The Font
Authors: Tracy St. John
THE FONT
A Vampire Erotic Romance
By
Tracy St. John
© copyright
May
2012, Tracy St. John
Cover art by Erin Dameron-Hill, © copyright
May
2012
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s
imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or
events is merely coincidence.
Kindle Edition
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TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Sneak Peek at Netherworld III: Once Bitten Twice Dead
Elisha Midyet slipped through the throng
in
the
vampire
king’s hall
. He nodded
at the gathered, saying a word of greeting in response to hails
and trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
He carefully
control
led
his thoughts, lest Heriolf read them and learn of tonight’s plans.
Still, he couldn’t quite suppress an inward sneer at the situation. Everything about tonight, about the last seven years, brought loathing to the fore. King. Hall. Swearing of fealty
to the self-styled Lord of Southeast Georgia
. Grandiose words for a grandiose ego. Elisha could only pray Heriolf’s high estimation of himself would be his ultimate undoing.
The ‘hall’ was actually once nothing more than a dining room. Large, yes, that must be admitted;
big enough to serve great feasts like tonight’s. It
had been built with an eye to
wards
entertaining large parties. Elisha himself remembered hearing how the now extinct Seward family had entert
ained the
most illustrious people of Savannah here
. Their parties were legend two hundred and fifty years ago when Elisha had still breathed.
Once the Seward mansion had been grand and gorgeous. Now, had some intrepid soul braved the spindly pine woods smothered in
shrouds of
kudzu to reach it, they would discover a seemingly decaying wreck, though its outer face did retain a measure of its earlier glory
.
Where a shipping magnate’s family had once dwelled beneath the sweltering light of the Georgia sun, now the vampires reigned. Elisha
wondered what the Sewards would have thought of tonight’s menu, his watchful gaze
glanc
ing
to
the feast set up along one long wall.
He looked away before hunger could cloud his purpose.
As for the
king
– Elisha’s lip curled at that title before he could stop himself – well, Heriolf was more a dictator, a vicious tyrant that no one could depose. Yet.
Despite telling himself not to be a fool, Elisha couldn’t help but glance at Heriolf seated at the head of the room
. T
he intricately carved chair
he squatted upon
indeed resembl
ed
a throne. Despise him as he might, Elisha had to admit the 1300
-
year old vampire was an intimidating sight. Heriolf might have inspired legends of the Viking gods that he once prayed to. Well over six feet tall,
the vampire lord was
massive with muscle
. He showed off his impressively chiseled chest and bulging arms b
y not wearing a shirt beneath
a
red cape
,
which
closed at his throat
with
a
gold clasp
. A beast of a man, h
e commanded fear if not respect.
Crystalline blue eyes swept those who had gathered at his order. The forward part of his thick gray hair had been twined into t
hick
braids to frame his craggy face; the rest hung loose down his back. A matching gray mustache and beard, also braided, made his fierce face even more bestial. Old
by the standards of
his day, Heriolf had still been hale and hearty when he’d been made vampire at the age of forty-eight.
Elisha felt bile rise in his throat and turned his eyes away.
His gaze found Mariel looking at him
, her dark eyes warning him
.
Her b
lack
hair caught the red tints of firelight, making it almost seem as if it would burst into flame. Elisha took a breath and
nodded
. He
notic
ed
how
her
skin looked almost ruddy in the flickering light of the
blaze
in the mammoth fireplace and smaller
flar
es of the sconces. There was no electricity fed to the house. At least Heriolf had shown that small bit of sense to stay off the humans’ power grid. It was one of the very few things he’d done right.
I must stop thinking of these things. If he looks at me, reads my thoughts…
Well, that would be calamitous. Not just for Elisha but for all the conspirators, and ultimately
every
vampire under Heriolf’s sway.
A brief lull in the hushed conversations of the gathered vampires alerted Elisha
. H
e looked once more towards where the self-described king sat. A human woman had come into the room to stand at Heriolf’s side.
