Read Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8) Online
Authors: Tessa Dawn
Blood Ecstasy (Blood Curse Series Book 8)
Books In The Blood Curse Series
Blood Ecstasy
by Tessa Dawn A Blood Curse Novel Book Eight In the Blood Curse Series |
Published by Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC
http://www.ghostpinespublishing.com
Volume VIII of the Blood Curse Series by Tessa Dawn
First Edition Trade Paperback Published May 26, 2016
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © Tessa Dawn, 2016
All rights reserved
ISBN-13:
978-1-937223-20-5
Printed in the United States of America
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher, is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Author may be contacted at: http://www.tessadawn.com
This is a work of fiction.
All characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC
For my Uncle Pete ~ “Love you to the end.”
Credits & Acknowledgments
Ghost Pines Publishing, LLC.,
Publishing
GreenHouse Design, Inc.,
Cover Art
Lidia Bircea,
Romanian Translations
Machovi Creative,
Layout & Design
Reba Hilbert,
Editing
House of the Rising Sun
– This song was recorded several times by various artists prior to the most-recognizable version by the Animals in 1964 (sung by lead singer, Eric Burdon). There is some controversy as to who wrote the lyrics, with one theory being Georgia Turner and Bert Martin. The song is in the public domain.
The Blood Curse
In 800 BC, Prince Jadon and Prince Jaegar Demir were banished from their Romanian homeland after being cursed by a ghostly apparition:
the reincarnated Blood of their numerous female victims
. The princes belonged to an ancient society that had sacrificed its females to the point of extinction, and the punishment was severe.
They were forced to roam the earth in darkness as creatures of the night. They were condemned to feed on the blood of the innocent and stripped of their ability to produce female offspring. They were damned to father twin sons by human hosts who would die wretchedly upon giving birth; and the firstborn of the first set would forever be required as a sacrifice of atonement for the sins of their forefathers.
Staggered by the enormity of
The Curse
, Prince Jadon, whose own hands had never shed blood, begged his accuser for leniency and received
four small mercies—
four
exceptions to the curse that would apply to his house and his descendants, alone.
ᴪ
Though still creatures of the night, they would be allowed to walk in the sun.
ᴪ
Though still required to live on blood, they would not be forced to take the lives of the innocent.
ᴪ
While still incapable of producing female offspring, they would be given
one opportunity and thirty days
to obtain a mate—a human female chosen by the gods—following a sign that appeared in the heavens.
ᴪ
While they were still required to sacrifice a firstborn son, their twins would be born as one child of darkness and one child of light, allowing them to sacrifice the former while keeping the latter to carry on their race.
And so…forever banished from their homeland in the Transylvanian mountains of Eastern Europe, the descendants of Jaegar and the descendants of Jadon became the Vampyr of legend: roaming the earth, ruling the elements, living on the blood of others…forever bound by an ancient curse. They were brothers of the same species, separated only by degrees of light and shadow.
Prologue
Julien Lacusta sank deep into the distressed-leather chair, letting the surrounding darkness envelop him, take him, soothe him.
Become him.
A soft knock sounded on the front door, and he slumped down further in his seat.
Come in
.
He pushed the compulsion into Shelly’s mind, knowing the door was unlocked, and then he waited to see her familiar face—would the gentle human servant be happy to see him, grateful to serve him, or scared out of her wits, like she often was these days?
No matter.
He tightened his fist around the crystal decanter, filled with 151-proof alcohol and liquid H, also called “liquid O,” and waited for the untainted, fresh blood that Shelly Winters would provide. The short-lived cocktail would provide a much-needed escape, however temporary; and after all, that’s all life really was: one endless series of short or long moments, always mundane, each following the other.
Shelly’s footfalls were soft and timid as she crossed the threshold, left the door cracked open, and padded through the wide entry, putting her hand out in front of her to feel her way through the unlit space. She knew better than to turn on the lights, and she stopped abruptly when she saw Julien, sitting so quietly in the middle of an otherwise empty room. “Where’s the rest of your furniture?”
He glanced around the cathedral-sized great room, thought about the huge, exposed wooden beams above him, the towering moss-rock fireplace behind him, and shrugged. “Got rid of it.”
She blanched. “Why?”
He slid down further in his chair, getting more comfortable. “Don’t need it.”
She blinked rapidly, appearing honestly concerned. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t reply.
Julien didn’t answer to humans.
Hell, Julien didn’t answer to anybody, except maybe Napolean, sometimes, when the king asked an occasional question. Otherwise, he just did his job, and he did it so damn well that no one asked any questions. No one ever really noticed his true…absence.
“Do you want me to call Kagen?” Shelly whispered, referring to the house of Jadon’s healer.
The corner of Julien’s mouth quirked up in a sardonic smile.
That was sweet.
Shelly was sweet. He shook his head slowly and beckoned her forward with his hand. “I’m fine,” he rasped. “Come here, baby.” He patted his lap.
Shelly’s tongue snaked out to lick her bottom lip, she fidgeted with the collar on her blouse, and then she glanced around the room nervously as if searching for an escape route. “Um, maybe I should go. Come back another time when you’re feeling better.”
For some reason, this made Julien more restless than angry.
Her voice was like a harsh, clanging symbol reverberating across the quiet room, the empty space, disturbing his fragile peace, when all he wanted to do was add some blood to his cocktail so he could zone out for a while.
Hell’s minions
, the H wouldn’t work without fresh human platelets, and it had to be now.
He needed it now.
Just five minutes of peace.
Just half an hour with nothing turning inside his head.
“Sh,” he coaxed her softly, this time lacing his voice with a powerful compulsion. “Don’t speak, Shelly. Just come forward and obey.”
Her eyes glazed over, and her nervousness abated as the compulsion took hold. She kicked off her shoes, sauntered across the floor, and lowered her seat into his lap.
Damn.
This shit is jacked up
, he thought as he massaged the back of her neck.
He hated to treat her like this—see her like this—but once again, oblivion was calling his name, and he was all too eager to answer. Deciding that maybe
oblivion
was the best destination for Shelly, too, he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, raised his decanter so he could tilt her head toward him, using the side of the glass, and locked his gaze with hers. “Sleep, angel,” he whispered, catching her falling torso as she crumpled sideways against his arm.
It was too loud.
The situation.
The intensity of it all pierced the darkness.
He extended his forefinger, lifting it from the glass, and pointed at the stereo, which was nestled snugly atop a high, built-in ledge, turning the surround-sound on with an electric pulse from his fingertip.
Ah.
Yes…
Without preamble, he took a long, drugging pull from the decanter, testing the various properties of the alcohol and the H on his tongue, and then he sank his fangs deep into Shelly’s throat, savoring each drop of her life-giving blood. As the cocktail began to course through his veins, rapidly slithering along the intersecting passageways like a gentle, erotic snake, just waiting to strike—precious poison appeasing his heart—his head lolled back on the edge of the chair, and his lids grew heavy and dense.
Shelly
slid further down on his lap, drooping in his arms, and he tightened his grip
on the crystal glass
. Dark, sonorous music began to blast through the speakers, saturating the air all around him, and he nearly moaned from the vibrations as his body absorbed the lyrics:
“There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun…
