Her Vampire: An Instalove Possessive Vampire Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 207)

  CONTENTS

  Her Vampire

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  About the Author

  HER VAMPIRE

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 207

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2020 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  HER VAMPIRE

  Torsten Haroldsson brings a whole new meaning to the word experienced. A thousand years old, this silver-haired alpha is a cut above the rest, with his superhuman speed and his glinting fangs, his ice-blue eyes, and his will to dominate. He knows what he wants. He’s waited for a millennium to take it. And now he’s telling me that I’m his. He’s claimed me. And it sends shivers down my spine.

  I’ve never even had a boyfriend before. My closest friend is a loyal, little dog named Chipper. And my closest companion is my ambition to become a singer. What the heck do I have to offer him?

  But one autumn night Torsten catches my scent in the air. He comes to find me, this billionaire CEO—and he doesn’t tell me who or what he is at first. I just think he’s a ripped, possessive alpha brimming with primal carnal energy. But it turns out he’s on a quest, a quest only I can help him with.

  But helping him means opening up doors inside myself I’ve never even tried to open. It means trying to accept that a curvy, inexperienced twenty year old has anything to offer a man who was a Viking before he was changed into a vampire. A forty year old Viking, to boot. Even in human years, he’s way more experienced than me.

  But even if I’m a virgin, there’s an irrepressible desire between me and this creature of the night. When he unleashes his savage fury one night and saves me from a bunch of hooligans who take Halloween just one step too far, I just know I’ve found the man of my dreams.

  Or, perhaps, the man of my most sinful nightmares.

  Can a human and a vampire really share lust, let alone love? Can Torsten fight his urge to sprout his fangs and bleed me dry? Can I help him to complete his quest and maybe, just maybe, let him see his first sunrise in one thousand years?

  *Her Vampire is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Torsten

  I stand atop the highest point of the tallest building in the city, my chest bare as the icy cold wind whips at me. I let it blast against my chest as clouds drift by me, coating me in their biting cold.

  I need to feel something.

  Alive, if that’s possible for a man like me.

  A man.

  I laugh grimly and spread my arms to my sides, letting another gust blast right into my middle. The half-moon watches impassively and my mind returns to the past, as it has been doing a lot lately. As the city glitters below and the stars peep through the clouds above, my memories rear up like shadowy phantoms.

  I remember the sloshing of the war-ships, crashing against the waves as the jagged rocky shores of yet another land to be claimed appeared on the skyline before us. I remember holding a shield so tightly the grip biting into my hand, and the sword at my hip, the old rusty sword because I was just a child, a child sent off to war.

  I remember standing in the shield wall and roaring until the tendons in my throat felt like they were going to burst. That was my first battle and nearly my bloodiest.

  In my human life, at least.

  Those were more savage times when the inky showers of blood marking the air were a normal thing when men didn’t flinch at the thought of violence.

  I remember more battles, more and more until my whole life had been a long series of war and bloodshed and rage, the blood-hot rage that moved through me like a force of nature, unstoppable.

  And then my final battle as a mortal man, standing in a muddy clearing with countless dead littering the ground around me.

  Back then, I’d devoutly believed in the gods, in Odin’s Valkyries slashing through the sky, waiting to claim the worthy dead. As I’d stood there, waiting for the enemy to charge me down and finish me off, I’d had a broad smile on my face.

  That was it. That was the end. And I was glad to be going to those heavenly halls.

  But the sorcerer came instead, with his cloak of shadow and his rune-covered face. “I’ve been watching for you a long time, Torsten, son of Harald,” he told me. “You are the fiercest warrior of your generation. Not the most celebrated, not the most famed, but the fiercest, and you have been selected to never die.”

  “Never die?” I growled, laughing, thinking it was some trick. “I’m not scared of death.”

  “No.” The man smiled with thin blue lips. “That’s why you’ve been chosen.”

  And so it was that I became a vampyr, one of the old kind, my fangs as sharp as razors and hidden if I so needed, my body drained of life except that which I could find in the pumping veins of the mortal race. My charms came to me easily enough, those simple spells that could calm or enrage or enslave.

  I grit my teeth now as the rain starts, lashing down at me like ice-cold whips, cutting into my bare chest, the skin opening and then closing instantly as I heal, as I’ll always heal until I drive a blessed stake through my heart.

  Years and years, hundreds of them, so many years that the forty-summers old man who’d been changed began to seem like a boy to me.

  I’d always appear to be those forty years, but inside I was – I am – so much older, wiser. I’ve met more of my kind. But they’re all gone now. So are the sorcerers.

