Being Dracula's Heir: Being Mrs. Dracula series, #3

By Faith Marlow

America, 1929.

 

After a near-death experience in Budapest, Valeria is ready to start over in New York City. But, hope quickly fades as she stumbles upon a grisly murder, proving that she isn't the only vampire who's decided to make the "city that never sleeps" their home.

This vicious attack puts her desperate desire to move forward on hold as she, along with her lover, Lamond, and nephew, Emil, rush to quell the threat to their kind. Time is brutal, but immortality can be worse.

 

Old enemies. New allies. Same damn coffin. Being Dracula's heir.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweetly Twisted Books
• Release date: Jul 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201859015

Book preview

PROLOGUE

January 1900

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The smell of blood and death had soaked into every surface of the abandoned compound, overpowering those who entered. Three figures fanned out from the central hallway, each going in a different direction. Their long, bleached leather coats nearly drug the ground, the collars turned high against their necks. They were silent, aside from their footsteps.

Man down in the hall, a male voice called, standing over the rotting corpse of a red-haired man. He took a knife from his boot and pulled his cloak from the carnage at his neck, a gaping wound of shredded flesh and muscle. He was stuck to the ground by dried blood and the concoction of fluids his body had naturally released on its journey back to dust. The group’s leader stepped around him as he investigated.

Thank you, Grimm, he said as he passed him, touching his shoulder. Please see if you can locate anything we may be able to identify this man by.

Yes, Master Zalmus. Grimm nodded and carefully navigated the mess to complete his task without complaint or hesitation.

There are bullet holes in the walls, sir, a pistol, two, perhaps three by the casings on the ground. A least one bullet made its mark, judging by the splatter.

I have a bullet wound here, his arm, Grimm added.

Thank you, Strabo. He addressed each of his followers with eye contact and a nod of his head. Even though their work was considered to be of the highest importance, consideration, and common courtesy for their efforts were not overlooked. Excellent work, gentlemen, both of you.

The three continued down the hall to the largest room of the compound. It was a torture chamber. They fanned out to cover more ground. There was so much to investigate and the atrocious stench was all but pushing them back outside.

Another man down here, Grimm shouted to the others. They joined him by the husk of a body laying in front of a chair that had been engineered into an instrument of pain. The ankle, wrist, and forehead restraints were still rimmed with dried blood, and long, blonde hairs were matted to the back of the chair with it.

Grimm, collect a sample of that, please, their leader politely requested as he pointed to the restraints. He nudged the heap of decomposing man away from the chair with the toe of his boot to allow his colleague better access.

Zalmus frowned at the stench that boiled up from disturbing the corpse, squinting as he looked at the discolored skin of his face. Best I can tell, this would be the remains of Arminius.

Yes, sir. Grimm quickly began work at his task, seemingly unaffected by the horrible stench just a couple of feet from him. He unclipped a leather pack from his belt and opened it, rolling it out on the ground to expose the assorted vials, chemicals, and tools necessary to collect and preserve his specimens.

This one wasn’t bitten, sir. His neck was broken, Strabo shouted. His Solomonari colleagues joined him. Look at his arm, what’s left of it. The bandages are bloodied. The wound was still fresh when he died. There’s blood on his other hand. Given his handicap, he most likely ambushed his victim. There’s a knife there, but none of these men were stabbed. He pointed to the blood-encrusted blade not far from the chair. It bore their insignia.

Thank you, Strabo. There’s a large bloodstain near the cage that I would be willing to bet is the place where the amputation occurred. As for his victim, we can only assume. We will test the blood on the knife and his hand as well, please. Master Zalmus’ followers nodded in agreement.

So, we have a chair with silver restraints surrounded by lanterns with cross-shaped cutouts, a cage with crosses worked into the bars and two men who bled to death from what appears to be bite wounds to the neck. I believe it is abundantly clear what sort of prisoner was being held here.

A vampire, Grimm responded to the rhetorical question. The blood tests will confirm it. That would explain why that one lost his arm, most likely a bite, amputated to stop the infection.

Yes, which means the question we must ask is ‘who was being tortured here and to what ends?’ Zalmus rubbed his nose, having tolerated the stench of decay all he could. Not to mention, who came to their rescue? The door did not break itself down, after all. If Strabo is correct, and he usually is, at least one of the rescuers found the business end of that one’s knife. There has to be more information here somewhere. Arminius was a scholar. His research will be recorded.

