Love Bites
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Synopsis
A wonderful variety of compellingly original vampire stories, many of them wholly unexpected, from award-winning, New York Times bestselling authors. There are typical vampires who would be right at home in a horror story or a gothic romance; historical vampires; contemporary, gritty, urban vampires; fang-in-cheek comedy; boy-meets-girl sweetheart stories (if a little bloodier!); and erotic tales of inhuman passions and midnight pleasures. Look out, too, for stand-alone stories relating to existing series and characters of contributing authors, or stories which develop more fully characters who have only walk-on parts in those authors'' longer fiction. Includes writing by big-name authors such as Jennifer Ashley, Kim Harrison writing as Dawn Cook, Caitlin Kittredge, Diane Whiteside and Eileen Wilks.
Release date: August 27, 2009
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Print pages: 160
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Love Bites
Trisha Telep
Trisha Telep was the romance and fantasy book buyer at Murder One, the UK’s premier crime and romance bookstore. She has recently
re-launched this classic bookshop online at www.murderone.co.uk. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, she completed the Master of Publishing program at Simon Fraser University before moving to
London. She lives in Hackney with her boyfriend, filmmaker Christopher Joseph.
Also available
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Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2009
Copyright © Trisha Telep, 2009 (unless otherwise indicated)
The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in
any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication
Data is available from the British Library
UK ISBN 978-1-84901-043-6
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
First published in the United States in 2009 by Running Press Book Publishers
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing
US Library of Congress number: 2008944141
US ISBN 978-0-7624-3796-2
Running Press Book Publishers
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Printed and bound in the EU
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Paris After Dark
Jordan Summers
Coven of Mercy
Deborah Cooke
Le Cirque de la Nuit
Karen MacInerney
Perdition
Caitlin Kittredge
Deliver Us From Evil
Dina James
Blood and Thyme
Camille Bacon-Smith
Into the Mist For Ever
Rosemary Laurey
Blood Feud
Patti O’Shea
Love Bites
Angie Fox
Flotsam
Caitlín R. Kiernan
The Murder King’s Woman
Jamie Leigh Hansen
Butterfly Kiss
Carole Nelson Douglas
Crimson Kisses
Diane Whiteside
Vampsploitation
Jaye Wells
Trust Me
Stacia Kane
The Scotsman and the Vamp
Jennifer Ashley
I Need More You
Justine Musk
Point of No Return
Jennifer St Giles
With Friends Like These
Dawn Cook
Blood Gothic
Nancy Holder
Eternity Embraced
Larissa Ione
The Ghost of Leadville
Jeanne C. Stein
The Vampire, the Witch and the Yenko
Tiffany Trent
Circle Unbroken
Ann Aguirre
Skein of Sunlight
Devon Monk
Author Biographies
“Paris After Dark” © by Jordan Summers. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Coven of Mercy” © by Deborah Cooke. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Le Cirque de la Nuit” © by Karen MacInerney. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Perdition” © by Caitlin Kittredge. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Deliver Us From Evil” © by Dina James. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood and Thyme” © by Camille Bacon-Smith. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Into the Mist For Ever” © by Rosemary Laurey. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood Feud” © by Patti O’Shea. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Love Bites” © by Angie Fox. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Flotsam” © by Caitlín R. Kiernan. First published in Not One of Us #40, October 2008.
“The Murder King’s Woman” © by Jamie Leigh Hansen. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Butterfly Kiss” © by Carole Nelson Douglas. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Crimson Kisses” © by Diane Whiteside. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Vampsploitation” © by Jaye Wells. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Trust Me” © by Stacia Kane. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Scotsman and the Vamp” © by Jennifer Ashley. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“I Need More You” © by Justine Musk. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Point of No Return” © by Jennifer St Giles. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“With Friends Like These” © by Dawn Cook. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood Gothic” © by Nancy Holder. First published in Shadows 8, June 1985.
“Eternity Embraced” © by Larissa Ione. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Ghost of Leadville” © by Jeanne C. Stein. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Vampire, the Witch and the Yenko” © by Tiffany Trent. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Circle Unbroken” © by Ann Aguirre. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Skein of Sunlight” © by Devon Monk. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
Urban fantasy is the ultimate milieu for a little vamp action. Vampires can get romantic in some pretty freaky ways. So, although this is The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance
2, don’t go expecting too much gentle foreplay and whispers of sweet nothings. These can be dark, brooding, vicious creatures who like it . . . a little rough. And sometimes they come
bearing romance with just the slightest hint of menace. But you’ll also find the lighter side of vamps in here, too. Just be warned: the vampire really does push the boundaries of
“romance” – often to its bloodiest limits. You just might have to rework your definition of love once you sink your teeth into many of these tales.
