Aphrodite's Hunt
- Blurb
- Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Acknowledgements
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Epilogue
- Preview of BURNED, Book 1 in the Revenge in Vein Series
- Preview of UNDER HIS SKIN, a paranormal romance
- About the Author
- Did you find a typo?
- Ahoy, Ebook Pirates!
APHRODITE’S HUNT
“When a vampire gets involved in a werewolf mating ritual, you know there’s going to be blood . . .”
Gia is a werewolf with a mission: to have a submissive mate who will never threaten her dominance. For years she has ruled as the lupa of her pack with just such a mate. Then one night her perfect little arrangement comes to an end when her mate betrays her with another woman. Outraged at the insult to their lupa, the pack calls for one of their most sacred rituals: Aphrodite’s Hunt. For three nights Gia will be the prey, hunted by the eligible males of her pack until one proves himself worthy by finding her and claiming her as his own. If Gia wants to escape the erotic ritual that even her own wolf longs for, she will have to find someone to protect her not only from her pack . . . but from her own carnal desires.
Sorin is a vampire with a secret. Haunted by the macabre sins of his past, he has sworn off blood, determined to stick to a diet of siphoned energy that leaves him too weak to pose a threat. When Gia comes to his door, possessed by a heated desire and desperate to make a deal, Sorin quickly turns her away. But he soon finds out that Gia is not a werewolf used to taking orders. One bloody kiss is all it takes to awaken the beast he has kept trapped inside of him for so long and suddenly Sorin finds himself swept up by a renewed hunger for the warmer things in life.
Now Gia wants out of the deal and Sorin wants . . . her.
Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream
The Revenge in Vein Series:
Aphrodite’s Hunt
Jennifer Blackstream
Skeleton Key Publishing
http://www.skeletonkeypublishing.net/
Aphrodite’s Hunt
©Copyright Jennifer Blackstream 2012
Cover Art by Jaycee of Sweet n’ Spicy Designs © Copyright July 2012
Edited by Julia Kanno and Marie Hall
Skeleton Key Publishing
This is a work fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Skeleton Key Publishing, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. In all seriousness, if you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it and purchase your own copy or else be faced with an irate pixie and a snarling dragon. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Skeleton Key Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Skeleton Key Publishing,
Norton
,
Ohio
,
United States of America
Acknowledgements
Dear Dragon - I know this one nearly killed you. This pixie owes you a debt.
Linda - bless you for all the time and enthusiasm you’ve given me.
Dedication
For those who wish they could choose whom to love.
“Master, there is someone here to see you.”
Grigore’s voice disturbed the relative quiet of the vampire’s study—the crackling in the fireplace the only other sound. Sorin remained still in his chair, staring into the flames. Unlike the large room full of antique furniture, his mind was not lit by the cheery fire. Darkness infused him, body and soul. His heart struggled to beat using only the energy it absorbed from the brownie behind him. The little fey’s life force kept it going—but it wasn’t blood. It didn’t invigorate him, didn’t tempt him. Sorin closed his eyes. Sometimes he wished his heart would give up completely—as he had.
Grigore sighed. The floor creaked as he shifted his weight. The energy flowing from him to Sorin halted briefly before flowing in the opposite direction. Sorin knew what the brownie planned to do before the command left his mouth.
“Sorin, come to the door and greet your guest.”
His name echoed with power on Grigore’s tongue, power the brownie had stolen through their link. Like a puppet on strings, Sorin stood and turned to the door. It should have disturbed him to have his body move without any intention or effort on his part. He didn’t care.
Sorin opened his eyes. His deadened gaze appraised his servant, apathy lying on him like a leaden blanket. Grigore stood less than three feet tall, an average height for a brownie. His brown hair and beard were neatly trimmed, as always, and his brown robe was clean and well pressed despite its obvious wear. He looked more like a tree stump than an alchemist—certainly not the sort of creature who should have any power over a vampire. Sorin shook his head.
