if a cute guy like Dalton asked to see him again. He probably would have staked out the beach all night in hopes of running into him and pretending it was an accident. But in this case, he couldn’t even fantasize about making a connection with anyone else. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
“Be sure to check out the moonbathers,” Izzo reminded him as he slid down from the barstool. “Some beautiful bodies out there this time of night.” He glanced at the TV in the next room and gave a theatrical sigh. “Maybe we can convince Jonas Herring to try it this year. If I still dreamed, I suspect him in a Speedo would be one of my recurring ones.”
On his way through the lounge, Chase stopped and looked up at the screen. Cezar—Jonas—was in the process of feasting on Victor’s blood while the CGI storm flashed and flared around them. Victor, though his acting was by no means masterful, gave every indication of enjoying the experience. The front of his wet cutoffs revealed more than his somewhat shaky performance ever could.
Unable to watch any longer, Chase turned away, his stomach muscles clenching with emotion. Since he didn’t want to chance running into anyone in the elevator, he ducked into the nearest stairwell and sprinted up to his room on the fourth floor of the resort. As a human, such an effort would have tired him out and left his legs aching for hours. As a vampire, he could take the steps two or even three at a time and never experience the slightest burn in his muscles. At least that was something to be grateful for. The rest of the changes he was less enthusiastic about.
When he got to his room, he dropped to his hands and knees and reached under the mattress of the king-sized bed where he spent the daylight hours as a corpse. At first, he couldn’t feel the envelope he’d concealed there and experienced a moment of panic. Had somebody broken in and stolen it?
Thankfully, his fingers closed around the thick manila envelope before he had time to worry about the consequences of anyone learning—or worse, disseminating—its contents. Sighing, he opened the clasp and dumped out the huge pile of magazine cuttings and Internet printouts he’d collected over the past seven months. After fanning them out on the quilt, he began to sort through them with the anxious air of a college student struggling to assemble a term paper the night before it was due.
At least one page was devoted to each current member of the cast of Shadow Bay, with additional material covering a few members of the backstage crew he’d been able to identify from online sources.
He glanced through brief write-ups about various minor cast members, writers, cameramen, and makeup artists for the show. All of them, he’d learned through discreet inquiries among his own kind, were vampires. He’d paged through them a hundred times, hoping some new face would strike him as familiar and provide more leads he could follow. Even if one did, though, he had no idea how accurate his memories of that fateful night might be. Many parts were still hazy, and others a complete blank. He couldn’t trust a lot of things that flitted through his mind these days.
Head writer Gerald Quarrie was known to be a longtime friend, script doctor, and collaborator with Jonas Herring, though Chase saw no indication that they had ever been lovers. Currently, the two co-produced Shadow Bay, and rumor had it that Jonas allowed no one else to write his character’s dialogue.
The young man who had played Victor was known as Byron Ballard, he noted. Originally a model from New York City, he’d relocated in the mid-eighties to pursue acting and modeling on the West Coast. Until Shadow Bay, he’d enjoyed little success, though rumors abounded that he had bared more than his fangs in a few men’s skin magazines.
Finally, he came to Jonas Herring himself, steel-jawed and regal in a series of carefully posed digital publicity shots. As star and co-creator of the show, he expected, and apparently received, nothing less than slack-jawed adulation from his legions of living and undead fans. Perhaps he believed that bringing a few human fans into his elite inner circle would be a great honor for mere mortals. Many mortals might even have agreed with him.
Tomorrow night they would be on the island, and Chase’s real work could begin.
Jonas Herring, star of Shadow Bay, was his sire. For a number of reasons, and in spite of all his other misgivings, he was reasonably sure about that. Now that he had spent the last bit of his money tracking him down and traveling to Greece, he had to find a way to prove it—and a way to punish the vampire responsible for taking his life.
They rocked together front-to-front for a while longer. The sensations were, as Dalton had predicted, beyond intense. Chase felt as if every pore of Dalton’s skin were kissing him, even though Dalton’s lips never touched any part of his body. He had to close his eyes as white-hot stars of disoriented pleasure danced in front of them.
Just when Chase was sure he couldn’t take it for another moment, Dalton slid off and turned him over. This time he began to bite his way along the fleshy curve of Chase’s back, though he never broke through or caused him any sort of pain. Instead, the sensation resembled sharp fingernails tickling his spine. Every fresh nip made Chase’s nerves flare to life and sing an aria. Why was a vampire’s bite so alluring that even other vampires could fall under its spell?
Soon Dalton reached down, pushed Chase’s thighs apart, and stroked the sensitive place in between. Chase felt his ass-cheeks clench and shiver in anticipation. He would have settled for a finger, but penetration never came. Instead, Dalton pulled back. Chase lay flat on the bed, his flesh silently screaming.
“We’ll need some help with this part,” Dalton said matter-of-factly. “Fluids of all kinds are sorely lacking in our current state. Simon usually makes sure the rooms are well stocked, though. He wants his guests to be happy.”
Puzzled, Chase watched over his shoulder as Dalton opened the nightstand drawer and fished around in it. Finally he extracted a small glass jar filled with a honey-colored gel. Chase had not noticed it before, but then he’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to root through what he’d assumed to be an empty drawer. “Ah. Here we are.”
He spread the lube over, dipping his finger inside Chase and wriggling it around. Slowly he added another. Gasping, Chase shifted on the bed and opened his legs wider, trying to accept more of both Dalton’s fingers and the lube. The oily substance tingled as it slithered down inside him, coating the fleshy tunnel that he hoped would soon hold something much bigger and harder.
Smacking his lips, apparently satisfied with his little test, Dalton drew his hand away and swatted Chase’s butt. “Good stuff. Moroccan, I believe. Simon imports only the best from all over the world. You, my friend, are ready for the big leagues now.”
“Yes,” Chase whispered, hoarse with lust.
Without another word, Dalton positioned himself on top of Chase’s back, his strong legs straddling Chase’s hips. Chase felt the thick tip of his cock come to rest against his well-lubed entrance. Then Dalton pushed forward and slid inside him.
The sweet, overwhelming fullness was breathtaking—or would have been if Chase had still needed to breathe. Closing his eyes, he willed his inner muscles to contract and squeeze Dalton’s cock, wanting to give back as much pleasure as Dalton was giving him. He was encouraged when he heard Dalton groan, so softly that the average person—the average human—probably couldn’t have heard it. For a moment they remained completely still, locked together, mutually enjoying the process of melting into one another.
To his amazement, Chase felt himself fluctuating from one extreme to another. One minute their joined bodies seemed weightless and floating, and in the next they sank to earth as massive and solid as fused rock. His guts burned like molten lava and shook with cold in rapid succession. Only belatedly did he realize that the contrasting impressions depended on whether Dalton was moving his hips up or down. Wrapping his fist around his own cock, he began to jerk himself in rhythm with Dalton’s thrusts. Since his eyes were still closed, he knew he probably just imagined the sparks shooting from his cock every time he moved his wrists. But the fantasy delighted him.
Before long, an unusual dry heat gathered deep in his core. It enveloped his groin first, then spread to his legs and his chest. Finally it seeped into his mind, allowing a white flash of peaceful bliss to burst in his head. His muscles contracted all over, pulsating as if he’d gulped down an entire bottle of Jonas Herring’s special elixir. The connection between himself and Dalton became the center not just of his own existence, but of everything else that existed, too. Utterly different from anything he’d ever felt as a human, though granted his experience had been somewhat limited, it was pure sensation and totally liberating. For a moment, he felt alive again, or maybe more than alive. Dalton had been right.