Page 1 of Blood Kisses

Chapter One

Bavaria, Germany, 1895

The place was crawling with humans. Vampires weaved around them, their cold beauty a stark counterpoint. The Schloss perched high on the rocks, looming sinisterly over the Bavarian forest and shunned by the locals. They said bad things happened there. They were right. Emil Meissner presided over it all. When he had one of his gatherings and you were invited, you went, no questions asked.

Severin Murnau pulled at his tight collar as he eyed new arrivals. He and Emil had history—five hundred years of it to be precise. Emil had history with all the vampires in Europe: he had made most of them, including Severin’s companion, Istvan.

Istvan caught Severin’s eye and smiled. Uncharacteristically pleasant for a vampire, he knew Emil better than most. They had been lovers on and off for the past hundred years. Severin didn’t know why either. Two more polar opposites you couldn’t find. Emil was all about control and domination. Istvan was laid back and at peace with the world, including humanity. He didn’t like to kill. Emil scorned him for it.

Istvan took two goblets of ruby-red liquid from the silver tray of a passing waiter and gave the man a lingering look. Human, his blood hot, rich and tantalising. Severin saw the same hunger in Istvan’s eyes as in any other vampire’s. He was no less of a beast, try as he might to rise above it. Nonetheless, Severin admired him. Istvan knew when to stop.

“He always outdoes himself,” Istvan said, indicating his glass, the beautiful guests, and the perfectly starched livery of the waiters. The somewhat drafty ballroom of Schloss Meissner was outfitted with silver decorations, strings of gas lights hanging from the walls and enough candles to burn the place to the ground. A string quartet played in one corner. On an erected dais, as self-proclaimed king, sat their host. Severin tried not to look.

“If you say so,” he said. Meetings with Emil were to be got through with gritted teeth. Far too often in the past they had nearly ended in his death. The first time they met, that was exactly what had happened.

Bremen, Germany, 1350

Emil had found Severin drunk outside a tavern in his home town. Everyone in the place was dropping like flies from plague and Severin swayed outside, clutching to the wall and wearing a ridiculous mask he had fashioned himself at home.

“That won’t save you,” said a scornful voice nearby and Severin lifted his head to see a tall, aristocratic gentleman in fine clothes.

Severin glared at him, drunk enough for a fight. The man stepped closer. His black eyes burned like obsidian. “However, I can give you guaranteed immunity if you like.” He smiled, showing two sharp fangs, and Severin started.

“I’m not that way,” he stammered as the man’s intentions became clear, because he’d only lain with women up until that point. But he had always looked at men and admired them in just the same way.

“Does it matter?” Emil said as he put an arm around Severin’s back and hunched him in close to the wall. “I think not.”

Severin stumbled. His head hit the wall and a helpful hand ripped his mask off and forced his chin up. He felt hardness against his hip a moment, the excited ghost of breath against his skin, before lips touched his neck. A flash of arousal shot through him, swift and shocking, and he clutched at the man’s coat, afraid and unsure.

Emil licked his neck. Severin groaned and a moment later the stranger gripped him roughly through his woollen hose, stroking his cock, squeezing.

Severin gasped and a moment later it was all over. He felt his skin stretch and break. His essence flowed into the stranger’s mouth and he bucked into Emil’s hand, light-headed and aroused against his will. Emil drank, swallowing steadily, and Severin held onto him as he grew weaker. Emil withdrew Severin’s aching cock. He worked Severin’s shaft hard, his palm rough and calloused and desperately exciting. Severin had never been touched by a man before. Nor had he been bitten by one.

The pain and pleasure mixed as one like nothing he’d ever known before. The ecstasy of being drunk from overwhelmed the knowledge that he was being murdered. Severin spurted into Emil’s hand with a cry and slithered to the ground, glassy-eyed, his heart labouring to a halt.

Bavaria, Germany, 1895

It was Emil’s fault that Severin now forever connected blood lust and human lust. It aroused him to drink and when he had sex, he longed to bite. The two needs were inseparable. It was Emil who had made them that way. Severin cast a resentful glance towards the dais.

King Emil sat there presiding over his subjects, on a jewelled throne no less, his suit made of velvet and his stiff collar pinching his neck. Severin would never deny the man was sexually magnetic, more so than other vampires. Tall and commanding, he wore his intense sexuality on his sleeve. He lay with both sexes, but preferred men. He was never short of a companion, vampire or human, and dominated his partners with an iron fist. Severin could testify to that.

He glanced at his friend who was looking at Emil too. Severin sighed. Istvan was his only friend. Vampires didn’t and couldn’t afford to have friends, but Istvan was different. He had picked Severin up when he was at the bottom and continued to hold him up. That was why his friend deserved better than Emil.

“Put your eyes back in,” he said good-naturedly.

A flush bloomed over Istvan’s pale skin. His amber eyes seemed misty. Nervously, he touched his chestnut hair.

Severin smiled and shook his head fondly. Perhaps he needed to find Istvan a mate to get him over this fascination with the dreadful Emil. His gaze took in Emil once more and sharpened with interest when he saw Emil was holding a length of chain.

Good God, the vampire had a pet attached to it!

A human no less—it was very popular among vampires at that moment, a pet on tap for blood and sexual services—a man kneeling on a silken cushion a few paces behind Emil, the chain attached to an iron collar around his neck.

Something prickled along Severin’s spine as he took in the pale, slight figure wearing an outfit of white silk that clung to his lean curves. The human’s face was downcast, delicate bone structure and sooty lashes emphasised by his cropped, glossy black hair. His small hands were folded together on his lap. He was motionless, barely breathing.

Severin reeled back, dropping his goblet.

It was the love of his life.

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