Wicked Intentions
by Azalea Moone
Copyright © 2012 Azalea Moone
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.
Also by Azalea Moone
Dark Night Skies series
Dark Night Skies Book 1
Once Upon a New Years Eve free series
Once Upon a New Years Eve
The Man Who Spoke My Name
Dedication
Special thanks to Jennifer V.
And to Absolute Write forums members, especially in the
erotica section, wink wink.
Wicked Intentions
by Azalea Moone
Chapter One
“Lucius,” her powerful, shrill voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
The dark shadow drew close. It reached across the wall next to me, like some kind of monster stretched out along the height of the brick in the faint glow of the street light above.
Damn! You are the last person I wanted to see tonight.
“Serena,” I breathed, not wanting to even turn in her direction.
The heels of her shoes sounded out, click click click, against the pavement. Just knowing she was here irritated me, the same as her frightful platforms, and for good reason. Even her familiar scent, blood and fine wine, drifting through the breeze towards me made me nervous.
It was just seconds ago that I wandered this very sidewalk alone pondering as to why Michael had been eluding me for the last couple of weeks. Though it was difficult to keep track, I could assume it had been a month, or maybe two, since he had suggested that I stay with him.
Michael was my lifeline, as I was his. Like leeches, we drank from each other every night. I would taste his blood, the cursed gene from his ancestor; then, with as much passion as I could, I would give him the energy he needed to live.
Now, two weeks had gone by without that exchange and I was becoming weaker by the minute.
“Lucius is that any way to greet your maker?” her piercing voice broke through my thoughts.
I furrowed my brow. “Of course not, Ma'am.”
“Good.” Her dainty fingers curled around my shoulder.
With one quick swoop, I shifted my stance and turned to face her.
Her wide, bloodshot eyes looked me over from head to toe. “You look horrible.”
Serena stood stock-still. Layers of silk draped across her legs and swept the ground to cover her large platform heeled shoes. A corset squeezed her torso tight, the zipper coming up to just above her breasts.
“Good of you to notice,” I said nonchalantly.
A shiver ran through me at her noticeable strength. She ruled her world and anyone who may have passed her way, including Sebastian, her deranged servant, who remained on his knees and clutched to her arm.
“Yes, well, I hear you have a doll,” Serena said with a wicked smile.
My eyes narrowed. “I suppose you heard this from Sebastian.”
Sebastian's grin widened.
I knew it.
“Of course. Sebastian tells me everything,” she said as she brushed back Sebastian's long hair away from his face.
My eyes flicked to look at him. A netted shirt covered his chest and hung low over faded blue jeans. His long hair swept down past his waist, the length nearly matched my own. However, it was shadow black unlike mine. Very becoming of him, to rival his masters own locks.
“And?” I sighed.
A chuckle escaped her lips. “Do you have no intentions of introducing us?”
Of course not, witch!
I tightened my fists at my sides. “No, I did not think of it.”
In truth, it had crossed my mind. After the commotion in the park a month ago, I knew Sebastian would disclose any information he knew and they would come for us. I didn't tell Michael, but I prepared myself for a fight. I had to keep Michael's secret to myself.
“You are aware what having a doll entails. That you release them to your master,” Serena said, stomping on the ground. “Lucius, a servant cannot keep a slave. Remember Natalie?”
Oh yes, Natalie. Why do you bring her up?
“Of course you do.” The devilish smile embraced her lips again. She stepped forward, leaving Sebastian behind, and reached out to thumb across my cheek. “What a sweet, young girl she was. So hip, lively. I do miss her, don't you?”
Her rough hand caused my knees to weaken. Every damn year I'd spent in her realm made me more anxious and more a student to her unmistakable power. I closed my eyes and silently shook my head, masking my nervousness.
“Aw, a shame really. She were to be your first doll, if you were not bound to me.” She snaked her fingers around the back of my neck, jerking me forward. “So what is this one's name?”
“Michael,” Sebastian's voice pierced through the quiet.
Serena looked back at him then snapped back to me. “Perfect. Michael is it? What an interesting ordeal.” She drew her lips close to mine. “Bring him to me.” Her breath, strong of alcohol and death, made my stomach churn.
I stilled, knowing all too well what would happen if I show any emotion.
“And if I refuse?”
Serena pulled away, her smile faded. “I will find him, Lucius. If you leave it to me, I'll be sure to take everything I can and leave you locked in the dungeon for eternity.”
