now, this could rapidly change the equation. Vampires would have to come out of hiding, and one side or the other would ultimately prevail.
It would change everything. All the sacred Rules of Vampire would go out the window.
Chapter 17
Southern’s apartment was near the Thames, and he could see the London Eye from his balcony. He was one of the richest men in England and owned half of what he could see from there.
Sometimes he’d sit for hours, as if hypnotized, watching the giant Ferris wheel turn. Any species that could create something like that had its good points. He didn’t hate humans, unlike some of his brethren. He rather liked them. He wanted to coexist with them.
He undressed slowly while Miss Hoyt lay on the bed, her eyes wide, making what Southern interpreted as appreciative sounds through her gag. Living among humans as he did, he couldn’t afford to let her scream out during the incredible climaxes he was certain he would induce in her.
He liked the sex first, the feeding second. Some vampires liked it the other way around, but that was too messy for him.
He’d had his eye on Miss Hoyt for months. She worked in the front office of the bank where the Council met, a glorified receptionist. She had no idea who she was working for. She was an archeology buff, and he’d enticed her up to his room with an invitation to view the Royal Sigil.
The story he’d concocted was that the slab of stone with the blue flower of his family crest painted on it had been found during a construction project. In truth, he’d had it in his possession for generations of mankind. It was proof that his family had always been blue bloods, both figuratively and literally.
Miss Hoyt was tall and leggy, just the way he liked them. She had a rather horsey face, but who cared, especially since the gag covered most of her buckteeth. She was squirming, and he was anticipating a long evening punctuated by a frenzied feed, followed by a leisurely stroll in the early morning to dump her splintered bones into the river.
As he climbed on top of her, Clarkson’s image came to him, as it usually did during sex. She was his colleague, his conspiratorial ally, but other than that, she showed no interest in him. As far as he knew, she’d never shown any interest in any man, woman, or vampire. But the colder she was to him, the more out of reach, the more turned on he was by her.
She’d sent him a coded message that morning. Not only did she believe that the legendary Terrill would join their side, but she’d also revealed the extraordinary, if not impossible, news that Terrill had become human again.
That was going to snag a fang in Fitzsimmons’s plans to take over the Council by packing it with his followers. A pattern had begun to emerge: Council members who urged restraint were being charged with crimes, one by one, and being replaced by hardliners. It was clear that Fitzsimmons and his followers intended to take over the Council and use the Rules to enforce their will.
Miss Hoyt was squirming. I’m probably taking too long , Southern thought. Nothing like thinking about Council business to delay his satisfaction. He let himself feel the moment, and it was only a few seconds later that he shouted his climax and, at the same instant, bit into her neck. Her frantic movements slowed, then stopped, and then came that delicious moment when the blood turned a little cold.
He finished her off, wrapped up what was left in the bedsheets, and took a shower. He was getting dressed for his walk down to the Thames when there came a pounding on his door.
Southern had long ago created an escape route. If someone had started to break down the door, he would have jumped over the side of the balcony, slid down the rope he’d placed there, and been halfway down the block before the door was opened. But though the knocking was insistent, he didn’t sense a threat.
He checked his watch. It was four in the morning, certainly not a
It would change everything. All the sacred Rules of Vampire would go out the window.
Chapter 17
Southern’s apartment was near the Thames, and he could see the London Eye from his balcony. He was one of the richest men in England and owned half of what he could see from there.
Sometimes he’d sit for hours, as if hypnotized, watching the giant Ferris wheel turn. Any species that could create something like that had its good points. He didn’t hate humans, unlike some of his brethren. He rather liked them. He wanted to coexist with them.
He undressed slowly while Miss Hoyt lay on the bed, her eyes wide, making what Southern interpreted as appreciative sounds through her gag. Living among humans as he did, he couldn’t afford to let her scream out during the incredible climaxes he was certain he would induce in her.
He liked the sex first, the feeding second. Some vampires liked it the other way around, but that was too messy for him.
He’d had his eye on Miss Hoyt for months. She worked in the front office of the bank where the Council met, a glorified receptionist. She had no idea who she was working for. She was an archeology buff, and he’d enticed her up to his room with an invitation to view the Royal Sigil.
The story he’d concocted was that the slab of stone with the blue flower of his family crest painted on it had been found during a construction project. In truth, he’d had it in his possession for generations of mankind. It was proof that his family had always been blue bloods, both figuratively and literally.
Miss Hoyt was tall and leggy, just the way he liked them. She had a rather horsey face, but who cared, especially since the gag covered most of her buckteeth. She was squirming, and he was anticipating a long evening punctuated by a frenzied feed, followed by a leisurely stroll in the early morning to dump her splintered bones into the river.
As he climbed on top of her, Clarkson’s image came to him, as it usually did during sex. She was his colleague, his conspiratorial ally, but other than that, she showed no interest in him. As far as he knew, she’d never shown any interest in any man, woman, or vampire. But the colder she was to him, the more out of reach, the more turned on he was by her.
She’d sent him a coded message that morning. Not only did she believe that the legendary Terrill would join their side, but she’d also revealed the extraordinary, if not impossible, news that Terrill had become human again.
That was going to snag a fang in Fitzsimmons’s plans to take over the Council by packing it with his followers. A pattern had begun to emerge: Council members who urged restraint were being charged with crimes, one by one, and being replaced by hardliners. It was clear that Fitzsimmons and his followers intended to take over the Council and use the Rules to enforce their will.
Miss Hoyt was squirming. I’m probably taking too long , Southern thought. Nothing like thinking about Council business to delay his satisfaction. He let himself feel the moment, and it was only a few seconds later that he shouted his climax and, at the same instant, bit into her neck. Her frantic movements slowed, then stopped, and then came that delicious moment when the blood turned a little cold.
He finished her off, wrapped up what was left in the bedsheets, and took a shower. He was getting dressed for his walk down to the Thames when there came a pounding on his door.
Southern had long ago created an escape route. If someone had started to break down the door, he would have jumped over the side of the balcony, slid down the rope he’d placed there, and been halfway down the block before the door was opened. But though the knocking was insistent, he didn’t sense a threat.
He checked his watch. It was four in the morning, certainly not a
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