From the get-go, this collection was moving at lightning speed into the dark and dirty waters of urban fantasy. My new co-pilot, YA urban fantasy writer Karen Mahoney (check
out her short story in the new YA vamp anthology, The Eternal Kiss) who had started work at Murder One with me, was a definite influence. She has the infectious enthusiasm of a kid in a
candy store (or Wonder Woman with a new invisible plane). When I told her that I was compiling Love Bites she immediately put me in contact with urban fantasy writers she knew through Live
Journal, Facebook and Twitter. She told me of urban fantasy writers who were going to be in London soon and were keen to come to Murder One for a signing (this is how I met Caitlin Kittredge [think
of a goth Sandy in Grease with pink streaks in her hair], Stacia Kane and Jordan Summers (who had a great deal of fun laughing at my prudishness over her friend Cheyenne McCray’s
formerly ultra-hot Succubus story in The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance). And Devon Monk, Justine Musk and Jaye Wells should basically be in touch with the police after I stalked them
mercilessly à la Facebook, with Karen’s gleeful encouragement. I hope you enjoy this dark new collection of vampires and the fantastic writers who write them.
* * *
Contest time!
As some of you might know, I used to buy the romance and fantasy for the amazing, fantastic, totally unique Murder One bookshop in London’s Charing Cross Road, which was
basically the only bookstore in the UK, likely Europe, to stock an exhaustive list of US romance alongside a phenomenal selection of crime titles. Incredibly, the bookshop closed at the end of
January after twenty-one years. We have managed, however, to keep it up and running as an online bookstore and mail order business (some consolation to readers, I hope!). We are ecstatic to be
keeping Murder One alive and look forward to a bigger and brighter future. So, in light of our relaunch, and because we are overjoyed still to be in the business of selling great books to great
customers, I thought it might be a good time to give away some free books to celebrate Murder One’s phoenix-like rising from the dead!
Here’s what you have to do: a real honest-to-goodness historical figure appears, totally by coincidence, in two stories in this collection. The first five readers who can give me the name
of this historical figure, plus the titles of the two stories, as well as the names of the authors, will receive a free, mass-market paperback of their choice – it can be anything: your wish
is our command! – posted to you anywhere in the world.
Please send your answers to me at: [email protected] and check out our website at www.murderone.co.uk
Murder One is back!
Let the ghoulish games begin!
Jordan Summers
One
Rachel Chang pinched the cigarette between her lips and reached into her pocket for her lighter. Five years of being nicotine free was about to go up in smoke, if she
could just get this damn thing to light. She flicked the Zippo and inhaled, then proceeded to choke. Eyes watering, Rachel flicked the cigarette onto the cobblestone as a high-pitched scream
pierced the night.
One hand moved to where her weapon should be, while the other automatically reached for the St Michael medal around her neck. For a moment Rachel saw her partner lying in a puddle of blood. She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the panic attack eased. This wasn’t New York. The vision wasn’t real. And this wasn’t her problem. Let someone else clean up the mess for
a change.
A second scream followed the first, then ended abruptly. Rachel remained immobile, while her conscience called her every foul name in the book. Unfortunately, the voice in her head wasn’t
loud enough to drown out the struggle she could hear taking place on the dimly lit road off Boulevard Raspail.
“You have no authority here. You don’t even speak French. Let the Parisian police handle it,” she muttered under her breath as she came upon a man grappling with a woman. The
woman’s arms were flailing as she beat at the man’s broad shoulders with her clenched fists.
The dark-haired man wasn’t striking her back, but he was holding her tight to deflect her blows. It looked like a typical domestic dispute. Only a fool got in the middle of those. Rachel
had been foolish once and it had cost her dearly. Never again. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking.
Rachel saw a sign for the Cimetière du Montparnasse affixed to a high, grey brick wall. She glanced at the sky. “Trying to tell me something, partner?” Of course Paul Veretti
didn’t answer. No one did. Like the residents of the fancy French cemetery, he was dead. All that was left of him was her memories and the St Michael medal around her neck.
The patron saint must have been on a coffee break the day her partner caught a bullet in the chest – a bullet that was meant for her. It was Rachel’s idea to answer the domestic
battery call on the drive home. It wasn’t even part of their job. She should’ve been the one to stay in the house and try to calm the battered wife, not Paul. But he’d insisted
she escort the husband outside and wait for a patrol car to pick him up. Rachel had barely made it to the porch, when the shot rang out. There was a shocked cry and a loud thump. She knew without
looking what had happened. She felt like that bullet had been chasing her ever since.
Rachel glanced at the cemetery once more, then asked herself what Paul would do. The answer was obvious. She cursed, then tromped back to the mouth of the street. This was a bad idea. Her gun
and NYPD badge currently resided an ocean away inside her captain’s desk. She’d have to count on the man fleeing when she confronted him. Rachel ran the odds of that happening in her
head and let out a string of expletives.
The woman had stopped struggling and now hung loosely in the man’s arms. Had he struck her after Rachel left? She hated bullies. Hated people who thought their size gave them free rein to
do as they pleased. The man stood in the shadows with his back to her, but Rachel could tell he outweighed her and the woman by a good fifty pounds. This was such a bad idea.
“Hey buddy,” she shouted.
The dark-haired man didn’t acknowledge her, but Rachel saw his broad shoulders tense.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. Parlez-vous . . . anglais? Let the woman go,” she said in frustration, wishing she’d paid attention to the French CDs she’d
checked out of the library.
He slowly turned. Rachel caught a glimpse of shimmering green eyes, the colour so unnatural it couldn’t possibly be found outside the animal kingdom. Had to be contact lenses. But it
wasn’t his eyes that held her in place. It was his teeth – his long, very bloody teeth.
