Shifter’s Baby (Alpha Fantasy Paranormal Billionaire Shifter BBW Romance) (66 page)

Francis Holmes:
New York Blood

A Billionaire Romance

By: T.J Bird

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Copyright 2015 by (T.J Bird) - All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

              The incessant hum of conversation continued to waft through the first class curtain of the plane and Francis clenched his jaw. He had no time, nor patience for the mundanity of mortal life. His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.

              “Sir? Is everything okay?” The slender curly haired flight attendant leaned across the empty aisle seat. Francis turned slowly from the window and when his violet tinted eyes met with hers she gasped.

              “They are quite disturbing.” He said, his thick Romanian accent dripping from every syllable.

              “Umm…who is that, Sir?” The flight attendant stammered, unable to tear her gaze away from his hypnotic eyes.

              “The people.” He said bluntly. The young woman looked from right to left, unsure of just what he was talking about and thinking that perhaps he had begun to lose his mental faculties.

              “What people would that be, Sir?” Her complete ineptitude was pushing him over the edge and finally he unclipped his seatbelt, stood up and waved his hand to the back of the plane.

              “THOSE people!” He drew out the word people. “They chatter and chatter and it is driving me crazy!” His eyes glinted as he looked down at the flight attendant who was now standing wide-eyed before his towering frame.

              “I’m sorry, Sir.” She said, leaning backwards to stay out of his range of motion. “I…umm…let me see if I can’t get them to keep it down…” Keeping her eyes fixated on him, she walked towards the curtain that separated the two classes and then quickly disappeared behind it. Even out of sight, he could smell the fear that emanated from her every pore.

              Francis sat down with a satisfied sigh.

              Francis L. Holmes had always taken pleasure in scaring mortals. It was a perk that came with the territory. And there were many. In fact, there was only one drawback to being immortal that he had found throughout his lifetime – well two if you counted the necessity for blood supplementation – and that was the necessity to continue the bloodline. It was much more than a slight inconvenience, however. To fail to produce an heir would mean the end of his bloodline’s rule. To fail to protect that heir until he reached the age of immortality at thirty mortal years, would've equally devastating.

              For thousands of years, the drafty stone castle in Bran, Romania, had been home to the Holmes clan. As each new generation was borne, another was pushed out – such a practice ensures that only the strongest rule. Failure to produce an heir on the part of Francis would result in usurpation of his position by a younger member of the clan, an offspring of another – perhaps a cousin once removed. And Francis was not going to tolerate anyone less than his own child taking his throne. It was his destiny to lose control of the historical estate, but he was going to ensure that it was to no one other than his own child. This, however, caused difficulty. Francis would have to secure someone able to bear his progeny. Someone capable of carrying such a unique creature that, sensing its mother’s weakness, may self-destruct taking her with it. This involved very little love and much more genetic planning. But as Francis had already found out, questioning someone’s genetics was generally not the best way to go about finding a mother for your child. So he had undertaken the task of searching the globe for a mate, someone strong enough and preferably willing, to carry his child. He began with New York.

              “Sir?” A different flight attendant from the last appeared beside Francis’s row of seats. He looked up at her questioningly. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to buckle your seatbelt. The captain has turned on the light and we will be landing shortly.” The young woman seemed to be asking for his cooperation more than telling him it was a necessity, but Francis obliged. She looked relieved. “Thank you, Sir.” She disappeared back to the first class galley and Francis returned his gaze to the window.

              “I think you scared that last girl off!” Francis turned to find a rather obese man with red cheeks looking at him from the opposite row of seats. He stared at him blankly. “The last flight attendant that was here?” The man said. “I think you…”

              “I understand what you mean.” Francis said, his voice deep and resonating. “Why would you think such a thing?” The color drained from the man’s face with the exception of the two red patches that permanently stained his cheeks.

              “I just…what I meant was…hey, look, man, I was just kidding around.” The man held up his hands. “No harm, no foul!” Francis could smell his fear, he could also smell the body odor that was emanating from his armpits. His upper lip curled as his nostrils widened.

