EXCERPT: Crystal Kauffman's Guardian's Realm 3: The Clash
An Excerpt from Guardian's Realm 3: The Clash
Crystal Kauffman
Genre: Vampire Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Length: Novel
Price: $5.99
http://www.loose-id.com/Guardians-Realm-The-Clash.aspx
Cvetelina Maldonova knows Agent Almaden wouldn't have come all the way to Romania to ask for her help if he wasn't forced to--he can't stand her undead guts. He's the most pigheaded human she's ever met. And having lived for six hundred years, she's met a lot. Not only does Robert believe he can cure his son of vampirism, he won't listen when she tries to tell him an assassin has him targeted. He's going to get his fool neck bit, and Cvetelina knows she'll be blamed if he returns to his agency in a coffin. Whether he likes it or not, she's sticking to him like glue. At least he's easy on the eyes, and when Cvetelina looks into his cool blue ones, she can almost see daylight again.
But when he's dosed with Tourin and goes mad with sexual need, that's the last straw. She grabs the nearest thing she can find to restrain him; the sex-ties in her bedroom. Suddenly Robert is bound and helpless, and things are looking more interesting. What to do, what to do...
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, menage (m/f/f), same-sex practices (f/f).
~ * ~
Purple filled his vision, and dimly Robert felt himself hit the wall. The breath whooshed from his lungs.
"You do not recognize me?"
He blinked his vision clear to find Mariana leaning over him, eyes glowing yellow.
He realized the tragedy of his mistake with absurd calm.
Cvetelina betrayed me.
Mariana grabbed him by the shirt and flung him the distance of the room. He crashed against the far wall upside down and crumpled headfirst in a heap. The solid, medieval construction of this place would keep anyone from hearing, though it hardly mattered. Any noise would only call the other vampires that were surely near. They gravitated toward violence with an almost psychic magnetism. Even drugged as he was, Robert understood he was a goner.
Mariana appeared in front of him as though she'd transported magically across the room in a blink. He brought his arm up, but he was so weak everything felt like it was in slow motion.
No, please, not this way. Not by a fucking vamp. Why couldn't I have been hit by a truck?
It felt shameful to succumb to a bloodsucker, plain old stupid to walk right into her trap. He truly would be the laughingstock of his department.
Mariana grabbed his ankle and flung him against the ceiling. He crashed to the floor, sprawled half across the bed. His knee crunched on the awkward landing.
Through bloodied vision, he saw his jacket dangling off his suitcase all the way across the room beside the door. His special mace, an aerosol spray of holy water, seemed a million miles away.
She loomed over him, grabbing him by the rags left of his shirtfront. They came away in her hand. She grabbed him by the neck instead and lifted him with one hand.
"My husband was Youly Malyak. Your fucking VTF executed him!" She finished the sentence with her mouth wide and hissing, spittle stringing from one vicious canine. Her skin had turned pale green, and a network of black veins ran just below the surface.
"Green isn't your color, honey."
She flung him the width of the room. He tumbled across the floor, hearing more than feeling the crunch in his shoulder. Robert tried to reach for his jacket, but his arm wouldn't work. She laughed a wicked witch's shriek and snatched his foot before he even lifted his hand, hauling him into the air and flinging him against the far wall within an inch of the window. He slid to the floor, tasting his own blood.
He opened his eyes to find her hideous face leering into his. "I have no desire to drink your filthy blood, so I'll just have to rip out your throat."
"Do you think you could eat a breath mint first?"
His own words sounded far off as blackness descended and embraced him.
* * *
Cvetelina stopped on the deserted cobblestone street and looked up to the second floor.
Hatred. Violence. Bloodlust.
She sensed a lone vampire and a fading human life force.
"Dammit." She opened her wings, tearing the blouse and her favorite cashmere sweater. One powerful stroke sent her up and forward. She tucked her wings and smashed through the window where the energy was strongest, startling a female vampire leaning over the unconscious VTF agent.
He was still alive. Thank whatever gods truly existed.
The other vampire, a woman she recognized but had never been introduced to, crouched over Almaden with her head tilted and mouth wide open, as if to bite the corner off a taco.
She halted, swiveling her gaze over to Cvetelina. "I know you," she said in Romanian. She didn't release him, unsure of Cvetelina's intentions.
"And I know you," Cvetelina returned in English.
"Fuck off. He's mine."
