Salena Roarke has chosen yet another stellar boyfriend. Running for her life from the enraged Derrick, she collapses outside of a mountain cabin. Little does she realize her savior is a deadly predator, a vampire.
Whittaker longs to be with Salena, but he knows his maker is still out there. Doubting he can keep her safe from the bloodthirsty creature who turned him, he tries to hold her at bay. But once he succumbs to Salena's charms, he knows his life will be forever changed and he will do anything to keep her safe.
Rain pounded the tin roof of the cabin, lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rumbled, rattling the windows. The storm was unlike any he’d seen before, and Whittaker had seen plenty of storms in the four hundred years he’d roamed the earth. The only benefit the storm provided was a lack of sunlight, allowing him to ramble around the house regardless of the time of day. It had been so long since he’d seen the sun that he no longer missed it, not like he had the first hundred years of his existence.
The storm continued to rage outside, the darkness impenetrable to all except night creatures like him. As he scanned the tree line, he noticed something out of place. A small, white speck in the distance lying on the ground, one he hadn’t noticed moments before. He watched intently, his breath hissing between his teeth when he realized it was a human. How one had managed to climb so far as to reach his cabin he had no idea. Regardless, he knew there was no way a fragile human would survive the storm.
Opening the cabin door, he rushed outside, reaching the prone figure’s side in seconds. He stared down in amazement at a small, pale woman. Her clothing and hair, plastered to her body, left little to his imagination. Lifting her gently into his arms, Whittaker ran back to the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
As he stood dripping all over the floor, he gazed at the creature in his arms. Her breasts pushed against the material of her dress, now made transparent by the weather. Hardened nipples peeked at him through the sopping material, making his cock come to instant attention.
He felt like a schoolboy, unable to control his baser urges. Moving to the bedroom, he laid her on the bed and stripped her soaked dress from her body. His gaze skimmed over her glistening skin, from her full breasts to the curls at the junction of her thighs. Without thought, his hand reached for her, gently cupping a perfect breast. Her skin was cold, reminding him that she needed a towel and something warm to wear.
With a mental shake, he brought himself back to the here and now and sprang into action. Grabbing two large, fluffy towels from the bathroom, he dried her skin and wrung the water from her hair. While she slept, he would clean her clothes. He rummaged through his drawers until he found a black tee for her to wear. Slipping the garment over her head, he reluctantly covered her delectable body.
He wondered how she came to be so far up the mountain without shoes or underthings, and in a dress, no less, but all that would have to wait. He only hoped she didn’t catch a fever from being in the rain for so long.
He looked down upon her for a moment longer, admiring her pale skin and dark hair. She looked like the quintessential English rose, dainty, delicate, and breathtaking. While her eyes had yet to open, he imagined they would be something soft like a hazel or maybe even a blue.
His gaze took in her form. She wasn’t slim like the current fashion called for, but she wasn’t fat either. No, she was what most in this modern time would call plump, but to Whittaker she was mouthwatering, and he didn’t mean her blood. It took every ounce of willpower he owned to walk away.
He pulled the bedroom door closed behind him and moved silently through the small structure until he reached the laundry room. A powerful windmill and large generator on the property gave his cabin the energy it needed for electricity, allowing him the creature comforts so far from civilization. At times like these, he was thankful for having modern inventions on hand. The washing machine and dryer would make short work of cleaning and drying the thin garment in his hands.
Once finished, he moved back to the living room to watch the storm again. Perhaps the rain would keep his mind off his strange guest, and more importantly, help him keep his hands to himself. Her blood sang to him, but it was her body he wanted most.