Read Cleopatra's Return: A Paranormal/Vampire Romance Online
Authors: Eve Langlais
Cleopatra's Return: A Paranormal/Vampire Romance
By
Eve Langlais
Copyright © 1st Edition, October 2010, Eve Langlais
Copyright ©
2
nd
Edition August 2014, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by
Amanda Kelsey © August 2014
Edited by Devin Govaere
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
1606 Main Street, PO Box 151
Stittsville, Ontario, Canada, K2S1A3
ISBN:
978 1927 459 58 4
Cleopatra’s Return
is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Author’s Note:
Cleopatra’s Return
was originally published by Cobblestone Press as
Cleopatra’s Men
from January 14
th
2011 until May 8th of 2014. Published anew in August of 2014 by Eve Langlais, this book has been expanded from its original version of 31.5k to 43k and features a new cover and title. Enjoy
~Eve
Once Queen of the Nile, now she’s the queen of their heart
s—and bodies.
Cleopatra paid her dues in Hell for her mistakes, but Satan thinks she’s too dangerous to keep around, so he’s kicked her out into the modern world for a second chance.
Ambushed
by her violent ex, Marc Antony, she is rescued by a dark knight, a vampire with whom she feels an instant connection.
But can she trust him?
For the first time, someone sees past her reputation to the woman. Michael seduces her. Loves her.
It should spell happily ever after until Julius shows up.
Face to face with the lover from her past, Cleo is torn. Who to choose? Or can she have them both?
The question of who to share her heart and bed with isn’t the only thing plaguing her. Danger stalks and mystery surrounds her
existence.
Can this former queen find love in the modern world, or will her past return to
destroy her?
Nothing like knowing death stalked
a girl to give her the incentive to flee. Forget the palanquin she usually rode upon with her greased harem of muscle-laden eunuchs—the only kind her jealous lover allowed.
With her life in jeopardy,
Cleopatra ran, the silken material of her robe tangling in her legs. Her sandaled feet slapped against the paving stones as she fled without a clear direction. In her desperation, recalling the layout of the lower passages in the palace proved almost impossible. She knew there was more than one route she could use for escape. The paranoia of previous leaders who had built this place made sure of it. Problem was, which were still in use? Some had gotten bricked over as the palace changed hands while new ones took their place.
Even below ground
, the screams of those injured and dying, along with the clash of swords, reached her as Octavian’s army invaded her refuge in Alexandria. Vengeful bastard.
I can’t believe
he still harbors a grudge because of the love his uncle Julius bore me.
Rational or not, Octavian was determined to drag her empire down, and kill her while doing it.
Out of breath,
she stopped to orient herself. It seemed she wouldn’t enjoy a long respite. She heard the sound of numerous feet pounding as they raced to catch her.
I need to hide.
Self-preservation made her move
, even though her muscles protested the vigorous exercise.
Queens are supposed to saunter regally, not run for their lives from common soldiers.
S
he slipped into a room whose door lay ajar and peered around for a place to hide. However, the room proved barren, adorned only with cobwebs and dust. Not that it mattered. It seemed her time was up.
Feet scuffed
against the floor behind her, and she whirled to face her pursuer—and most likely death. Cleopatra almost sighed in relief when she saw Marc Antony, a relief that was short-lived. The cruel tilt on his lips sent a chill down her spine. But that alone wasn’t what clued her in to her eminent demise. The fact he stalked toward her swinging his gleaming short sword spoke eloquently.
Perhaps
he’s simply playing one of his sick games. It would be just like him to try and frighten me even in the midst of calamity.
Her lover, with his perverse nature, enjoyed the terror of others, even those he claimed to care for.
“What are we going to do
, Marc?” she asked, licking her dry lips. She found her gaze locked on to his swinging blade, its back and forth sway hypnotic.
“
We
are doing nothing.” He halted right in front of her, the fabric of his toga brushing the silk of her robe.
Trepidation
almost shook her, but as queen of Egypt, she wouldn’t give in to her baser instincts. Live or die, almost a family motto, had governed all of her choices thus far in life. The weak, also known as the opposition and more sadly her siblings, had never grasped that simple life lesson. She had, with bloody consequences, a fact that now and then came back to haunt her.
“
Nothing? But Octavian draws near. Now is not the time to give up. There is still time to escape. I have a place, a hidden place where we will be safe.” In truth she would prefer to flee alone. Marc had long ago lost his appeal, not that he’d offered much to begin with—or ever given her a choice in the matter. In her quest to survive, she’d given him her body and pretended love. In her heart, and despite his abandonment, no one would ever replace Julius. Not to mention, Marc’s brutal ways were shocking, even to one such as her. Cleo sported many a bruise, both now and in the past, that attested to Marc’s easily roused anger.
“
Flee like a coward? Never. I tire of running. And I have no interest in hiding.” He spat the words. “I am Marc Antony, decorated Roman general and husband to Octavia. You remember my wife, don’t you?”