Rachel watched the blood drip down his chin onto his dark suit before he stepped back into the shadows. What in the hell had he been doing? When she’d walked by earlier it had looked like
the woman was the aggressor. She’d been wrong . . . again. How many people had to die for her to get it right?
She automatically catalogued the scene, so she could give her statement to the police later. He released the woman. She slumped to the ground like discarded rags. The man grinned, his attention
now riveted on the new arrival.
Rachel knew that the fact she was a petite Chinese-American woman made her look like an easy target, but her size was deceptive. “Before you do anything stupid,” she said, knowing it
was already too late for that, “I think you should know I’ve called the police. I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.” She pointed to the sidewalk. “Get down
on the ground.”
If the dark-haired man understood her, he didn’t let on. He kept approaching at a steady pace. The light should’ve revealed his face, but the shadows seemed to follow him, obscuring
his pale features. It didn’t matter. Rachel was sure she could identify him from his eyes alone, although they didn’t seem as bright as they’d been moments ago. Must’ve been
a trick of the light.
“Stay back,” she said. “This is your last warning.” Rachel held her hands up like her Krav Maga instructor taught her to do. It looked like a defensive posture. It
wasn’t.
The man smiled, giving her an up close and personal look at his mouth. He had abnormally long incisors that had been filed into jagged points. He used his blood-covered tongue to caress them as
he closed the distance between them.
Give an asshole prosthetic fangs and he thinks he’s a fucking vampire.
Rachel took a step back, a chill snaking down her spine. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder; he’d be on her before she could make it twenty yards. She needed to draw
someone’s attention. The man must’ve read her mind because in a blink he went from ten feet away to in her face. Rachel didn’t have time to scream as he slammed her into the wall
surrounding the cemetery. She landed with a sickening thud. The air rushed out of her lungs with a loud whoosh as pain shot through her body.
She blinked to clear her vision. The shadows still obscured his features. Rachel brushed at the darkness as he approached. He growled. She gagged as his coppery breath fanned out over her face.
The guttural sound grew louder. It was the only warning she received.
Instinct made Rachel throw her hand up a second before his teeth clamped onto her forearm. Her leather jacket ripped as he tore through the thick material like it was made of butterfly wings.
His sharp incisors punctured her skin. The excruciating pain snapped her out of her initial shock.
Rachel drove her palm into her attacker’s nose and heard something crunch, then saw blood splatter across his face. She wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Her hand came away covered
in crimson. She swung again, but her slick palm only grazed his cheek.
Fury filled his glowing green eyes. The grip he had on her with his teeth tightened and he shook his head, shredding muscle. The human pit bull was going to break her arm, if she didn’t
get him to release her.
Rachel hit his nose again, spilling more blood. He grabbed her arm, while his other hand latched on to her throat and began to squeeze. Blood roared in her ears as he tried to kill her. It was
one thing to contemplate taking her own life, it was quite another to have him take it from her. Rachel thrust her hips forwards and kneed his groin hard. He grunted and released her arm, but the
hand around her throat remained.
She tried to break the grip on her neck, using every technique she’d been taught at the police academy, but nothing worked. Rachel hit him until her palm hurt, then hit him some more. His
nose was now bent at an odd angle and made a strange whistling snort every time he inhaled. She reached for his fingers and began prying them off one at a time as he tightened his hold. The chain
on her neck sliced her skin, then Rachel felt the links snap.
“No,” she gritted out.
He didn’t respond to her plea. Instead, his head whipped around. He stared into the darkness, his gaze searching the shadows. Beyond the dark side street, the lights of Paris twinkled. One
second he was strangling her and trying to rip her arm off, the next, he ran . . . taking her broken St Michael medal with him.
Rachel dropped to her knees, clutching her injured arm and coughing as she gulped air into her lungs. It took a second to remember the woman lying on the ground. She didn’t appear to be
breathing. Rachel crawled to her and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.
“Damn it.”
She dragged herself to Boulevard Raspail and saw her attacker duck into a nearby building. He hadn’t gone far. Rachel had no doubt if he got away he’d be back on the streets in a few
days to do the same thing to another woman.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled down the sidewalk. Rachel gave a quick glance at the oncoming traffic and rushed across the road. Horns blared as the Parisian drivers narrowly missed
her. No one braked. She pushed on until she reached a small park that butted up against the building she’d seen the man enter.
Rachel stepped over the low fence, keeping to the shadows. She couldn’t afford to let him catch her off guard. He’d done it once and it had nearly killed her. A tall wrought-iron
fence ran alongside the green gothic-looking building that resembled an ornate shed. Rachel continued across the garden until she reached the end of the grass.
The wrought iron ended at a small gate, which squeaked in the cool evening breeze. A short nose of an entrance poked out of the front of the building. The door was covered in metal mesh. Or at
least it had been. The mesh had been ripped away. She glanced down and saw a lock on the ground. It had been smashed. She hadn’t seen a weapon on him – with those teeth he didn’t
need one. Yet he’d obviously been carrying something, unless he’d suddenly become a character out of a James Bond film.
Rachel knew she should call the police. It was the sensible thing to do, but by the time she found a phone, and someone who could understand her broken French, the killer would be long gone,
along with Paul’s necklace. She couldn’t allow that to happen, even if all she managed to do was find his hiding place. Despite what the department shrinks thought, she didn’t
have a death wish . . . most days.
She pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, announcing her arrival. He’d have to be deaf not to have heard her. Rachel cringed, but kept going until she could squeeze through. The light
over the sign above the building had been smashed. Broken bits of bulb crunched under her shoes. The main door was open a crack, just enough for her to see the darkness beyond. Rachel turned back
and grabbed the mangled lock. It wasn’t a perfect weapon, but at least it would aid her punches. Maybe she could manage to knock out his expensive dental work this time.
Rachel walked back to the door and inched it open. She tilted her head and listened. She could hear the soft fall of footsteps growing fainter by the second. He was getting away. She took a
breath and stepped through the opening. The door slid shut behind her, extinguishing what little light had been cast.
She pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. There was a closed door on the left. It was flanked by a tiny archway that opened into a crude office, which lay empty except for a lone chair.
Rachel raised the lighter and spotted a ramp, leading off to her right. There didn’t appear to be anywhere else he could’ve gone.
She shored up her courage and followed. Rachel stepped lightly, praying the sound wouldn’t carry. The ramp ended abruptly at a set of winding stairs. She couldn’t see the bottom.
What in the hell was this place?
Her arm ached and her neck began to sting, reminding her once more why she was here. Rachel flipped the lighter closed and began a slow, steady descent. Every twenty or so stairs she’d
stop and listen. She couldn’t hear footsteps any longer, only the steady drip of water pinging off rock. The air had gone from fresh to stale.
Rachel was just about to call it quits and turn around, when the stairs ended abruptly. Did she dare use her lighter again? What if he was waiting in the shadows? Did she really have a choice?
Rachel’s heart began to pound as she flicked on the lighter.
She was standing at the mouth of a tunnel. It appeared to be the only way she could go unless she wanted to climb the hundred or so stairs she’d just come down. If Rachel hadn’t been
claustrophobic before, she would be now. The narrow tunnel had a low ceiling like the entrance of a tomb. She couldn’t stretch her arms out without hitting rock walls.
Rachel began walking. It was impossible to be quiet with loose gravel beneath her feet, so she left the lighter on. She stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the
pounding of her heart. The sound of water dripping grew louder. The tunnel eventually opened up into a larger chamber. Rachel read the sign above the door. It was written in French: ARRÊTE! ICI C’EST L’EMPIRE DES MORTS.
It was easy enough to translate: STOP! THIS IS THE EMPIRE OF THE DEAD.
“Terrific,” she murmured, half-expecting someone to cue horror music.
Rachel stepped through the archway into a nightmare. Walls of human remains rose from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at her from empty
eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs around their skulls.
Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at her coat as her heart slammed into her ribs. The freak had lured her into the catacombs. There were miles of tunnels down here, according to the
brochures she’d picked up in the airport. No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. They wouldn’t even find her body, if he didn’t want it to be found. So much for
discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.
Rachel took a step back – right into a hard male body. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralysed, then panic set in. A large pale hand covered
her mouth before Rachel could draw breath and scream. Her lighter burned her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.
She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why
should he? He had her right where he wanted her.
A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop
him.
“No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.
Her breath rushed past his long fingers as she bit him.
“Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.
Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment
later firm lips brushed her ear lobe and she quivered. What was he playing at?
Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “You must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”
Two
“You’re trespassing,” Gabriel Dumont said, ignoring the smell of wild flowers coming from the woman’s hair. He resisted the urge to bury his nose
in her dark tresses once more. Instead, Gabriel released her. She scurried away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight. Not that he needed it to see, but he had no doubt she did.
“The catacombs are closed. You want to tell me what you’re doing down here?”
Her soft Asian eyes narrowed as she carefully took in his appearance. The woman wasn’t as young as he’d initially thought. Mid to late thirties if he had to guess. The press of her
warm lithe body had thrown him off. He was glad to be wrong. Time seasoned a woman. Though it had little meaning to creatures such as himself. Gabriel kept still, trying to look harmless, though he
was anything but.
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. He could tell by her expression that she was trying to come up with a plausible story for her presence. Smart and beautiful. “Do you work
here?” she asked, attempting to commandeer the conversation. This was a woman used to being in charge.
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Why else would I be here?” It wasn’t like she knew this was the entrance to the Otherworld. Was she simply a tourist trying to sneak in to the
catacombs after dark? There were plenty who tried and succeeded. Not all got out to tell of their adventures.
“I was attacked by a man. He came down here.” She ran a trembling hand through her hair.
He arched a brow. ?
re-launched this classic bookshop online at www.murderone.co.uk. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, she completed the Master of Publishing program at Simon Fraser University before moving to
London. She lives in Hackney with her boyfriend, filmmaker Christopher Joseph.
