Hot Vampire Next Door: Season One (Midnight Harbor Book 1)

I moan as Bran fills me up, and his thumb flicks at my clit. He drops my wrists, and I have to put my hands on his shoulders just to stay upright. My knees are shaking, thighs quivering. I want more of him. I want him to throw me on the mossy ground and fuck me until I can’t—

“Mouse.”

My eyes are closed again. I widen them, my vision a little blurry and distant.

He strokes my clit, and pleasure builds at my center. I feel like a firecracker ready to explode.

“Why were you throwing yourself to the wolves?”

I pant as he slowly enters me again and curls his fingers deep inside of me.

“I…because…you…”

“Yes?”

I think a little part of me wanted to make him jealous. But I can’t tell him that. He strums at my clit again, and a shiver races through me. “Oh god.” I arch my back again, and he presses closer, his cock digging into me. He’s so fucking hard. Does he actually want me or is this just a vampire power play? Some kind of game of lust and dominance?

Maybe I don’t care.

The crescendo gets closer. My wick has been lit.

He’s going to make me come.

Bran Duval is going to make me come in the middle of Midnight Cemetery.

And just as I toe the edge, he pulls out of me.

I blink stupidly at him as the thrum of the orgasm slips away. “What are you doing?” I say a little breathless.

“The wolves are not allowed to touch you.”

“What?” I lean heavily against the tree, the bark biting into my back.

“If I see that fucking dog touching you again, I’ll neuter him.”

I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath. My clit is still throbbing, and I can feel my juices coating my inner thighs. “I don’t care about the wolves,” I say because I think I might say anything just to get his nimble fingers on me again.

“If you want my help, mouse,” he says, “do as I say. Stay away from the wolves.”

“What—” I push away from the tree to argue, but I take one step, and suddenly, he’s gone.

I turn a circle. The moonlight has found a pocket between the trees, and it shines through the cemetary now. I don’t catch any movement. “Hey! Don’t just leave me here!” I shout.

The crickets go quiet at my outburst. I hold my breath to listen.

Nothing.

He really fucking left me?

I clench my hands and let out a long, drawn out growl.

“I’m going to murder you, Bran!”

The cemetary is on the northeast side of town, and I live on the southeast side. It takes me nearly a half hour to walk home, and by the time I come through the front door, my buzz is definitely gone and has been replaced with rage.

I am seething.

Bran has been messing with my head and my body, and all I want to do is jam a stake through his heart.

No, you don’t. You want to screw him, a voice says in the back of my head. Let him be the first.

Well maybe I can sleep with him and then murder him.

How dare he tease me, order me to stay away from the wolves, and then leave me!

The house is dark save for the light over the kitchen sink. I go there and fill a glass of water and drink it down. My throat is raw, and my head is starting to pound. I grab some aspirin from the cupboard and down two.

As I’m standing at the window, plotting all the ways I might be able to murder Bran, I catch movement in his house.

It’s Damien Duval.

Damien is about the same height as Bran, but his build is stockier, his black hair close-cropped.

I remember Bran warning me that Damien would be at the Harbor, but I never did see him. Was he planning to go to see me?

I can’t wrap my head around Damien wanting me in his house. Blood is blood. There are no special humans, no special blood to covet.

Why the hell would Damien risk peace to bid for a human destined for the Locke vampires?

Bran says something to Damien, and I can see the irritation plainly on Bran’s face as he points his finger at his brother’s chest.

Damien throws his hand up, exasperated, and Bran shakes his head and turns away.

What I wouldn’t give for vampire hearing right now.

Dare I sneak outside and listen in?

I feel like this is the least of what Bran deserves. I might not have the strength or the speed to match him in a physical fight, but vampires aren’t granted supernatural intelligence when they’re turned. One thing I can fight with is my brain.

Except one might argue that eavesdropping on two extremely old, extremely powerful vampires is a very, very stupid idea.

As I make my way for the back door, I talk myself through a list of possible excuses should I get caught. I was stargazing. Watering the grass. Taking out the trash. Chasing a raccoon.

The possibilities really are endless.

I quietly shut the door behind me and make my way across the deck and realize my shoes are clunky and loud. I shuck them off and put bare feet to the wood. Much better.

On the grass, I tiptoe across the yard that separates our house from Bran’s.

The closer I get, the louder their voices are until I’m right below one of the cracked kitchen windows.

“You’re going to start a fucking war,” Bran says.

Damien grumbles. “They’re keeping secrets, Bran. Something is going on here.”

Who are they talking about?

I dare a peek through the window. Bran is standing in the center of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. Damien is pacing.

“This isn’t the way to do this,” Bran says.

Damien stops. “I need to do something. You know I must. The Lockes need to be put in their place anyway. They’ve been shifting their weight around. Have you not felt it?”

Bran frowns like he doesn’t want to agree with his brother, but gives a quick nod just the same. “I still don’t think this is the way to manage this. If there is something special about the girl, they’re not going to just give her up.”

I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop a startled gasp from escaping.

They’re talking about me.

Something special? What does that mean?

Bran goes on, “This kind of war would be bloody and violent. There are better ways. More discreet ways.”

“Like what?” Damien asks. “We’re running out of time.”

“Her Pledge is still a few days away.” Bran shoves away from the counter. “Give me at least that before you do or say something. All right?”

Damien runs his hand over his close-cropped hair. “Fine. Fine.”

Bran picks up a glass of liquor and slings it back. He gives an almost imperceptible wince. Damien grabs a glass out of sight and empties his too, then he sets it down with a thud. “Keep me updated.”

“Of course.”

Damien nods. He gives Bran a pat on the back and then makes his way for the door.

I hear it open and shut a second later.

I stay still outside the window and watch Bran from the darkness outside the house. His arms are crossed over his chest again, and he stands there in the kitchen, unblinking, unmoving like he’s trapped in a deep thought.

The wind shifts, and a chill shoots down my spine. I exhale, and Bran’s eyes dart to me.

At the last second, I duck out of sight and crouch in the grass, my back pressed against the side of his house. If he comes out to look, I am so dead.

I stay there for what feels like an hour but might actually be ten minutes. When I think the coast is clear, I scamper across the yard, slink up the steps to my back deck and then slowly, carefully open and shut the back door.

Once I’m inside, I let out a relieved breath. I don’t know if he saw me. I think if he did, he would have come out to confront me. Peeping Tom and an eavesdropper now. He’d never let me live that one down.

I go upstairs to my bedroom and find his bedroom shade already drawn even though it’s barely after midnight.

I yank my curtains closed to send the same message.

Now more than ever I need to talk to my sister. I need to know what the hell is going on. Clearly, she’s telling the Duvals something that isn’t true, but why?

Not wanting to miss her again, I grab my pillow and my phone and make a bed on the couch downstairs. I set my alarm for an hour before she usually gets up.

Except, I’m startled awake before sunrise and yelp when I see Kelly standing over me.

It takes me a second to blink away the sleepiness, and when my eyes finally focus, I lurch to my feet.

Blood is pouring down my sister’s neck from a massive torn wound.

“Help me,” she says right before she collapses in my arms.