Angel's Guardian: A Contemporary Vampire Romance Read online

  Angel’s Guardian

  By Zeecé Lugo

  WARNING: THIS NOVEL CONTAINS SOME SCENES DEPICTING VIOLENCE AND SEXUAL SITUATIONS NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER READERS AND OLDER READERS WHO OBJECT TO SUCH CONTENT.

  COPYRIGHT

  Angel’s Guardian

  By Zeecé Lugo

  Copyright 2016 by Zeecé Lugo

  All rights Are Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Back Matter

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  CHAPTER 1

  The sweet scent of blood called to him, sending the sharp sting of longing straight to his thirsty soul. He leaped onto the parapet and crouched to scan the dark below like a bird of prey hunting his next meal. From his perch high on the rooftop, he had the advantage. He was a predator at the top of the food chain.

  The wind blew frigid and gusty, whipping his long trench coat behind him, blowing back his long, untamed mane of hair, stirring his wild, matted beard. Autumn was fading into winter, his favorite time of year with its longer nights and shorter days. The cold did not bother him.

  He gazed up at the sky, sniffing the cold air like a wolf in the wild, wistful for the sight of stars and moon. The November sky was heavy with clouds, not a star in sight. The first snowfall of the season could not be far off. He leaned forward precariously, scanning the landscape under him.

  Somewhere in the damp, cold, trash-ridden alleys, fresh blood flowed, calling to him with the beguiling siren song he could not resist. The alley below was desolate, only empty plastic bags and dead leaves drifting in the cold night’s breeze. He sprang into the air with the strength and grace of a wildcat, easily spanning the distance to the next building, landing halfway across the roof.

  Another leap brought him to the far edge where once again, he stopped to peer at the darkness below. The scent of fresh blood was strong now. There, behind a large metal dumpster were the huddled figures, rabid animals feasting on easy, wounded prey. They weren’t vampire. They were human. He jumped, landing easily on his feet, the six-storey drop but child’s play to him.

  Facing the street was the lookout, the one who “encouraged” anyone approaching the alley to keep going, leaving the beasts to enjoy themselves undisturbed. Shielded by the metal dumpster, three men crouched over a prone figure, a female. It was her blood flowing, and there would be little left of it soon, but he was not concerned. It was the men who would provide.

  He did not hesitate, taking the lookout from behind, breaking his neck with a fast, practiced snapping action that took little effort. He did not wait to watch the man slump against the wall. Several long strides took him to the huddled men. He grasped the first one by the shoulder with one hand, landing a powerful blow to the temple with incredible force with the other. The man's head snapped sideways, his eyes rolled up into his head. He was dead before he hit the pavement.

  The human pounding into the female never looked up, lost in his pleasure, but the other one did, and for a few seconds remained locked in shock, unable to process what he saw. The only light came from a tiny flashlight the man held. He trained it up, illuminating the vampire. In terror, the man gasped, fell back, and tried to crawl away.

  The vampire vaulted over the man who plunged with mindless abandon into the female and grabbed the one trying to get away. He lifted him easily like a child lifting a stuffed Teddy bear, and smashed him head first into the alley wall. The head cracked like succulent fruit dropped from a height. The man riding the female finally looked up in a daze, still pumping into her, his knees covered in her blood.

  This was the one the vampire wanted, the one whose heart pumped fast as adrenaline and endorphins flushed into his blood stream during the sexual excitement. He was hot and flushed all over from his heightened state. The scent emanating from his pores was spicy and mouth-watering, much like a steak just fresh off the grill would be to a human.

  The vampire reached for him, pulling him clean off the woman in one swift move. He held him up by the neck against the alley wall, the rapist dangling, kicking, his bloody pants hanging off his knees, his penis wet and shrinking in the cold night. The vampire clamped an iron grasp on his victim's mouth and gazed at him with undisguised longing.

  A low, hungry growl rumbled from deep in its throat. Eyes burning red, long fangs sharp and glistening with saliva, the vampire’s nostrils flared, his lips pulled back. It took less than a second to slash deeply, then he clamped his lips around the gushing wound.

  He took his time drinking. He allowed his mouth to fill naturally, the warm, addictive taste touching every cell in his tongue. He savored the bliss of the rich, thick nectar, drinking without hurry, neatly, careful not to leave bite marks on the tender human flesh.

  There was no need or reason to hurry. The alley was a dark, desolate, cold place where danger lurked. Even a homeless person would seek more hospitable and safer grounds. His prey was a large man, having probably between five and six liters of blood. The vampire only wanted a fraction of that, a loss the man could easily survive.

  The hunter would not, however, leave filthy predators alive to rape and murder. Would they not have killed him without a second’s hesitation?

  Sated, he pulled his mouth away from the man, still holding him in his powerful, one-handed grip. Blood now flowed freely down his prey’s neck to drench the man’s open shirt and jacket. The thug looked up at him, eyes wide in fear and horror, mouth working to pull in air.

