Kela's Guardian

B.J. McCall

Vampires don’t exist. That was what Kela believed before her fiancé joined the dark side. The cops think she’s crazy, but there’s a job to be done and someone’s got to do it.

Ansara has been ordered to Earth to destroy Vakkar, a demon bent on raising a vampire army. A celestial jump lands him in the middle of a fight between a feisty female and a group of vampires. Ansara soon realizes protecting this sexy warrior is as important as his mission. Their lust is as strong as the danger surrounding them.

Vampires, demons and a sexy hunk from a mystical galaxy? Kela’s carnal guardian quickly becomes an anchor in a world that has taken a decidedly supernatural turn.

Inside Scoop:
Kela attends a very anything-goes sex party, which contains brief mentions of BDSM scenarios, ménage and same-sex encounters.

A Romantica®
paranormal erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

The shapely brunette flipped her long hair over her shoulder, her breasts lifting and falling with each enticing breath. Chabeau slid his fingertips along her neck, mesmerized by the hot blood coursing beneath her pale skin. He couldn’t wait to taste her. What the hell was her name? Did it matter? She was young and healthy.

“I’m thirsty,” the brunette shouted over the blasting music. Then she leaned into him, pushing her generous breasts against his chest. “Let’s get a drink.”

A drink was exactly what Chabeau wanted. A long, hot, energizing thirst quencher.

He guided the young woman away from the press of bodies on the crowded dance floor to a private alcove.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, the heat of her palm penetrating his shirt. “You’re a great dancer.”

“You’re the one with great moves,” he said, edging her farther into the dark recess. When her back was against the wall, Chabeau leaned down and buried his face in her neck. The smell of her blood coiled in his nostrils, fragrant and arousing.

“I love your cologne,” she said, planting a tiny kiss on his earlobe.

He trailed his fingertips along her plunging neckline. “It’s called Hot Blood.”

The brunette gasped, a delightful intake of breath, as Chabeau dipped his hand inside her top to cup her bare left breast. Her heart raced, its rapid beat resonating through his palm. His fangs extended in anticipation.

She shifted to one side. “How about that drink?”

Chabeau planted a hand on the wall and shoved a knee between her thighs, blocking her from leaving the alcove. He slanted his head and ran the tip of his tongue along her pulsing vein. His fangs tingled in anticipation. Her ripe body and the smell of her blood made him ache.

“I’d rather love you,” he said, rubbing his groin against her belly to let her feel the size of his erection.

“Wow, is that thing real?”

Chabeau grinned. “Look at me.”

He heard the catch in her throat as she obeyed.

“Ohmigod.”

“Look deeply.”

Her breath became fast and shallow. He spread his fingertips over her neck, relishing her quickened pulse.

Chabeau slipped his hand beneath the hem of her short dress, grasped her panties and yanked, shredding the flimsy material. When he buried his hand between her soft thighs she didn’t protest.

He pushed a finger deep inside her, stroking her blood-enriched folds. Her delicious heat burned his cold flesh. So hot, gloriously alive. “Come for me.”

She moaned.

Chabeau slipped another finger inside her. “Harder? Faster?”

She adjusted her stance, opening her thighs. “God yes.”

He pumped his hand, ramming his fingers inside her. Chabeau didn’t give a damn whether she came or enjoyed herself. He wanted her blood running hot.

Burying his face in her neck, he pressed his lips against her skin. The wild thrumming in her veins and her weak whimpers told him she was ready.

Just the thought of her blood pulsing around him had Chabeau on the edge of climax. He unzipped his pants.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he said, grasping her by the hips and lifting her.

The brunette complied. To anyone observing, the act would be viewed as just another coupling, an all-too-common event in the Devil’s Warehouse.

Holding her against the wall, Chabeau thrust deep, groaning as her searing-hot flesh accepted his length. He fucked her hard, slamming into her again and again, until her pussy creamed and her blood pumped fast and hot.

