Blood in the Rain 3: Nineteen Stories of Vampire Erotica

By Cecilia Duvalle and Mary Trepanier

This collection will transport you into many eras and completely new vampire worlds.

•Fiona isn’t your regular WWII nurse. She’s got her own way of making her patients feel better—and it’s not just by using her fangs!

•How do Mylos and Petyr keep their love alive after 700 years together? Humans think marriage is hard--imagine keeping it together as immortals.

•Tanteo thinks his latest masterpiece will gain him the love of the beautiful baroness, but she has different plans for paying him for his talents.

•An ancient creature inside a Sarcophagus and a super-horny couple come together aboard a ship in the middle of the ocean. What happens to the trio when the crew throws them overboard in disgust and fear?

Savor each story one bite at a time, or devour the collection whole. This collection of the NINETEEN hottest vampire short stories is sure to entice and ensnare you, whatever your kink or inclination!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cwtch Press
• Release date: Oct 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9780996904575

Book preview

Blood in the Rain 3Title Page: Blood in the Rain 3, Nineteen Stories of Vampire Erotica.

Blood in the Rain 3

Nineteen Stories of Vampire Erotica

Cecilia Duvalle

Mary Trepanier

Cwtch Press

Copyright © 2017 by Cwtch Press

All rights reserved.

Authors retain the copyrights to their own stories.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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E-book ISBN 978-0-9969045-7-5

Print ISBN 978-0-9969045-8-2

Cover Design by IndieDesignz

You know that old saying. Once you go dead, no one's better in bed.

― Jeaniene Frost, One Foot in the Grave

Contents

Introduction

Sara Dobie Bauer

Claimed

Annie Duvall

My Love

Kiki DeLovely

Give Me A Penny

Victor H. Rodriguez

Tanteo

Lady Divine

Love For Sale

Jordan Monroe

His Angel of Death

Rhidian Brenig Jones

The Reunion

Andrea Dale

The Lady Death

Emily L. Byrne

She Who Waits

Jameson Dash

The 700-Year Itch

Teresa Noelle Roberts

The Love of a Faithful Servant

Amber Dawn Eris

(Odaxelagnia)

Ellie Barker

Cold Steel Also Works On Vampires

Adrian Ludens

Erotic, Aquatic

Zoё Woodard

Master and Slave

Renee Miller

Mistress

Teresa Caves

The Duomo’s Shadow

Cecilia Duvalle

The Stories We Tell

Mary Trepanier

The Cure for All Ills

About the Authors

Want More?

Introduction

By Cecilia Duvalle and Mary Trepanier

Someone on a writing forum recently asked if vampires stories are dead—does anyone bother with them any more? The question was put to writers and their response was a resounding Vampires are alive and well. A casual look on any bookstore’s website will bring up thousands of titles.

After three years of editing this volume, we have proof that the vampire mythos continues to fascinate us mere mortals—writers and readers alike. With each new story, there is some interesting little twist that either takes old assumptions about vampires and amplifies it in new ways or blows it out of the water. Jameson Dash’s The Seven-Hundred-Year-Itch explores what it would be like to be in a seven-hundred-year-old relationship. Monogamous vampires? Sure, why not?

Unlike other erotica, Vampire erotica is its own peculiar genre. It’s partly erotica and it’s partly horror. Each story has its own unique blend of the elements that make both the erotic and horror genres compelling. It is hard to categorize and difficult to place our collections on a book-store shelf. Not everyone finds blood titillating, but this volume is all about vampires, so expect some blood! Kiki DeLovely’s Give Me A Penny might remind you of the old joke about lesbian vampires, but only for a moment before she takes you into a hot, bittersweet encounter.

The one common theme for the entire collection is, of course, vampires. Once again, we’ve extended the meaning of the term to include creatures that suck something other than blood from their victims. Andrea Dale paints an amazing picture of a creativity-sucking muse in The Lady Death.

