Dark Thirst Read online

  AROUSING THE VAMPIRE

  He’d waited the last five years of his life for this moment, this opportunity, having imagined kissing Lina a thousandfold in countless adolescent fantasies. The reality was so much sweeter, by far more wondrous than anything his mind could have fathomed. Her lips melded against his own, pressed in perfect complement. He moved his free hand to her face, and pulled her against him, tangling his tongue against hers, kissing her deeply.

  He felt the intake of her breath against his mouth, could sense the eager, hammering cadence of her heartbeat in his mind. He could smell the hot musk of her blood as it raced suddenly, wildly in her veins; and his body reacted. He felt a tingling warmth in his gums, a tightening in his groin, and he leaned toward Lina, pressing her back against the couch until she lay beneath him, enveloping his hips between her thighs. She clutched at his hair as he drew his lips away from hers. The tips of their noses brushed; her breath fluttered against his lips and she whispered his name, fully aware of the hardening length of him, the swell of his growing arousal pressing through his pants against her.

  For a moment he hesitated, uncertain and frightened that he would forget himself, that his body would forget the difference between bloodlust and desire . . .

  BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!

  We’ve created a customized website just for our very special readers, where you can get the inside scoop on everything that’s going on with Zebra, Pinnacle and Kensington books.

  When you come online, you’ll have the exciting opportunity to:

  • View covers of upcoming books

  • Read sample chapters

  • Learn about our future publishing schedule (listed by publication month and author)

  • Find out when your favorite authors will be visiting a city near you

  • Search for and order backlist books from our online catalog

  • Check out author bios and background information

  • Send e-mail to your favorite authors

  • Meet the Kensington staff online

  • Join us in weekly chats with authors, readers and other guests

  • Get writing guidelines

  • AND MUCH MORE!

  Visit our website at

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Dark Thirst

  Sara Reinke

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  AROUSING THE VAMPIRE

  BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Brandon sensed the Grandfather coming before he ever appeared in the doorway; like the way the electrical charge from an encroaching storm would shiver through his form, Brandon felt the hairs along the nape of his neck raise, and he knew.

  His gift of telepathy, something that came inherently to other members of the Brethren, had never been strong within him. The Grandfather had always told him it was because he was damaged, that like his ears and voice, his extrasensory perception was long-since ruined. His brother, Caine, had always told Brandon it was because he was weak—in body, mind, and spirit. No better than a woman, Caine would sneer, his own mental prowess already formidable despite his relative youth. Or worse than that—a human. You’re as weak and wretched as the fetid meat of humanity, brother.

  Brandon was in his room with his youngest brother, Daniel, who was four years old. Daniel was sitting in a broad patch of sunbeam beneath Brandon’s window, coloring books and crayons spread around him in a messy circumference. Brandon knelt, watching the boy draw wild, looping circles in red, blue, and green, his mouth open in a wide smile, moving nonstop with chattering words Brandon could not hear.

  When he felt the odd, ominous, prickling sensation in the air, tingling around him, Brandon lifted his head. Daniel didn’t notice it; he was too young yet, and it would still be many long years before his mind allowed him such uncanny awareness. The boy saw the Grandfather, however, as he stepped into the doorway beyond Brandon’s shoulder, and his dark eyes widened, the happiness in his face fading abruptly to fright.

  They were the last of their kind, Brandon and his family, two hundred and twenty-three of them living in close quarters in neighboring horse farms in central Kentucky. Humans might have called them vampires, were they aware of their existence, but to Brandon and his people, they were simply called the Brethren.

  The Grandfather seldom visited the younger members of the clan—and never Brandon. He was always too busy or otherwise preoccupied, and he had never made any secret of the fact that he considered Brandon a disgraceful blight among the Brethren.

  Brandon had been Daniel’s age when he had come upon a trio of burglars in the middle of the night as they had robbed the downstairs parlor of the great house. He had been four years old when they had attacked him, beating him mercilessly in attempt to keep from being discovered. He had been only a child when his throat had been cut—rendering him mute for life—and his head battered, leaving him deaf in both ears. Just as Daniel’s ability to sense his fellow Brethren had not yet fully matured, Brandon’s healing abilities as a member of the Brethren—the accelerated capacities that would seem to grant them immortality—had not been developed enough. They had kept him from death, but had left him ruined, at least in the Grandfather’s stern regard. Brandon was a constant symbol of weakness to most of his family, and particularly to the Grandfather; one to be disdained and ignored.

  That afternoon, however, he didn’t intend to ignore Brandon. But at first, Brandon couldn’t fathom what the Grandfather might want.

  Is he lost? Does he want to see Daniel? he wondered rather naively and stupidly. He rose to his feet, lowering his eyes to the floor in polite deference to his elder, at a complete loss as to the reason for his presence.

  And then he saw the paper in the Grandfather’s hand, a single sheet, with a distinctive logo atop the page that Brandon recognized even from across the room.

  Oh, God.