Hovering on the frenzied edge of pleasure, he shoved her chin up and sank his fangs into her neck, piercing skin and pulsing blood vessel. He sucked her blood eagerly, noisily, the combination of nourishment and sex pure ecstasy.

Euphoric, with fresh blood coursing through him, Chabeau climaxed.

His need for sustenance satisfied, Chabeau zipped up his pants and licked a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. Inebriated customers were common to the club scene and no one gave Chabeau so much as a curious glance as he half-carried and half-dragged the unconscious brunette out of the club.

Outside, Chabeau popped open the trunk of a black luxury sedan and dumped the young women inside. Smiling, he started the engine. Chabeau knew the perfect place to dump the body.

* * * * *

Bubbling with excitement, Kela Lance rang the doorbell for the third time. Roland was expecting her so why wasn’t he answering? She called his cell. He answered, “Chabeau.”

He’d adopted his last name as his artistic identity, but to Kela he’d always be Roland. “Hey, it’s me. I’m downstairs. The door is locked.”

“Come on up,” he said, buzzing her in.

She entered the foyer of the historic four-story building owned by Andre Karr, a prominent art dealer and gallery owner. The street level housed the beautiful Karr Gallery. Business offices and storage were on the second floor. Karr’s personal protégés lived in micro apartments on the third and the penthouse was his personal domain.

Instead of waiting for the elevator, Kela ran up the stairs to the third floor. Roland’s blossoming career had drawn him to the city, leaving Kela with far too many hours to fill. She’d joined a gym and had taken up jogging. Karr had taken Roland under his wing, offering a private showing of his work and an apartment in his building. To Kela’s dismay, Roland had moved out of their home in the suburbs.

Walking down the hallway, Kela heard the deep bass of heavy metal music coming from the penthouse above. Given his snobby demeanor, Kela wouldn’t have pegged Andre Karr for a metalhead. Kela wasn’t fond of Karr, but Roland’s career depended on the man.

A door opened and Roland stepped into the hallway. “Hey, baby.”

Startled by his appearance, her smile vanished. What the hell? Roland was deathly pale, his brown eyes looked black and his face angular. Was it the dim lighting or his new slicked-back hairstyle that made him look so gaunt? Concerned, she reached out and touched his cheek. His skin was cold. “Are you ill?”

Taking her hand, he drew her into the apartment and closed the door. “I’m fine. Never better.”

She touched his neck and his chest. Coldness seeped through the fabric of his black shirt. “You’re chilled.”

He stepped away from her. “I fell asleep with the air conditioner on high.”

Air conditioner? A storm had rolled through the area two days ago and the temperature had plummeted to an unusual low. The small apartment was stuffy and bathed in red light from the lamps bracketing the sofa. Kela dropped her purse and leather jacket on the lone straight-back chair beside a draped easel. The place was too small to accommodate more furniture and had only one window. At home, Roland had commandeered the master bedroom as his studio. How did he work and live in this postage-stamp excuse for an apartment?

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Don’t nag.”

“Roland, I’m concerned.”

“I go by Chabeau now.”

“When it’s just the two of us, you can drop the persona.”

“It’s who I am.”

Was he serious? He certainly looked different in a long-sleeved black shirt and skintight black pants. The old Roland never wore black, calling it too depressing. “What’s with the Gothic look?”

“Andre calls it dark urban.” Roland lifted his hands, displaying pointed nails painted black. “What do you think?”

“You should find a new manicurist.”

“Andre says t-shirts and jeans are common. He thinks this look gives me a mysterious flare. I’m thinking of growing a goatee.”

Kela thought the idea was stupid but held her tongue. “Can we turn on the lights or is this bordello lighting part of the dark-urban look?”

His mouth thinned. “I find it relaxing.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “How can you relax with that music?”

“I like it.”

“Since when do you like heavy metal?”

“It throbs, like a heartbeat, like I’m throbbing,” he said, taking her hand. He kissed her inner wrist and drew in a deep, slow breath. “Let’s fuck.”

Catching his scent, her nose wrinkled. “Are you wearing cologne?”

“A gift from Andre. Do you like it?”

