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Ravenous
Ravenous
Ravenous
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Ravenous

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Touch of Vampire: Caitlin O'Roarke studied the man behind the glass--a man with no identity or place in this world--a mystery she meant to unravel. She didn't realize by taking his case that her normal way of life was about to come undone, and that his claims of being a vampire were completely true.

Seized by the Vampire Lord: Daegon Erlansson vowed to possess the flame-haired beauty for his voracious appetites. Long had he lived in solitude, alone with his immense powers in his accursed wood. His thirst for her innocent blood was strong. And her struggles against his rough seduction enflamed the passion stirring his undead blood to feverish heights.

Resurrection: It cost her a pint of blood, literally, to gain membership, and Tara is determined to get her money's worth--however terrified she is of getting caught visiting the bordello. Her 'host', Michel, who is to be her midnight lover, fulfills her secret fantasy in a way she hadn't dreamed possible.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 9, 2017
ISBN9781386777496
Ravenous

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    Book preview

    Ravenous - Celeste Anwar

    RAVENOUS

    Alphas with Bite

    A collection of vampire romance

    Celeste Anwar

    Jaide Fox

    Touch of Vampire by Celeste Anwar © 2017

    Seized by the Vampire Lord by Jaide Fox © 2012

    Resurrection by Celeste Anwar © 2012

    TOUCH OF VAMPIRE

    Celeste Anwar

    © Copyright Celeste Anwar, January 2017

    Cover art by Eliza Black © copyright January 2017

    www.celesteanwar.com

    Table of Contents

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter One

    Caitlin O’Roarke never expected to encounter a man who shouldn’t exist in her lifetime.  In every modern sense, he didn’t belong here.  He had no name, no fingerprints on record, no photo ID on file...no past other than the one that had begun the night he’d been picked up by the police.

    Caitlin stood close enough to the glass it fogged slightly with every breath she took.  The old building’s ventilation units struggled to keep the interior tolerable against the wind chill blasting the brick façade outside, and she wasn’t sure if the whistling in the dropped ceiling was the heat or fingers of cold creeping in. Her skin pebbled with goosebumps in spite of the slightly heated air swirling around the hallway.

    She struggled to maintain her professionalism, working against odd sensations fighting for dominance.  Feelings of fear and something else she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.  She shivered involuntarily and hugged her tablet tight against her chest.  Something about watching the man, John Doe, on the opposite side of the glass did that to her.

    It seemed she’d stood there for days, frozen in place, but she’d only just come up after familiarizing herself with what little information there was to be had on John Doe.  The name didn’t fit him.  It was a name for an average, forgettable man, and he didn’t come close to that description.  This man was as exotic as he was enigmatic—unusual, more than the long hair that needed to be cut.  His eyes were old in a young face—not in a physical sense, but ageless, knowing, almost...sad and definitely apathetic.

    He looked somewhere between his late twenties and mid-thirties, but he seemed to lack the normal indicators of age.  Angular cheekbones made his cheeks look gaunt from the sharp cut lines of his jaw and facial bones. His ebony hair and thick black brows accentuated his pale coloring, but he had the look of distant Eastern Europe ancestry in his dark eyes—like the Roma or perhaps Iberian.

    She knew he couldn’t see her through the glass, but he stared straight at the spot where she stood, sending a shiver down her spine.

    She shook herself as though awakening from a sleep.  How long had she been standing there, just looking?  What would her colleagues think about her ogling a patient?  She knew what they’d think—the same thing as always.  She wasn’t professional enough; her technique was faulty; she was too young to be in the field; she hadn’t paid her dues like the others had; a good-looking patient could turn her head. Never mind that she was pushing closer to thirty than twenty.

    Caitlin frowned, tightening her fingers at that thought.  She attributed too much to them.  Not everything could be laid at their door.

    His lips slowly curled into a smile, and she shook again despite herself.  He continued his unblinking stare at her position, as though he could see her through the glass, reminding her forcefully of some bad horror movie scene.  It was a cliché.  Everyone knew what two-way glass looked like, and she knew enough from the report to know he’d enjoy toying with anyone who came into contact with him.  It still irritated her that she was affected in the slightest.

    Even the circumstances of his arrival harkened to one of those old thrillers.

