Cursed by the Vampire

By Gemma Cates

A vampire mated to a monster hunter. Fickle Fates or a cursed union?

For centuries, humans have provided me with blood and sex, no more.

But now I'm mated with a human. A Van Helsing.

My one chance to build a family, and Fate paired me with the offspring of a genocidal clan.

Not so long ago, the Van Helsings hunted my kind, murdering all in their path whether we sipped or gorged on our prey.

And I was expected to mate with the spawn of these murderers or have my line die out.

An almost impossible choice.

A reluctant monster-hunting human and a human-hating vampire are matched by Fate. Can they overcome the past to discover a deeper bond?

 

Previously published as Dare the Devilish Vampire.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Cates
• Release date: Jan 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201781972

Book preview

1

MADDIE

Monster-hunting was getting old.

Worse, my biological clock had started to tick.

And not a quiet little hum in the background, but TICK TOCK TICK TOCK. Loud, insistent, and impossible to ignore.

My frustration was twofold in its origin. Not only did I not have any remotely suitable baby-making candidates in my life, I also didn’t have a soul I could talk to about it.

I was a Van Helsing. Hunting the creatures that preyed upon humans was supposed to be my life’s calling. It was supposed to be the singular task that gave me both personal and professional satisfaction.

Except it didn’t, and it hadn’t for a while.

Unacceptable, according to my family’s traditions. Kids were fine; continuing the family line and all that bullshit. But children for their own sake? No. They were always a secondary concern in the Van Helsing world. Hunting the nastiest of the nonhuman beasts had been our calling for generations, and no one expected that to change any time soon.

And no one in my family left the life to have a child. An option that was seeming increasingly impossible, but also the only way I could see bringing up a tiny helpless human without burdening her with exactly the life I wanted to leave.

No child and no possibility of one on the horizon, all I was left with were familial expectations (kill the monsters), a skill set with one use (kill the monsters), and a tick-tock-ticking clock that wouldn’t shut the hell up.

And then three of my sisters had gone and gotten themselves personal lives. The kind with gorgeous men and a lot of sex, the bitches. Their female parts weren’t on some freakish countdown, ticking away like a bomb about to go off. They were still enamored with the monster-hunting life, and they managed to find approximations of suitable mates.

Except Mariah.

Whatever she said about the furry dude she was fucking, I had my doubts about him.

But forget that Barrett guy and Mariah’s bad taste in werewolf-men. The point was that all I had was a countdown clock ticking inside me, while three of my sisters had partners warming their cold toes—and other parts—every night.

They wouldn’t have a problem raising a child within the life, because they still believed in the cause.

And they could get knocked up at any moment. Not that any of them was considering the possibility at the moment.

Fate was laughing her ass off, and I was sick of being the joke.

I gave her the finger then finished my third whiskey since I got home. I’d been avoiding going to bed, instead wallowing in my foul mood while lounging on my sofa and cruising YouTube for funny cat videos.

It was almost three in the morning, and I had to get some sleep.

Also, I might have stumbled on the baby shark video during my YouTube deep dive, and now I was tired, a little tipsy, and so fucking mad I could spit because I couldn’t stop hearing the sound of little kid voices singing about sharks.

Worst. Earworm. Ever.

It didn’t help that I wasn’t sleeping great these days. Going to bed after a hard day of monster-hunting and a stout pour of whiskey didn’t provide the guarantee of blissful slumber that it used to.

Because of the dreams.

Vivid, intense. More like immersive memories than anything else.

I blamed hormones and jealousy of my sisters, because the dreams had a common theme: fucking.

Or rather, me being fucked.

The dreams weren’t the same, but they were similar.

I was never wooed, always screwed.

I was always willing, almost desperate.

And I always came.

Should be good, right?

Fall asleep and get off. What more could a single, horny woman want?

Well, I wanted a real man, preferably the kind who was interested in a family, and I wanted these fucking dreams to stop. Pun intended. Because I woke up every morning sexually sated and…alone.

I didn’t like to think about what a pathetic freak I was. I hated that feeling. Better not to have had the dreams at all.

The emotion I choked on as I woke, isolation with a pinch of hopelessness, wasn’t about my biological clock. It wasn’t even about the sex.

It was about the missing warmth at my back. The lack of caring hands on my skin. The absence of a simple human touch.

I wanted a child, but that aching loneliness I felt after waking from one of my recurring dreams wasn’t about the baby I didn’t have. It was about companionship. An emotional connection. Love.

And they were just as far from my grasp as a child. Technically, all I needed to procreate was sperm. If I got desperate enough, unprotected sex with some fool from a bar would suffice.

But then how would I raise my little girl? Drop her at daycare while I tracked slime beasts all night long? Let my mother train her? That was no way for a child to grow up. Without a loving father, drilled from the moment of her earliest memory to believe that her worth was wrapped up irrevocably with her ability to hunt and kill monsters.

After beating my innocent sofa with a clenched fist, I decided I was losing my mind. Probably from a lack of high-quality, undisturbed sleep.

Maybe tonight I’d get a respite. A reprieve from my pornographic subconscious.

Or not…

***

He mounted me from behind.

Always.

I could never see his face, just feel the strength of him. His muscular thighs against me, the brush of his hard cock, his thick fingers as he teased me.

