Prologue
Yates
Colyer
rolled
onto
his
side,
disgusted
with
himself
as
he
heard
the
front
door
close.
The
woman
leaving
meant
nothing
to
him.
In
fact,
he
hadn’t
even
bothered
to
get
her
name.
What
he
wanted
her
for
had
little
to
do
with
needing
it
so
he
passed.
As a
creature
of
the
night,
he
required
blood
once
every
two
months
or
so.
At
his
age,
blood
wasn’t
something
he
was
day-to-day
dependent
on
anymore.
There
was
a
time,
back
when
he
was
newly
sired
that
he
needed
blood
several
times
a
day.
Fortunately
for
him,
his
father
had
been
in a
position
of
power,
giving
Yates
unlimited
access
to
the
town,
its
resources
and
more
importantly,
its
warm
bodies.
Beggars
and
peasants
overpopulated
the
area
and
he
used
to
think
he
was
doing
his
part
to
thin
their
numbers.
They
were
rarely
missed
and
on
the
off
chance
they
were,
no
one
with
any
kind
of
power
paid
them
any
heed.
Over
the
centuries,
he
learned
to
curb
his
hunger
and
take
blood
without
killing
the
victim
or
donor,
depending
upon
where
and
how
he
got
it.
He
was
a
different
man
now,
no
longer
killing
to
sate
the
demon
within.
He
liked
to
think
he
had
more
control
and
more
finesse.
Like
everything,
he
had
to
change
with
the
times.
It
mattered
not
that
he
was
technically
still
a
Comte.
He’d
reinvented
himself
so
many
times
over
the
course
of
his
immortally
long
life
that
Yates
no
longer
paid
much
mind
to
the
politics
of
it.
Throughout
it
all
something
had
been
missing.
It
still
was.
What,
he
wasn’t
sure.
With
his
blood
hunger
satisfied,
he
thought
about
what
else
he
depended
upon
to
survive.
Sex.
He
needed
it
almost
daily.
He
craved
it
as
much
as
he
craved
seeing
the
sunrise.
At
least
with
sex,
he
could
actually
obtain
the
goal.
The
sunrise
would
never
again
be.
He
had
vague
memories
of
his
last
sunset,
though
at
the
time
he
wasn’t
aware
it
would
be
his
final
one.
He
hadn’t
asked
to
be
brought
over
as a
creature
of
the
night,
another
form
of
the
many
demons
that
inhabited
the
earth
and
beyond.
He’d
been
sired
against
his
will
and
had
to
learn
to
make
the
best
of
it.
I am
far
from
making
the
best
of
it.
All
had
been
well
until
he
had
found
her.
The
mysterious
woman
in
the
magazine.
The
one
with
haunting
lavender
eyes
and
a
mouth
that
begged
to
be
wrapped
around
his
cock.
She
haunted
his
every
moment—awake
and
asleep.
Yates
growled
as
he
went
onto
his
back,
hitting
his
bed
with
his
fist
as
he
thought
of
how
his
daily
sexual
escapades
had
died
almost
instantly
since
he
had
seen
the
mystery
woman’s
face
in
the
magazine.
Sure,
he’d
found
beautiful
women
more
than
willing
to
lie
with
him
and
please
him
until
sunrise
but
his
cock
wouldn’t
cooperate.
It
had
its
sights
set
on
one
woman
and
one
woman
only.
She
was
a
stranger
to
him.
Unfortunately,
Yates
knew
nothing
more
than
that
she
was
a
model.
In
his
line
of
work,
he
met
with
models
nonstop.
Many
all
but
beat
down
his
door,
wanting
him
to
photograph
them
because
he
was
the
best.
The
one
who
had
just
walked
out
on
Yates
had
practically
thrown
herself
at
him,
offering
him
free
rein
of
her
body.
He
had
tried
to
take
advantage
of
the
offer
but
his
cock
refused
to
rise
to
the
occasion,
opting
instead
to
lie
dormant
as
the
demon
within
demanded
to
be
free.
If
the
demon
couldn’t
fuck
it
or
suck
it,
it
seemed
to
think
killing
it
would
suffice.
Thankfully,
Yates
had
more
than
enough
control
to
stop
his
demon
from
doing
anything
of
the
sort.
He
did,
however,
seem
to
lack
the
ability
to
kick-start
his
cock.
Sighing,
he
rolled
out
of
bed
and
went
to
the
magazine
featuring
the
pictures
of
his
mystery
woman.
It
sat
on a
two-person
table,
positioned
near
the
far
end
of
his
bedroom.
He
took
a
step
toward
it
and
scowled
as
he
stepped
on
an
open
book.
He
liked
his
home
tidy,
everything
in
its
place,
and
he
valued
his
book
collection
greatly.
The
woman
who
had
just
left
had
insisted
on
leafing
through
various
books
then
discarding
them
over
her
shoulder.
He
should
have
known
then
his
dick
wouldn’t
want
to
be
in
her.
Anyone
who
couldn’t
appreciate
a
good
read
wasn’t
worth
fucking.
He
sighed.
Yates
ran
his
hand
over
the
edge
of
the
circular
table.
It
was
a
piece
he
had
acquired
during
his
time
in
his
homeland—France.
Its
flame
mahogany
veneer
had
caught
his
eye
and
the
tapered,
fluted
legs
kept
it.
He
had
an
eye
for
detail
and
for
fine
things.
That
was
part
of
the
reason
the
woman
from
the
magazine
had
held
his
attention.
The
magazine
was
already
open
to
the
pages
she
graced.
As
his
gaze
skimmed
over
the
alluring
raven-haired
goddess,
a
hollow
feeling
in
the
pit
of
his
stomach
began.
She
was
so
beautiful,
unearthly
so.
Never
before
had
a
woman
called
to
him
as
this
one
did.
Those
lavender
eyes—he
wanted
to
see
them
staring
up
at
him
while
he
rammed
his
body
into
hers.
She’s
my
mate.
The
thought
nearly
knocked
him
over.
For
four
centuries
he
had
lived
in
darkness,
refusing
to
believe
any
such
person
existed.
Could
it
be
that
by
merely
opening
a
magazine,
he
had
finally
located
her?
There
is
only
one
way
to
find
out.
