Hungerstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 2)

By Amber Kallyn

After centuries alone, can a vampire king trust the woman who's woken his heart?

Jordan MacDougal, laird and vampire King, walks a thin line of civility between protecting his clan, and handling the conflict from the local shifter pack. When some of his people disappear, and the wolves accuse his newest, intriguing vampire of being evil, Jordan discovers that the traitor in his midst may be closer than he dared believe.

A newly turned vampire, Dalia Jensen wakes to an unusual and frightening new world, with no memory of the past year of her life. Accused of working with the Master Vampire who held her prisoner, her inability to remember the truth leaves her reeling under allegations of vicious past actions. Uncertain of her culpability, she’s unable to trust her own instincts as the reigning Vampire King turns her world upside down.

When the wolves call for her trial, demanding her life for those killed and tortured, Jordan and Dalia must work together to find the truth, and save the love blooming between them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amber Kallyn
• Release date: Jul 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476225265

Amber Kallyn

One of those rare breeds, Amber Kallyn is an Arizona native who can trace her family's history through six generations in the state. She lives with her four very active children. Included in the menagerie are four cats (though there's always room for more) and a snake. Amber loves the paranormal, from dragons to werewolves to vampires. She's currently at work on her next book, probably running around the house acting out a fight scene with her collection of swords and daggers. Or maybe, wishing she had claws to practice the other fight scenes. A voracious lover of the written word, Amber found at an early age that she could read fast. Really fast. She devours novels by the day, novellas by the hour, and is always looking to get her hands on more. Website: AmberKallyn.com Twitter: twitter.com/HigleyBrowne Blogs: amberkallyn.wordpress.com and higleybrowne.wordpress.com Co-Author Blogs: 7evildwarves.wordpress.com and plotmamas.wordpress.com Or email her at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

The woman chained to the steel bed frame hadn’t stirred in days. But, soon enough, she should finally wake.

An event that wouldn’t be easy to handle.

Not that he’d have any other choice but to manage.

Jordan MacDougal sat in the dark shadows of the basement room.

Waiting.

The darkness didn’t bother him.

Vampires could see as well at night, as any mortal could in the sun. Besides, narrow hints of light, seeping in from around the thick metal door, lit the room plenty.

Jordan spun a wooden match between his fingers, turning it around and around. Still unable to tear his gaze from the bed.

After a couple weeks around this unusual woman, even with her being comatose the majority of the time, there was something about Dalia Jensen that he just couldn’t quite figure out.

Almost like a prickling at his attention.

Drawing him to her, like a moth to a flame.

Jordan didn’t understand the commanding, irresistible call.

Hells, logic stated that he should have allowed things to take their natural course.

He should have let this woman die.

In his millennia as a vampire, he’d only dared to try turning a handful of people.

And he’d regretted each and every one.

Yet, watching this woman waste away in the hospital—dying, even as she’d occasionally come to, lucid and ornery and demanding—he’d not been able to stop himself.

She was so young.

Only twenty-three according to her driver’s license, tucked in Jordan’s back pocket.

Even in her coma-like state, she exuded a vibrancy which continued to draw him. It was worse when she was awake.

A spitfire. Stubborn. Magnetic.

It was highly unusual for him to be so... captivated by another.

Especially this strange woman.

It was also distracting.

And quite annoying.

Jordan pushed to his feet. Stretched. Forced himself to look away from the woman.

Aggravation at himself surged.

His hands fisted.

The matchstick snapped.

Sighing, Jordan focused on relaxing the best he could. He dropped the two pieces of the wooden match onto the bedside table, next to an unlit candle.

As if he wasn’t trying to avoid her at all, the woman continued to magnetically draw his attention.

Large chunks of pink streaked through white-blonde hair, the ends curling just below her pointed, pixie chin.

Her eyes had been a hazel rainbow of greens and blues. Dalia’s gaze, while awake, held challenge, even while she’d been weak.

So near death.

Her voice had been smoky, husky, with a slight western twang.

Thick quilts disguised the generous curves of her body. Though the basement rooms were kept warm, the newly turned needed the extra heat until they learned control of their new selves.