She shook her head, clinging to her calm. She had no doubt she was stronger and more experienced than this young vamp, but she wasn't in the mood for a fight. She had just had her nails done.
"I cannot let you have him."
"This pathetic human means nothing, and I am owed. He killed my mate." The female released him, slowly standing while eyeing Cvetelina curiously. "You were there, in San Francisco. That is where I know you from."
Cvetelina stepped into the room, removing her back from the open window. "Da. I was there."
The woman paced the opposite direction, matching her slow stride. Two alley cats squaring off, daring the other to move first. Her eyes narrowed. "How is it you escaped?"
"I surrendered. I was pardoned."
The other vamp spat. "Coward. A true vampire would never beg from a human."
"I obey the Sacred Laws."
"Fuck the Sacred Laws! Humans are cattle. We feed. It is the way it is meant to be!" She leaped at Cvetelina, claws and fangs bared.
Instead of attacking, Cvetelina sidestepped and struck the other vamp on the back of the head. The woman stumbled and crashed against the wall.
"Stop this. I give you the chance to keep your life. Don't be a fool."
The vampire clamored to regain her footing. "Bitch!"
"You are no match for me. I am six hundred years old."
The girl laughed out a shriek that made Cvetelina's blood run cold. "You're decrepit!"
She charged again. This time the vamp knew to anticipate Cvetelina's sidestep. The other woman tackled her. They both crashed against the wall. Plaster crumbled and bricks came loose.
Cvetelina punched the other woman with a right hook. The vamp staggered back a few feet, then tried to come back with a punch of her own. Her fist crushed a hole in the brick. She howled in pain.
Cvetelina darted around her and thumped her on the spine with both hands clasped together. The other woman staggered to her knees. She pulled her hand free with a shower of crumbled mortar.
She spun to attack, but Cvetelina punched her again, sending her sprawling backward. The vamp kicked off the back wall, flipped in the air, and charged.
Cvetelina transformed to her demon form, slashed with a wing barb, and shifted back. The damage was already done. Her slacks were ripped at the waistline.
The other vampire's severed head hit the floor and bounced twice, rolling to a stop under the small table. Her body sprawled a few feet away, twitching once before falling still.
A moment of silence reigned; then there was a whoosh as the body and its head ignited within a few seconds of each other.
Cvetelina examined her index finger. What had been a smoothly shaped fingernail was torn down to the flesh. "Damn."
She crossed the room to the hearth, where she retrieved the ash broom and dustpan.
She swept up the remains and examined them in the pan. "Young people today just don't listen."
The body left a charred spot on the hardwood floor, making the finish bubble and peel, but Cvetelina had bigger issues to worry about. Other curious vampires were sure to come, called to the violent energy.
She dumped the remains into the hearth and tossed the broom and pan aside.
Robert Almaden lay twisted on the floor beside the bed. Blood soaked his shirt and spattered his face.
She knelt over him and gently turned his cheek. No punctures. His jugular pulsed, weak but steady.
"You are a lucky man, Agent Almaden."
She remembered him as strikingly handsome and fiercely proud, with chiseled features and secretive pain in sky blue eyes that were always scowling, trying to hide it.
But now, in his unconscious state, she saw the true beauty of the man. She felt a pitiful pang, wishing she knew what he looked like when he smiled. That was something she would probably never see.
Above it all, in this vulnerable state and covered in his own blood, she felt a strange compulsion to protect. A need so intense to cherish this human life, it was almost sexual.
She shook her head. Absurd. The man hated her undead guts. Still, she had to get him the hell out of here.
Cvetelina gathered him into her arms and leaped out the window, calling forth her wings as she plummeted toward the cobblestone street. With a powerful downward stroke, she soared into the sky and turned for home.
* * *
Pain. Aching body. But I'm warm. Soft bed. Quiet.
Before he even opened his eyes, Robert reached for his throat. His neck was sore where the vampire bitch held him like a beer bottle and burned inside like he'd been shouting for the home team. But no puncture wounds.
He peeled his eyes open. Blurry smears twisted like a kaleidoscope. He blinked to clear his vision.
A pretty blonde came into focus. He'd seen her somewhere before. The Palace? No, she just looked like one of the girls he remembered. Of course. Gladiolas. Cvetelina had been in love with the human slave.
It looks like she found a replacement.
She smiled sweetly, and a flame burst to life inside him. "How are you feeling?"