Also available
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The Mammoth Book of Erotic Women
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Fantasy
The Mammoth Book of Funniest Cartoons of All Time
The Mammoth Book of Hard Men
The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits
The Mammoth Book of Illustrated True Crime
The Mammoth Book of Inside the Elite Forces
The Mammoth Book of International Erotica
The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper
The Mammoth Book of Jacobean Whodunnits
The Mammoth Book of the Kama Sutra
The Mammoth Book of Killers at Large
The Mammoth Book of King Arthur
The Mammoth Book of Lesbian Erotica
The Mammoth Book of Limericks
The Mammoth Book of Maneaters
The Mammoth Book of Modern Ghost Stories
The Mammoth Book of Modern Battles
The Mammoth Book of Monsters
The Mammoth Book of Mountain Disasters
The Mammoth Book of New Gay Erotica
The Mammoth Book of New Terror
The Mammoth Book of On the Edge
The Mammoth Book of On the Road
The Mammoth Book of Pirates
The Mammoth Book of Poker
The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance
The Mammoth Book of Prophecies
The Mammoth Book of Roaring Twenties Whodunnits
The Mammoth Book of Sex, Drugs and Rock ’N’ Roll
The Mammoth Book of Short SF Novels
The Mammoth Book of Short Spy Novels
The Mammoth Book of Sorcerers’ Tales
The Mammoth Book of True Crime
The Mammoth Book of True Hauntings
The Mammoth Book of True War Stories
The Mammoth Book of Unsolved Crimes
The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance
The Mammoth Book of Vintage Whodunnits
The Mammoth Book of Women Who Kill
The Mammoth Book of Zombie Comics
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First published in the UK by Robinson,
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Acknowledgments
Introduction
Paris After Dark
Jordan Summers
Coven of Mercy
Deborah Cooke
Le Cirque de la Nuit
Karen MacInerney
Perdition
Caitlin Kittredge
Deliver Us From Evil
Dina James
Blood and Thyme
Camille Bacon-Smith
Into the Mist For Ever
Rosemary Laurey
Blood Feud
Patti O’Shea
Love Bites
Angie Fox
Flotsam
Caitlín R. Kiernan
The Murder King’s Woman
Jamie Leigh Hansen
Butterfly Kiss
Carole Nelson Douglas
Crimson Kisses
Diane Whiteside
Vampsploitation
Jaye Wells
Trust Me
Stacia Kane
The Scotsman and the Vamp
Jennifer Ashley
I Need More You
Justine Musk
Point of No Return
Jennifer St Giles
With Friends Like These
Dawn Cook
Blood Gothic
Nancy Holder
Eternity Embraced
Larissa Ione
The Ghost of Leadville
Jeanne C. Stein
The Vampire, the Witch and the Yenko
Tiffany Trent
Circle Unbroken
Ann Aguirre
Skein of Sunlight
Devon Monk
Author Biographies
“Paris After Dark” © by Jordan Summers. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Coven of Mercy” © by Deborah Cooke. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Le Cirque de la Nuit” © by Karen MacInerney. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Perdition” © by Caitlin Kittredge. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Deliver Us From Evil” © by Dina James. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood and Thyme” © by Camille Bacon-Smith. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Into the Mist For Ever” © by Rosemary Laurey. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood Feud” © by Patti O’Shea. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Love Bites” © by Angie Fox. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Flotsam” © by Caitlín R. Kiernan. First published in Not One of Us #40, October 2008.
“The Murder King’s Woman” © by Jamie Leigh Hansen. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Butterfly Kiss” © by Carole Nelson Douglas. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Crimson Kisses” © by Diane Whiteside. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Vampsploitation” © by Jaye Wells. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Trust Me” © by Stacia Kane. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Scotsman and the Vamp” © by Jennifer Ashley. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“I Need More You” © by Justine Musk. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Point of No Return” © by Jennifer St Giles. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“With Friends Like These” © by Dawn Cook. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Blood Gothic” © by Nancy Holder. First published in Shadows 8, June 1985.
“Eternity Embraced” © by Larissa Ione. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Ghost of Leadville” © by Jeanne C. Stein. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“The Vampire, the Witch and the Yenko” © by Tiffany Trent. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Circle Unbroken” © by Ann Aguirre. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
“Skein of Sunlight” © by Devon Monk. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.
Urban fantasy is the ultimate milieu for a little vamp action. Vampires can get romantic in some pretty freaky ways. So, although this is The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance
2, don’t go expecting too much gentle foreplay and whispers of sweet nothings. These can be dark, brooding, vicious creatures who like it . . . a little rough. And sometimes they come
bearing romance with just the slightest hint of menace. But you’ll also find the lighter side of vamps in here, too. Just be warned: the vampire really does push the boundaries of
“romance” – often to its bloodiest limits. You just might have to rework your definition of love once you sink your teeth into many of these tales.
From the get-go, this collection was moving at lightning speed into the dark and dirty waters of urban fantasy. My new co-pilot, YA urban fantasy writer Karen Mahoney (check
out her short story in the new YA vamp anthology, The Eternal Kiss) who had started work at Murder One with me, was a definite influence. She has the infectious enthusiasm of a kid in a
candy store (or Wonder Woman with a new invisible plane). When I told her that I was compiling Love Bites she immediately put me in contact with urban fantasy writers she knew through Live
Journal, Facebook and Twitter. She told me of urban fantasy writers who were going to be in London soon and were keen to come to Murder One for a signing (this is how I met Caitlin Kittredge [think
of a goth Sandy in Grease with pink streaks in her hair], Stacia Kane and Jordan Summers (who had a great deal of fun laughing at my prudishness over her friend Cheyenne McCray’s
formerly ultra-hot Succubus story in The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance). And Devon Monk, Justine Musk and Jaye Wells should basically be in touch with the police after I stalked them
mercilessly à la Facebook, with Karen’s gleeful encouragement. I hope you enjoy this dark new collection of vampires and the fantastic writers who write them.