Grimm nodded, jaw set. He would discover Arminius’ secrets and find out what became of the vampire he had held prisoner.

PART I

BEGINNING AGAIN

CHAPTER ONE

June 1929

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Valeria opened her eye wide, generously applying black eyeliner at her lashes. She blinked several times, checking back and forth between each eye to ensure they matched. Modern mirrors were no longer painted solely with silver-based paints, allowing her to see her reflection for the first time in centuries. Pleased with what she saw, she selected a tube of rich, brick red lipstick and carefully began to form the trendy Cupid’s bow on her top lip. A kiss interrupted her as it brushed her bare shoulder like a breeze.

Beautiful as always, mon ange, Lamond whispered as he looked into the mirror over her shoulder.

Her flaxen pin curls framed her face perfectly, her long locks knotted into a bun at the nape of her neck. The liberal, dark eye and lip of the age accentuated her flawless marble skin. Hers was a look of perfection unattainable by mere mortal women no matter how much cosmetics they used. She finished her lipstick and smiled warmly, looking at their reflections. For the first time in what had felt like an eternity, she was able to see herself, and the world, clearly.

Thank you, she turned and playfully kissed his cheek, purposely leaving a lipstick memento. And you are ever so dashing, Monsieur Delaflote.

Lamond grinned, took the handkerchief from his jacket pocket, and dobbed away the scarlet token. He refolded and returned it, and then pulled at his collar and tie before straightening his vest and jacket with a wink. Another straight jacket for another age, my love, but at least you like it.

Well, I’ll like it better later, tossed over that chair with your shirt and trousers. She smiled devilishly. Lamond responded by taking her hand and whisking her into his arms. The layers of intricately beaded fringe on her dress, which created a black and silver chevron pattern, chimed lightly with her movement and felt cool beneath his hands.

Is that so, he responded with a raised eyebrow and his most charming smile, a hint of a growl in his voice.

It is, she said, lightly biting her bottom lip. He leaned in for a kiss but settled with just a peck, choosing not to smudge her carefully shaped lips. Valeria’s surprise was evident in her expression. That’s it? That’s all I get?

"Oh yes, ma’am, for now, it is. I have watched you primp and style yourself for the last two hours. I have no intention of making a mess of all that work before we even leave the house.

Later then? she asked playfully, already knowing the answer. Looking deep into the unique green of his eyes, which had remarkably remained unchanged by his transformation, she waited for the faint wrinkles to form at their corners with his smile. Once they appeared, she smiled back at him, contently, happily.

What is it? he questioned, knowing there was more on her mind than she was revealing. He traced the edge of her curls and down her jawline with his fingertip, admiring her flawless features. His mind raced with a thousand questions as to her thoughts.

Nothing, I just love your smile, she answered, squeezing him around his waist, hands clasped behind his back.

He pulled her close, and she snuggled into his arms with her head nestled under the square of his jaw. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, greeted by hints of jasmine. The large white plume attached to her black sequined headband tickled his face, but he only chuckled under his breath and leaned his head back and to the side to keep clear of it.

I love you. Do you know that?

And I love you, Lamond, her response came easy, comfortable. Three words, eight letters that had once been so difficult to say and so difficult to accept, now rolled off her tongue effortlessly. He could feel his chest lightly expand, so proud of her and how far she had come from the brokenhearted creature he had met in Paris thirty years ago.

You, my dear, are dangerously close to having your makeup ruined, he responded, feeling the contours and curves of her body beneath her dress.

My, my, just a moment ago, you were the paradigm of patience. What happened to that? She giggled lightly and released his waist, taking his hand to lead him to the door.

"Did you spend any of that time in front of the mirror actually looking at yourself? he asked as he grabbed his hat from the hook as he passed. As she led him down the hallway, he suddenly stopped and brought her dancing back to his arms with a spin. You haven’t made things easy for me today."

I’ll make sure it’s worth the wait, she said, arching her eyebrows for accentuation, nearly leaping from his embrace to the elevator. He trotted behind her, watching her be happy. If he were so fortunate as to bask in the light of his softly burning star for a thousand lifetimes, it would not be long enough.