This volume contains a variety of couplings and sexual variety. It’s on the light side of kinky with only one pair of handcuffs in the whole volume. The stories span centuries and continents for a wide variety of settings and time periods.

We hope you enjoy the diversity of titillation horror within.

Happy reading,

Cecilia Duvalle and Mary Trepanier

Redmond, WA

Claimed

Sara Dobie Bauer

Claimed

Sara Dobie Bauer

Death came quickly—or would have if not for the human by the palm tree on King Street. He walked a dog that barked at her in fear. Away from the bars of downtown Charleston, they were alone on the sidewalk, alone outside for blocks thanks to the late hour. The human’s voice reached her: gentle murmurings, cautious whispers, and then louder inquiries .

The dog growled and barked some more, and Olivia fell to one knee on the pavement. Her vision dimmed, so she closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth as if that would stop the dead blood from coursing through her veins.

She thought about being at the bar earlier, about seeing Alexander across the room with his own blood-filled glass lifted in salute. Olivia had paid the bartender and left after consuming half a bottle of Age 37, which had apparently been spiked with blood from a dead human.

In other words, someone had tried to murder her.

But then, there he was: the human on the sidewalk with the barking dog. She looked up at his tall silhouette, back lit white by a streetlight. She reached her hand up to him but crumpled into a small undead ball when pain stabbed across her gut. Her lungs contracted and would not expand. She choked on lack of air.

The human’s gentle voice reached her again, but she couldn’t make out the words. She clenched her jaw together to capture a strangled growl when she lost feeling in her legs. Then, his hands were on her shoulders—large, warm hands. The dog continued barking a few feet away, its leash now tied to the base of a palm tree.

Up close, she made sense of his words: I’m calling an ambulance.

Before he could call, though, she dragged herself up by the front of his coat. She climbed the front of his crouched body until she could wrap her arms around his neck, and he held her. He told her it was going to be okay.

Olivia’s canines descended, and she bit down hard on the side of his throat. He tried to push her away, but she clung, especially when his blood filled her mouth. It had been a hundred years since she’d tasted fresh human blood, right from the vein. She moaned against his skin as he attempted to scramble back, maybe free the barking dog, but she wasn’t dying anymore. She used her strength to pin the man to the pavement, and the dog barked and barked. The man’s heartbeat slowed.

When she realized what was about to occur, she pulled her teeth from his throat and stared down at him. How old could he be? Twenty? Twenty-one? The only wrinkles on his face were shallow laugh lines around his half-open eyes. He looked at her but didn’t appear to see her because now, he was the one dying.

No, no, no. She smacked his cheek. Oh, my God. She grabbed for his discarded cell phone, already primed to call 911. She dialed and screamed about a mugging, a stabbing, send help to King Street now.

The man didn’t move beneath her, lips parted for his final breaths.

Please, come back.

The dog growled and pulled at its chain.

Olivia rolled up the sleeve of her leather jacket and bit into her own pale flesh, warm with the overabundance of the poor man’s blood. She held her wrist over his lips and let blood tumble drop by desperate drop. Her wound healed almost immediately, so she leaned her head against his chest and listened for the heartbeat that strengthened and strengthened.

She sat up and ran her fingers across his cheeks. That’s it, come on.

His eyes opened, irises the color of midnight on the harbor. Brow furrowed, he studied her face as the dog, prevented from protecting its master, whined.

I’m so sorry. She fled to the beat of an incoming ambulance.

Olivia could have flown back to her mansion on the Battery. She could have sprouted wings and flown to Timbuktu. High on the stranger’s blood, she’d never felt so invincible—which all came crashing down when she walked into the grand foyer of her estate and Trevor stood there, staring.

What have you done? he asked.

She closed the heavy wooden door behind her. The crystal chandelier had never looked so bright, as if it might burn her like the sun.

He spoke again. What have you done, Olivia?