  He had been diligent about getting the mail every day, taking Daniel with him and making a trek out of it as they went together down the two-mile-long, winding drive leading from the great house through the rolling acres of the Grandfather’s Thoroughbred farm, to the roadside mailbox at their gated entrance.

  He cut his eyes quickly, frantically toward his bedside clock and saw it was only one o’clock in the afternoon. The mail must have come early, he realized in dismay, feeling his stomach twist inward upon itself, tightening into a tense, painful knot. Oh, God, it came early.

  “Take Daniel to his room,” the Grandfather said. Brandon couldn’t hear his voice, but he could read his lips. Worse than this, he could sense him plainly in his mind; the Grandfather was the strongest telepath in the Noble family, but he seldom forced his thoughts upon the younger Brethren unless he meant to be taken at murderous severity. Take him now, Emily.

  Brandon’s younger sister, Emily, strode briskly past the Grandfather and across the room. She reached for Daniel, but the little boy shied behind Brandon’s hip, his small fingers clutching anxiously at the belt loops of Brandon’s jeans. Brandon looked down and saw him whimper his name, frightened.

  It’s alright, Brandon tried to convey in a gentle smile, as he brushed his hand against the cap of his brother’s hair to draw his fearful gaze. Even though his telepathy was weak, he could speak to Daniel with his mind, but it was strictly forbidden by the mandate of the Grandfather. Not until Brandon’s bloodletting. Normally, Brandon was helpless to use his telepathy unless another Brethren member deliberately opened his or her mind to him. Otherwise, his extrasensory perceptions were as deafened as his ears, and it felt as if a heavy cowl lay draped constantly within his mind, stifling him.

  It will be different once you’ve gone through the bloodletting, his twin sister, Tessa, had tried to tell him. Your powers will strengthen, just like mine did. You’ll see.

  However, Brandon suspected the Grandfather and Caine were right; his abilities were damaged from the same injuries that had cost him his hearing and speech. He didn’t want to see if they would strengthen after his bloodletting. He didn’t want to go through the ancient, brutal ceremony—even if it meant he’d be able to communicate freely with his mind.

  Daniel was too young to control his own mental abilities, and his mind was always open. Brandon ordinarily shared his thoughts with Daniel freely and without rebuke as a result, but he could sense that today, such defiance—and particularly in the presence of the Grandfather—would be a foolish mistake.

  He stroked Daniel’s
hair again and nodded once toward Emily, smiling in encouragement. Go with her, he tried to say in the simple gesture. I’ll be okay.

  Daniel looked unconvinced, but he wasn’t too young to understand one didn’t disobey the Grandfather. He slipped out from behind the shelter of Brandon’s long legs and hooked his hand against Emily’s outstretched, awaiting palm.

  Brandon glanced toward the doorway and found their oldest brother, Caine, watching from the threshold, his brows narrowed, his dark eyes glittering meanly, the corner of his mouth hooked in wicked triumph. Like most of his siblings—except for his twin sister, Tessa, and Daniel—Caine considered Brandon unfit to hold a place among the Brethren. In that moment, as the two brothers locked gazes, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who had discovered that the mail had been delivered early and who had brought the letter from Gallaudet University to the Grandfather’s disapproving notice.

  Brandon had wanted to go to the all-deaf school for years, even before he had earned his high school equivalency. The Grandfather hadn’t allowed him to go to elementary or high school, however, and had permitted Brandon’s instruction only under the supervision of a private tutor. Jackson Jones, Brandon’s teacher, who was also deaf, had told Brandon about the college in Washington, D.C.; it was Jackson’s alma mater, and to Brandon, it had seemed a place of impossible promise and wonder.

  Of course, the Grandfather had no intention of allowing Brandon to leave the Brethren to go to college. He’d made this vehemently clear. Brandon had known it. He had applied to the school anyway. He had planned on leaving on his own, running away, abandoning the Brethren and going just the same.

  Although there was no way the Grandfather could know all of this simply from the letter, Brandon knew that he did. He could see it in the man’s cold, unflinching gaze, the way his coal-black eyes seemed to bore into Brandon’s skull, to grasp him firmly and hold him fast, without the Grandfather laying as much as a finger on him. He knew and he was enraged.

  Oh, God, Brandon thought, as the Grandfather swung the door close behind Emily and Daniel, slamming it with enough force so that although Brandon couldn’t hear the sharp report, he could feel it resounding in the floorboards beneath his feet. Caine remained in the chamber, as if by unspoken invitation, and his smile grew wider at the mounting dismay in Brandon’s face.

  The Grandfather was more than three hundred years old but had the prowess and build of a man no more than in his mid-forties. He was strong; like all of the Brethren Elders, he commanded the well-honed strength of more than twenty human men. He had a heavy sheaf of white hair that fell nearly to his hips, standing out in stark contrast to his black shirt. Ordinarily, the Grandfather always wore sport coats and suits, no matter the occasion or weather. Today, he had abandoned his tie and jacket and turned back his shirt sleeves to his elbows.

  Oh, God, Brandon thought, his body paralyzed with fright, his mouth gone dry and tacky with it, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.