              “Yes…no harm, no foul.” Francis repeated in a haunting refrain.

              In any other situation, Francis would have pulled the man aside and shown him what it really meant to scare someone, but not today…at least not in the first class cabin of a 767.

              For the remaining thirty minutes of the flight, Francis kept a close eye on the fat man with red cheeks. For his part, the fat man with red cheeks kept his eyes locked on the window. Not even when the flight attendant passed requesting his trash, did he look away from it. Francis smiled to himself. He may not have been able to dish out his usual form of punishment, but he was satisfied with the fear he was able to impart.

              When the plane landed, and Francis disembarked, he was greeted by a rather pale looking boy who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. He held a rather large cardboard sign with Francis’s full name scrawled out in black marker. Francis couldn’t help but shudder at what passed for good help these days. He instructed the boy to fetch his trunk from the baggage claim area and once he had disappeared, Francis stepped outside.

              The air in New York was polluted and thick with the smell of car exhaust and people. Francis reached inside his blazer pocket and pulled out a glinting silver cigarette case. Flipping it open, he slid the hand rolled cigarette between his plump lips.

              “Hey, man, you got a light?” Another young man sidled up to him with a cigarette in his mouth. Francis glared at him, but when the kid wasn’t sent running by the sight of him, he reached in to his pocket and flicked a flame from his lighter. The young man leaned in and lit his cigarette. “Thanks, man.” He turned to leave and just as he did, he looked back. “Oh, and cool contacts!” A low and barely audible growl emanated from somewhere deep in the back of Francis’s throat. This city was going to prove a test of his patience.

              Francis found himself to be much more at home in the seclusion of his penthouse suite at the hotel. The staff had insisted on furnishing him with a doorman who would also double as a butler, but with one look, Francis had sent him running. It was of no consequence to Francis anyway, he much preferred to be alone. The companionship of mortals was tiring and for the most part it invited far too many questions.

              Walking over to the panoramic window, Francis lit another cigarette and looked out over the city. He regretted that he had chosen New York as his first destination, it was far from the home that he was used to and he found himself feeling homesick already. His choice had been a practical one however. He had heard from many sources that New York was a melting pot of sorts, a gathering place of a large group of women who were accessible and easily impressed by what they referred to as the ‘goth scene.’ Francis was still a little unsure of what the ‘goth scene’ was, but from what he understood, it was a group of people who seemed to emulate what they thought was a vampire lifestyle. He had yet to observe this phenomena for himself, but the idea of it intrigued him and it was possible that it would provide easy pickings for the woman he was looking for. He planned to take to the city after sundown, but first, he needed to cleanse off that mortal smell. After the fifteen hour journey, Francis could smell nothing on his skin but the scent of human sweat and it made him ill.

              The large rain-shower shower head shot the pounding water on to Francis’s pale white skin in a rhythmic percussion. He closed his eyes as he leaned back his head and let the water bathe his skin. He had to admit that his own drafty abode lacked such luxuries. Bringing his hands up to his face he massaged the warm water in to every pore before leaning forward and opening his eyes once more. He listened to the water drop heavily on the top of his head and basked in the warm steam that surrounded him.

              “It seems we have found something to write home about.” He said to himself as he unscrewed the cap of a small bottle of shower gel and brought it to his nose. He sniffed it and shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t too much of a pungent odor and the perfume was certainly much more appealing than the stench of human sweat. Lathering up the gel in his hands, he ran his hands smoothly over every rippling muscle on his body. As the small clear bubbles washed away, Francis looked down and saw the throbbing rod of his cock. Momentarily, the thought of self-satisfaction crossed his mind, however, knowing that he was taking to the streets in just a few hours, he resisted. Instead, he rinsed off the rest of the soap, and shut off the water. As he stepped out of the shower, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, his thick cock still standing erect. Yes, he was going to find himself a woman tonight and whether she was the one or not, he was going to satisfy his hunger for carnal pleasure. It had been long enough and his cock was hungry for its own conquest. He couldn't possibly put that off any longer. He was growing tired of his own company and while he had his own select resource at home in Bran to take care of his ‘dry spells,’ out here in New York he didn't trust such things.

