Dark Immortality

By Kim Knox

Another day. Another delicious shot of mayhem and blood…

Captain Andros has many titles. Pirate. Vampire. All-round bastard.

What he doesn't have is a past. His has been stolen, suppressed through the power of the vampiric metal known as leech. But, with his latest conquest, all that is about to change.

Madelen Ariel is destined to be the living heart of a great warship. When Andros takes her ship, kills her crew and claims her as captain's privilege, he robs her of everything. And makes her his.

Andros doesn't share and his crew loathes him for it. They see in his obsession with Madelen the best chance to take his ship.

And even as his past smashes back into him, his rebelling crew is about to find out just how much of a bastard Andros really is…

 

If you like strong heroines, grey heroes and space ships chock full of vampires you'll love DARK IMMORTALITY!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Knox
• Release date: Jul 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536583069

Book preview

Chapter One

We’ve found the source of the energy spikes, Captain.

Andros retracted his fangs as the voice of his first officer, Ettore, echoed in his skull. His tongue followed the curve of his teeth, licking off the last of the other captain’s blood. He let the body fall to the metal decking. What is it?

Ettore paused, was silent, and for a moment, the last emotions of his victim flowed through Andros. The taste of fear and the hot hint of defiance mixed with the underlying flavour of his blood. The former captain had lived a well-provisioned life—meat, fresh fruit and vegetables, water and fine wines had been thick in his diet. Andros frowned. His boot toed the still-warm body, meeting hard muscle. The hunt, the kill, the short, sweet hit of bliss had clouded his thoughts. The man wasn’t the usual freighter captain, all cheap and hurried rations, baked with stress. What had they captured?

Ettore? What is it?

It’s a casket.

Andros frowned. A casket?

A locked casket.

Andros held down a curse. He was their captain because he was the strongest vampire amongst them. He’d killed the previous commander who’d brought him aboard the Kosmos as booty. Eaten Damen’s heart and taken his ship and men. But the remaining three-man crew didn’t trust him. A hard smile pulled at Andros’ mouth and he strode down the long gangway that opened up to a gantry stretching across the wide hold. Of course, he didn’t trust them either.

Is there anything else of value? Report. Mikalos? Phaeon?

Every secured hold is empty.

Mikalos’ low mental rumble vibrated against the vampiric metal—known as leech—laced through Andros’ muscle and bone. He rolled his neck, his fingers digging into tight skin. The captain’s energy had already dispersed and the old pain of being a vampire leaked through. He ignored it. For him there was always pain. Always would be. He cursed his maker. No other cargo, just this casket?

"This locked casket," Ettore broke in.

Andros’ boots clanked against the thick mesh of the gantry and he swore under his breath. Ettore was a constant needle under his skin. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strengthening technology in his blood respond. His first mate had been at the top of his kill list for a while. I’ll open it.

The buzz of closed communication fizzed through the metal in his flesh. Did they think he didn’t know they talked about him behind shields? Before the bastard—a much-cursed Professor Maxen—who’d taken him and injected leech into his body, he’d been Zaohar. Bright, shining, destined to work in the heart of a great ship with the code and power to its technology. Andros had been an experiment. A failed one. Being Zaohar made him ultrasensitive to the tech within the metal living in his body. He pushed the old bitterness down. His sensitivity caused his pain. Leech could never be removed or sated. He should know. He’d tried. And still bore the scars.

He took the grav-lift down to the lower hold and found the members of his crew lounging against empty crates. Their cold eyes watched him stride towards them and habit flexed his fingers, heightening the power in his body. They were anything but relaxed. Power burned in the air and the hunger it brought to all of them fired tension. There was always the danger that they would attack and try to overpower him when they thought his energies were low. And three of them full and fed would make them feel very confident.

But Andros knew that and he could combat it. His gaze darted to the locking mechanism of the casket. It glowed and the thrum of its power sharpened his hunger. Captain’s privilege, he said, his voice hard and clear.

Mikalos pressed a thin hand to Ettore’s shoulder. His knuckles whitened. Ettore stilled. His partner took a step closer, his narrow chest pressed to the first mate’s arm and for a moment, the man leaned into that touch. Again, Andros? Mikalos’ soft voice had a bitter edge to it. Was it something we said?

Or did? Ettore’s mouth twisted into a wry line. "Don’t you trust us, Captain?"

Phaeon gave a half-grunting laugh. "Your loyal crew."

Andros had eaten the heart of their sire. With it, he absorbed some of the essence of that man. He was a constant reminder that their beloved maker was dead and the man who’d killed him commanded them in his stead. And they loathed him for it.

With a sneer, Andros moved past them and the metal in his body ached to absorb the energy, to make his flesh sing and for the agony to ease. Locks were held in place by power and he planned to drain them dry.

He shrugged off his heavy coat and it fell to the metal floor. He turned and his spine touched the box, its icy surface bleeding through his shirt. His palms pressed to the angled lid and the hungry metal coursing his body rose, eager to draw the power to itself. His crew also hated him for his constant use of captain’s privilege, but he could never allow himself to be weak. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

The ache to close his eyes burned against his lids. He fought it. He couldn’t give in to the bliss, the sweet fire that came with feeding. He never had. The gazes of the three men seared over him, the heat of their hatred growing more obvious as the rush of new energy dampened his pain and increased his awareness. Andros forced a smile to cut his mouth, something dark, something that promised that their time with him was limited. He was Andros, commander of the Kosmos. His reputation screamed across the quadrant. Sometimes his crew tended to forget that fact.

The muscle under Ettore’s left eye jumped and his fingers flexed.

Want to take me now, Ettore? Andros arrowed the thought into his first mate’s skull and smirked as the man’s fingers stopped mid-stretch. I didn’t think so.

Fire licked under Andros’ skin and the promise of bliss hardened his dick. Power surged through him, white hot and succulent. Whoever had designed the casket had wanted it kept locked, securing the box with enough power to run a reactor. However, the idiots had never thought their disguised freighter would grab the attention of vampires.

Andros had trained himself down the years to resist bliss—it made him too vulnerable. But fuck, with the amount of energy securing the casket, he couldn’t fight the tightness of his body.

His breaths deepened as he absorbed every joule and the need to give in to the wild rush of pleasure tore at him. His every contact with the casket, where his body touched the metal, pounded heat into his converted flesh. Sparks flashed over his vision and he gritted his teeth to deny the need to let bliss ride him.

He caught Mikalos’ sneer and his anger, the thought of men he hated seeing him lose control brought his wayward body under his command. Still, the urgency of bliss shook him and a low groan escaped his lips. Behind him, metal thunked and grated as the casket lock broke.

Good for you, Andros? Phaeon pushed himself up from squatting by a secured crate. He ran a hand over his dark hair and in his heightened state, Andros caught the quick flex of Phaeon’s fingers. A swift draw on the power of his leech. The three men’s bitterness ran deep. Damen had sired them, pushed the vampiric metal from his own body into theirs, giving them a dark immortality. That loyalty, the craving for their sire still pulsed in their veins.

Andros lifted his chin and took a step forward. A thin smile touched his mouth as all three men unconsciously shrank back. He’d never sire. He couldn’t. He could never bind a crew to him with his own flesh. So he needed these men to fly his ship. Whatever’s in this has a high value. He turned and the act of having his back to them scraped nails under his skin, breaking the calm flow of