The Turning Kiss

Dedication

As always, to my fellow Smutketeers, especially my ever-faithful crit partner and partner in crime, R.G. Alexander. And to my readers, who have fallen as madly in love with my vampires as I have. Thank you for demanding more.

Chapter One

London 2069

She’d seen him before. The Scotsman with the impossibly broad shoulders. He looked like one of those strong men from the old circuses—he was that enormously muscled—hard-packed beneath his smooth, fair skin. She’d heard him speak—always from a distance—and she loved that soft, lyrical brogue that told her where he’d been born. Other than that, all she knew about him was what she’d witnessed here at the Midnight Playground, London’s exclusive and infamous vampire sex club. She knew he was bisexual, as all the members of the club were. That he enjoyed the dangerous dungeon play, sought it out, just as she did. That if she were here looking for a human companion, he would be absolutely perfect.

A human mate was not her goal.

Ilana had been coming to the club for nearly two years—this lush setting where few mortals had the rare opportunity to interact with the cool and distant vampires. Only those few who managed to garner invitations. Those few who were beautiful enough. Young enough. Who had nothing left to lose and would therefore be willing to risk sex play with the vampires. There were no gawkers here, among the marble paneled walls, the dark velvets and damasks and gilt-framed mirrors that were everywhere. Only those who were serious about extreme sex. About paying the price for being a part of this elite luxury in a Europe that had fallen, and was, for the last twenty-nine years, a continent of chaos, riots, bombings and poverty.

Ilana had walked into the Midnight Playground and all it offered with eyes wide open. She had come with the very specific intention of finding a vampire mate. One who would offer her more than the Seeking Kiss. She had already experienced the sensual Kiss a number of times, the erotic and compelling sensation of her blood being drawn into a lush vampire mouth. That magical peek into the minds of the vampires, flashes of their histories going by like flickering scenes from a movie. It was a thrill every time, purely sexual and mesmerizing in a way nothing else ever could be.

Except the Turning Kiss. The ultimate vampire kiss. The one that would give her the gift of immortality.

This was what she wanted. This was why she was there. To find a way to move entirely beyond what her early life had been. Yes, she’d escaped her childhood fate years earlier, but she carried the scars of it with her. And those scars fed her need to be…invincible.

At the age of twenty-eight, her time was running out. She had less than two years before she would be considered too old. At the age of thirty, her membership in the Midnight Playground, and her hopes, would come to an end.

She sipped her drink, her usual chilled glass of fine Russian vodka, letting her gaze wander over the others in the club’s bar, which was in the center of what had once been Soho’s Palace Theater. The balconies were still there, edged in gold scrollwork and hung with statues of golden cupids in flight. The place was magnificent with its sleek marble floors, the tables draped in gold and red velvet. But nothing was as beautiful to her as the vampires.

The humans were everywhere, crowded around the marble-topped bar, on the multi-level dance floor, moving sinuously with the throbbing music. Each with that aura of raw anticipation she knew was just as apparent in her. A few vampires moved through the crowd, hair shining like silk, eyes gleaming with a preternatural light, their very skin glistening, as though one expected it to be as sleek as glass. Yet she knew from experience their skin was soft and silky to the touch, with the hardness of their immortal bodies hidden just beneath that smooth layer.

She shivered.

When would one of these glorious creatures claim her for his own?

It seemed as though it had been a very long time, these last nineteen months. Nineteen months, two weeks and four days that she had been coming here. Ever hopeful. Wanting.

She sighed, sipped at her vodka tonic once more, taking in the sharp scent of the alcohol. She could hear the faint tinkling of ice in the crystal glass as she set it down on the bar.

She saw from the corner of her eye he was watching her. The lovely, big Scotsman with the close-cropped dark red goatee. The lights from the dance floor glinted pink and gold in his short, curling auburn hair. And as she watched him watching her, he smiled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek.

Oh, it was too good, that sweet dimple in his square-featured, purely masculine face. That bit of innocence contrasting with the hulking muscles. Nice.
Very
nice. But he was not her goal. And with time running out she had to stay focused.

Eternity. Escape from the old life that had been nearly unbearable, that she wanted never to think about again. That was why she was here—to forget.

A brief, hard flash of being thirteen again. Of the street thugs who had taken her as she’d been exiting her mother’s armored car. Of the brothel she’d been sold to in which she’d spent her teen years. The dirty mattress. The hard, merciless face of the madam. She still didn’t know how they’d managed to get her away from her mother’s guards. But they had. Just common thieves, really, and yet they had done it.

She’d been marketed to the customers as a novelty. The rich girl. Young, innocent. Afraid. Oh yes, they’d sold her fear as much as they had her body. Until, at eighteen, she’d escaped. Only to find her mother dead and everything gone—house, money, family. All had disappeared in one of the riot bombs that had become too common all over Europe since the fall of the monarchy in London. The collapse of governments everywhere in response to overpopulation, a poor world economy and desperate people.

Her only comfort—and it was small—was that if she’d still been at home with her mother, she would have been dead as well.

Very small comfort.

Don’t think of it now.

No, now she was here, at the Midnight Playground, where she’d struggled to get in for a whole year and had finally gained entrance.

Her beauty had been instrumental. She wasn’t stuck up about it. It was impossible to be truly beautiful and not know it. Those who protested their own beauty were, in her mind, ridiculous. It was an inescapable fact. The same fact that had attracted so many customers in the brothel. It had been first her curse and now her gift. One she was determined to use as a means to her intended end.

Oh, she was broody tonight. She’d better calm herself or no one would approach her. Vampires were as sensitive to energy as they were to everything else.