Her head suddenly ached. The room spun. She slid down to the floor, back against the wall. Someone tried to kill me.

What? Finally, he moved. Trevor—her dedicated immortal servant—practically slid across the marble floor in his shiny wingtips to kneel before her and take her face in his hands. What are you talking about?

At Torch. She closed her eyes. Someone slipped me dead blood.

The middle of his forehead creased, and a single lock of his curly, brown hair fell free into his eyes. Who would do such a thing?

I don’t know, but Alexander was there. Again, dizziness washed over her like hurricane waves. What’s happening to me?

You bit a human. I can smell him all over you.

Yes. Her eyes burned with salt. I almost killed him.

But you didn’t.

She opened her eyes and looked up at her most trusted ally. No. I can feel him. At the hospital. Even Olivia heard the wonderment in her own pronouncement.

Trevor, dressed in flawless trousers and a white button-down, leaned closer. You gave him your blood, didn’t you?

He would have died if I hadn’t, and he was so young.

If any other vampire finds out what you’ve done, you’ll be executed.

As if I don’t know that. But I’d be dead right now if I hadn’t bitten him. She put her hand over her heart. I can feel him. Here. Like he’s sitting inside my chest.

Trevor’s brown eyes appraised her, head tilted. You’ve never Claimed a human before.

You know I haven’t. And neither have you. Olivia closed her eyes and felt her mind travel back to those harried moments on King—the way the man’s slim body had felt beneath her, the way the skin of his throat smelled like old books.

The sound of a nearby sigh woke her from memory. At least you didn’t Turn him. Trevor stood and brushed his palms over the front of his pants.

I told you: he wasn’t dead. You can’t Turn a human unless they’re dead. She pushed herself to standing, as well. We have bigger concerns right now than the human I just Claimed. We need to figure out who’s trying to kill me and why.

When Olivia was first elected to the High Council, the 1920s roared through Charleston. The council’s final vote on Issue 98.6 was imminent when Alexander, a known vampire gangster, invited her for a drink. Curious, she agreed to meet. She remembered the evening well, toasting at the only blood bar in town at the time, The Crimson Rose.

They sat at a lacquered black high-top table in the candlelit corner while an immortal jazz band played in the back. Alexander bought the most expensive bottle of human blood—that of a child, which she refused for something more aged.

We’re off to a wonderful start. He smiled at her. Despite his monstrous taste in blood, he wore sensuality like a silk blanket. Charisma rolled off him and onto the floor.

What is this meeting about, Alexander?

He uncrossed his legs and shifted closer, elbows almost touching. Toasting your position on the High Council, of course.

Olivia sipped the chilled glass of blood, Age 45. As I understand it, you hate the High Council.

He chuckled. Why would that be, I wonder?

Issue 98.6.

Oh. That. Well, the law could be unfortunate. Outlawing drinking from humans. No more biting our prey. No more lovely murders. We won’t even be able to Turn people anymore. And let’s not forget Claiming. What a lovely prison that is. He winked before glancing over his shoulder toward a teenage human standing in the corner. He wore a suit similar to Alexander’s, and when he noticed Alexander looking, he stood up straighter. The youth would have been beautiful if not for the sickly pallor of his skin and bruises on his throat.

Claiming is barbaric, Olivia said.

It’s the height of hedonism, owning someone body and soul.

I wouldn’t know. She pulled at her long, black dress.

No, that’s right. I’d forgotten. Never had the pleasure. He ran the tip of his finger around the top of his wine glass. Why not?

What do you want, Alexander?

I want to talk you into voting against Issue 98.6.

It was Olivia’s turn to be amused. You’re mad. Of all High Council members, I agree most with the plan to stop the murdering of innocent humans and the horrific emotional and sexual imprisonment of Claiming.

He scoffed. You’re old enough to know better.

She finished her glass. No, Alexander. Or perhaps you forget: I’ve never killed anyone.