* * *
Contest time!
As some of you might know, I used to buy the romance and fantasy for the amazing, fantastic, totally unique Murder One bookshop in London’s Charing Cross Road, which was
basically the only bookstore in the UK, likely Europe, to stock an exhaustive list of US romance alongside a phenomenal selection of crime titles. Incredibly, the bookshop closed at the end of
January after twenty-one years. We have managed, however, to keep it up and running as an online bookstore and mail order business (some consolation to readers, I hope!). We are ecstatic to be
keeping Murder One alive and look forward to a bigger and brighter future. So, in light of our relaunch, and because we are overjoyed still to be in the business of selling great books to great
customers, I thought it might be a good time to give away some free books to celebrate Murder One’s phoenix-like rising from the dead!
Here’s what you have to do: a real honest-to-goodness historical figure appears, totally by coincidence, in two stories in this collection. The first five readers who can give me the name
of this historical figure, plus the titles of the two stories, as well as the names of the authors, will receive a free, mass-market paperback of their choice – it can be anything: your wish
is our command! – posted to you anywhere in the world.
Please send your answers to me at: [email protected] and check out our website at www.murderone.co.uk
Murder One is back!
Let the ghoulish games begin!
Jordan Summers
One
Rachel Chang pinched the cigarette between her lips and reached into her pocket for her lighter. Five years of being nicotine free was about to go up in smoke, if she
could just get this damn thing to light. She flicked the Zippo and inhaled, then proceeded to choke. Eyes watering, Rachel flicked the cigarette onto the cobblestone as a high-pitched scream
pierced the night.
One hand moved to where her weapon should be, while the other automatically reached for the St Michael medal around her neck. For a moment Rachel saw her partner lying in a puddle of blood. She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath as the panic attack eased. This wasn’t New York. The vision wasn’t real. And this wasn’t her problem. Let someone else clean up the mess for
a change.
A second scream followed the first, then ended abruptly. Rachel remained immobile, while her conscience called her every foul name in the book. Unfortunately, the voice in her head wasn’t
loud enough to drown out the struggle she could hear taking place on the dimly lit road off Boulevard Raspail.
“You have no authority here. You don’t even speak French. Let the Parisian police handle it,” she muttered under her breath as she came upon a man grappling with a woman. The
woman’s arms were flailing as she beat at the man’s broad shoulders with her clenched fists.
The dark-haired man wasn’t striking her back, but he was holding her tight to deflect her blows. It looked like a typical domestic dispute. Only a fool got in the middle of those. Rachel
had been foolish once and it had cost her dearly. Never again. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept walking.
Rachel saw a sign for the Cimetière du Montparnasse affixed to a high, grey brick wall. She glanced at the sky. “Trying to tell me something, partner?” Of course Paul Veretti
didn’t answer. No one did. Like the residents of the fancy French cemetery, he was dead. All that was left of him was her memories and the St Michael medal around her neck.
The patron saint must have been on a coffee break the day her partner caught a bullet in the chest – a bullet that was meant for her. It was Rachel’s idea to answer the domestic
battery call on the drive home. It wasn’t even part of their job. She should’ve been the one to stay in the house and try to calm the battered wife, not Paul. But he’d insisted
she escort the husband outside and wait for a patrol car to pick him up. Rachel had barely made it to the porch, when the shot rang out. There was a shocked cry and a loud thump. She knew without
looking what had happened. She felt like that bullet had been chasing her ever since.
Rachel glanced at the cemetery once more, then asked herself what Paul would do. The answer was obvious. She cursed, then tromped back to the mouth of the street. This was a bad idea. Her gun
and NYPD badge currently resided an ocean away inside her captain’s desk. She’d have to count on the man fleeing when she confronted him. Rachel ran the odds of that happening in her
head and let out a string of expletives.
The woman had stopped struggling and now hung loosely in the man’s arms. Had he struck her after Rachel left? She hated bullies. Hated people who thought their size gave them free rein to
do as they pleased. The man stood in the shadows with his back to her, but Rachel could tell he outweighed her and the woman by a good fifty pounds. This was such a bad idea.
“Hey buddy,” she shouted.
The dark-haired man didn’t acknowledge her, but Rachel saw his broad shoulders tense.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. Parlez-vous . . . anglais? Let the woman go,” she said in frustration, wishing she’d paid attention to the French CDs she’d
checked out of the library.
He slowly turned. Rachel caught a glimpse of shimmering green eyes, the colour so unnatural it couldn’t possibly be found outside the animal kingdom. Had to be contact lenses. But it
wasn’t his eyes that held her in place. It was his teeth – his long, very bloody teeth.
Rachel watched the blood drip down his chin onto his dark suit before he stepped back into the shadows. What in the hell had he been doing? When she’d walked by earlier it had looked like
the woman was the aggressor. She’d been wrong . . . again. How many people had to die for her to get it right?
She automatically catalogued the scene, so she could give her statement to the police later. He released the woman. She slumped to the ground like discarded rags. The man grinned, his attention
now riveted on the new arrival.
