Vampires Seduction #1 (The Paranormal Town Romance Series)

Vampires
Seduction #1

Paranormal
Town

Book
1

By
Tasha Scott

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Tasha Scott

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Part 1

Anca
trembled as she stared down into the two deep holes holding the coffins of her
parents. The autumn air was crisp and she watched a few stray golden leaves
drift onto the top of the coffins, settling on the polished wood. She had been
numb when she chose them. Actually, the funeral director had chosen them, just
like
he had told her that the funeral must be held in the
evening due to his heavy pre-Thanksgiving schedule. She just couldn't imagine
putting her parents into sealed boxes. She vaguely remembered the funeral
director droning on about the choices of metal or wood and how he recommended
wood to avoid anaerobic
bacteria which
would result in
a putrefied liquefaction of the bodies, rather than just the clean bones being
left unharmed in a more
natural way
.
When she thought of her parents’ bodies turning to "bones" she choked
back a sob and felt a strong arm envelop her shoulders. She had no idea who
that supportive arm belonged
to
. She leaned into it
and sobbed into her cotton handkerchief. The candelabras set around the two
graves gave a glow of tranquility to the scene.
Anca
let the dark shadows of the evening surround her.

Her brown eyes burned into the top of the two
coffins, thinking she could will her eyes to bore through the heavy wooden lids
and see her parents one last time. She looked at the two large circles on top
of each coffin, burned into the wood, curls of smooth carving resembling
rosettes, curling and curling like entwining sixes, illuminated by the
flickering candles.

There was an insignificant group of mourners who had
come to support the young coed as she said good-bye to her parents. They had
murmured "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry," as they patted
Anca's
back. No one really
knew
her or her parents very well. Her parents often were out of
town on some type of archaeological dig.
Anca
generally stayed by herself doing research in the school's library. There was a
sprinkling of smooth-faced college boys and wide-eyed girls, but no one at the
funeral could really be called her
friend
.
Anca
was a loner.

In the back row, looming above the small group of
mourners, a gentleman held his hat in his hands in front of him, his feet apart
in a secure stance, his steel gray eyes locked on
Anca
.
His square jaw was lined with a brim of black hair that matched the hair above
his full lips. His muscular body was hidden by his heavy black leather jacket.
He tilted ever-so slightly forward on his ebony boot clad feet. Yes… He could
hear her heart beating—the unmistakable ceaseless high rate heartbeat of a
human in distress. He gripped the brim of his hat more tightly and a gush of
cold air seeped from his mouth.

When the funeral finally was over, the undertaker
dismissed them all and began to blow out the candles on the candelabras,
leaving just one candelabrum to light the task at hand. The firm arm cradling
Anca
pushed her to turn around, to pry her eyes off the
shovels of dirt being dropped on the two coffins, making steady "thud, thud,
thud" sounds, covering up the rosettes, sealing her parents away from her
forever. She forced herself to see who the protective arm belonged to— Mr.
Pearson, her psychology teacher at
Hartnell
College.
There was no one else to comfort her. She shivered. She was alone now. She
looked into
Tyre
Pearson's deep brown eyes.
"Come on
Anca
,
let's go get you a cup of hot tea." She didn't speak,
but allowed him to gently guide her through the dark shadows of the cemetery to
his car. He opened the door and the bright interior glow was like a shock of
lightning. She slid compliantly into the warm seat.

The Steinbeck restaurant tea room was quaint in the
Victorian house built in 1897. Any other day
Anca
would have marveled at the exquisite lace tablecloth and the overlay of even
more intricate lace, and the delicate teapot from which
Tyre
Pearson poured her tea. She would have perused the artifacts of the author John
Steinbeck, wandered to view the gold framed paintings of his family from the
1800s, marveled at the heavy brocade Victorian carpet, but today, she found it
difficult to focus on just sipping her tea.

"Are you okay,
Anca
?"
Mr. Pearson leaned toward her and touched his fingers lightly on her wrist. He
loved how her golden-tinged hair curled around her neck and little bronze
glossy wisps fell onto her forehead. Of course, he knew she would never find
anything attractive about a horn-rimmed glassed professor with 25 years more
than her piled onto his life, but yet, he was going to miss her. She had told
him she was leaving and probably would never return. He had tried to reason
with her, told her that she should take some time off from college, but not
abandon college altogether. In her grief she kept shaking her head
"no" and then she had told him flatly, "I am leaving Salinas and
that is that." They didn't speak about it again. He knew that when he
dropped her off at her apartment, her car was packed with all her belongings
and she was ready to go.

"
Anca
, have you given
any thought to where you are going?" His eyes seemed to brim with tears
that would not fall. She was so young and had so much pain inside her. Having
both her parents snatched from her with that horrible virus was too much for
her to deal with. Thank God she hadn't been afflicted too.