  And I’m waiting.

  Always waiting.

  For her.

  I laugh at the sky like a wild beast.

  Back when I was still feeding – some more than two-hundred years ago – a sorcerer had given me an amulet that was rumored to be able to turn my kind back into mortal men. But the only way this could happen was if I found the woman I would claim, the mortal woman who would be mine, and mine alone. I’d know when I saw her. Deep in my primordial bones, I’d just fucking know.

  But she never came.

  Over the long years,
after the war between the vampyrs and the sorcerers that left me the last magical being in this twisted world, as men rose from the dirt and built cities of metal, as their machines thundered across the skein of the world, I waited.

  And she never came.

  I’d searched far and wide for this woman who would finally make me feel something again, who would penetrate the gruff emptiness that had come to characterize my very being. I’d been a nobleman, a soldier in the Great War, a fisherman, diplomat, farmer, engineer, pilot, professor, and countless other professions, innumerable lives lived, and now I was a businessman, a wealthy, private man.

  And I’d never found her.

  Perhaps the amulet, buried in the far north in a frozen cave for protection, was a joke, the sorcerers’ final jest for the last vampyr, or vampire, as we came to be known later.

  Vampire.

  Our legend survived in books and later films and television shows, and it was quite amusing to me, in the beginning, to watch how the mortal species fawned over us.

  Over me.

  Because there is only me now.

  I sigh and step back from the edge of the roof.

  I’ll spend the night in my study, reading, as I spend so many nights. Or perhaps I will run a circuit in the gym. I could have my private jet take me anywhere in the world, but I’ve seen everything, lived everything. I’m not tired, because I cannot be tired. But I am bored, so achingly fucking bored.

  I leap down the balcony and start walking toward the door that will lead into my building. The rain has stopped. It was just a shower. And now it’s passed.

  I pause.

  For the first time in hundreds of years, I feel the blood-lust trying to creep into my body. My fangs tingle and every muscle in me tenses as I stand there, head tilted, scenting something in the air.

  No, not something, someone.

  I can scent her, her, I can fucking scent her a mile or two away, her gorgeous sweet smell riding the wind and blooming in my chest like a promise.

  The scent of the mortal race is ever-present in the city, surrounding me at all times, and I’ve long ago learned to ignore it lest I want to drive myself insane. But there’s something different about this woman. There’s a primal invitation in her scent, a sweet, welcoming tone. I can feel her blood rushing around her body, so vital and alive, and a deeper need inside of her.

  I can smell her womb.

  Could it be her?

  I don’t have a choice. I have to follow the scent.

  I take what I need to appear more human and run back to the edge of the roof and walk along the edge, the wind trying to knock me over every step of the way. I walk to the edge where I know the alleyway is below, the private alleyway I’ve had installed for this very purpose.

  Nobody but me knows of its existence, otherwise I might risk some innocent mortal standing there when I leap down one-hundred floors and land in the devastated cement.

  The air rushes past me as I fall, bent into a practiced crouch. I land and feel the reverberation pound through my knees and my body. Cement flies into the air and hits the walls all around me. I climb out of the stony hole and then brush my thumb against the hidden access pad, opening a corridor that leads to the city.

  I move quickly, a chorus of blood rushing in my ears.

  I need to calm down.

  I can’t let the blood-lust take me.

  It hasn’t taken me for two-hundred years when I decided that I’d never feed, that I’d forgo the pleasure and the captivity of blood. Others of my kind said it was impossible, before the war, when there were others left. But it’s not. It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible.

  I burst onto the street and take in another breath of her.

  Then I duck my head and run, the lights of the city becoming blurred conflagrations all around me. I stick mainly to the road, ducking between cars like a motorcycle. I move far too quickly for anybody to know I’m there. If they see anything, it’s a shimmer in the light, passing like a mirage and then I’m gone.

  The closer I get, the fiercer her scent becomes, until it’s all around me, inside of me, filling me with a greater sense of purpose than I’ve felt since I was a mortal. I have to stop and lean against a wall, gritting my teeth, when I feel the blood-lust welling up from inside of me.

  My seed. I need to put my seed inside of her.

  But that’s impossible. My kind cannot mate, cannot procreate. We are dead.

  But the amulet … the amulet can turn me into a mortal man.

  Is she the one?

  “So this is fun, isn’t it, Chipper?” her voice sings as she walks past me.

  The street is quiet, lit with low street lamps.

  The woman passes, shrouded in a big jacket with a little dog walking happily at her side. The dog is a Dachshund, one of those sausage dogs with a long body and short legs. Tan in color, it looks up at the woman with complete devotion.