Out onto the crowded street, the balmy summer air was heavy with the smells of a large city. Vehicle exhaust, factory emissions, the briny scent of the harbor, and the human element all mixed to give each city its own individual smell. New York was no exception. A bustling metropolis with an exciting nightlife, an ocean away from everything they had ever known. It was precisely what Valeria had needed to heal the wounds dealt to her by Arminius. It was a new world for a new life, a fresh start in a young country. America was the land of the free and the home of the brave. Lamond figured they qualified on both counts.

Valeria’s favorite club was a reasonable distance from their apartment, and whenever the weather was suitable for humans to walk, so would they. Just like an actress preparing to step onto the stage, this was all a part of the charade, another side of the illusion. Her pace quickened, and by the time they could see the lights of the marquee and hear the music, they were nearly running. As full of life as she had been on the walk, once she crossed the threshold of the club, she became a new creature. The warmth of the dancing patrons, the energetic beat of live jazz, laughing, talking, shoe heels clicking on the dance floor, all enveloped them like open arms. She led him to the dance floor, falling in with the other dancers in the wildly popular Charleston.

With her hand on his shoulder and his behind her back, they clasped their palms together and pulled their bodies close. As their feet stamped out the furious rhythm, Lamond watched the energy of the scene transfusing into her, absorbing through her skin and invigorating her almost as if she had had a blood meal. She was radiant, practically glowing under the flattering lights, by far the most beautiful woman in the room. He knew her enough to know that her beauty was the last thing on her mind. She rarely considered it at all, but he saw the captivated stares as she walked down the street, the stunned men and jealous women in the shops, and the envious dancers and onlookers of the clubs when her perfection stood out a little more than it should. The song ended with a crescendo, and he pulled her into his arms with a dip. She looked up to him and smiled widely, displaying her curiously sharp pearly whites.

Careful, beautiful, he gently reminded, placing a finger to her lips as though he was quieting her, suggesting she bridle her smile. Quickly lifting her to her feet, he pulled her close as the band began to play another song, and the dance changed to a Fox Trot.

Sorry about that, she whispered in his ear as they swept around the room. I’d hate to spook somebody and make a scene. Wouldn’t it be a drag if we couldn’t come back here?

It sure would, baby, he responded, both doing their best to blend into their new, adopted society. Their wardrobe had been an easy fix and had simply changed over time, but their thick, old world accents proved a bit more difficult to mask. However, New York City was indeed a melting pot, a cornucopia of cultures where English was a second language to many. Hence, a heavy accent was a matter of little concern. The voices of their pasts were slowly giving way to a trendy, more American style of speaking, fading into the shadows. Immortality was a constant, willful practice of evolution, not a passive act if one wanted to blend in and not merely be relegated to a slinking shadow in the night. Life was for living, and finally, Valeria was ready to live it well.

At the end of the song, Lamond and Valeria retreated to a table for a rest they didn’t need but had to take. It would be nothing for them to dance the entire night away, to dance until the band passed out, but that would undoubtedly draw attention. They had to remember to pace themselves, to rest, and feign being winded. At least Prohibition had made it easier not to be a social drinker, and no one seemed to notice that they never ate while they were out.

Where’s Emil? Lamond asked, raising slightly and stretching his neck to look above the crowd to search the room for a hint of his presence. I thought he would be here by now.

Valeria closed her eyes and felt out with her senses, homing in on her vampire progeny nephew, followed by a deflated sigh. No, he’s not here. He’s still working.

It was not the first time Emil had failed to keep their plans, and she knew it would not be the last. In his eyes, their endless nights of dancing and partying were a waste of time, a squander of the immortal gifts they had been given. He aspired to greater ambitions, larger goals, yet he was still uncertain as to how he would achieve them. She knew he needed space to chart his own course, to understand what immortality meant to him on a personal level. Only he could answer those questions, and the answers might not be what she would choose for him. He needed time, which was abundant. She needed patience, which wasn’t as plentiful.

Discovering and mastering the new aspects of his nature had come easily to Emil. Just weeks after his rebirth, he acquired Vlad’s ability to change his body into a thick, rolling fog. That was quickly followed by the form of a giant bat, just a few days later. Like Lamond, he had not been bound to a region at his rebirth like Dracula and his brides had been, which enabled him to travel without the need of Hungarian soil. Like Valeria, he was able to remain aware during the hours of dawn to noon but unable to move. It had taken her centuries to achieve this feat, but he had accomplished it in just over a year—a deathlike sleep still trapped Lamond after thirty years of immortality.