"I wish that I had died with them." She
spoke bluntly and without emotion.

His voice sounded hollow to her, like he was
speaking into a funnel. "Things will get better,
Anca
,
you'll see."

She stared at him. Who was this professor that
taught her psychology class twice each week? Here he was, the only person who
cared about her in the entire world, yet she had only known him for one
semester at school. She took a deep breath, but it caught in her upper chest
and she let it out quickly. Most of the students at
Hartnell
thought that
Tyre
Pearson was a little crazy. He
believed in ghosts and his lifetime goal was to "catch a ghost
".
Anca
hadn't thought much
about it when the students laughed about him during lunchtime and breaks or
whispered, "Here comes the ghost buster
",
when they saw him walking down the hall.
Anca
wished
it wasn't a joke. She wished with all her heart that
Tyre
Pearson could capture ghosts and bring back her mother and father. Her eyes
scanned his face. He was just an aging professor with vacant faded dreams.

Her voice was strong and determined. "Things
will never be better again. I have to get going, Mr. Pearson. I am so sorry to
hurry you like this. It is kind of you to take me back to my apartment."
She stood, which forced him to stand. He was a head taller; she stood 5'4"
on tippy toes. His lean frame was protective and shielding,
like
her father's had been.

"Yes, yes, of course." He stared at her
and thought he could see her aura changing to a brownish haze. Reading auras
was a blessing and a curse. He could tell that she was not well. He hoped she
was not getting sick, too. He pushed the thought from his mind. The doctors had
said it was the rare Hantavirus that took her parents’ lives because they had
been digging in ruins in the New Mexico desert. As archaeologists, they were
always up to their knees in dirt and dust and old bones. But the virus cannot
travel from person to person.
Anca
had not been in
the desert with her parents. They died due to complications of lung and heart
failure, which so often is the case with the Hantavirus.

When
Tyre
helped
Anca
get into her Prius, and watched her snap her seatbelt
across her petite chest, he knew that he would not see her again. He wanted to
drop everything in his life at that moment and slide into the seat next to her
and protect her for the rest of her life. She felt him squeeze her hand as it
rested on the door's window sill. She removed her hand quickly and pushed the
electric window button to close the window. She snapped her head to look straight
ahead toward the front windshield.

She drove slowly down the street, not looking back
at the professor with tears in his eyes. The moon was starting to rise in the
night sky and a few stars began to twinkle. At the end of the street she looked
both ways pondering which way to head.
North?
South?
The car turned south.

They knew immediately that she was headed toward
them. It was as planned. The whole town of Lompoc had strange electricity
surrounding its quiet streets. The stores closed early, in preparation for a
celebration the next day. The streets were virtually empty except for a few
stray dogs or cats seeking a few morsels tossed nonchalantly away by
indiscriminate litter bugs. Calypso would not be happy about this, if she knew,
and of course she KNEW; she KNEW everything. It was the head witch's
responsibility to know everything about the town she lived in.

Calypso was discussing what tomorrow's plan entailed
with Embla. Embla was such a perfect little right hand gal, seeing to all the
needs of her mistress, when Embla's heart just wasn't into it. Embla punctuated
every sentence with, "Of course, ma’am" and "yes ma’am" and
"immediately ma’am" while she ached to just
tell
Calypso where to go. Shit, she wished she could just snap her gum and the old
bat would vanish into thin air. There must be some kind of spell for that? She
laughed involuntarily and Calypso immediately asked, "What's so funny,
Embla?" Embla shrugged her narrow shoulders, making the bird tattoos go up
and down, as if they were flying. She grinned and her lip ring caught the light
from the lamp on the table, glistening just a little. Calypso frowned. Tattoos,
okay, but why did these young girls have to get their lips stuck? She felt her
pinkie finger involuntarily curl into a hook as she imagined herself yanking
the loop right out of the young girl's lip.

A door chime announced a visitor. Calypso coughed.
"Get that, Embla."

Embla wrinkled her nose at the command, but went
into the living room to open the door.

He was standing there holding his hat in his hands.
His thick hair was brushed up from his square forehead, revealing just the
slightest widow's peak. He looked striking in his black suit and tie and his
gray eyes met hers with an intensity that made her knees feel weak. Embla held
the door knob in her hand to steady herself.

His voice was low, as if he had just entered a
funeral parlor. "May I speak with Calypso?"

At first Embla could not answer. She surveyed his
eyes and felt a sudden rush through-out her body. "Yes, of course."
He lingered, waiting for her to invite him in. "Come in." His boot
echoed on the wooden floor.

"I do believe she will be expecting me."
His tone was formal.

"Yes, of course! I will get her
immediately." But Embla couldn't let go of the door handle or move away
from his penetrating eyes. Abruptly, she sucked in air and was able to close
the door.