    Caitlin shook off the flights of fancy and squared her shoulders.  She’d gotten this case because she was the rookie.  She knew they were just out to break her, giver her a hard time.  She’d damn well show them what she could do.

    The security guard standing beside the door nodded in her direction when she glanced at him.  He’s secured, ma’am. Nothing to be afraid of.

    She nodded and considered giving him a withering reply, but that wouldn’t be civil attacking a colleague when she planned on making a career out of this. She wasn’t afraid. She hoped she didn’t give that impression.

    Caitlin held the security bracelet on her wrist against the electronic door lock.  The panel beeped and unlocked, allowing her to enter.

    She smiled professionally as she came inside, walking to the chair across from him. Her eyes flickered to his hands resting on the table, secured with cuffs and a short chain.

    I thought you would never enter, he said in a husky voice that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck.

    His voice held a trace accent, perhaps French or Creole. Here in northern Mississippi, they occasionally ran into people of that descent.  She made a mental note to write that down on her tablet as a possibility of his origins.

    She didn’t offer her hand.  After all, his were bound to the table, limiting his arm movement to his own personal space.  Good evening, Mr. Doe.  My name is Caitlin O’Roarke.  The institute has assigned me as your psychologist during this evaluation process.

    Something flickered in his eyes: anger, annoyance.  That is not my name.

    She sat down, crossed her legs, and propped her tablet one knee, using her stylus to scribble her previous thought of his origins without looking up.  What would you have me call you? she said after a brief moment, meeting his eyes.

    He laced his fingers together, smiling slowly at her. A predatory gleam glittered in his nearly black eyes.  "Vasile will do for now.  So, they think an amateur can gain what the whole of the police force could not?  Am I not to see a doctor?"

    Caitlin kept her annoyance to herself.  She was not an amateur—she had her degree.  If you’d like to see someone else, that can be arranged.

    Are your colleagues men?

    Many of them are.

    Then I think, no.  I prefer baring myself only to women. His husky voice hinted at subtle pleasures.

    She held his gaze, maintaining her cool reserve.  Noted.  Mr. Vasile, can you tell me how old you are and where you were born?

    Mister is so formal. Surely, we will be friends? Ah. My mother bore me in a shanty houseboat on a tributary off the Mississippi. No town nearby. We lived and worked the rivers. The country has been swallowed by town in recent years.

    She entered the information, please to have him answering her questions and wondering why the police hadn’t been able to garner anything useful from him. Of course, he most likely took an issue with authority. And what year was this?

    Eighteen eighty-three.

    Nineteen eighty-three. That puts you at thirty-four years of age or thirty-three depending on your birth month.

    You misheard me, Caitlin.

    He had a breathy way of saying her name that made it sound deliciously erotic coming from his mouth. She’d fought not to look at his lips, which were too full and lush to belong on a man. She imagined lips like that had experienced a good deal of kissing and sucking. The moment the thought entered her mind, her chest flushed. She cleared her throat, attempting to moisten her lips and distract herself.  These thought patterns had to be quashed before she got herself into trouble. Excuse me?

    Vasile leaned forward, his face devoid of expression as he held her gaze.  "Eighteen eighty-three."

    She said nothing but changed his birthdate. If he believed that, he undeniably had mental issues. That made it easier to ignore his attractiveness. You’re one hundred and thirty-four years old? she said, keeping her voice neutral.

    Indeed. He stared at her, awaiting her disproval or incredulity.

    Caitlin felt her eyebrow twitch and hoped it wasn’t obvious.  Any history of mental illness in your family or extended family?

    No.

    Do you have any relatives we can call to confirm?

    He moved his hands as if to wave but rattled the cuffs instead. They’re all dead, obviously.

    How does that make you feel? she asked in her deadpan voice.

    He shrugged.  Terrible.  Is that what you want to hear?

    I want to know your thoughts and feelings on the matter, Mr. Vasile.

    He clucked his tongue. You’re too serious. Only my servants call me sir. No, that is a lie. They call me master. Would you call me master if you served me?

    She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs in the opposite direction.  He took note if his lingering stare were any indication. "That’s an inappropriate line of questioning, Mr. Vasile. I want to help you, that is all. We can discuss the events that led up to you being transferred to my care if you wish.