She backed away to catch Sebastian's guiding hand. Her diabolical smile vanished, crimson eyes burned with rage.
“You have 72 hours, Lucius,” she said, with Sebastian's arm wrapped around hers.
Once they turned around, my eyes widened. Their figures disappeared from sight and I tightened my fist once more, slamming it against the unyielding brick wall next to me.
I regretted not telling Michael about her, but I resisted for this very reason. I did not want to subject him to Serena's incredible fury. Despite that, I was bound to her, unfortunately, and I did hold a servant, if that is what to call him. If only she knew the truth, his life would be in peril.
As I took a few steps forward, the sound of choking from around the alleyway broke the silence.
I approached and noticed a woman bent down on her knees. Short, styled blond hair rolled down around her neck and draped across her face. Her tiny skirt barely touched above her thighs. A well bought tan made her skin sparkle even in the dimmed street light above and she was vomiting a night's worth of alcohol on the ground below her.
Such a perfect moment. I did not normally care for the taste of alcohol, but this was just too easy.
I waited until she gasped for air and wiped at her chin. Immediately, I swooped down and took her in my arms. She made a tiny whimper before I bared my fangs, digging them into her refined skin. The woman's arms fell around her as she looked wide-eyed at the sky above.
Whiskey. The taste was exhilarating. It had been decades since I tasted hard liquor, and I could smell it in her breath as she panted and whined, making the experience all the more worth-while.
I moved with her in my arms into the shadows of the small alley. Her heart beat fluttered, pumping the blood on my tongue straightaway. She had closed her eyes once I reached the inner darkness. Her body became lifeless to the loss of blood.
I dropped her before the heart's final beat, the weak body shriveled to the dirt. The blood stuck to my chin, and I desperately wiped the remains of the woman's life into my mouth.
I should have felt stronger after that, her blood should have appeased me, but this woman was the sixth victim in the last two days and it was never enough. I could go on feeding in an attempt to revive myself from countless mortals. Yet, I needed him. Michael's blood to keep me youthful.
It was time to find him.
Chapter Two
I stood wary at the apartment door. Would he even be home?
With my hand just inches away from the doorknob, I stopped and listened for any signs of life inside the apartment.
The distinct sound of the television hummed through the door. The voice didn't come to me at first, but I focused my thoughts and it was like I was sitting in front of the television set myself.
'Tonight at eleven, a woman was found dead inside her Northern City home this morning. Police are reporting an apparent animal attack. We will have more on this and other news after this commercial break.' The newscaster reported.
Hm... They usually kept these things from the press.
Since Michael had granted me permission to stay at his home, I often made my way in and out the front door as if it was my own, when I needed to, that is. This time, I remained on guard. He was obviously withdrawing, staying out at all hours of the night and coming home at the crack of dawn. He knew I couldn't question him if it was daylight. Doesn't he realize, the more he avoided me, the more I grew weak, and the faster this sickness would crush him?
Instead of passing through the door, I entered underneath, through shadowed form, and into the darkened apartment.
Michael was here, I could sense him nearby. I eyed the couch. He laid there, curled up in slumber. I gradually stepped around the couch, as not to awaken him.
Kneeling down upon one knee, I fixed my eyes on his sleeping form. His breath was heavy, cheeks reddened. A blue tank top was pulled up to bare his stomach and an old, knitted blanket covered his legs. There was a grave look of pain and despair in his eyes and I knew that his illness had caught up to him.
I stretched my arm out and touched his bare shoulder. His skin burned under my fingertips and I shuddered to the thought that he was ill.
“Michael,” I whispered.
His body twitched.
I splayed my fingers along his arm. “Michael, wake up.”
A tired yawn escaped his lips, before his sleepy eyes peered up at me.
“What is it?” he muttered.
I crooked my neck in wonder. “You're burning up,” I said as I moved my hand up to his cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I think it's the flu, but I'll be okay,” his voice crackled with uncertainty.
“It is not the flu Michael,” I said. His whole body was flushed; sweat covered his skin and his clothes. I could sense death. “How long has this been going on?”
He struggled to sit up, eventually leaning back against the side of the futon couch. He took a deep breath and coughed.
“I... it started about a week ago,” he answered. “It was just a bit of sleepiness, and then my stomach started to hurt. I took some medicine earlier, but I don't think it's helping.”
I took a deep sigh. “Michael, why have you been avoiding me?”
His wide eyes met mine.