He snickered. You should try it sometime. Quite a rush.

No, thanks. She moved to stand only to feel his hand on hers.

And the punishment for embracing our true nature? The punishment for being top of the food chain? You believe it should be death by beheading, as Issue 98.6 states?

Eye for an eye, in a way, she said. Claiming is the forceful theft of a human’s life. They’re trapped into an obsessive, usually abusive relationship with an immortal, robbed of their own family and lives until death. They’re slaves.

Alexander nodded toward his teenage human. Maybe they should be.

She stood and pulled on her black fur coat. You’re a relic of the past.

And you’re naïve. He paused. Possibly because you’ve never been in love.

I consider that an advantage. I’m being sensible, while you’re being romantic.

Death and murder are romantic?

To you.

The dim light made his blond hair glow as he leaned back in his chair and licked his bottom lip. Well. I’d thought to make an ally this evening, and instead, I suppose I made an enemy.

She threw money on the table. We were enemies before I walked into this bar.

The man had to get rid of his dog once he came home from the hospital. It tried to attack him as soon as he walked in the door. Olivia knew the beast smelled her on its master, who wore a bright white bandage on his neck and a nervous expression. The bad dreams began that night.

He lived on the third story above a bar on East Bay Street. It was simple to watch him from a rooftop across the way. Through the long windows, she saw bookshelves filled his small apartment. He didn’t own a TV. The biggest window showed into his bedroom, which was how she so easily watched him toss and turn in his sleep, chest shiny with sweat. If she concentrated hard enough, she heard his whimpers.

She’d done this to him. By giving him her blood, she’d turned his life into a nightmare, undoubtedly overflowing with images of her black hair, her fangs, and the sound of a terrified, barking dog. All she wanted was to fly across the street, jump through his half-open window, and hold him. Cradle him. Her self-imposed punishment was distance. Maybe if she stayed away, the Claiming would begin to fade. It had been so long since Claiming had been legal—and she’d never experienced it before—she didn’t know how it all worked.

Although she now knew how it felt. The man was a harpoon in her chest, dragging her forward. He was a ringing in her ears. Even alone in the safety of her home, blocks away, she smelled him. Even the one night when Trevor found her on the roof above East Bay, she barely paid attention to her worried servant. Singularly focused on the man tangled in sheets across the street, she sometimes forgot why she’d Claimed someone in the first place.

She and Trevor, along with some vampires she sometimes hired as bodyguards, went to Torch to ask questions, namely, Are you in the business of selling dead blood? The manager dropped to his knees before her. Every vampire in Charleston knew of Olivia’s seat on the High Council, and she’d had vampires executed for straying from the path.

The irony was not lost on her. Yet, she wasn’t ready to die—not yet—not until she figured out who had tried to kill her.

The bartender from the night of her would-be murder had quit a few hours later and disappeared. No lead there. As she and her men prepared to leave, though, she spotted Alexander in a back booth, overhead red lights making his golden hair glow like fire.

Olivia sauntered to his table. Alexander.

Olivia. He sipped calmly on a glass of what couldn’t have been more than Age five. Did I hear something about dead blood?

They apparently dose unsuspecting customers. Shame they haven’t tried it on you.

Oh, come now. He flashed straight, white teeth. Why the animosity? I’ve behaved for decades, as have we all. He smiled some more.

If you could think of a reason to kill me, what would it be?

He leaned his head back and laughed, revealing a long, pale throat and beginnings of collarbone. I can’t think of a single one. He lifted his glass. Cheers.

She turned to leave.

You smell wonderful, by the way, Alexander said. New perfume?

She kept walking.

Are you all right? Trevor asked as they stepped into the early spring air—still a bit chilled but already creeping with summer moisture.

She waved their bodyguards aside. Someone’s trying to kill me, she whispered. And I just Claimed a human. No, I am not okay.

He put his hands in his gray trouser pockets. You should go to him. Comfort him.