Rachel knew that the fact she was a petite Chinese-American woman made her look like an easy target, but her size was deceptive. “Before you do anything stupid,” she said, knowing it
was already too late for that, “I think you should know I’ve called the police. I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.” She pointed to the sidewalk. “Get down
on the ground.”
If the dark-haired man understood her, he didn’t let on. He kept approaching at a steady pace. The light should’ve revealed his face, but the shadows seemed to follow him, obscuring
his pale features. It didn’t matter. Rachel was sure she could identify him from his eyes alone, although they didn’t seem as bright as they’d been moments ago. Must’ve been
a trick of the light.
“Stay back,” she said. “This is your last warning.” Rachel held her hands up like her Krav Maga instructor taught her to do. It looked like a defensive posture. It
wasn’t.
The man smiled, giving her an up close and personal look at his mouth. He had abnormally long incisors that had been filed into jagged points. He used his blood-covered tongue to caress them as
he closed the distance between them.
Give an asshole prosthetic fangs and he thinks he’s a fucking vampire.
Rachel took a step back, a chill snaking down her spine. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder; he’d be on her before she could make it twenty yards. She needed to draw
someone’s attention. The man must’ve read her mind because in a blink he went from ten feet away to in her face. Rachel didn’t have time to scream as he slammed her into the wall
surrounding the cemetery. She landed with a sickening thud. The air rushed out of her lungs with a loud whoosh as pain shot through her body.
She blinked to clear her vision. The shadows still obscured his features. Rachel brushed at the darkness as he approached. He growled. She gagged as his coppery breath fanned out over her face.
The guttural sound grew louder. It was the only warning she received.
Instinct made Rachel throw her hand up a second before his teeth clamped onto her forearm. Her leather jacket ripped as he tore through the thick material like it was made of butterfly wings.
His sharp incisors punctured her skin. The excruciating pain snapped her out of her initial shock.
Rachel drove her palm into her attacker’s nose and heard something crunch, then saw blood splatter across his face. She wasn’t sure who was more surprised. Her hand came away covered
in crimson. She swung again, but her slick palm only grazed his cheek.
Fury filled his glowing green eyes. The grip he had on her with his teeth tightened and he shook his head, shredding muscle. The human pit bull was going to break her arm, if she didn’t
get him to release her.
Rachel hit his nose again, spilling more blood. He grabbed her arm, while his other hand latched on to her throat and began to squeeze. Blood roared in her ears as he tried to kill her. It was
one thing to contemplate taking her own life, it was quite another to have him take it from her. Rachel thrust her hips forwards and kneed his groin hard. He grunted and released her arm, but the
hand around her throat remained.
She tried to break the grip on her neck, using every technique she’d been taught at the police academy, but nothing worked. Rachel hit him until her palm hurt, then hit him some more. His
nose was now bent at an odd angle and made a strange whistling snort every time he inhaled. She reached for his fingers and began prying them off one at a time as he tightened his hold. The chain
on her neck sliced her skin, then Rachel felt the links snap.
“No,” she gritted out.
He didn’t respond to her plea. Instead, his head whipped around. He stared into the darkness, his gaze searching the shadows. Beyond the dark side street, the lights of Paris twinkled. One
second he was strangling her and trying to rip her arm off, the next, he ran . . . taking her broken St Michael medal with him.
Rachel dropped to her knees, clutching her injured arm and coughing as she gulped air into her lungs. It took a second to remember the woman lying on the ground. She didn’t appear to be
breathing. Rachel crawled to her and felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.
“Damn it.”
She dragged herself to Boulevard Raspail and saw her attacker duck into a nearby building. He hadn’t gone far. Rachel had no doubt if he got away he’d be back on the streets in a few
days to do the same thing to another woman.
She forced herself to her feet and stumbled down the sidewalk. Rachel gave a quick glance at the oncoming traffic and rushed across the road. Horns blared as the Parisian drivers narrowly missed
her. No one braked. She pushed on until she reached a small park that butted up against the building she’d seen the man enter.
Rachel stepped over the low fence, keeping to the shadows. She couldn’t afford to let him catch her off guard. He’d done it once and it had nearly killed her. A tall wrought-iron
fence ran alongside the green gothic-looking building that resembled an ornate shed. Rachel continued across the garden until she reached the end of the grass.
The wrought iron ended at a small gate, which squeaked in the cool evening breeze. A short nose of an entrance poked out of the front of the building. The door was covered in metal mesh. Or at
least it had been. The mesh had been ripped away. She glanced down and saw a lock on the ground. It had been smashed. She hadn’t seen a weapon on him – with those teeth he didn’t
need one. Yet he’d obviously been carrying something, unless he’d suddenly become a character out of a James Bond film.
Rachel knew she should call the police. It was the sensible thing to do, but by the time she found a phone, and someone who could understand her broken French, the killer would be long gone,
along with Paul’s necklace. She couldn’t allow that to happen, even if all she managed to do was find his hiding place. Despite what the department shrinks thought, she didn’t
have a death wish . . . most days.
She pushed the gate open. The metal screeched, announcing her arrival. He’d have to be deaf not to have heard her. Rachel cringed, but kept going until she could squeeze through. The light
over the sign above the building had been smashed. Broken bits of bulb crunched under her shoes. The main door was open a crack, just enough for her to see the darkness beyond. Rachel turned back
and grabbed the mangled lock. It wasn’t a perfect weapon, but at least it would aid her punches. Maybe she could manage to knock out his expensive dental work this time.