Emil’s situation was unique. He had been created by two separate vampires, first bitten by Vlad when he was just a child and then tasting Valeria’s blood just moments before his human death at the hand of Arminius’ henchman years later. He inherited the strengths and abilities of both his creators while avoiding many of their weaknesses. Only time would tell what other abilities would present themselves, something that didn’t seem to stress Emil in the least. For now, it seemed he was happier pretending to still be human.

Hey, this is no time to be a downer, Lamond whispered, drawing her back from her slump.

Emil had been content to stay with them for several years after his rebirth, but now he sought independence and privacy. He no longer needed Valeria’s watchful eye, and it ached her motherly heart to feel unnecessary. It seemed like only the night before, he was a fragile human with his life bleeding away through her fingers. Now he was nearly as strong as she was, powerful but inexperienced, and that was the part that worried her.

Determined to distract her, Lamond stood and held out his hand for her. May I have this dance, beautiful?

You know it.

The pace of the music slowed, and the patrons fell into a slow waltz.

I’m sorry he didn’t make it, Val, he whispered as he swept her around the dance floor.

It’s fine…

Right, he responded sarcastically. "When you say it’s fine, I know it is anything but fine."

Valeria frowned, wrinkling her nose. It just bothers me, that’s all. He works like he needs the money. This stock market business is the cat’s meow. A pretty face and a little charm, and those guys on Wall Street sing like canaries. I always get the scoop on the best stocks, and everyone makes money. It’s a perfect situation. I can’t lose.

It’s not a bad thing to be independent, self-sufficient. You taught him to take care of himself, not to have to rely on anyone. You can’t expect him to go back on that now, especially since he is more capable now than he’s ever been.

"I know, but he should be enjoying himself. He should be living it up. Would it be so bad if he just lived the high life for a little while? I don’t know why he insists on living in that tiny apartment."

Because he pays for it himself and doesn’t have to take handouts from you.

It’s not handouts.

I know that; you know that; he even knows that. He wants to provide for himself, just like any other young man in the city.

You mean like any human man?

Give him time, Valeria. It’s not easy adjusting to immortality. He kissed her cheek as they turned in circles in time with the other couples. Humanity hangs on a little tighter for some than others. I figured out quick that I had a lot to look forward to in this new life. I can only imagine it’s harder for others to let go of the past.

You’re right. I know you are, but this hasn’t been easy for me, either.

Time, mon ange, time.

Emil worked at a feverish pace, carefully keeping up with the men toiling alongside him as the never-ending cascade of freshly printed papers rolled off the press and directly to them. It was their task to sort and tie the stacks of papers into more manageable bundles for transport and delivery. As his co-workers sweat bullets around him, Emil was cool and comfortable but followed their cues to blend in. He wiped his brow occasionally, arched his back to stretch it, whatever seemed necessary.

As soon as he and Valeria were comfortable with his control of his abilities, he began looking for work in his chosen trade. For him, there was no other profession than printing. The smell of the ink and paper, the hum of the machines, and the frenzied rush of the environment had captured his heart long before it stopped beating. Despite his apprenticeship in Brasov with Mihai, Emil had no other course but to start over in New York. His apparent youth and inability to document any of his previous experience meant he had to begin his journey at the New York Times at a much lower position than he was suited for, but he had taken the setback in stride. He had nothing but time.

Instead of squandering his nights at dance halls or carousing around the city with flappers, he had chosen what he believed to be a more honorable use of immortality, spreading knowledge to the masses. Knowledge was power, and he had witnessed that firsthand with his work at The Gazeta de Transilvania. Soon enough, he would prove his skill and worth to his foreman, and he would be able to secure himself an apprenticeship with a rotary pressman or maybe even at a Linotype machine.

He thought of Valeria and knew she would be upset that he had broken his promise to meet with them yet again. She felt he needed to relax, dance, and entertain himself as they did, but his work brought him joy. He preferred the dependable, predictable nature of his routine. He understood that they, too, were working through what they had experienced in Budapest, just in vastly different ways. He wanted to continue with a life similar to that which was taken from him, and she wanted anything but. He chuckled under his breath as he hoisted a bundle of newspapers onto the stack, feeling more like the father than the child in their relationship.