  What is this? the Grandfather asked, with a demonstrative waggle of the letter from Gallaudet. His mouth did not move; his voice fell with cold remonstration through Brandon’s mind.

  Grandfather, Brandon thought, blinking down at his toes. Please, I can—

  The Grandfather’s hand whipped around, a blur in his peripheral vision before it plowed into the side of his face. The blow sent Brandon flying. He slammed into a bookshelf, knocking the wind from his lungs, and crumpled to his hands and knees on the floor. He blinked at the polished hard wood beneath him, at the tiny pinpoints of sudden light that danced in his line of sight. Droplets of blood peppered down from his nose, spattering between his hands. His mind was swimming; the Grandfather had struck him hard enough to leave him witless.

  He felt the floorboards tremble beneath his palms at the Grandfather’s approach, and he cowered, just as the Grandfather’s hand closed fiercely in his hair, forcing his head back. Close your mind to me, boy, the Grandfather said. That gift is reserved for a full-fledged and fed Brethren. You disgrace your bloodline—and me—to use it otherwise, even in your pathetic and limited capacities.

  He released Brandon’s hair, and Brandon crumpled to his hands and knees again, trembling. Get up, the Grandfather said, and Brandon obeyed, stumbling to his feet. A glance promised he’d find no rescue from his brother; Caine remained rooted in place by the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, watching in silent, thinly veiled amusement.

  Did you think I wouldn’t find out about this? the Grandfather demanded, shoving the letter into Brandon’s face. Brandon had a momentary, dazed glance at the words,

  “Congratulations! You have been accepted to Gallaudet University, the world’s only university for deaf and—”

  and then the Grandfather jerked it away again.

  Brandon wore a notebook on a chain about his neck, in an engraved brass case his father had ordered custom-made for him. Writing notes in its small, three-by-five pages was the only means by which he was allowed to communicate in the house, by the Grandfather’s directive. Although Brandon knew sign language, the Grandfather had strictly forbidden it, and threatened to sternly punish anyone else who learned it.

  Brandon reached for the notebook. His hands were shaking as he flipped back the brass lid. He carried a matching gilded pen tucked at the hinged end of the notebook. He pushed it out with his thumb and began to write, struggling vainly to think of some appeal the Grandfather might consider, some explanation that might spare him from what was about to come upon him in undoubtedly brutal measure.

  Please, Brandon wrote. Grandfather, please, I’m sorry.

  The Grandfather snatched the notebook and jerked it. Brandon gasped as the chain cut sharply into the back of his neck and then snapped with the force of the Grandfather’s pull. The notebook sailed across the room. He had a split second to blink at it, startled and dismayed, and then felt the whip of sudden wind as the Grandfather struck him again, sending him crashing across the room. He fell against a table, his feet skittering over the crayons Daniel had left scattered on the floor, dancing against half-finished drawings of houses and horses. The edge of the table caught him squarely in the gut, and he stumbled backward and fell, gasping futilely for breath.

  All of your life, you have been spoiled, the Grandfather said, and again, his hand fell against Brandon’s hair, wrenching him to his feet. Your father has coddled you because of your weakness, and I have let him for far too long.

  Again, his hand smashed against Brandon’s face, and again, Brandon crumpled to the floor. He could feel blood coursing from his nose. He could taste it in his mouth, bitter and salty, but he did not fight or resist his grandfather. Jackson Jones had taught him the martial art of aikido, in addition to reading, writing, and sign language. Although Brandon had never officially tested, Jackson had told him that he was proficient enough at the sport to likely attain at least a first-degree black belt. But he couldn’t fight the Grandfather; wouldn’t fight him. Whatever further punishment the Grandfather intended for him would pale in violent comparison to anything meted out if Brandon dared to defend himself.

  The Grandfather clamped his hand against Brandon’s throat and shoved him back against the wall, rapping his head painfully. He hoisted the younger man aloft and held him there, strangling against his palm, with Brandon’s feet dangling helplessly a good foot off the floor.

  You disgust me, boy, the Grandfather seethed in Brandon’s mind. His eyes had turned black, the dark of his irises seeping outward, swallowing any hint of his corneas from view. His canine teeth began to drop as his face flushed with fury. You are a disgrace to your family—a disgrace among the Brethren. I thought you could bring me no greater shame than the night you abandoned your bloodletting-let your sister, Emily, take your place in the hunt, but this . . . !

  I’m sorry . . . ! Brandon thought, struggling vainly, wheezing soundlessly under the crushing weight of the hand collapsing his windpipe. Grandfather, please . . . I . . .

  The other Brethren laugh at us, the Grandfather said, leaning toward Brandon, watching the young man’s face flush purple with the strain for air. They laugh at the Nobles, that we abide by you, keep you among us, keep you from those rites of passage that are customary and expected of a Brethren your age. And now you think you can just leave these walls—abandon a birthright that has been fought and sown for you for more than one thousand years—so that you can harbor the paltry ambitions of the human stain?