The cologne was strong and cloying, rather disgusting, but speaking negatively about Roland’s mentor guaranteed an argument. “I prefer your natural scent.”

“I prefer you natural,” he said. “Strip for me. You know how I like watching you undress.”

Proud of her firmer, trimmer figure, Kela removed her green top. She tossed the silky garment onto the sofa, gave Roland a provocative smile and removed her black bra.

His gaze narrowed. “Your tits are smaller.”

Disappointment surged. Instead of telling her how good she looked, he was complaining about her drop in cup size. “I’ve lost weight. I’ve taken up jogging, and cooking for one isn’t much fun. You’ve been so busy, I haven’t seen you in a month. Do you realize how long it’s been?”

“How many times have I told you my work has to come first? After my show I’ll have more time for you.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. “I liked you the way you were.”

“I feel better. Stronger. Healthier.”

“Screw healthy.”

“I think they look good.”

“Bigger is better.” He pointed at her skirt. “Any more surprises?”

Gathering the hem of her short black skirt, Kela performed a slow turn. She wanted to give him a good look at her sheer black underwear and firmer butt.

“Nice,” he said, bending her over the back of the sofa and smacking her on the ass. “Real nice. I like the heels.”

Kela grinned. Wanting to please him, she’d purchased the sexy high heels and panties at an expensive lingerie shop.

He squeezed her ass, then yanked down her underwear, tearing the fabric. “Spread those legs, baby.”

Already pulsing with need, Kela arched her back. The panties had cost her a small fortune, but if they turned Roland on, they were worth the price.

He rubbed his fingertip along her slit, a cool stroke against her heated flesh. “Do you like that?”

“Feels good.” Kela moaned and swayed her hips. “I’ve missed you.”

“Have you? Have you been aching for me?”

“Every night.”

He teased her clit with the pad of his thumb. “Is this what you need?”

Roland had great hands, but his tongue was his true talent. “You know what I need.”

He replaced his cool finger with his tongue. Kela moaned, loving the raspy feel as he licked, sucked and flicked her flesh, teasing and pleasing. She dug her fingers into the sofa cushion. “So good.”

The scrape of his nails up and down her thighs sent shivers down her spine. Then he latched on to her clit.

A keening moan tore from her throat.

He sucked so hard, so deliciously strong she quivered, coming in a gush of heat.

“Fuck, you’re hot.” Roland stood. “My cock is so hard for you.”

Kela started to turn around, but Roland planted his hand on the back of her neck and pushed her head down. “I been thinking of fucking you like this.” He smacked her on the ass. “Do you need it? Want it?”

She needed him. She’d spent too many lonely nights aching for him. “I need you.”

He slapped her on the ass several times, stinging her skin with his slender fingers. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to scream.”

Kela gasped at his first thrust, the cold penetration of his cock.

Breathing heavily, he drove into her again and again. “Do you love it?”

Kela ached for the physical contact, but Roland’s cock reminded her of a plastic dildo.

He slapped her ass again. “I can feel the rush of your blood, the pulsing of your cunt. So hot.” He pummeled her flesh, slamming her against the back of the sofa. “Fucking hot.”

“Roland.”

His thrusts became driving and deep.

She grabbed the back of the sofa and pushed back. “Easy.”

“A little pain heightens the climax,” he said, smacking her ass with more force. “Stop complaining. Take it.”

Kela enjoyed a bit of hard fucking, a sweet smack on the ass, but this aggression was unlike Roland.

“I said
easy
.”

He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face into the cushion. “I can feel you trembling. I can sense the pounding of your blood, the throbbing heat of your pussy. Women crave domination. It’s the natural order.”

What the hell? Roland had never professed such he-man drivel before. Their sexual relationship had been one of give and take. She trembled, but not with ecstasy.

“I’m Chabeau and you love it.”

She didn’t love it and she didn’t like what a taste of minor success had done to him.

He let go of her hair, pumped his hips several times and with a final moan, he finished. “I needed that.”

Kela lifted her head. “What’s gotten into you?”