              Still wrapped in his towel, Francis walked out to the bedroom where there stood a wheeled trolley on which was a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a bowl of strawberries. He looked suspiciously over at the door. Someone had been in his room while he had been in the shower. Someone had come in to his room without his permission. Francis could feel his blood beginning to boil. If there was one thing he didn’t tolerate it was the invasion of his privacy. Storming over to the door, he flung it open. The two young women who sat at the concierge desk in the hall looked at him wide eyed.

              “Someone was in my room!” He snapped. The first of the girls lip began to tremble. The second tried to steady herself by sitting up straight in her chair.

              “Mr. Holmes?” She said. Francis exhaled loudly, a deep hissing at the back of his throat.

              “I SAID SOMEONE WAS IN MY ROOM!” This time he bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed off the marble walls. The first of the two girls ducked under the desk and the second blinked rapidly.

              “Yes, Mr. Holmes. That was just room service with your complimentary champagne and strawberries.” Her voice trembled but she tried hard to keep a brave face. Francis walked over to the desk, his hand holding the knot of the towel around his waist. He slapped the palm of his other hand down on the desk and leaned in as close as he could.

              “No one is to enter my room. Do you understand?” He hissed. The girl nodded. Francis could see the tears in her eyes, ready to betray her at any second and slide down her cheeks.

              “Y…yes, Mr. Holmes. I’m terribly sorry about that, I will make sure that nothing like it ever happens again.” She blinked and then it happened, tears began to stream down her cheeks. Francis leaned back up and realizing that he was likely drawing a little too much attention to himself he nodded sharply.

              “Thank you. I take my privacy very seriously.” The girl sniffed and nodded before wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her cotton-polyester blend shirt.

              “Y…yes, Mr. Holmes.” She muttered, afraid now to even look at him.

              “I apologize if I was perhaps a little too…” He searched for a better word but his English failed him. “Angry.” He lingered for a moment as the first of the girls peeked up from behind the desk, then with a second nod, he turned and walked back to his room.

              He found human beings to be quite tiresome creatures.

              Francis awoke to the sound of car horns outside. He wasn’t used to such persistent background noise, in fact, he wasn’t used to background noise at all. He sat up groggily and stretched his arms above his head. The room was already dark, lightened only by the constant stream of city lights outside the window. Slipping off the edge of the bed, he stood up and headed to the bathroom to relieve himself. It was almost time to set out on the town. The thought of it sent blood thundering through his veins, the excitement clinging to his body like static electricity. His mission might have been to secure a mother for his child, but the thought of the companionship of a woman was secondary on his mind. He knew exactly who he was looking for, a tall dark haired woman with pale porcelain skin and plump puckered lips.

              He knew exactly where he was going to begin the hunt. Before even traveling to New York he had plotted out the ‘goth’ hotspots in the city and he was beginning the night at The Delancey. While he much preferred what he had read about another hotspot for vampire wannabes, Francis was not about to kowtow to their ‘strictly goth’ dress code. There was nothing gothic about what they called ‘goth,’ in fact the clothes that they wore could barely be referred to as clothes at all. The long trench coats, the women with their waists cinched in so tightly by glittering corsets, tied with satin ribbons. This was not the gothic culture that Francis recalled from the twelfth century. No, the true gothic culture was one of architecture and while the artists and philosophers admired the masonry, the peasants fought off smallpox and the plague. There was very little romance in that.

              Still, The Delancey offered fresh ‘meat’ as it were and that was precisely what Francis had traveled all this way to find. Despite how he might feel about the self proclaimed ‘gothic’s’ they were more than likely his best bet if he had any chance of finding a woman to bear his child.

