Vampire Game: Vampire Game, #1

By Leigh Kelsey

These vampires are every bit as seductive as they are deadly.

When Elara Wood wakes up in a house of strangers—gentle Allen, sultry Scarlett, and Finn, the once-fae protector—she's forced to accept a new diet, a new set of instincts, and a new life. Vampires are real, and after a violent attack, Elara has been turned.

As she recovers with the help and touch of her new friends, a long-dead house of vampires rises from the shadows, and their sights are set on Elara. Her family is harbouring secrets, and a weapon that can kill even the oldest of vampires, and the dark vampire house will stop at nothing to uncover both.

 

Can her new lovers protect her?

Enter the romantic world of Whitby Paranormal - full of vampires, wolves, fae, witches, ghosts, shifters, and more!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leigh Kelsey
• Release date: Oct 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223382171

Leigh Kelsey

Leigh Kelsey writes about psychos with questionable morals and addictions to shiny, stabby objects, but she’s perfectly harmless, she swears. She can be found in Yorkshire, England listening to K-Pop, watching serial killer documentaries, and writing as much spicy paranormal romance as she possibly can in a day. (Where’s that Time Turner when we need it…?)

Book preview

DEATH AND UNDEATH

My death came with little warning: a sense of something sinister and the sound of footsteps behind me. Before I could get my house keys from my pocket and slide them between my fingers, the sharp points outward, a hand grabbed my throat. Choked off my air supply. Sweat beaded and panic bled through me. I thrashed, screaming as little as I could with those merciless fingers squeezing my windpipe, kicking, stepping on his instep, but it was like fighting a boulder. Every self-defence move useless.

His—I knew it was a man not just because of the strength but because of that voice in my ear.

Send a message to your mother. Tell her the Bay House never forgets and we do not forgive. It was never hers to keep.

I could barely process the words, so light with dizziness, so heavy with fear. Even as I brought the points of my keys into his side hard enough to hurt, a last weak effort, he ignored my cries as he sunk long, wicked teeth into my neck—and tore out my throat.

Pain, furious and all consuming, and then utter darkness.

Until this: waking up in the cold and the bright, my skin burning but frozen inside, as if all my vital organs had been shot with liquid nitrogen. And sounds that, so slowly, resolved into voices, into words.

"What were you thinking?"

Leave it, Scarlett. Male, growling. I fought a shudder. It wasn’t the same voice I’d heard on the country lane but still, the anger hitched my breath. "I know."

"What did we agree the minute we settled in Whitby? We wouldn’t turn anyone, we’d blend in."

I didn’t—

Of all the stupid mistakes, Allen. You had to turn someone without a single drop of vampire blood in their family line...

My mind shut off, blocking out the words. I burned like hell, my head was pounding hard, and I didn’t recognise either of those voices. I had been ... kidnapped. The word came slowly, reluctantly. I couldn’t believe it but there was too much evidence. Being followed down the road toward home, getting grabbed, and waking up here. The ache in my throat didn’t fit, or being bitten, but the burning frost in my blood ... drugged. I had been drugged. Gods. I shifted the tiniest amount, testing for soreness between my legs, but everything felt normal. So ... not rape. The idea made me sick, but it had to be thought. So that left money, but my mum was skint, not someone you’d ransom. It made no sense.

I was missing something.

While my captors argued, I cracked open my eyelids. Golden opulence: chandeliers hanging above me, a gilded picture rail holding old-looking paintings and photos. But when I dropped my gaze beneath them, the rest of the room—a sitting room—was lodge-like. Almost homey. Thick, earth-toned rugs, comfy sofas upon one of which I found myself, and warm honey light coming from several lamps, their illumination catching the waxy leaves of many plants, the black screen of an LED TV, and rows upon rows of books, DVDs, CDs, and vinyl. What kind of kidnapper’s lair was this? I opened my eyes wider, confused and trying to get a glimpse of the man and woman speaking.