H
er name
was
Naya Woods. Out of Heriolf’s hearing, many referred to her as the Font,
the
suggestion
being
that
she was the source of Heriolf’s powers
. P
owers
he possessed
beyond those of any other vampire. Powers that had allowed Heriolf to seize sole rulership over the once democratically controlled southeast Georgia sect. This suspicion that her blood had special properties
had been borne out by a captured member of the king’s inner circle. Other than the
fact that feeding on her had gifted Heriolf incalculable physical strength and the ability to read minds
, nothing of note was known about her.
Taken piece by piece, she was not a beauty. Her pale blond hair, reaching to her waist, was too flyaway and untamed. Her eyes, as green as the ubiquitous pine needles of Georgia, were too large
and
too round to balance her tiny chin. Her nose was long and straight, and her lips, while well-formed, were thin slashes of pink. Her body was so willowy as to make her appear taller than she actually
was;
especially in the sweeping gown she wore tonight, its green skirt that matched her eyes reaching the marble floor. There was an aloof restraint in her demeanor that suggested she was above the pettiness of the world around her, but gazing at her for only a few seconds told the observer this regal bearing was but a mask she wore. Beneath it, there was a nervous fluttering of fingers, a jerkiness of the darting eyes that took in everything, and a tension in her stance that spoke of a willingness to take flight. She was at her heart a wild thing, as untamed as the floating froth of hair that moved with its own life around her torso.
In parts, Naya was not
quite
pretty. But put together she was striking,
lovely even,
a pale will o’ the wisp that pleased the eye even as it confounded it. That such a dainty ethereal being gave Heriolf his power over all other vampires made her even more compelling.
“So she has emerged,” a quiet voice said in Elisha’s ear.
He turned his head slightly to look into Sebastian’s brown eyes.
The other man’s
dark skin glowed
warm
ly in the firelight. Though Elisha was Sebastian’s sire, having brought his lifelong friend over to the ranks of the undead, there was no hint of rank between the two men.
Not even Elisha’s father’s will that granted ownership of all the property and slaves had made him a master over Sebastian in more than name. Their friendship had been kept carefully hidden in the pre-Civil War South, to protect both
. They had grown up together, white and black
, side by side
with no concern for their difference in color. Elisha
had always considered Sebastian his equal. His brother.
“
She is g
uarded as well as ever,” he
now said to his friend. T
wo of Heriolf’s
musclebound
guards
, their fangs showing to intimidate,
had entered the room with Naya and stood near
her
.
Two vampires Elisha had been waiting for entered the room from the direction of the mansion’s foyer. They flashed quick looks towards
him
and Sebastian
and
then melded seamlessly into the growing crowd.
Sebastian’s deep tones were a pleasing rumble in Elisha’s ear. “She will be ours, and many wrongs will be avenged.”
“Watch your thoughts, Sebastian. It will take but one slip and all our hopes will die.”
“Along with us. I know.” With that, the other man slipped away.
Elisha resumed roaming through the crowd, surreptitiously keeping Naya within his peripheral vision. He never let her out of his sight.
* * * *
As always
,
Naya carefully schooled her expression
t
o remain expressionless. She despised these gatherings for many different reasons, but uppermost was the
apprehension
. She was sure the other vampires knew of the extra strength Heriolf took from her blood,
of
the added advantage it gave him over his enemies, many of whom posed as supplicants. She felt it in the covetous glances they darted her way when her guardian wasn’t looking.
She tried to feel safe. After all, Heriolf had provided her with his most trusted guards, big
, dreadful
men who had physical strength
and fearlessness
. And there was Heriolf himself, buttressed by the power of drinking her blood. He could read any mind but hers, and he could hold off a dozen other vampires
. T
he amazing strength she gave him added to his warrior expertise
, honed by centuries of battle
. She was
well
protected.
Naya
didn’t feel secure though. The dry leaf smell of vampire permeated
the room
, reminding her of how many owed Heriolf fealty. The others
desperately
wanted what she gave
the vampire king
.
He had warned her time and again he was all that stood between her and death
–
or worse
–
at their fangs.
They desired his position as ruler of their kind, and somehow they knew it was she who kept them in their place. Even now, she saw the calculating stare of a handsome vampire in the back of the group
. Their eyes met, and
he quickly turned away. She studied him, making a mental note of his appearance, just in case he should prove a problem later.