Hours passed, the smell of sweat mixing with the scent of the printed papers and the exhaust from the delivery trucks. He knew Valeria was thinking of him, pondering him intently. He could feel her presence like an itch in the back of his mind, as though she was watching him from across the room. She wasn’t able to read his mind, but their connection was strong enough to raise his awareness. He shook it off and refocused his thoughts on his work.

Emil knew almost to the moment when Valeria stopped waiting for him, as though the burning chill of her blood-red and icy blue eyes had been diverted elsewhere. Something else had her attention, thank God. Human children with even the strictest of mothers would never be able to understand the absolute impossibility of sharing a psychic bond with their parents. Not only was she able to pick up on his mood, tone, and body language like any attentive human mother would, Valeria had a way of sensing out his location and his general mood. She couldn’t read his thoughts, for which he would be eternally grateful, but it was enough.

If he left the city, he knew the moment she realized the distance between them. If he became too angry, worried, or scared, he would almost immediately feel the shadow of her concern. If he were exuberantly happy or excited, she would find a way to ask him leading questions while trying not to be too obvious as to why. Subtlety was not one of Valeria’s strongest traits. More than one argument had erupted between them because, whether intentional or not, her hovering was an invasion of his privacy. At least when he was a human, he had not been aware of the full extent of their connection. It had grown with him, a subconscious part of him, he knew nothing else. It was only after his death and rebirth in Arminius’ lair did he become aware that he could feel her presence when she had her mind set on him

Although frustrating and sometimes infuriating, he knew she didn’t always mean to intrude. Their link had been forged when he was a child. It was as though it had formed by sheer determination to ensure his safety and commitment to his mother. Valeria adored Ilona, and like him, her absence was a wound that would never fully heal. They had both learned to become proficient in living with a damaged heart. Together, they were the last connections to that time with her, to her life. Ilona’s love for both of them was so great that it was no wonder it had stitched him and Valeria together so tightly.

Emil, a co-worker tapped his shoulder. He had become so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized he’d stopped working. He stood like a statue by the conveyor belt, newspaper bundles passing him by, increasing the workload for those downstream. Emil, are you alright, man? You sick? You’re clammy as a fish.

Emil gasped and returned to the present, looking around to see who all had noticed his slip. Everyone on the line was looking at him.

Yeah, sorry. He shook his head and flinched, rubbing the back of his neck while thinking of an appropriate lie. Just tired is all. It’s been a long week.

Well, it’s just Wednesday, so you better hurry your ass up, another guy called out, playfully serious.

Alright, I hear ya, Emil barked back, knowing he would be roasted for a while over his lapse. Geez, work like a machine around here for months, make one mistake, and boom! The whole team turns on you.

The men chuckled and grumbled faux sincerity as they worked, Emil carefully outpacing them ever so slightly. He wanted them to be able to see he had upped his effort after his mistake. If they only knew, if it were possible for them to understand the depths of their different yet strangely similar lives, they would be more than understanding of a case of absentmindedness induced by the paranormal nagging of his hovering aunt. If he could only tell them the truth, but that was impossible. Everyone he knew, aside from Valeria and Lamond, had to be kept at a safe distance.

Like every night, the streets of New York City buzzed with the frantic energy of a beehive. It seemed New Yorkers were always going somewhere, to and fro, never satisfied with where they were. Valeria and Lamond walked softly through the bedlam, another night out on the town, passing through the rushing river of humanity swirling around them. The world existed apart from them, almost as though they were explorers from another planet or spies sent forward in time from the past. They allowed themselves to be swept away by the scents, emotions, and heartbeats, casually strolling as though they were viewing priceless works of art at the Louvre.

It had been a week since Emil had broken their plans, but she’d decided to wait until another night to invite him out on the town again. She and Lamond were both in need of a drink, and sometimes having your child, adult or not, tagging along was awkward. This was especially the case if that drink came with a little something extra. Tonight, if things went according to plan, would be a night for drink and debauchery.

Picking out the perfect meal amid such sensory overload was difficult. The ability to single out a distinct aroma from the conglomeration came with time and practice. Much the way a taster can train their palette to discern the quality of a wine, they could use all their senses to home in on the most appealing flavor. But like all New Yorkers, Valeria and Lamond knew the best place to find a drink was just out of sight of the public eye.