Go home, Trevor. She turned and walked, heels tapping on pavement, and moved at vampire speed down the alley.

Within minutes, she was back on her roof perch, and the man across the street had yet to go to sleep. He was up late, in fact, drinking what looked to be scotch or whiskey. He wore torn jeans and a dark blue sweater. He paced. From far away, she was never quite certain of his features. She could easily see his light brown hair, cut short, and she’d glimpsed dark blue eyes the night he’d saved her life—and she’d ruined his.

She should have let him die.

No, she couldn’t have let him die. Her undead heart ached at the idea. She needed him, needed him, needed him…. This was Claiming, and for the first time in her immortal life, she realized it was not just a prison for humans; it was a prison for vampires, as well.

But what a lovely prison, she said, and he was—lovely. Tall and slim, he floated like a feline. Even when he stopped pacing, put down the glass, and grabbed his head in what looked like pain, he was still a thing she desperately wanted. So entranced by his movements, she almost didn’t notice the people walking down the sidewalk below from the direction of Market Street. She almost didn’t recognize Alexander and two immortal thugs behind him.

She knew immediately why they were there.

You smell wonderful, by the way.

Had they somehow followed her human’s scent?

The man understandably leapt backward when she flew through his third story window a moment later, glass shards falling like musical notes on hardwood floors. Then, he recognized her and didn’t hesitate in approaching. He took hold of her face and pressed a single, chaste kiss to her lips.

Where have you been? he asked.

She nosed at his throat, inches from the stitched up wound she’d made. She rubbed her face against his warm skin.

Then, he stepped back, out of her embrace. Why did I just say that? Why would I say something like that? He touched his lips.

We need to get out of here.

Okay.

She nodded. Do you trust me?

Yes. I don’t know why.

Come on. She held her hand out to him, and he took it. Together, they walked over broken glass toward the window. Climb on my back.

He chuckled—a small sound that made her want to kiss him again. I’m half a foot taller than you.

Possibly more. She hadn’t realized the full extent of his height until standing at his side. But that doesn’t matter right now.

He did his best to follow her command, and without warning, Olivia jumped from his third story window to the roof across the street. When they landed, he fell to his knees. Holy shit.

She grabbed his arm. We need to keep moving.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Have I gone crazy?

No, you haven’t. I’ll explain. First, we need to get you safe.

The idea of safety seemed to please him, because he nodded and allowed himself to be led down the fire escape and up East Bay. Her mansion on the Battery was to be his only haven, because Alexander would never set foot inside—not if he wanted to leave alive.

Once in the brightly lit foyer, Olivia wrapped the man in her arms and took a deep breath of the now familiar scent of old books with the addition of aged scotch and panicked sweat. Despite his height, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. I don’t even know your name.

I don’t know yours either.

Ethan, he said.

She smiled. I’m Olivia.

He clung to her, the tips of his fingers like claws in her spine. What happened to me?

Olivia? The sound of Trevor’s expensive shoes preceded him, followed soon after by the man himself whose eyes widened. What is he doing here?

On instinct, Olivia moved in front of her Claimed. Alexander found him. He must have smelled Ethan on me at Torch and followed the scent.

Ethan?

Hello, he said from behind her.

Hello, Ethan. Trevor glanced at Olivia. You need to tell him what’s going on.

Her private quarters were on the second floor, set at the front of the house with a twilight view of Charleston Harbor and the occasional tiny green light of passing ships. She didn’t go in for the old gothic design like so many of her kind. Her room was modern and bright—sharp angles and white linen. She sat Ethan down in a white leather chair by the window, while she sat on the window box.

My skin feels like it’s burning when I’m not touching you.

Mine, too. She leaned forward and took his hand.

What happened to me that night? What did you do?

I almost killed you.

What are you?