Not that Jordan could forget anything about this woman.

He sighed. Turned back toward his chair.

Screams rang out from another locked room nearby.

Chase Campton. A friend who’d recently been changed as well.

Not by Jordan.

Not Chase, anyway.

His screams—mindless, hungry—pierced the soundproofing.

Echoed through the walls.

Jordan ran his hands through his hair. Frustration snaked through his veins.

Chase had been turned by the same vampire responsible for Dalia near death.

Like all new vampires, he’d woken crazed, with a bloodlust that continued to rule him.

Staring at Dalia’s face, Jordan memorized the soft lines and curves.

When she woke, she’d face a huge change.

Hunger would make her, like Chase, ravenous, unthinking, driven only by a need to feed.

Jordan’s powerful blood usually helped fledglings calm.

And his duty was to be here every night.

To feed Chase, and Dalia, while trying to break through. Recover the remnants of their humanity.

Assuming she survived the last, final changes.

Once she became lucid, they’d have the talk.

Another duty, as clan King, which Jordan despised.

Horror and disappointment would fill the woman’s eyes as he explained what she was—and how her old life was forever lost.

This time, he’d have to add how it was his fault.

The age old struggle between right and wrong continued to argue in his head.

Which was better?

Death?

Or being undead?

Hells, Jordan himself still didn’t have a personal answer to that one. Not even after so many endless centuries.

A knock pounded at the room’s thick metal door.

Dragging his thoughts from useless musings—and from the woman in the bed—Jordan strode across the room.

Slipped out into the hall.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from darkness to bright light.

Then he looked into a feminine version of his own face. Fionah? I’m busy, he said cautiously, unable to read which mood she was in this hour.

His sister grinned. "Aye, brothair. When are you not?" She swept her long, silk skirts to the side. Stepped toward the door at his back.

Jordan held out an arm, blocking her. What do you want, sweetling?

She raised one blonde eyebrow, her blue eyes widening.

When she giggled, Jordan realized that in this moment, she was the child, rather than the thousand-year-old vampire.

To see your new pet, she replied with a smile.

He sighed. You know well she’s not a pet.

What else, then? Fionah twirled, her skirts billowing around her ankles. You’ve not brought over a human in hundreds of years. Why now?

If Jordan had an answer, he might have spoken.

Instead, he merely crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his sister. If she reclaims her wits, it will be soon enough for you to meet her. Until then it’s too dangerous. You know this.

Fionah pouted. Stomped one, slippered foot. I don’t want to wait.

At the far end of the hall, Eric, one of his Viking guards, rushed down the steps. Hurried their way. The man abruptly slowed the moment he caught sight of Fionah.

Jordan’s guards quite never knew what to make of his sister, either.

She could switch from child-like, to screaming fury, in a blink. All without any apparent cause.

Her mind was a strange thing.

Had been since they were children, growing up on their clan’s lands, in Scotland.

Fionah’s ability to see things—past, present... future—was equally unsettling. A thousand years had only increased her strangeness.

Whispers of movement broke the silence from the room at Jordan’s back.

He scowled, a sudden, insistent urge to rejoin Dalia pressing hard. It there a party going on down here I wasn’t informed of?

Eric’s eyes, usually full of laughter, instead sparked with worry. He blurted out, Luci is missing.

Jordan straightened.

Heat fired his blood. A burning fury.

His gut twisted, anger mixed with worry.

Not again.

He demanded, From where?

She was on the blood run to the hospital.

Jordan barely refrained from slamming his fist into the stone wall.

Who in the hells was still taking his people?

They’d thought the problem solved, after the recent, intruding vampires had been hunted down. Killed.

Mind spinning with unanswerable questions, Jordan asked, Did she make it to the hospital?

Eric shook his head.

Fionah stepped forward, brushing her long, blonde curls over one shoulder. Her blue gaze narrowed. Sparked with intelligence. The child-like grin disappeared. How do you know she didn’t make it?

Eric shot her a questioning look. ’Tis my duty.

Jordan rubbed his hands together, thinking fast. Get some men together. We’ll—

The sound of stirring in the room behind him stopped Jordan.

He glanced from Eric, to the door.