“I'm not,” he said. “It's work. There have been a lot of big investigations going on lately. I was even called into the field yesterday, did you know there is a house with sixteen spirits all of which are said to appear as a wolf–” his voice trailed as the coughing began again.
“Yes, Michael. It's a popular ghost story among the kids.”
Why hadn't I thought of it before? It could be possible he was working on some incredible cases. He'd been called back into work at the Paranormal Investigation Unit early, before his two weeks suspension had ended. After work, he would always come home to spend the rest of the night here with me.
The room filled with silence. Michael's head bowed as if he was falling asleep once more. I leaned in and wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him forward. His head snapped back, blue eyes looked at me in wonder.
“There is no pill that can fix this,” I whispered in his ear.
I released all of my emotion in that embrace. All the pent-up tension, worry, and rage overflowed as life surged into him. Every bit of energy I could muster I sent to him, leaving me weaker than I'd ever been.
My lips brushed against his collar. His weak heart beat pulsed through his skin and I fought back the temptation to sink my fangs into his flesh. As much as I needed his blood, that would leave him even more fragile. I couldn't possibly have that.
A moan choked from between his lips as he rested his head on my shoulder. His breath became steadier, and less obstructed. It was slowly working.
“Now rest,” I whispered, backing away from him.
Michael relaxed into the plush cushion and curled his legs up.
“I'm sorry I'm so stubborn,” he said silently, eyes sparkled in the glow of the television.
I shook my head. “You're not--”
“I am! I should have come to you, but I didn't think that it, that this, was real.”
“Michael, do you know how much danger you are in? You could die!”
“But why?” he matched my tone. “Why would that happen? I never once felt ill in those ten years we were--”
I slumped down on the couch next to him and said, “You hadn't been subjected to my energies yet. Only I had been drawn in by your life. Please, don't go this long. Whether it's work or--”
He yawned, “Okay. I'll tell you next time.”
“Thank you. Now we have more pressing matters to deal with.”
Silence filled the room. I turned my head and Michael had sunk down, his legs stretched out and feet bundled into the blanket atop my lap, a snore rattled from his lips.
Ah, well, I suppose this could wait until tomorrow.
Chapter Three
I awoke the next evening to a strange noise coming from the kitchen. As I stepped out of the bedroom closet, the scent of cooking food overwhelmed my senses. That repugnant smell and sizzling noise...
I leaned against the doorway with my arms crossed, watching Michael prepare dinner. He stood in front of the stove, spatula in one hand, greasy handle of the frying pan in the other, with a tune whistled from his lips.
His wet, shoulder length, brown hair was pulled back into a pony tail. He shook his hips, covered in black suit pants that I wanted to rip off of him. There was the heady scent of his cologne from the bathroom across from me. I'd never wanted him so bad like I'd wanted him now.
“Feeling better?” I asked with a smile.
Michael turned around. “Yes.” He waved the utensil around in the air. “Much better, thank you.”
I walked in, approaching the center bar, closing in on his lively figure. Michael had turned back towards the frying pan. Grease splattered out and hit the top of the stove and his arm as he mixed a batch of cut potatoes.
“Ah, shit!” he spouted.
“Problems?”
“No, no. Just haven't cooked fried potatoes before. Thought they would be good with the chicken I have in the oven,” he said.
A chuckle escaped my lips as he continued his fight, scraping the plastic spatula against the bottom of the pan. Suddenly, an alarm sounded out and I stilled before reaching him.
“Ooo, chicken!” he said and bent down to open the oven door.
This is just too entertaining.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I wondered as I leaned my hip against the bar.
Michael pulled the pan from the oven and placed it down on top of an empty stove burner. He threw the oven mitt on the bar in front of me and smiled.
“CiCi.” He shrugged. “She taught me how to cook a little bit. I learned a lot in college though. That same year that...” A somber look came over his face.
I reached out to hold him, his forehead buried in my shoulder.
That same year, when he was 18. Yes, I knew what he was about to say. The year I attacked him.
“No.” I caught his chin and raised his head. “That was then, no worries now.”
Michael nodded his head in agreement.
“Anyway,” He turned towards the fresh food sitting atop the stove. “want some?”
A smile spread on my lips. “No, thank you. But I'll tell you what I will take.” I pulled him in closer, only to have him struggle away.
“Wait,” Michael warned. “I gotta' eat something first. Don't wanna become anemic.”
I backed away so he could retrieve his plate from the counter top.
