Virgin Moon: A Vampire/Werewolf Serial Romance, Episode #1

VIRGIN MOON

(A Werewolf/Vampire Serial Romance, Episode #1)

By Eva J. Thomas

Copyright 2013 Eva J. Thomas

All Rights Reserved.

SMASHWORDS Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this story’s content may be used by other authors including sexual scenes, characters’ names and characteristics, plot and etc. unless with written permission by the author.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1 - Vincent's New Pet

Chapter 2 - Emily's Awakening

Chapter 3 - Vincent's Idea

Chapter 4 - Emily's Rose

Chapter 5 - Vincent's Confession

About the Author

Dedication

To SMFRP

Acknowledgments

To my friends with their overactive imaginations who help me dream up more and more naughty ideas for my books.

EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT WARNING

These stories are considered paranormal romance with fantasy and erotic elements that contain explicit adult language, violence, and strong sexual content including many erotic elements. They are FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY WHO ARE OVER 18.

VIRGIN MOON

(A Werewolf/Vampire Serial Romance, Episode #1)

By Eva J. Thomas

About this Serial Romance

In the spirit of a serial series, Virgin Moon is the first episode in this werewolf/vampire romance between the virgin werewolf, Emily and the vampire, Vincent. It is not a complete story. It contains 5 chapters. Up to ten episodes are planned to be written and will then be released in a collection.

Chapter 1 - Vincent’s New Pet

Chapter 1 is told by Vincent, the hero. Each chapter goes back and forth, sharing the hero and heroine’s point of view.

Who is that woman chained to my bed?

Father didn’t miss a beat when I stormed through the door of his study, unannounced. I thought he’d be shocked by my absurd question or at least annoyed by the intrusion of my 6’ 2" frame. He wasn’t, and that worried me. He was up to something. Placing his journal on the massive mahogany desk, he took his time to stuff the book and some papers in a drawer and lock it. As he tucked the key in the front pocket of his red silk vest, he buttoned his black velvet smoking jacket, retrieved his pipe, tapped it a few times on the desk, and met my gaze, acting, not the least bit surprised by the interruption.

That woman is your new pet. He shook a long, bony red index finger at me and made his way around the desk to settle on one corner. For a few moments, he stared at the wall of bronze werewolf skulls he had collected, waiting to see if I’d inquire about a few new additions. I didn’t take the bait. However, I did notice one was female and one male. He made no distinction between genders. A kill was a kill. If asked by a stranger how he gathered his collection of trophies, he’d boast he had received them all as tokens of appreciation for being such an honorable leader which was a lie. Father had killed each and every one of them in his sick games, games I refused to participate in. I may be a warrior protecting this place, but Father was a sadistic hunter, one who needed to be destroyed.

Finally, he returned his attention to me. His human eyes rolled over and changed to a blood red as his pupils dilated, disappeared, and formed menacing glowing orbs. He thought his monster face would scare me.

I didn’t flinch. I don’t need a pet, Father.

I handpicked her for you, my boy. I thought you’d be grateful. When was the last time you got any golden pussy like that? I ask you. Snapping his fingers, a fire spark ignited at the tip end of his index finger. He used it to light his pipe. He inhaled deeply, taking a second or two to size me up until he finally released a puff of smoke in my direction.

I won’t play your games.

Oh yes, you will, he snapped. You’re going to be on the field this year. That bitch is the cream of the crop. She’ll perform well. I hear tell she’s a Livonian werewolf, a virgin! Think of it. The powers she may hold. And guess whose daughter she is?

I remained silent.

You give up? He asked. His eyes returned to their more humanistic qualities as he situated his vest.

Immediately not wanting to hear anymore, I crossed my arms and leaned slightly against the door frame, refusing to answer or enter the room entirely. I also cocked my right foot in front of the left, letting the steel toe of my black leather boot smack firmly on the freshly polished wood floors. Surely, that would leave a nice scratch for one of his staff members to buff out later.

He didn’t seem to mind. His excitement took precedence over the condition of his precious treasures in his finely decorated office, or the floors for that matter. Father and his schemes. He and his brothers – my uncles whom I refused to claim any relation to other than we were all a part of the same underworld known as the Dark Place - acted like six-year-olds when it came to the Season of the Games or they figured out some cunning ploy to irritate the Golden Kingdom, the latter plan, which usually ended up being remarkably stupid, or one some person, mainly me, had to clean up. My patience thinning, I sighed and observed him.

My father was one of the seven lords of the Dark Place, and he was a demon like all his brothers. He was called Alichino, a Latin word meaning ‘king of demons’ that he preferred to be called because 1) he thought it meant he actually was King of the Dark Place which he wasn’t and 2) his brothers had put him in charge of recording all their adventures whether they were true or not. It was a task he prided himself on even though he had yet to print the first story. Scribbling down notes in between smoke breaks seemed to be his approach.

I was looking forward to the day when the real King of the Dark Place, Sarif would ask my father where the book was. That would be fun.

Until then, playing the part instead of doing the work was my father’s past time. He delighted in dressing up like a scholarly gentleman on his way to a speaking engagement in a dark three-piece suit with matching vest, top hat, tails and pointy leather shoes, despite his thick purplish red skin, two inch frontal horns he hid with his hat, and an assortment of facial piercings given to him every one hundred years marking his birthday. With all his pomp and circumstance, my friend, Michel and I had given him another name we used quite often when discussing his latest idiotic idea. It fit my father better and was much easier to say. Asshole.

Vinnie, my boy, I snagged a virgin werewolf. It was so simple. In my disguise I dreamed up – not this of course – I was a … Well, never mind. Anyways she came right up to me. It was so easy. I fear she’s not terribly bright, but that won’t matter. I’m sure she’ll do well in the games. In between puffs on his pipe, Father produced a series of wide grins that showed off a mouth full of yellowed fangs.

My name is not Vinnie, I uttered through clenched teeth.

You know what I meant, Vincent. He pronounced my name with a grand amount of sarcasm and disgust.

You kidnapped a member of the royal family of the Golden Kingdom? And you want her in the games? Tell me you cleared this with one of your brothers?