A vampire. The night we met, I’d been poisoned. I needed your blood to save my life, but I took too much. To keep you alive, I shared my blood with you. Our blood—immortal blood—has certain healing properties. However, there’s a consequence. In exchanging blood, I Claimed you.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a long, deep breath. Olivia, despite the serious situation, felt hypnotized by the rise and fall of Ethan’s trim chest. There’s a lot of words I’m going to ignore from that monologue. The one that concerns me most is ‘claimed.’ What does that mean?

She moved closer and knelt at the side of his chair. I used to think it meant a human belonged to a vampire, but I was wrong. We belong to each other. We feel each other. I felt you in the hospital. I feel your nightmares.

You’ve been upset lately.

She nodded.

You’ve been watching me.

She nodded again.

I just thought I was hallucinating. Somehow, this seems worse.

I don’t know if I did the right thing, saving your life. I don’t want you to be a prisoner.

He slid down onto the floor with her. Olivia pulled him into her arms, and he had to duck to rest his head against her chest. What now?

You’re being hunted.

Great.

She laughed, holding the back of his head.

Why?

What I did to you is illegal. We’re not allowed to Claim humans anymore. We’re not even allowed to bite humans anymore, but I’m not ready to die—not until I find who tried to kill me. And now, I think I know. The vampire who was coming for you tonight. He needs you as proof that I broke the rules and that I should be executed for my crimes.

Ethan’s arms wrapped tight around her ribs. Executed?

A worthy punishment for what I’ve done to you. I’ve taken your life.

He shifted in her arms until his nose found her neck, then his lips. I didn’t really have one before. Except my dog. I miss my dog.

Olivia closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing his lips further access to her throat. It took effort to pull a breath of air into her lungs, effort to will out the words, Please, let me have you.

He leaned back to look at her, touch her mouth.

Even if it’s not real, she said.

It feels real.

It’s the prison I built for us.

At least we live in it together. He stood and pulled her to her feet.

Olivia had enjoyed the pleasures of sex before, but it had always been a physical release, nothing more. As she slowly divested Ethan of his sweater and jeans, her fingers trembled. He guided her free from her black slacks and deep red blouse. He loosened her hair from the confines of a silk ribbon so that it fell down her shoulders, tickling the tops of her breasts until his mouth did the same.

She guided him onto his back down the center of her bed. The sight of him stretched out before her made her entire body burn.

God, you’re beautiful. She climbed over him on all fours.

Ethan seemed incapable of speech until she pressed her body down onto him and began to move in a gentle rhythm. Finally, he sighed out her name. His hands held to her hips, but he allowed her to control the speed—which remained languorous and slow. Something about the violence of their first meeting now made Olivia want to protect the young man in her care. She planned to whisper sweet words in his ear. She planned to fall asleep every night with him in her arms. She planned to love him desperately and never hurt him again.

Bite me, he said.

She stopped moving. Ethan?

He pulled the bandage from his neck, and already, his wound was almost healed thanks to the drops of Olivia’s blood that would forever course through his veins.

She shook her head. I can’t hurt you.

Even if I ask?

She leaned down on her arms above him. Aren’t you a quick learner?

What have I learned?

That I would refuse you nothing. She dug her teeth into the same marks she left nights before, and he groaned beneath her. His back arched, and his hands closed tightly around her waist, willing her to move. She did move. She drank from him and thrust against him until he shuddered, shouted, melted beneath her—and God, it was too much.

Olivia found her own release with her fangs still in his throat. A drop of his blood dripped down her chin and onto the white blankets beneath. She wiped her mouth and cuddled against him. She whispered his lovely name and then said, Mine.

She left him sleeping and wandered downstairs to find Trevor. They needed to make a plan, even though she dreaded what her servant might say. He may have been her subordinate, but he was also the wisest vampire she’d ever known.

In her heart, she knew there was a way to keep Ethan from Alexander. But it would destroy her.

As soon as she descended the steps and stared into the foyer, however, she did not find Trevor. She found