Yes, that might have been true. I had fed from him night after night, until those weeks where he avoided me and grew sick. So I suppose I could wait, but for how much longer?
“Okay,” I began. “Then how about we talk?”
Michael turned towards me, plate in hand, and wonder in his eyes. The drifting scent of food from his plate made me gag. I hadn't even thought of food since my turning, and every time I'd seen it, I almost wanted to turn away.
“Talk? About what?” he wondered.
We both made our way to the bar. I allowed him to pass by me and choose his seat first before sliding down on one of the stools.
“Do you remember last night, when I said there is something important we need to deal with?” I asked.
He nodded his head.
I choked back slight doubt. “Just – never go with anyone you don't know.”
A shiver ran through me. I couldn't do it. I just could not tell him who to watch out for, or why.
Never go with her. With Serena. Please!
When I turned to face him, he just stared at me in curiosity. “I know all about stranger danger, Lucius. Third grade.”
“Yes, I know.” I forced a smiled. “But I'm serious here. I can't tell you why, just promise me this.”
Michael swallowed a bite of food and poked at a piece of potato. “So, I'll never go with anyone I don't know. Got it!” He shoved the potato into his mouth. “Now let me ask something,” he said with his mouth full.
Don't talk with your mouth full, Michael!
“You've never told me about yourself. Like, who you were, who created you--”
I shook my head. “You don't want to know.”
“Yes, I do!” he persisted, dropping his fork on the crystal plate. “Please, tell me.”
I cringed at the thought. To tell him about her would bring out those memories I'd longed to forget. Still, I would do anything for him, even if it was to tell him about my existence and the struggles, the loss of my life.
“Fine.” I lowered my eyes and stared at the wooden bar top. “I'll only tell you now because--” the crunch of food between his teeth made me cringe. “My family rejected me. It was 1884. I was found on the steps of an orphanage here in Central City and I lived there until I was 14 years old. That's when I was able to escape and live on the streets.”
“Wait,” he said, mouth full again. “1884?”
“Yes, Michael.” I caught his blue eyes, interested and amazed. “I am over a century old. Do you wish to hear why?”
He nodded his head with some hesitation.
I lowered my eyes and settled them back on the top of the bar. “I'd sleep in the small alleyways where the shop owners kept their debris and extra wares. The orphanage was cold and that's all I knew, so the streets felt just like home to me.
“But, there were times I thought of just ending it. Maybe letting a shop keeper shoot me or steal the gun from his hands and do it myself, or maybe something more grotesque perhaps?” I finished in a whisper.
Michael had slid the empty plate away from him. He wiped the side of his mouth with a napkin, as a single, shimmering tear slid down the side of his nose.
“It was really that bad?” he asked, then shook his head. “I'm sorry, go on.”
Small drops of water dripped from the faucet into the sink basin. It served as a distraction as I continued with the story. “One night as I rested close to a building, a woman approached me. I thought she was just passing by so I made no attempts to even glance at her, but she silently stood there looking at me. I remember everything like it was yesterday.
“'What is wrong, boy?' she asked me. 'Haven't you a home to go to?'
“'The streets are my home, ma'am.'
“'A shame. I could offer you a warm place to stay.'
“I remember glancing up at her. She was pale even in the darkness of the night, with dark, black hair and a glimpse of red in her eyes. It's as if the devil had a proposition for me, life or death--”
Michael gasped, “Was that – who made you?”
“Yes, and she held out her hand and I took it, though I was hesitant to go anywhere with her. But her hand was so incredibly warm.”
Silence filled the room.
I cleared my throat and began again. “'Come with me,' she said. And when I hesitated, she added. 'You want to know what it's like. I can see it in your eyes.' She was right, I did want to know what it was like to have a warm bed, even for just one night. Now I wonder if that was the wrong choice.”
Michael shifted in his seat, interrupting me once more. “She couldn't have been that bad, could she? I mean, she did save you, Lucius.”
“Oh, no. She is truly evil, Michael. That is why I never want you to go with anyone you do not know,” I said. “Understand?”
Michael nodded in compliance, an inviting smile spread on his lips.
Before I could lean in and capture those plump, rosy lips, the phone jangled loudly in the living room. Michael darted to the end table.
“Sorry,” he said, before picking up the receiver. “Real quick.”
I exhaled my disappointment and focused with my able hearing to his conversation.
“We need you down here now, Krauss,” his boss hollered. “There's big activity at the Swanson house from last night. Go down to the office, get the equipment and meet the team on location.”
