Forbidden, Book 2.5
The air is unseasonably cold and the streets are covered in a dense fog, courtesy of the thick marine layer that seems to have crept inland from the coast. I hang back in the shadows, away from the lone streetlight and survey the familiar neighborhood. It’s as black as pitch outside, but I can see my quarry clearly. She’s standing on the sidewalk bathed in moonlight, her skin translucent, the long thin column of her neck beckoning to me. Almost as if she can sense my desire she sweeps her hair behind her shoulders and the loose spill of fiery red curls tumble down her back.
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Copyright © Samantha Sommersby, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Samantha Sommersby.
I slip through the darkness like the wind in the forest. I am one with night, born immortal, a vampire. Edging closer, silently, I watch and I wait for just the right moment. A car slowly drives by and as it passes she steps back further from the curb, closer to the line of tall hedge that separates the nearby house from the street.
I reach out and in the blink of an eye she is mine, wrapped in my embrace, her back pressed to the solid wall of my chest. I cover her lips with my fingertips. “Don’t scream,” I whisper. “You’ll scare the children.”
I feel a tremor pass through her body. Her heart is pounding, its staccato beat echoing in my ears. She smells of pumpkin pie and A positive. I hear a chorus of children’s voices shouting thank you on the other side of the overgrown shrubbery. It’s my favorite night of the year, Halloween, and I’m about to get a delicious treat.
I lower my mouth expectantly towards that spot that I love so much, the one right behind her ear. I grow hard in anticipation, knowing what it’s going to feel like, taste like. I can sense the beast as it comes forth, its primitive growl rumbling low in my chest. My fangs descend and elongate. I drag them lightly across her delicate flesh and I hear her groan. She knows what I want. She wants it too. In fact, she needs it. She needs it almost as much as I need it. The scent of her arousal hits the air, tinged with excitement, laced with desire.
“How much longer?” I ask her, turning her around.
“This is the last house,” she tells me, as she reaches up, tracing the contours of my face, the one that I only wear out in public one night a year.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, and I am. Going trick-or-treating together has become a tradition for us-my son Dell, my Mate Violet, and me.
She shrugs. “You’re here, that’s the important thing.” Violet slips her arm through mine and leans in close. “Let’s collect our little monster and go home for dinner. I put a pot roast in the crock pot.”
“And you made me pumpkin pie,” I said, lifting up a section of her hair and inhaling deeply.
Violet smiles. “But that’s not what you want for desert, is it?” she asks, reaching out to trace my lower lip, teasing me. Just as I was about to suck her finger into my mouth I hear a squeal.
I turn to see my son running towards me, pillowcase in tow. He’s still three feet from us when he jumps up, launching himself towards me.
“What are you?” I asked, catching him.
“I’m a werewolf! Grrr!” he growls, raising his hands up in the air and wiggling his fingers. “Werewolf’s are cool.”
I set him back down onto the concrete sidewalk. “Vampire’s are cool,” I tell him, taken aback.
“Werewolf’s have fur,” Dell points out, “and claws!”
We begin the short stroll back to the house, Violet’s flashlight illuminating the way. The house is just around the corner and down the street. “But we vampires can do thrall.” I say.
“And magic,” Dell adds.
“Magic? That’s rare, son. Very, very few vampires can do magic.”
The beam of the flashlight falters and Violet shakes it. “Batteries are gone,” she mutters, but I’m not paying attention. I’m completely focused on the child in front of me, my child.
“I can do it,” he declares proudly, holding his little hand out for me to see. The center of his palm is glowing and as I watch, it changes from a pale yellow pinpoint of light to what looks like a bright burning ball of liquid fire. “See? I made it,” he explains, “so that I’ll never loose my way.”
I fall to my knees and stare at it, my mouth dry.
“Show us the way home,” he whispers, his tiny voice sounding loud in the quiet of the night.
The glowing ball of fire moves, whizzing off towards the house and Dell chases after it. It looks like a firefly, only I know it’s not.
“What is it?” asks Violet.
Look for, Forbidden: The Revolution , book three of Samantha Sommersby’s Forbidden series. Little Dell is all grown up. Sorcerer. Sexy vampire. Special Agent. Secret weapon. Are you ready to experience the magic? Indulge in the Forbidden , because sometimes giving in to temptation can be a good thing.