“You would use our connection to compel me, Grigore? Am I so reduced that you would make yourself my master?”
“I should be punished, to be sure. Why don’t you punish me, master?”
Sorin knew he should be outraged. The connection a vampire forged with someone he repeatedly fed on was meant to give the undead power over his prey—not the other way around. The fact that Grigore was a mere brownie, kin to the common dwarf, only added to the insult. Any other vampire would have killed Grigore for his audacity.
A voice in his head mocked him, pointing out that no other vampire would have let himself grow so weak that his food could order him about through a perversion of a magical umbilical cord. If he had any self respect at all he would discipline the brownie—severely.
“I will not punish you, Grigore.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded dull and defeated.
“I know, master.”
The sad tone in the small man’s voice pounded into Sorin’s spine like a nail of solid guilt. If he’d had the energy he may have tried to comfort him. As it was, he had to fight just to remain standing.
His gaze wandered to his chair and its soft velvet lining. It would be easy enough to retake his seat. Grigore’s command had been more of a nudge to get Sorin up than a compulsion to make him go to the door. Still, he didn’t want to make Grigore choose between using more energy and giving up. It was a brownie’s nature to serve, not to dominate. He knew what little force Grigore had used to make him stand had likely already made the smaller man uncomfortable. Just because life had lost all meaning for him, didn’t mean he wanted his friend to suffer too.
“You know I hate stealing your energy, my friend. It bothers me to use what little it takes to keep me alive. If I am to move this leaden body of mine very far, I will have to take more and I do not wish to cause you harm.”
Grigore’s eyes flashed with something akin to anger. “I am fey, am I not, master? Do you think my energy so human that taking enough to walk will cause me harm?”
The indignation in his words lashed at his skin like a whip. Sorin winced. He’d only meant to discourage the brownie from insisting he go to the door. Unfortunately, his years of inactivity had apparently injured his manners as well as his strength. He sighed his submission and began an agonizingly slow shuffle out of the room.
At the doorway he paused, leaning against it for support. “Who is at the door?”
The question was more a means to distract himself from the humiliating amount of exertion it took him to walk, than an expression of interest. He moved so rarely these days, every step took a Herculean effort.
Good. A slow-moving predator doesn’t kill anyone.
“Better you see for yourself, master.”
“I would prefer it if you just told me.”
“I know, master.”
Anger tried to flare in the face of Grigore’s quiet refusal, but it died before it could even change his facial expression. Resigned to going all the way to the front door, Sorin straightened up and stepped into the hall. A draft flowed down the passage, ruffling the curtains that framed the windows. The black paint covering the glass absorbed the light, making each one seem like a shadowy portal to oblivion. The breeze wafted under his nose as it passed.
A new scent slammed into him with all the subtlety of a freight train. He froze, one hand automatically reaching for the wall as an intoxicating combination of rich soil and new grass slapped him in the face. He grasped the wall to reassure himself that he was still indoors and hadn’t fallen out an open window into the trees that surrounded his mansion. He raised his nose, sucking the scent deep into his lungs. Under the fragrance of mother earth was a warmer, fleshier scent. Musk and something else. Something . . . primal.
The brownie paused and looked back. “Master?”
The exciting aroma swirled around him, teasing his senses and coaxing him to continue forward. Taking another pull of energy from Grigore, Sorin managed to walk with something resembling a normal pace. Exhaustion still clung to his limbs, but he fought against it as he followed the invigorating scent down the hallway. It seduced him, whispering wicked words in the dark. Never before had a scent held such promise.
His heart beat harder as he flowed to the wooden banister lining the balcony. The feel of the cursed organ pulsing in his chest sent a dull ache through his body. He ignored the pain. In the face of this new scent, this wonderful scent, the pain was irrelevant. To the right, the wide staircase curved down to spill into the front hallway. From this vantage point, he could see the front door and the foyer.