“Yes sir!” Michael agreed. “I'll be there soon.”
He lowered the receiver, head down, and I could clearly sense the distress around him.
“I have to go,” he said solemnly.
“I know.”
He turned to face me. “I... I've dreamed for the day to come. To be out there in the field, though, back then it was only to find you. But it's interesting now, you know. I'm sorry.”
“Go.” I strode across the living room, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pulled him close. “I can wait.”
His delightful eyes caught mine before he pulled away.
“Great. I'll be back soon okay,” he said as he gathered his jacket and threw it over his shoulder.
I watched him walk out of the room in concern for not only him, but for myself. I was becoming weaker by the day. Moving slower, and revealing my age. His blood replenished me much more than any other drink.
For the remaining hours I spent alone, I did nothing but browse the apartment toying with trinkets. Through his books, I found pages upon pages of fiction. A ghost story, a murder mystery, a fantasy novel; all were incredibly boring.
His priceless collection of toys atop the shelves didn't serve any purpose but distraction. I would look up at the brightly colored wind-up rabbit and it stared back at me with small, black plastic eyes.
The television stations where as insipid as the books. After picking through the shelves, I plopped down upon the couch and thumbed through the channels. The same stories: a murder in reality, or a movie about apes. I sighed in anticipation.
When I found myself pacing across the carpeted floor, I knew I had reached a new low. This was ridiculous. I shouldn't be cooped up in this drab apartment room; I could be out in the moon's illumination, feeding upon the rich blood of a wealthy brunette.
Ah, yes, my preferred taste. Dark crimson blood dripping around the collar of a gold and diamond necklace, gently running down the bosom, a fountain of pleasure and pain...
I opened my eyes wide to face the radiant television screen. Soon, nothing would snap me out of my thirst. The lust for blood would be my undertaking.
When I plopped back on the couch, something small rolled down the cushion; a pair of shiny, silver nail-clippers that fell out of Michael's jacket on his way out. An idea hit me.
Carefully, I aimed the clippers towards my long claws, the thought of being without them consumed me. With the memory of the pain I inflicted on Michael each time I held him, clip went the first nail, right down to the tip of my finger.
It had been ages since I'd cut them, the same as when I had cut my hair. And though rumors go around that our kind could regenerate these parts within seconds of losing them, it was only Hollywood tales. As a fact, it would be at least five days until the nails were points again. By then, I would be ready to snip them away once more.
I examined my clean cut nails. Perfect. I could only hope he would think so too.
When dawn came, birds chirped their morning song and I stalked towards the bedroom, to the closet on the opposite side of the bed. My fingers grazed the soft fabric of the bed sheet and memories came into mind.
“Why can't you sleep here?” Michael had asked one night several weeks ago.
I turned to him before I entered the blackness of the closet. “I'm not used to such luxury.”
It was just too much for me. I found the emptiness comforting in my private sleep chamber, the bedroom closet. Just like always, the cold was delightful, but my thoughts wondered as I closed the door behind me.
Where is Michael?
Chapter Four
A pounding knock on the door sprung me out of the bedroom and into the living room. The day had passed in silence, the front door still locked from when Michael left the previous night.
Who the hell could it be?
It wasn't until a familiar voice came out, “I know you're in there, Lucius,” that I opened the door and flew towards the unwelcome guest.
“Where is he?” I asked, holding Sebastian by the collar of his filthy shirt.
A diabolical smile twisted his lips, and his eyes were wide and focused.
“And what makes you think this isn't just a nice little visit from a friend?” He asked with a chuckle.
I tightened my grip, tempted to choke him. “Because it's not like you to make friendly calls.”
Son-of-a-bitch! I'll snap your neck if you don't tell me where he is!
“Yes, I suppose you're right,” Sebastian said, his fingers wrapped around my wrist. I dug my nails into his neck and his voice cracked. “I have come with a message for you. Serena wants to see you immediately. And so does Michael.”
He pushed me, my nails scrapped against his skin until I released my grip and dropped my hand to my side.
“Why? Why did she take him?” I whispered.
Rage spilled through me as Sebastian's rough hand pat me on the back then curled around my neck.
Don't even attempt to be buddy buddy to me, pal!
“Aww, come now. It's not so bad ya' know. So what if you give the rest of your eternity to her. No freedom, no life beyond her boundaries,” he chuckled. “Shit, that does sound pretty awful doesn't it?”