  The vampire reached down into his coat's pocket and pulled out a blade, sharp and deadly. He flashed it across his victim's eyes, letting him see what was coming. The man's legs began to kick with renewed vigor in his desperation.

  “I'd love nothing better than to rip out your throat and bathe in your blood, but everyone knows we don't exist,” the vampire said in a low growl. “It's just my luck that throat-cutting thugs are a dime a dozen.” He slashed deeply and dropped the body.

  He walked over and looked down at the female lying in a now cold and congealing dark puddle. There was something indecent, obscene, pitiful about the sight of her pale, cold legs splayed out on the filthy pavement. Her skirt was pulled roughly around her waist to expose her narrow, flat belly and the small pubic mound covered in dark, glossy curls.

  His gaze quickly moved from the painful, raw image and flicked to her face. Her eyes, glazed and pained, tried to focus on him. Her breaths were coming fast and short. She turned her head and fixed her sight on the metal dumpster. She was dying. There was nothing he could or should do. He pulled her skirt down to cover her shame and turned away.

  He now had four bodies that
needed to disappear. The woman was not his problem; he did not kill her. The authorities would know exactly what happened to her. Men found with broken necks, crushed skulls, and cut throats, even miserable, murdering rapists, would need explaining and investigating. Even if their bodies eventually turned up, there must be nothing to indicate the presence of a vampire. Their deaths must be attributed to the usual criminal element.

  For the next hour, he hauled the corpses through darkened alleys and roof tops to dump in the fast, murky, frigid depths of the river that would wash them out to sea. It took little effort given his strength and speed. He looked around the desolate alley, ensuring he left no tale-telling clues that would betray his existence. The female, he believed, was dead.

  It was the long, drawn-out wail of a cat that drew his attention. He looked around for the offending animal but saw nothing other than the woman’s body in the deep shadows of the alley. When the wail came again, longer, insistent, angry, he knew it was not a cat.

  The vampire straightened up and looked carefully around him. There was nothing to be seen. The walls caging the alley were blind walls, the windows facing the front and back of the buildings. He was about to take off, impatience and caution urging him on, when the wailing started again and did not stop. In shock, he realized that the sound was coming from the dumpster.

  Two steps took him to the bin, and he easily pulled the heavy lid open. The sweet, cloying smell of rotting vegetable and animal matter assaulted his senses immediately and almost made him turn away, but he forced himself to look inside.

  It was not a cat. From a cradle of refuse and stench, a small face stared at him, pale and full of fear. The wail came from the babe clutched tightly in the arms of the girl child.

  The vampire was stunned. Of all the things he could have expected, this was so not it. Who would leave children abandoned inside a dumpster on such a cold night? And humans would call him a monster.

  In shock, he pulled away and moved to lean against the brick wall. He knew nothing of children, but one thing he knew. He would never, ever, hurt the young of any species. There was no honor, only shame, in destroying something so weak and helpless, something that could not fight back.

  In his mind’s eye, images played from long ago, remembrances of children and women being slaughtered. Memories of terror as savage, battle-mad warriors swept through a village, killing old and young alike. He remembered little ones impaled on lances and swords, tiny limbs twitching in their agonizing death throes. He never forgot.

  What was he going to do? His mind screamed at him to walk away. They were not his kind, not his responsibility. They would be far more terrified of him than of anything else out here. His own survival instincts told him to go, to fly as fast as he could, away from the situation. It had nothing to do with him. The affairs of humans were not his concern, and his involvement would only end in disaster for him.

  His eyes drifted to the dead female. The little girl had thick, dark hair. The woman had similar dark hair. Could they be her babes? Did these monsters rip her little ones from her arms and throw the children in the trash so they could rape her undisturbed? The images his thoughts conjured up made him furious, and he tried to sweep them from his mind, but he could not.

  Is that your mother, little ones? Did you hear her cries as they violated her? The vampire’s pity burned into rage. His eyes strayed back to the dead woman. He approached her reluctantly, loathing the sight of raw vulnerability and waste, the desecration of dignity. He crouched at her side.

  The blood was not from a visible wound. It bled from her woman’s mound, copiously. She must have given birth recently. The assault probably caused hemorrhaging from her still recovering womb. Animals! He wanted to kill them all over again.

  What was she doing out on the streets, late on a cold autumn night? Why was she unprotected in a neighborhood where all kinds of danger lurked in wait? What brought her out? He reached to touch her arm. It was cool but not cold.

  He frowned. Are you still alive? He reached to the base of her throat and pressed his middle finger to the pulse point. A moment later, his eyes opened wide. There was a pulse. She was in bad shape but still alive.

  “Don’t get involved, don’t get involved,” he whispered to himself. He knew he was about to do the opposite of what he should be doing, but abandoning the children in their current situation was not an option. He was a vampire but not a monster.

