Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me

By Calista Jayne

Two kinky vampires, one lucky woman.

If my homicidal monster of a stepfather catches me, he will kill me. So I run. I hide. It’s what I’m best at.

Unfortunately, the place I find to hide is filled with its own kind of monsters—the kind who crave my blood.

They also crave my body.

They crave my submission.

And despite the danger, I don’t hide. Because I crave their dominance.

Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me is pretty much what it says on the tin. Biting, dominant vampires. Sexy MFM romance. Suspense. This book is part of a series and does not stand alone.

Please visit the author’s website for a full list of contents and tropes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Calista Jayne
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215013212

Calista Jayne

Calista Jayne adores filthy, smutty romances featuring dominant-yet-tender men. When not writing or reading, she’s falling in love with the heroes in K-dramas or walking along a California beach.

Book preview

1

Autumn

Midnight’s chill seeps into my second-story bedroom through the open window. I sit up in bed, groggy. I was nearly asleep. Is it the cold that woke me, or a sound? I listen carefully, watching the shadows in my room. The house should be empty; Dale is attending an event tonight. I should have told him I was coming home early, but I didn’t want him to ask prying questions or judge me like he always does.

Having to confess that the senator’s son he tried to match me with turned into a total creep would only make my stepdad disappointed in me. Again.

Autumn, would it kill you to behave, to act demure, for one date? he’d ask.

I am not a princess, I always want to yell at him. And you are not a freaking king.

But my mother was a queen, in her own way. My father a king. Both of them filthy rich, powerful in California, revered by other filthy rich and powerful people. But they’re dead, and now my stepfather is in charge. As long as I’m dutiful, as long as I stay out of his way and let him schmooze and wine and dine filthy rich and powerful people like my parents used to do, he’s happy.

When Dale finds out I abandoned stupid Kurt You-better-put-out-because-I’m-the-senator’s-son Van Hopper, he’s going to be pissed.

There’s another noise outside. I throw off the covers and go to the window to close the pane and lock it. I pause before closing it, though, because voices float up from the pool below. Weird—I had no idea Dale was home. But there he is. He’s not alone, either. Who is that? The guy’s face is in shadow, he’s hidden from the blue glow of the pool lighting.

Dale speaks, his voice carrying up to my window, the tone harsh. I told you if you couldn’t handle it, you wouldn’t be useful to me any longer.

I’m sorry, the other man says. I tried, but I couldn’t get them—

Dale holds up a hand and the other guy shrinks back, which puts him more in the light. I recognize his pale blond hair. Marcus Patrick. He’s on the police force. I thought he and Dale were good friends. But the way Dale’s talking to him now sounds anything but friendly.

There’s still a use for you, Dale says, almost as if speaking to himself. I was afraid it would come to this, but the news of your untimely death will garner sympathy—

Dale, Marcus says. You wouldn’t do that. Smithy, come on.

Dale reaches into his pocket. Marcus can’t see it, but from this angle, I can. He takes something out while Marcus shakes his head.

I’ll fix it, Marcus says. I promise, man. Please. I’m begging you.

Dale sighs. Fine. You can fix it.

"Thank you. Thank you, Marcus says. I knew you’d understand. I promise, I can get this done."

Hey, don’t worry, man. Let’s hug it out, Dale says.

Marcus reaches forward, and even from here I can see the stark relief on his face. He looks like he’s crying. Shit. That’s intense, this tough police officer, crying by our pool?

Dale hugs him, then lifts up his hand, the one that had been in his pocket. Something flashes in the pool light. A syringe.

A soft sound of surprise leaves Marcus’s mouth. What—

He topples over, his arms and legs askew. He thuds to the concrete that borders the pool, shakes for a few seconds as if he’s having a seizure, and then goes completely still.

Dale stands over him, staring down dispassionately.

Holy fuck. Holy holy holy fuck fuck fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Did he…? Did I just see what I think I saw?

I should move. I should hide. I should call nine-one-one and get an ambulance here immediately.

Calmly, slowly, Dale takes out his phone. His voice sounds hushed, hurried, totally at odds with his relaxed stance as he says, Yes, operator. I need an ambulance right away. My friend collapsed. He’s unresponsive.

He continues talking into the phone while I back away from the window. My heart thuds painfully loud in my chest.