Torn.

He couldn’t leave, not during the woman’s wakening.

Eric’s eyes flashed understanding. I’ll get a group together. We’ll find Luci.

Partly relieved—yet also unavoidably feeling as if there was no way to not let someone down—Jordan nodded to his Viking guard. Report to me on your return.

Eric glanced at Fionah and respectfully dipped his head, then strode back toward the stairs.

Fionah stared at Jordan. Blue eyes flushed with vampire crimson. Waving at the door behind him, she demanded, You put this woman before the clan?

I turned her. You know as well as I that it is my duty to help her. To help all newly turned brought here.

Aye. But ‘tis not all. You never stay with them so much. So long.

Jordan could only shrug to that statement.

There was no argument—logical or not—to explain it.

All he said was, You know I wish to be going out and searching for our missing Luci. But duty forces me elsewhere at the moment.

Fionah studied him, the intelligent spark in her eyes growing. There’s more. I feel it.

Such as?

Something. She shook her head. What’s so special about this girl?

I don’t know.

She continued to watch him for long moments. But slowly, interest faded. Replaced by childlike glee. "It’s nearly dinnertime, brothair."

Then you should go eat.

Fionah’s smile lit the hall. She hugged him close. Then, with a brief curtsy, she turned and skipped back down the hall.

Jordan watched her go, relieved she hadn’t continued her questions.

He didn’t have any answers.

Finally, he gave in to the demanding urges. Slipped back inside the dark room. Crossed to the bed.

Sure enough, the woman was stirring.

Slowly waking.

Breathing deep, preparing himself, Jordan sat down in the chair beside the bed.

It wouldn’t be long now.

She woke with a start.

Agony seared through her, from scalp to toes.

Brought a harsh scream to her throat.

Her heart beat a deafening rhythm. Her stomach clenched with fiery hunger. She jerked upright, staring into the darkness, thoughts scattering like petals on the wind.

Her temples pounded painfully.

She reached up to rub them.

Chains rattled.

She stopped moving at the feel of cold metal, weighing heavily on her wrists.

A deep, masculine voice, tinted by a thick broguish accent, soothingly murmured, Hush. It’s all right. All will be well.

The sound broke through the fog in her mind.

Only then did she realize she was keening. Sharp cries, from a burning need she couldn’t name.

She hurt.

Oh how she hurt.

Her body ached.

Her stomach roiled.

And she was so damn hungry.

A match flared.

Candlelight spread a flickering pool over a man sitting near the bed she lay on. His features were harsh, yet his blue eyes held kindness.

The pulse beating at his throat drew all of her attention.

She could hear his calm heartbeat over the erratic thumping of her own.

Consuming fire flared.

Unthinking, she lunged.

The chains yanked her back to the mattress. Kept her from reaching the man.

Sharp canines pierced her tongue.

The coppery taste of blood welled in her mouth.

Startled, she stopped jerking at the chains. Tried to think, as the sweet taste brought tiny hints of clarity.

The man left his chair to crouch beside the bed.

Hunger increased.

Controlling heat.

Flaring pain.

She jumped for him again.

He remained just out of reach. It’s all right, Dalia. You’ll feel better soon.

Dalia?

That was her name.

Yes.

Her thoughts cleared slightly.

The pain rushing through her body grew worse.

In front of her, the guy raised his wrist to his mouth. Bit down. An urgent scent of salty copper teased the air.

Made her stomach clench.

He lowered his arm.

Her gaze locked on the blood welling over tanned skin.

Drink. He held his wrist in front of her face.

A red haze covered her vision.

She sank her teeth into his skin.

Blood, warm and comforting, filled her mouth.

Mindless with a hunger she couldn’t place, she drank greedily.

The fire in her belly roared.

She drank more, tried to pull him closer. To wrap her hands around his arm. Hold him tight to her lips.

The chains rattled loudly, still keeping her back. She growled in frustration at the cold metal.

But as she continued to drink more of the sweet liquid filling her mouth, the flames in her stomach slowly dampened.

Voices, silently screaming in her head, broke through the fog.

And she realized exactly what she was doing.