    He tapped his fingers on the table in a rolling motion. I can’t reveal all my secrets so easily. You must work for me, no?

    Her eyebrow ticked. A teasing smile spread slowly across his face.  Any medical issues we should be aware of while under our custody?

    Aversion to sunlight. I burn. I prefer nocturnal hours, he said quietly. I sleep during the day.

    I’ll make a note of that. Race? she asked, tapping the stylus on the edge of her tablet.

    Vampire.

    She controlled her annoyance, measuring her breathing. That isn’t a valid race. I’ll enter non-Hispanic.

    My apologies to disappoint you, but I haven’t been human in quite some time—Hispanic or non-Hispanic. He said it with his lip curled derisively on one side.

    Now she was at the crux of the matter—personality disorder. Post-cult trauma disorder? She’d seen a police report on the rise of violent occultism. She hadn’t put much thought into it before, but there was a possibility he could belong to an occult and been caught performing sanctioned rituals. He could be released for religious freedom if there was no victim. She scribbled a note on the pad. He didn’t seem to suffer from any of the symptoms post-cult trauma: no remorse or crying. Have you had thoughts of hurting yourself or others?

    Those that oppose me should beware, he said, looking intently into her eyes.

    You say you’re a vampire. You were human once upon a time?

    I was born human and died human. I was reborn vampire long ago.

    Caitlin pursed her lips and continued with her notes. This was easier. She thought back to the police report.  He’d been transferred to the institute after the police picked him up on the street covered with blood that was not his own.  They believed he’d murdered someone, but they hadn’t managed to find a body after following the trail and DNA tests were still out. After interrogations, they determined he was insane which was why she had him on her ward. He was playing a game, that much was obvious. There was intelligence in his eyes. Why he chose to pretend he was a vampire, she couldn’t guess.  That would take time. Maybe it was a gang initiation gone bad?

    If she had to make an educated guess, she imagined he’d fallen into a cult that brainwashed him with these beliefs. It wasn’t unusual if he’d been taken at an early age. He seemed to enjoy his role and didn’t appear to be suffering any of the stages of grief.

    How were you reborn a vampire? Do you belong to a...group?

    Vasile leaned forward.  The fluorescent bulb flickered above making shadows dance around the room. His voice was soft with undeniable menace.  I could show you.

    She set the tablet down on the table, firmly placing both hands palms down to regain control of the situation. Are you making threats? I have security outside.

    You do not believe I am a vampire.

    Caitlin narrowed her eyes.  It’s not commonplace for individuals to claim supernatural forces at work in their lives, not if they want to leave this facility.

    Are you happy with your life?

    She sat back in her seat, forcing a calm over herself that she didn’t feel.  We aren’t here to discuss my life.  Are you satisfied with yours?

    He leaned back against the rigid chair.  No.

    She paused in her notes. Really? Why is that?

    He sighed resignedly. I am bored.

    Why?

    It is why I allowed your police to take me. They cannot hold me here or anywhere without my consent. I could leave now, but you intrigue me. I will stay until I must feed. But your questions bore me. I would rather show you than tell. Wouldn’t you rather see for yourself? Maybe I will leave tonight.

    That’s not possible.  I’ll have to make a recommendation whether that’s a possibility or not. You’ll see a judge.

    He snickered. For what. Human laws? They do not apply to my kind.

    Are you saying the blood found on you was vampire?

    He stood with such rapid agility and quiet, it stunned her to have his shadow looming above her. That is exactly what I am saying. He is outside, waiting for his chance to come in.

    Mr. Vasile, please sit or I’ll have you removed to your room.

    Vasile smiled ferally and yanked on the chain holding his cuffs to the table. The chain snapped free of the bolt. She jumped to her feet, sending her chair clattering to the floor as he pushed the table out of his way as if it weighed nothing. The metal legs scraped the floor with an ungodly, echoing sound in the barren room.

    Her heart thundered in her breast, making her pulse deafening in her ears.  Vasile advanced on her, separating his cuffs from the remaining chain so he could move his arms independently.  She wasn’t aware she’d backed across the room until she felt the cold cement block pressed against her backside. Where was security?  She slapped the glass beside her, too afraid to move any more than that. He raised his

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