              Francis selected his black tailored suit and a deep red shirt that coordinated perfectly with the violet glint in his eyes. His short near black hair was spiked in one of the seemingly ‘trendy’ hairstyles of the age and he had splashed on a dab of the aftershave that had been provided in his bathroom suite. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He certainly looked much different to his twelfth century self, but then again, he supposed, any one would. Glancing at himself one last time, he flicked off the bathroom light and took a look around the room to ensure he had left no telltale signs. After all, should he return with company, he wouldn't want to give himself away. That always led to such a messy outcome. With the certainty that all was clear, Francis took a deep breath and headed out in to the night. He was relieved to find the concierge desk empty as he made his way down the corridor. He made a mental note to stay somewhere without such invasive service in the next city on his list. Although, of he was being honest, Francis rather hoped that he wouldn't have to go to any other cities. Traveling was tiring and it always involved much more planning than he had the patience for.

              The night was cool and much more reminiscent of home for Francis. He couldn't help but smile to himself as the wind bit at his cheeks sharply. He pulled his blazer around him and cursed himself for not bringing his woolen coat with him. As he stood on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, he watched the throngs of people passing by. Where, he wondered, could so many people be going at such a late hour? They weren't kidding when they called it the city that never sleeps. Francis turned to his right and glanced down the sidewalk.

              The Delancey more than a couple of miles from his hotel, but with the sheer number of people bustling past him, Francis found himself more than willing to take a cab. The stench was almost unbearable as he pulled his shoulders inward and tried to avoid being touched at all while the doorman hailed a cab for him. The feeling of relief was almost overwhelming when he slipped in to the dim backseat. Although the entire car smelled stagnant, it was much preferable to Francis than smelling stagnant and being touched by hundreds of strangers.

              When the cab pulled up in front of the DeLancey some twenty minutes later, Francis pulled a small crumple of bills from his pocket and hopping out of the cab gingerly, he posted them through the driver’s window. The driver looked at him strangely for just a moment but when it became obvious that Francis wasn't going to be the first to look away, he sped off. Francis turned slowly to look at the building in front of him. It was nothing like he had imagined, but he could smell the popularity of the place from outside on the street. Jerking his head from side to side he cracked the vertebra in his neck and then taking a deep breath he walked inside.

              “Hey, sexy!” A voice called to him as soon as he crossed the threshold. He glanced over to see a tall woman with chocolate colored skin beckoning him over with a long slender finger. He looked her up and down before turning away. As he walked further in to the club he could hear her shouting abuses at him and he couldn't help but smirk. He
did
like a feisty woman, but she wasn't what he was looking for. The picture in his mind was clear and he knew that he would know her when he saw her.

              The damask patterned wallpaper hung above the deep red velvet benches and overhead numerous chandeliers cast their dim glow. Francis surveyed the room. A number of ‘goth’ looking women were sipping multicolored drinks from dainty glasses. Francis sighed, this wasn't what he had expected at all. They all puckered their ruby lips and fiddled with the silver rings that punctuated their nostrils. No, he definitely couldn't see any of these women being whom he was seeking. Still, it wouldn't hurt to practice.

              Francis went to the bar and ordered himself a whiskey. As he waited for the man wearing heavy eyeliner to pour his drink, he turned back to the crowd behind him. He needed to know who he was going to approach. She certainly shouldn't be the most physically appealing – while Francis was aware of just how handsome he was, he wasn't in the mood to battle it out with a guy in a trench coat over someone he had no intention of impregnating.

              The bartender handed him his drink. Francis pushed a ten dollar bill across the bar top and turned back to the girls. It was then that he spotted her. Her long brown hair was cut to her shoulders and while her skin was pale, it was naturally so unlike the majority of the women he could see who had caked pale powder on their faces. She sat in the corner of one of the velvet benches, surrounded on both sides by a large crowd of people, but seemingly unnoticed by them all. Yes, Francis decided, she was the one he would go home with tonight.