Rachel walked back to the door and inched it open. She tilted her head and listened. She could hear the soft fall of footsteps growing fainter by the second. He was getting away. She took a
breath and stepped through the opening. The door slid shut behind her, extinguishing what little light had been cast.
She pulled out her lighter and flicked it on. There was a closed door on the left. It was flanked by a tiny archway that opened into a crude office, which lay empty except for a lone chair.
Rachel raised the lighter and spotted a ramp, leading off to her right. There didn’t appear to be anywhere else he could’ve gone.
She shored up her courage and followed. Rachel stepped lightly, praying the sound wouldn’t carry. The ramp ended abruptly at a set of winding stairs. She couldn’t see the bottom.
What in the hell was this place?
Her arm ached and her neck began to sting, reminding her once more why she was here. Rachel flipped the lighter closed and began a slow, steady descent. Every twenty or so stairs she’d
stop and listen. She couldn’t hear footsteps any longer, only the steady drip of water pinging off rock. The air had gone from fresh to stale.
Rachel was just about to call it quits and turn around, when the stairs ended abruptly. Did she dare use her lighter again? What if he was waiting in the shadows? Did she really have a choice?
Rachel’s heart began to pound as she flicked on the lighter.
She was standing at the mouth of a tunnel. It appeared to be the only way she could go unless she wanted to climb the hundred or so stairs she’d just come down. If Rachel hadn’t been
claustrophobic before, she would be now. The narrow tunnel had a low ceiling like the entrance of a tomb. She couldn’t stretch her arms out without hitting rock walls.
Rachel began walking. It was impossible to be quiet with loose gravel beneath her feet, so she left the lighter on. She stopped every few yards to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the
pounding of her heart. The sound of water dripping grew louder. The tunnel eventually opened up into a larger chamber. Rachel read the sign above the door. It was written in French: ARRÊTE! ICI C’EST L’EMPIRE DES MORTS.
It was easy enough to translate: STOP! THIS IS THE EMPIRE OF THE DEAD.
“Terrific,” she murmured, half-expecting someone to cue horror music.
Rachel stepped through the archway into a nightmare. Walls of human remains rose from the floor nearly touching the ceiling. Faces of people who’d lived long ago stared at her from empty
eye sockets, their bones neatly arranged in macabre designs around their skulls.
Suddenly the room was too warm. Rachel pulled at her coat as her heart slammed into her ribs. The freak had lured her into the catacombs. There were miles of tunnels down here, according to the
brochures she’d picked up in the airport. No one would hear her scream this far below the surface. They wouldn’t even find her body, if he didn’t want it to be found. So much for
discovering his hiding place and reporting it to the police. She had to get out of here.
Rachel took a step back – right into a hard male body. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. For a moment, fear kept her paralysed, then panic set in. A large pale hand covered
her mouth before Rachel could draw breath and scream. Her lighter burned her fingers and she dropped it, plunging them into darkness.
She elbowed the man and tried to smash his nose with her head, but only succeeded in hitting his chest. Rachel braced, expecting a fist to the face. The man made no attempt to strike her. Why
should he? He had her right where he wanted her.
A warm breath brushed her neck. His jagged teeth flashed in her mind. He was going to bite her just like he’d bitten the woman and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop
him.
“No.” The plea came out garbled behind his hand, but Rachel knew he understood. “Don’t.” She jerked her head and only succeeded in hurting herself.
“Stop fighting,” he hissed, tightening his grip.
Her breath rushed past his long fingers as she bit him.
“Ow, stop that!” He pressed his face closer.
Rachel tensed and began to tremble as she waited to feel the slice of those fake fangs on her flesh. The pain never came. Heat from the body holding her began to sink into her bones. A moment
later firm lips brushed her ear lobe and she quivered. What was he playing at?
Nuzzling her hair, he inhaled. “American. Figures,” he said with distaste in a low French accent. “You must have a death wish, mademoiselle.”
Two
“You’re trespassing,” Gabriel Dumont said, ignoring the smell of wild flowers coming from the woman’s hair. He resisted the urge to bury his nose
in her dark tresses once more. Instead, Gabriel released her. She scurried away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight. Not that he needed it to see, but he had no doubt she did.
“The catacombs are closed. You want to tell me what you’re doing down here?”
Her soft Asian eyes narrowed as she carefully took in his appearance. The woman wasn’t as young as he’d initially thought. Mid to late thirties if he had to guess. The press of her
warm lithe body had thrown him off. He was glad to be wrong. Time seasoned a woman. Though it had little meaning to creatures such as himself. Gabriel kept still, trying to look harmless, though he
was anything but.
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. He could tell by her expression that she was trying to come up with a plausible story for her presence. Smart and beautiful. “Do you work
here?” she asked, attempting to commandeer the conversation. This was a woman used to being in charge.
Gabriel’s lips quirked. “Why else would I be here?” It wasn’t like she knew this was the entrance to the Otherworld. Was she simply a tourist trying to sneak in to the
catacombs after dark? There were plenty who tried and succeeded. Not all got out to tell of their adventures.
“I was attacked by a man. He came down here.” She ran a trembling hand through her hair.
He arched a brow. ?
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