“You mean the one you divorced so you could marry me. I don’t think Octavian will forgive what you did to his sister.”
Was it any wonder Octavian attacked? First, Cleopatra had dallied with his uncle Julius, and then, because of her, his sister was dishonored as Marc Antony took up where Julius left off.
A maniacal grin curved Marc’s lips
, which contrasted with the cold look in his eyes. “Octavian will not dare harm me, not when I shall offer him a prize he cannot refuse.”
“Wh-what prize do you speak of?” Cleopatra
couldn’t help the shiver of fear at the crazed gleam in his eyes, a look she’d seen countless times before. It never boded well and usually resulted in puddles of blood.
“
I shall give him the biggest prize in all of Egypt—your head. He will forgive me much when I hand him his victory over the Whore Queen on a silver platter.”
How she hated that term.
Cleopatra wanted to scream at Marc and tell him it was because of him and Julius that people called her whore. Bedding her and boasting of it publicly while never mentioning her lack of choice in the matter. They’d ruined her name and reputation.
A
t least she’d loved Julius. Marc she’d tolerated for, had she not, he would have killed her.
For one liberating moment, she thought
to tell Marc that when he grunted and heaved over her body she thought of another, one who fulfilled her sexual needs. However, given his current state of mind, that probably wasn’t a good idea.
She
’d waited too long to speak. “Nothing to say, whore? No last words or pleas for mercy?” Marc bared his teeth at her and raised his sword.
Dread stroked its way down her spine and raised her flesh.
“Wait,” she cried, her mind scrambling for a way to escape. “I thought you loved me.” He wanted her to beg? Fine. She wasn’t too proud, not with her life on the line.
Her words stopped the sword’s killing descent.
“Love?” He sneered. “I loved the power I wielded through you. I loved having a queen submissive to my whims and as a receptacle for my seed and cock. But now that your power is gone, there are prettier girls, younger girls. You will serve me better dead.”
“But
—” She scrambled for something, anything to delay the bite of his steel. “A boon. One last boon before I die.”
“
What is it you would ask for?” he asked impatiently.
“A kiss. Please
, Marc, kiss me one last time that I might go into the next life with at least the memory of warmth to carry me.” She almost gagged on the words. But she’d known Marc wouldn’t resist. He could never say no to a willing woman or recognize false praise. It was one of his greatest failings, other than his stupidity and brutality.
A beefy arm snaked around her waist
, and he drew her against his stocky frame. With a roughness she expected, he kissed her, his unshaven jaw scraping across her tender skin, his tongue pushing between her teeth.
Cleo
patra held her breath and pretended enjoyment. She snaked her arms around his torso and mimed pleasure in his sloppy embrace. As she moaned in fake pleasure, her hands smoothly pulled the dagger from the belt at his waist.
No more would she suffer his touch or his threats.
She stabbed him swiftly in the back even as she bit down on his tongue to break the kiss. With a bellow he staggered away from her, his hands frantically pawing at his back. But he couldn’t reach the knife that jutted out, a fatal strike.
Blood dribbled down his chin from her bite as h
e sagged to his knees, his jaw slack and his eyes wide in disbelief. “Bitch. How dare you? I shall make you pay for your betrayal.”
As she
wiped the wetness from her lips, Cleopatra smiled at him coldly. “Good luck with that. You’re dying and will never hurt me or anyone else ever again. Enjoy your stay in Hell.”
“
Where I’ll be seeing you soon, whore.” As Marc spoke his last words, blood bubbled up and frothed from his mouth. He fell forward with a hard thump just as Octavian’s soldiers poured into the room. They surrounded her and gripped her arms tight.
Struggl
ing against these numbers was useless, so Cleopatra didn’t bother and held her head imperially high. Octavian had finally caught her, but if he thought to use her like so many men before him, he was sadly mistaken.
I’m done with men who think they can rule me because of the sword between their legs.
I’ll kill myself first.
After almost a year of imprisonment, she did, using the poison of an asp bite
smuggled in by her supporters, her final thought as she lost consciousness and entered a deadly sleep,
I’ll take my chances in Hell.
Hundreds of years later.
Modern day.
A portal to Hades popped into existence in an alley formed by the grimy bricks covering a pair of towering buildings. From the swirling, brimstone-leaking hole, a figure flew out, an unusual yet evident expulsion. Despite the violent ejection, the person managed a tidy tumble and flip. With only a slight wobble, they landed lightly on their feet.
Within seconds,
the portal shrank until, with a slight pop, it winked out of existence. The hooded figure, who’d whirled quickly, but not quick enough to dive back through, cursed. “Fuck. I can’t believe that jerk actually kicked me out of Hell.” With good reason, but still, that didn’t make it less annoying. Encourage one teensy, tiny rebellion, and all those centuries of clawing back to the top were for naught. The plots hatched and stirred, gone. Poof.
