Is revenge stronger than the thirst, the first taste of passion?
Vampire assassin Marcus has waited hundreds of years to avenge the death of his Prince. Princess Kayla is determined to bring her brother's killer to Vampire justice.
But what will happen when both Kayla and Marcus find themselves caught in the human world with a Vampire enemy who must be destroyed?
Two Vampires, one passionate attraction and a dangerous thirst for revenge. What more could you want?
The room pulsated with the sounds of cheering women and heavy bass music that was something akin to a throbbing jungle beat. Dry ice fog flowed softly across the stage as the man clad only in black, skin-tight trousers and a bandit's mask struck out the beat with a ferocious leather whip. He knew the methodical snap and crack were enough to send shivers down the spines of most of the women in the night club. Those distracted enough not to be looking his way soon found their attention caught by his taut, muscular frame, now taking complete command of the stage.
The women's hands picked up the rhythm and within seconds the whole room moved to the boom, boom of the beat. Satisfied that he now had the full attention of the women before him, he ceased moving the whip, allowing their concentration to fall on him and him alone. Instantly the seductive atmosphere escalated to fever pitch as the masked man slowly made his way to the front of the stage.
"Ladies," declared a female voice over the PA system. "Stormy Nights is proud to present—The Bandit."
The music became more sensual now and The Bandit began to move his hips in time to the rhythm, hypnotizing the women standing before him. Back and forth, back and forth, slowly mimicking the sex act. With each movement, his trousers stretched tantalizingly over his muscular thighs. The snug, silky material fitted him like a second skin. He knew it highlighted every sinewy muscle he possessed below the waist. As his groin continued to thrust, it would be impossible for them not to see his impressive cock nestled between his powerful thighs. With every forward motion he made, the material strained against him, cupping and caressing his thick bulge.
He knew that this was what they came here for, these mortal, power hungry women. They worked hard, uncomfortable hours all week: building empires, selling stocks, fighting corporate legal battles. By the time the weekend came they were hot, horny and in need of a release. They were sexual predators, as soon as they walked through the doors of Stormy Nights.
A sardonic smile played briefly on his lips. In the end, they were all brought down to his level. They too became the lone hunter, the night creature, only existing because they possessed a need within them that could not be satisfied. These human females came here for the long, hot promise of a look at his cock, for a few minutes of hard, tantalizing, visual stimulation, for their chance to imagine that it was a prelude to sex.