Speakeasies were like vampires, existing in the shadows, on the peripheral vision of society. Even though the bootleg bars were not supposed to be doing business, everyone knew they were there, waiting for the cover of night to welcome their patrons, secretive and hidden in plain sight. Valeria hoped their kind never became such a well-known unknown. Vampires needed to stay in the shadows and keep a low profile. If not, slayers would raid and destroy just like the prohibition officers searching for illegal liquor.

Turning out of the current of pedestrians and into a narrow alley, they headed for the sturdy steel door, illuminated from above by a simple red bulb. Lamond knocked on the door three times and waited, standing in the halo of crimson light. A slot in the door slid open, and a pair of skeptical eyes peered out.

Who sent you?

Hank, we’re members. You know that. Lamond cracked a silver smile and pulled a membership card out of the breast pocket of his jacket, flashing it at the bouncer.

You know the drill, Frenchie. Come on in, the voice changed from gruff to welcoming, the slot slid closed, and the door swung open. As they strutted inside, the doorman looked Valeria over appreciatively. Lookin’ sharp tonight, Val.

Thank you for noticing. She smiled with a wink, brushing her hands over the green sequins and fringe of her dress. Hank shook his head, arms crossed over his barrel chest, watching as they disappeared into the crowded bar.

Lucky bastard got a face like Gary Cooper and a girl like Greta Garbo... must be nice.

If being on the street was like standing in the middle of a river, entering the speakeasy was like jumping into the deep end of a lake. Everything was more concentrated, stronger, louder. They could barely hear the music over the thunderous cascade of heartbeats. They slipped over to an empty table, allowing themselves to acclimate to their new surroundings. Slowly, the pounding hearts stepped back from the forefront, the cacophony of voices became separable, the human smell and heat not so overwhelming.

The entire room, its patrons leaning against the bar and huddled around tables, was like a wine cellar, stocked with every imaginable vintage. Domestic, foreign, and rare flavors were all represented, the young and fresh stood shoulder to shoulder with the old and seasoned. Valeria swallowed hard, the burn rising in her throat with the tempo of the music. Lamond pulled his tight collar away from his throat, shifting his neck and shoulders uncomfortably. He felt the burn as well. The unifying trait of everyone in attendance was thirst.

They scanned the room with their predator eyes, looking for someone susceptible, convenient. The room was alive, roaring, and bouncing with life, music, and dance. Little did the humans know, their frolicking and lust for life only added flavor to their blood. The environment created some of the most revitalizing blood they had ever consumed. Valeria and Lamond drew in the energy like water to a dry sponge, felt it soaking into them.

It didn’t take very long until their eyes were set on a couple of potential candidates. They watched them individually as they moved around the club, noting their behavior, habits, and acquaintances. Despite the screaming thirst, they had to be cautious. Operating in public offered a nearly endless buffet of flavors to choose from, but it was a dangerous game. One hasty, misplaced move could not only mean losing a meal but blowing their cover. It could mean never returning to their favorite spot, or leaving the city entirely, depending on how grievous the mistake.

Third from the left at the bar, red bow tie, Valeria pointed out her mark to Lamond. He was a clean-shaven, baby faced young man with sandy brown hair. He watched the bustling activity with the wide eyes of someone new to the city.

Right off the farm, huh?

Valeria rolled her eyes. Alright wise guy, whaddya have?

The wallflower near the coatroom. He directed her gaze with a noticeable hint of pride in his voice.

Good work, Monsieur Delaflote,

She was instantly aware of Lamond’s sense of gloat. The young woman he had his eye on was a beauty with a short, wavy brunette bob that was partially covered by a thick satin headband. The fabric matched the champagne layers of her dress, accented by a long string of faux pearls that she nervously twisted around her fingers as she scanned the room.

Go work your magic, baby.

Lamond raised his eyebrows suggestively and leaned over the table to steal a kiss before disappearing into the swarming crowd. A couple of moments later, she saw him sit beside her, much to her surprise. Valeria could almost taste the nervous tension emanating from her and smiled as she watched all traces of it disappear from her face with a nervous giggle as they chatted. He was as smooth as silk, charming, beautiful. Her unease soothed into flattery, and then slowly bloomed into aroused interest. Valeria shifted in the booth, feeling her hosiery rub together at her thighs, and gently nibbled her finger with one fang. He was intoxicating. His little wallflower didn’t stand a chance.

A few minutes later,