Like I was hit by a truck, he wanted to say. No, worse. Like I was hit by a vampire. That undead bitch had knocked him against the walls like a racquetball.
"Cvetelina will be here soon. She's changing her clothes."
She turned to leave. Robert snatched her wrist. A shock of pain raced up his arm.
She gasped, tossing weightless hair the color of moonlight as she looked back in surprise.
The pain shooting into his shoulder throbbed, but he didn't let go. "I can get you out of here."
Her brow creased. "No, thank you." She tugged her hand, but he held fast.
"You don't." He gritted against a railroad spike that suddenly shot through his knee. "Don't have to be a slave."
"I'm not a slave."
"Then why are you wearing that getup?"
"Cvetelina asked me to."
The half-concealed sight of all those feminine curves, of plump breasts with strawberry peaks, a narrow waist, and softly rounded hips centered by a dark blonde thatch of hair, was more enticing than if she'd been naked. His desire flashed and roared.
He yanked her arm. With a squeak, she tumbled over him and sprawled on the bed.
Tingles flurried over his flesh like snowflakes in a storm. Her wrist was fragile, her skin incredibly soft, and his need was fierce. He had the overwhelming urge to kick her legs apart and plunge inside her soft, feminine core.
"Fuck me."
"No!" She slapped him. "I told you, I'm not a slave."
The strike sobered him but lit his passion afire. He pinned both wrists above her head and reared over her. Had he not been tangled in the sheet, he would have mounted her like a wild stallion. Frustration boiled in his veins even while he knew it was wrong. He wasn't a rapist.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Her firm, rounded breasts jutted skyward. He stared down at them, practically salivating. He covered one with a hand, reveling in its softness like a randy teenager who'd never touched a woman's breast before. She left her released arm above her head but stared back with piercing intensity.
"Please don't."
He closed his eyes and dragged his hand over his face. "God."
He felt her roll away. An instant later, a heavy weight smashed him flat.
"Amelie is off limits." Cvetelina pinned him facedown and hauled his wrists above his head. "You don't touch her."
He struggled to buck her off, but her strength was incredible.
"Calm yourself, Agent."
Her sultry voice rolled through him like a wave. Above the raw need bubbling in his veins, fear clawed for supremacy. A vampire had him pinned down, her breath hot on his neck.
"You can't hold me here. People know where I am."
"I have no desire to hold you here at all. And if I remember correctly, you called upon me."
"Then let me go."
"Do I have your promise you won't rape my houseguest?"
"Jesus." How could she ask such a thing? Even as his mind shrieked at her audacity, his hips thrust into the mattress, acting out his cock's burning need to fuck.
"Deep breaths, Agent Almaden. Amelie, the ties."
He fought against her, but her grip was like steel. Heaven help him, the struggle only stoked the fire burning in his blood. He became aware of firm breasts pushing into his back, strong legs tangled with his. The pressure of her pelvis pushing against his buttocks and the hot spot at the peak of her thighs.
Holy fuck. I have a hard-on for a vampire.
To make it worse, he experienced regret as her body lifted away.
Nylon cuffs drew tight at his wrists, pulled secure against unseen anchors below the mattress.
"What the hell?" Before he could move, his feet were jerked wide, secured the same way with a shrill whir of nylon against fabric.
"Ooh. I think I like this better," Amelie said.
"Let me go!" He twisted his head around to try and see Cvetelina. A stab of razor-sharp pain ricocheted through his neck.
"I don't think so. You have been dosed with Tourin, Agent Almaden. You are a danger to yourself and Amelie."
"You have a nerve, vampire. Calling me a danger when you're keeping her as a slave!"
"I am not a slave," the girl protested in a high-pitched voice.
He twisted back to see the petite nymph plant both hands on her hips. Her small breasts bounced, peaked nipples poking little wrinkles in the translucent cloth of her erotic Roman toga.
"The Tourin makes you say that. You don't even realize it."
"I don't use Tourin," she responded in a pouty voice. "Cvetelina doesn't allow it."
"What a fucking saint," he snapped, even as he didn't believe it.
A stinging slap burned his ass. For the first time, he realized he was stark naked. The sheet that had covered him was now bunched under him, exposing his bare ass to his two captors.
Hot terror crackled on his skin.
"Is this what you meant when you said you'd bring me a present?"
"This is no gift," Cvetelina returned, her voice light with amusement. "He's more like a curse, if you ask me."
© Crystal Kauffman, March 2010
All Rights Reserved