  My mouth falls open as I recede into the darkness of the doorway and watch her pass.

  My fangs tingle and then spring into sharpness, something they haven’t done involuntarily in generations.

  She has a curvy body, a beautiful thick voluptuous body that her shrouding clothes can do nothing to hide. Her legs are thick in her jeans and her hips push the bottom of her winter coat out. Her breasts are mounds I’d delight in sucking, rubbing her pink nipples, making them hard so that she sings out her pleasure. Her luxurious oaken hair spills out from a winter hat, over her shoulders, glistening in the eerie autumn light.

  “A nice walk in the dark, eh?” she goes on, moving further away from me.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  I could hear every word if she was on the other side of the city now that I’ve heard her once.

  “So what if the train was canceled? So what if there’s no bus? So what if it’s freaking freezing? This is an adventure, right?”

  A note of anxiety rings in her voice.

  I stalk out of the doorway and move slowly after her, my fangs roaring at me to taste those supple ass cheeks, to bend her over and palm the pink wetness of her pussy as I suck juicily on her bulbous ass.

  I have to get myself under control.

  But I don’t know if I can.

  I follow.

  I’m getting closer.

  I can’t stop.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tammy

  I talk to Chipper as I try and find the closest bus stop, mostly to keep myself from screaming in frustration. Today has been like a slap in the face.

  First, my boss fired me when he found out I’d been letting Chipper stay in a little nook in the break room, which he loved.

  And which is fair enough, I guess.

  You can’t bring a dog to work, Tammy.

  He didn’t care when I explained to him that there has been a spate of dog thefts in my crappy rundown neighborhood. Maybe he could smell the orphan on me. Maybe he could sense that I didn’t belong in the high-class restaurant. Whatever it was, it was the last thing I needed. And then the train broke down, and when I finally found the bus stop, I found out there were no buses.

  No self-pity, I snap at myself.

  I’m twenty years old, far too old to be throwing temper tantrums and throwing myself pity parties.

  I broke the rules at work and my boss fired me. Fine.

  Public transport is a nightmare. Fine.

  I’ll deal with it. I just hope Chipper is going to be okay. He’s wearing his sweater and he’s smiling, but part of me thinks the smile is mostly for my benefit, and he’d like nothing more than to be wrapped in a warm blanket at home.

  “Almost there,” I lie, teeth chattering slightly. “Not long now.”

  It doesn’t help that Halloween is a week away and several of the storefronts I pass have decorations hanging outside. One has dressed their mannequins as vampires and ghosts, their eyes lighting up luminous green in the darkness, watching me as I pass. I laugh at myself, telling myself not to be an idiot.

 
; But that doesn’t help. It’s spooky, that’s the truth.

  I turn onto the street where the bus stop is supposed to be to find that there is no bus stop. Just another street with closed storefronts and the sound of the city in the background, humming, always humming.

  It’s gone midnight now and I’m stranded on the other side of the city, and if I call a freaking cab I can say goodbye to paying my rent.

  I stop, a shiver moving up my spine when I see that Chipper has stopped and turned to face the darkness.

  “What is it, boy?” I whisper.

  He bares his teeth at a nearby alleyway and lets out a growl far deeper than his size would suggest. I bend down and run my hand across his head, tickling in the way that normally calms him. But his growls only get deeper and longer.

  “What is it?” I say, heart hammering now, every instinct I have roaring at me to get the hell out of here.

  But where?

  Just as I’m bending down to scoop Chipper up – I’ll feel safer with him cradled to my chest – a man steps from the shadows.

  A scream punches from my throat against my will, filling the night air.

  And then I feel a strange whirring inside of me, deep inside of me, a place I’ve never felt anything before, let along this primal pulsing captivation.

  The man is six and a half feet tall, I’d guess, with eyes so blue they seem to emit their own light. His face is strong and yet somehow sophisticated at the same time, clean-shaven with a jawline that could cut diamonds. His hair is silver and swept back, and his body bulges muscularly at the seams of his tight-fitting gray suit. He wears a smirk as he steps forward.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man says, his voice deep and shaky, as though he’s trying not to let out a carnal roar. He seems angry. No, enraged. But why? “Or him.”

  Chipper squirms and growls in my arms, trying to leap down so that he can sprint at this suited man in the dark.

  “Sneaking around in alleyways is a weird way not to scare somebody, don’t you think?” I snap.

  His smirk twitches and his eyes glimmer. “Fair point,” he says. “May I?”