I didn’t just see that. I didn’t watch from the window while my stepfather stabbed another man with a syringe filled with…something. I didn’t stand here and watch my stepfather kill someone. This is all a terrible nightmare, or a misunderstanding.

What kind of denial am I in right now? It’s not going to serve me. I’m living with a murderer.

Dale Smith has power. Connections. He’s close to every powerful person in the county and beyond. Before JonBell Tech Solutions was dissolved, he was besties with James Bell and all his sycophants and the politicians supporting them. He has dirt on everyone, and I know this because he brags about it constantly.

I can’t stay here. I know he tolerates me because of the trust my mother left in my name, which is under his stewardship. But if I were to disappear, die? Dale might find the right lawyer to get it into his own name. My mom’s money—my money—would be under his control.

I stumble to my closet, my chest tight with panic. I can only grab a few things. My car is in the driveway. Dale will see it when he goes around the side of the house. He’ll realize I’ve been home.

He’ll wonder what I saw.

Jeans. A couple pairs of underwear, an extra bra. A t-shirt, a hoodie. They all go into the leather messenger bag that used to belong to my mom, the one I carry around for my laptop even though Dale is always harassing me to replace it with something classier. I leave the laptop behind—there’s no room for it. I step into my en-suite bathroom and gather a few essentials, stuffing them into the bag as well.

I’m wearing leggings and my favorite band t-shirt that I sleep in. It’ll have to do for now.

A quick check out the window. Dale is leaning back on a lounge chair, trying to sound winded while he tells the dispatcher how hard he’s working on chest compressions for his fallen friend. What a fucking fraud.

I slip down the hall on silent feet, then creep down the stairs. My flip-flops are next to the garage door and I slide them on as I leave.

Out through the garage, to the driveway where my lemon-yellow Karmann Ghia is waiting. Dale’s going to hear the engine when I turn it on, but maybe he’ll think it’s the approaching ambulance. I could wait for the ambulance to arrive and get out under the cover of its sirens, but there’s a chance Dale might come out to meet it. I can’t risk him seeing me. As far as he’s concerned, I was never here.

Be brave, Autumn.

I know it isn’t my mom talking to me. But her voice is as clear as if she’s sitting next to me in the passenger’s seat. She died ten years ago, when I was fifteen. This was her car, and I’ve always felt closer to her when I drive it.

Taking a deep breath, I start the engine. I put the car into gear and roll forward, around the circular end of our driveway.

Autumn! Dale shouts, striding toward me from the side of the house. I didn’t know you were home.

Can I pretend I just got here? No. I’m wearing pajamas.

What was I thinking? He’ll review the security footage, he’ll find out that I was home, in my room, while he was killing Marcus Patrick. He’ll guess that I saw the whole thing.

Frozen with fear, I don’t move as he reaches the window and knocks on it.

Rolling the window down, I fake a smile and say, I just remembered I left my purse at the restaurant. They’re holding it for me, so I’ll be right back.

His gaze flicks past me to the passenger’s seat, where my purse sits like an accusation.

"My other purse," I say.

Dale’s blue eyes, beautiful baby blues as Mom used to call them, harden into chips of ice. I don’t believe you.

Before I can react, his hand is on my wrist, clenching so hard I immediately know it will leave bruises.

I shouldn’t have opened the window so far. Stupid. I wasn’t thinking.

Ow, I say. That hurts, Dale.

Get out of this car right now, he says.

Um, sure.

He relaxes his hold, but doesn’t let me go. He doesn’t believe me.

I’ve always been a terrible liar.

I don’t know what it’ll mean for my arm, but I hit the gas.

He doesn’t let go at first, and his grip tightens before it’s wrenched away.

I gasp at the pain. My car fishtails over the fine gravel driveway before straightening. I speed toward the end, down the path lined with evenly-spaced walnut trees and lush lavender bushes. When will I be able to come back here, to the house my parents raised me in? Maybe never. Even if I go somewhere else and try to explain what my stepfather has done, I don’t think anyone will really listen or care. He’s untouchable.

The gate’s already open; he must have remotely opened it for the ambulance. As I approach, though, it begins to close. He must be trying to block me in. I jam my own remote button, the one attached to my visor. The