I was always wet and wanting, waiting for him.

Strong hands lifted my hips, and he was there, the broad, bare head of his cock pressing into me, stretching me, filling me.

I shifted my hips back. I wanted him deeper, closer.

As if he could read my mind, he covered me, his chest to my back, his arms bracketing mine, fully seating himself inside me.

I should have felt overwhelmed by his much bigger body. Pinned by his strength. Trapped, even. I was a Van Helsing for fuck’s sake. We dominated—in all things. Instead, I felt…warm.

Safe.

Wanted.

He nuzzled my neck, nosing the strands of my hair aside. Soft butterfly kisses followed, then he lapped at my skin and inhaled, as if my scent and taste intoxicated him.

At the first graze of his teeth, my pussy clenched around him. My pulse pounded with fear and anticipation. I wanted…didn’t want…wasn’t sure…

But then he shifted, lifting his chest from my back, and grasped my hips firmly.

I knew what was coming next.

Me.

Why was I punny when I was all worked up and needy? That was so wrong.

The thought fled as he thrust, short and shallow, teasing me, then slow and deep.

He worked me over like he could read my mind. He knew just when to go hard, when to slow the pace, how to make me so achy with need I thought I might die from it.

And then—

Bliss.

My orgasm rolled through me wave after wave. I would have collapsed but strong hands held my hips firm. I milked his cock until his release ripped a groan from his chest and he fell on top of me.

The dream ended with me drifting to sleep as the heavy, welcome weight of my faceless lover blanketed me.

***

I woke up with my pillow clutched in my arms and tears on my pillowcase.

Not my finest moment, and it wasn’t the first time.

This shit had to end.

The shrill sound of my admin’s ringtone knocked the last of my pathetically self-pitying thoughts away.

I snagged my cell from the bedside table, noting the late hour. If Leila was calling, then I had a job.

As to why I was sleeping until almost noon when I usually only needed five or six hours of sleep? I had a pretty good guess.

That fucker needed to stop invading my dreams.

What? My non-greeting came out as more of a raspy croak than normal speech.

Unbunch your panties, Maddie. You don’t pay me enough to do my job and be nice when you’re in a mood.

Leila was a decent admin. Better than decent. I didn’t think she’d quit over my recently acquired shitty morning moods, but maybe I should make more of an effort just in case.

Didn’t sleep well. You’re an angel to tolerate me. Hopefully she’d overlook the sarcasm coloring my words. What have you got for me?

A job, she said sharply. What the hell else would I be calling about? And yes, I am an angel. Thank you for noticing, you grumpy shit.

Yeah, she had about as much tolerance for my sarcasm as I had for mornings these days.

I rolled out of bed and conducted the remainder of the conversation on my feet. Amazing how I immediately became more coherent when I wasn’t prone.

An hour later, I was driving to a coffee shop to meet my newest—apparently impatient—client.

Unlike my sister Mariah, I didn’t keep a dedicated office space. Leila preferred to work from home, and I was happy to skip the extra overhead.

And unlike Mia, Mariah, Morgan, and Tilly, I didn’t get most of my cases from the guild. I preferred private clients.

More control. Less oversight. And thank fuck for that, because the local guild leader, the person with final approval on case assignments, was now banging Tilly. I wasn’t about to take my baby sister’s cast-off cases.

An hour had been enough time for a quick workout and even quicker shower, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to make coffee or eat breakfast. Whoever this new client was—Tyler with no last name was all Leila had given me—he was kind of an asshole. He wouldn’t say exactly what the job was, and he’d demanded a noon appointment today.

Since I didn’t take many guild cases and I charged a premium, I couldn’t be all that particular about my private clients’ attitudes. If they weren’t asking me to break the law, then I usually took the case regardless of the size of their ego or their need to have it stroked.

And if they wanted to see me at Ms. Van Helsing’s earliest possible convenience, preferably noon today then I accommodated. He must have pushed Leila’s buttons for her to directly quote his assholish request.

But he was a paying client, so I was delaying my usual breakfast to make his preferred noon meeting time.

On the bright side, Leila claimed he hadn’t quibbled at my rates. I offered a top dollar service and charged accordingly. Some prospective clients tried to haggle, which immediately put them at a disadvantage when we met.

This guy, asshole though he may be, was willing to pay, so I’d suck it up and handle whatever dirty deed he needed doing.

More clients meant more money. More money meant more financial security. More financial security meant I was that much closer to freedom. Because with enough money, I might just consider retiring.

To pop out my own Van Helsing mini-terrors.

That tug in the pit of my stomach, part desperation and part loneliness, hit me again.

Fuck finding an appropriate mate. I was a Van Helsing. I didn’t need a man, not even for procreation. At least not beyond his baby batter. That random-guy-in-a-bar scenario was looking better by the moment.

And if I wasn’t feeling the whole random hookup thing, then there was the local sperm bank. No commitment, complete control. Actually, that sounded pretty fucking fabulous. I made a note to start looking into my options once I tied up this case, whatever it was.

I walked into the coffee shop and scanned the small number of patrons. No way Tyler-no-last-name was one of these normals. Most of them were like me, just here to work, except they were toiling away on a laptop instead of