Dalia jerked back, pressing herself against the headboard. Confusion lingered. Disgust brought a stirring nausea.

Her breathing sped up. Her heart raced.

Panic teased at her senses.

And yet, she could still smell the blood welling from his wrist.

The flames of hunger, the pain screaming through her entire body, urged her to return. To drink more of the delicious sweetness she craved.

Panic rose higher.

Silently watching her, dark shadow’s filled the man’s blue eyes. His wide mouth curled into a fierce frown.

She shivered at the anger, turning his expression harsh.

Cold.

The fog in her head continued to slowly dissipate.

Thoughts began to spin.

Where was she?

And why had she just been drinking—devouring—this man’s blood?

His anger swept over her.

Panic exploded.

With a hoarse cry, Dalia scrambled as far as she could across the small bed. Pressed against the stone wall, burrowing in the corner.

It’s all right, he said gently.

She shook her head, trying to straighten out her thinking.

Nothing made sense.

And she couldn’t even remember why.

Dalia. His voice rumbled, his accent thickening. Come to me.

Heat flared in the room. His words tugged at her. Called, insistent that she pay attention. Warmth bloomed deep within.

His voice came again, this time seemingly from inside her head.

Dalia shook her head, hard.

The buzzing of his command grew louder. More demanding.

So did the urge to comply.

Instead, she concentrated on the other voice in her head—a crazed screaming and jabbering, defiant with refusal.

Curling into a ball, Dalia fisted her hands over her ears.

The chains rattled but she barely heard them over his insistent call.

Jordan stared at the woman, unable to comprehend things.

When she’d fed from him, he’d felt... He refused to contemplate the heady desires that had swept through him.

He concentrated on her confusing actions since waking.

Why wasn’t the bloodlust driving her, as it usually did?

And how was she possibly able to resist his summons?

He was her Sire.

She should be bidden to do as he commanded.

Yet she remained curled in a ball, covering her ears. Shivering and murmuring unintelligibly.

Jordan let his power dissipate from the room.

Instead, he leaned over and grabbed her hands. Pulled her to the edge of the bed.

For a moment, she fought.

Then she allowed him to sit her up. Capture her gaze.

Dalia stiffened, though tremors continued shake her imperceptibly. Her colorful eyes, blues and greens, were clear.

Not flushed by hungry bloodlust.

Strange.

Interesting.

He commented, You’re truly awake. Aware.

Dalia jerked back, slapping at his hands. The heavy chains, nearly unbreakable even by the strongest vampire, made it ineffectual.

Stop, he said. You’re going to hurt yourself.

When she didn’t respond, Jordan pushed power into his words.

Made it a command.

Again, she was somehow able to ignore the order.

Squeezing her eyes tight, she continued to madly struggle against the binding chains.

He moved to the bed, sitting by her side. Drew the small woman onto his lap—as much as the chains would allow.

Then he captured her arms and gently pinned them to her sides.

Let me go, she cried, flailing harder. I don’t want to drink more blood.

You must calm. If you do not, you’ll hurt yourself.

She didn’t stop.

Yes. Quite different from most newly turned.

In many, many ways.

Jordan hesitated only a moment before making her an offer. If you relax, I will remove the chains. He’d take the chance.

Slowly, Dalia stilled.

She glanced up at him, suspicion shimmering from her gaze.

With deliberate movements, Jordan let her arms go.

She didn’t try to slap him again, merely lifted her hands, silently asking for freedom.

Holding her gaze, he unlocked the cuffs from around her thin wrists, dismayed to see already darkening bruises. Do not run.

She didn’t, though she shifted on his lap.

Her scent held enticing hints of vanilla.

Her lithe form pressed harder against Jordan, as she unconsciously drew on his body heat. She licked her bloody lips, then shuddered as if repelled by the taste.

Or drawn to it.

Jordan found himself in an unusual, unexpected, and awkward position.

His body tightened, responding to her movements—not sensual by any means, but still compellingly sexy.

Ignoring the unexpected—unwelcome—physical reactions, he studied the woman who didn’t follow any of the rules.

She should be mindless.

Hungry.

Not aware and alert.

Certainly, she shouldn’t have this effect on him.