Maybe ... maybe I hadn’t been kidnapped. I wasn’t bound, and although my head felt like hell and I was ice cold inside, there were other explanations. Maybe the November roads had presented a deadly peril; maybe I’d hit a patch of black ice and cracked my head open. It would explain that memory of getting my throat torn open, and the creeping feeling I was ignoring, the certainty that I had ... died.

Whatever had happened, I had two obvious choices. I could lay here in a house with two strangers, pretending to sleep, or I could let them know I was awake and go home. Right now, the only thing I wanted was to crawl into my own bed, listening to the sound of my mum banging about in the workshop on her latest creation. I was suddenly, horribly homesick. Even though I’d only been away since eight this morning when I went to work. My choice was clear. I’d roll the dice with these strangers and get out, get home, ASAP.

But even with new conviction, my stomach still gnashed and flipped as I swung my legs over the side of the sofa, ripping a fawn fleece off my body, and got to my feet. Behind me a fire roared, and it must have been blazing hot in this room, especially since I was still in my coat, but inside I was like a block of ice. In front of me ... the source of those voices came into focus: a woman in her thirties and a man a few years older than me, twenty-three maybe. Both of their intent, sharp gazes snapped to me as I moved, fast enough to make my head blur. I reached for the arm of the sofa to steady myself.

The woman, Scarlett he’d called her, looked like she’d stepped out of the roaring twenties. Blonde, curvaceous, and with red lips in a disapproving pout. She wore dark blue jeans and a cold shoulder jumper in simple beige but there was something about her, some ageless beauty. Maybe it was her hair, a bob of sleek honey waves, or the way she held herself.

The man was different. Harder in his beauty, a more angular face with hollow cheeks and slashes of eyebrows above forest green eyes, but the look on his bronze face and the way he held himself was softer than Scarlett. He stood with his arms crossed over a slate grey Henley, the tips of his black hair brushing his shoulders, staring at me in what I read as shock. Scarlett however narrowed her eyes in something like suspicion.

Who are you? I asked in a voice that clenched my heart in panic. That voice... Flat, toneless, nothing like mine. Fear rose in me, thumping my heart—beating, I hissed at that feeling inside me, beating with blood and life—but my voice was utterly emotionless when I demanded, Where am I?

Had I been drugged? I was back to that line of suspicion, alarm drumming through me. What had they done to me, for any feeling to get lost in translation from mind to tongue? I shuddered, wanting to back up a step—but looking scared was the last thing I needed. I marched a step closer to them, my arms crossed over my chest.

Scarlett and the man exchanged a glance.

"Where am I?" I spat, managing to get some iota of feeling into my voice. I sounded merely miffed when I was raging but it was something. The two strangers looked at each other again, shock in their eyes.

You’re safe, the man said. Any anger was erased from his voice. As if he wanted me to trust him. But I wasn’t falling for a gentle voice and puppy dog eyes. You were ... attacked. I found you bleeding and brought you here. It was closer than a hospital, he added quickly at whatever sluggish emotion passed through my eyes.

I shook my head, even more suspicious, touching my neck where I remembered the pain. No stitches or cut or even a tender bruise. I narrowed my eyes. I’m leaving. Thanks for the help. I strode for the big, honey wood door I could glimpse over Scarlett’s shoulder, Whitby Bay visible through the large glass panes of it. She stepped neatly into my path, her mouth twisted with wry amusement.

You’re not going anywhere. It’s not safe.

I’ll be fine, I said, shaking now with fear and anger. I really was trapped, captive, and it was fully sinking in. No ropes or bindings but still ... kidnapped. I couldn’t fight both of them, not when the man was broad shouldered and muscular enough to be a rugby player. Cold, cold fear squirmed in my gut.

Scarlett sighed, her ire lessening slightly. It’s not safe for everyone out there, she explained. Was that pity? My heart beat faster. "For you to be around them."

I reeled back, offended and afraid and a hundred more nameless feelings. What? I breathed.

It was the man who lifted a hand to me, placating, his eyes so soft as he said, You’re not human anymore.

INTO HELL

W hat’s your name? Allen asked minutes later, once I’d shut off