She finished her drink in one long swallow, letting the heat of it move through her body. Pushed her heavy blonde hair from her face and looked up to find his gaze on her again. He smiled once more. Winked. Desire moved through her in a slowly undulating wave.

Want him…

But she had more important things to attend to.

She looked away, scanning the crowd. It was packed tonight. A few of the vampires had moved onto the dance floor. They were more than merely beautiful. Graceful beyond any human capacity. And among them were a pair she hadn’t seen before.

Two males, stunning, as the vampires always were. They were dressed alike in black leather pants and no shirts, both of them tall. One with a short crop of spiky brown hair and a tight, muscular body, porcelain pale skin. The other with a leaner build, his black hair hanging in a thick braid down his back. His face was exotic, his skin a shining gold, as if he were nearly exoskeletal, made of polished metal. They moved together, their bodies in perfect synchronicity. As she watched, they surged closer, until the short-haired one was straddling the thigh of the leaner one.

Need shimmered over her skin like a wave of heat as she watched them dance. They were exciting. Exquisite.

The short–haired vampire raised his gaze and gestured with his hand. It took her a moment to realize he was motioning to her. She took a breath, stood and joined them on the dance floor.

She felt the stinging warmth of their bodies close in around her as she moved with them, one on either side, hips and shoulders barely grazing her skin, in time with the music. Then a hard pair of hands smoothing over her shoulders. Desire was an instant, steady pulse beat between her thighs.

The one with the long braid, moving behind her, whispered in her ear, “I am Luka.”

“And I am Konstantine. You are Ilana, yes?” He spoke with a Russian accent, softened with time. She could feel the weight of his years as he stood before her, gazing into her face. She knew he was very old, older than the other one, Luka, by several centuries. “We have heard of you from some of the others. You are as enchanting as they said. And you smell luscious.” His voice was a low purr. “Human, yet something else…”

Luka leaned in, until she could feel his breath against her ear. “Yes. She smells like smoke. Like incense.” His accent was the same as Konstantine’s, perhaps a bit heavier, lyrical, with an exotic edge she couldn’t identify. “Like flowers.”

“And sex,” Konstantine added, smiling.

His eyeteeth gleamed in the pulsing lights, razor sharp and beautiful. She could see now his face was harsh featured, rugged, all hard edges and square lines. But gorgeous. His eyes were a deep, liquid brown, like two pieces of gleaming glass. His mouth was full and red, as if he’d recently drunk.

He took one of her hands, brought it to his lips, scraping his teeth across her knuckles. A wave of need rolled through her, staggering her. She swayed against Luka and he held her close, his hands closing around her waist. He had long, tapered fingers, the hands of a musician. She wanted to see him, to turn around, but she didn’t dare. And she was too stunned by them both, by the sensations already spearing into her sex, simply having them this close. In fact, she was soaking wet. Ready. For anything.

So ready she was surprised when she found herself distracted by the Scotsman stepping onto the dance floor with another vampire, a petite female with a lush, rounded figure, radiant ebony skin and curling dark hair. The vampire pulled him down for a brief kiss, and she felt a strange sensation in her chest. Envy? How could that be? He was merely human. And here she was with two vampires, both beautiful, exotic, and shining with that immortal light.

Luka’s hands moved down, his fingertips brushing the edge of her low-slung skirt, and pleasure was like a knife, cutting into her, just as their teeth would later, if she were lucky enough.

“We offer you an invitation,” Konstantine said, still smiling. He reached out and ran one finger along her jaw. She trembled with need.

Yes, must have him. Must have them both.

“We want you with us this evening,” Luka whispered from behind her. Then he turned her in his arms.

His face was smooth, pretty almost. So different from Konstantine’s. A little androgynous. But every bit as beautiful. Incandescent. His eyes were a glowing hazel, silver and bronze and dusted with gold. His black hair was like liquid jet, dark and shining like a raven’s feathers. But with that hard gleam of the vampires.

Her breasts ached.

Yes…be with them…

“Come with us, Ilana.”

She nodded.

As they took her hands and led her from the dance floor, she couldn’t help but notice the redheaded Scotsman once more, her heart giving a sharp thud.

Whatever was wrong with her? She had exactly what she wanted. Or the beginning of it, at least. Perhaps these two vampires would be the ones to offer her the ultimate gift. And in any case, they were offering her an evening of sex—the most amazing, mind-blowing sex any human could ask for.

She wanted it. Needed it. Her body hummed with that need, a stark desire so pure and strong, she was dizzy with it.

So what was it about that man?

He was human. Nothing more. She could put him out of her mind and focus on the pair of exquisite creatures who were leading her up the grand marble staircase to the private rooms upstairs.

She burned with need. For Luka, Konstantine. And some part of her she wanted to deny, but couldn’t, for that beautiful Scotsman with the charming dimple and the enormous muscles, who was in the arms of another vampire downstairs.

Calam watched her go off with the vampire pair. That blonde beauty he’d noticed before. Over and over. So cool. So elegant. Shields up, as much as any of the more ancient vampires. He would have thought that would have attracted them to her even more. Yet he knew she’d been coming here for some time and had never been offered the Turning Kiss.

Well, neither had he.

Perhaps it would be Zahara, the vampire who had pulled him with her onto the dance floor. She spun around him, her body slinking up against his, as sleek as a cat. She loved to dance, and he’d danced with her often. Had sex with her often. She was exquisite, with her skin as dark as night, her glossy black eyes, her fall of curls. Her perfectly curved figure impossibly lush. And at some other time, he might have welcomed her invitation. But tonight, all he could think of was the human woman.