  CHAPTER 2

  The lofty, domed ceiling was lost in shadows. The soft, warm light of torches did not reach those heights, but the golden light danced among the balconies, lending its fire to the stained glass windows, painting in relief the pale, marble columns.

  On the balconies, figures leaned in casual pose over the carved railings. Bored, beautiful faces loomed impassively in the flickering light, some talking in low, susurrous tones, others listening in shared intimacy. The scene was one out of a canvas by Caravaggio, deep shadows and pale faces highlighted against the amber and reddish glow of firelight and candlelight.

  “He does not want any of it, not the power, the wealth or the responsibility. He has never made a secret of that. It is no crime to take what Maxim does not want. Father is a fool, clinging to old oaths and family loyalty. He has wasted decades waiting for the prodigal heir to return and assume his exalted place among us. The old man delays the inevitable.” Toma’s anger simmered just below the surface, barely controlled.

  He swept his hand back over his thick, shoulder-length, black hair in a gesture of frustration. His intense, dark hazel eyes were fixed on the open floor below where the couples danced to the sounds of pounding techno.

  Vampires were creatures of such contradictions, he thought. They gyrated to the sounds of modern music under the light of torch and candle in an ancient, vaulted cathedral. Trapped between the new and the old, between light and dark, between good and evil, they vacillated between the past and an uncertain future.

  “By our law, when the king dies, the crown passes to his first-born son. In the situation where there is no son, it passes to the king's oldest brother. When Uncle Anton died, two of his three sons were already dead, but Maxim remained to inherit. The law is clear. Maxim is the rightful king. You can’t change that.”

  “Maxim has refused to take his place as king. Our father has been forced to take on all the responsibility as steward without the title. If father died today, I would not inherit. Is that fair? Is that justice?”

  “Our father keeps to the traditions. They have served us well. They exist for many proven reasons,” argued his sister in low, emphatic tones. “You know I’m sympathetic to your cause, dear brother, but these are dangerous times for our people. Not the time for brazen actions.”

  “Really?” The handsome, intense vampire turned his simmering gaze on the beautiful girl. “Is this not your self-interest talking? Do you expect me to believe that your dream to marry our dear cousin Maxim and become queen at his side is not your sole driving ambition? Surely, if it was possible to marry your own brother and crown him king, you’d be working to do just that.”

  Ivanna had the shame to blush at her brother’s words. Fairly enough, the thought had occurred to her, if only for an instant. In antiquity, siblings were often married for the sake of maintaining power and bloodlines. It was a well- known fact that Cleopatra had married her brother. King Tut's wife was his sister and, upon his death, she'd been forced to marry their uncle.

  “I will tell you a secret, dear sister. It will most likely not surprise you. To take my place as king, I will gladly break all the rules, dare all taboos.” He boldly gazed with daring, undisguised lust at his own flesh and blood, the message clear in his smoldering eyes. “A king makes his own laws, forges his own traditions. He’s not shackled by convention as is a steward. No one questions the king.”

  Ivanna was known for her stunning beauty. She was tall and lithe, proud and aristocratic as a queen should be. Her ebony hair and green eyes were exotic against her alabaster
skin. Tonight, her low-cut, fitted bodice held her generous breast tightly, their soft tops spilling over, beckoning the eye.

  Toma was beyond limits, his burning ambition fueling all his other passions. In his eyes, the woman beside him was not forbidden; she was a bridge to power. Of course, his father would think his thoughts abomination, but his father was a doddering old fool.

  Ivanna was stunned to hear the idea put into words. She lowered her eyes in mock modesty, but uttered no protest. Her silence was in fact, an act of unspoken complicity. Still, a complicity that without the spoken word, could be denied. Cunning was Ivanna’s best hidden attribute. Her beauty was her best weapon, but it was one out there for all to see. She used both to devastating effect.

  “Brother,” she crooned, her eyelashes lowered seductively. “You never fail to amaze me.” She reached out to touch his jawline tenderly, her fingers tracing it in sensual caress. “Your strength, vision, and daring are truly kingly attributes. No one is more deserving or better suited to take what our cousin so brazenly disdains. Still, Maxim may change his mind. A man may say he does not want power only to balk and rave when he no longer has it.”

  “Yes, you make a very good point, my dear. In the long term, there is one only acceptable solution to the problem. Our beloved cousin must die.”

  “You’re walking a dangerous path,” she answered, concern etched on her lovely face. “Father will have you executed should you spill family blood. He has overlooked and forgiven many of our transgressions and petty crimes, but that one act, he will not bear. Do not mistake our father. You may think him an old fool, but his core is strong, his honor unyielding.”

  Toma took her hand and brought it to his lips where he placed a lingering kiss over the pulse at her wrist. “Thank you for your concern, love. Any ideas you have that may help us reach our goals, I will be eager to hear and consider. If there is one thing I admire almost as much as your bewitching beauty, it is your cunning. Come to me before dawn. In my quarters, alone, we may speak at length and make plans to suit us both.” His eyes burned in wanton invitation.