Eternal Captive: Mark of the Vampire
Praise for Laura Wright
and the Mark of the Vampire Series
Eternal Kiss
“Complex and riveting.”
—Romantic Times (4 stars)
“A superb urban romantic fantasy due to the powerful Wright mythos that makes the realm of the Eternal Order seem genuine.…This author clearly has the Wright stuff with the complicated world of the Roman vampire brothers.”
—The Merry Genre Go Round Reviews
“I fell in love with book one in this series, but this second addition moved me from innocent love to full-blown love addiction.…[I] could not put it down.”
—Shameless Romance Reviews (5 stars)
“The romance is rich in emotion and the plot infuses danger and nail-biting action. The journey was so exciting! It was rife with chills and thrills, and altogether it never failed to keep my attention.…[This] was a great ride where a sweep-you-off-your-feet romance ignites within a high-risk plot. Laura Wright has found her niche in the paranormal romance genre with her larger-than-life Roman brothers!”
—Leontine’s Book Realm
Eternal Hunger
“Dark, delicious, and sinfully good, Eternal Hunger is a stunning start to what promises to be an addictive new series. I can’t wait for more from Laura Wright.”
—Nalini Singh, New York Times bestselling author of Bonds of Justice
“Action, passion, and dark suspense launch a riveting new series. Laura Wright knows how to lure you in and hold you captive until the last page.”
—Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author of Ecstasy Unveiled
“Dark, sexy vampires with an urban bite make Eternal Hunger a must read.”
—Jessica Andersen, author of Storm Kissed
“Paranormal fans with a penchant for vamps will find Eternal Hunger a must read, but be warned, you will quickly become hooked!”
—The Romance Readers Connection (4½ stars)
“Eternal Hunger is deliciously dark while making you believe in the concept of soul mates.”
—Fresh Fiction
“An exhilarating vampire romance…dark, passionate, and utterly intoxicating!”
—Reader to Reader Reviews
“In a field brimming with rehashes of the same theme, Wright has managed to create a sound, believable vampire culture with plenty of tension and interesting plot points. The pacing is smooth, with well-developed characters, and the satisfying conclusion leaves ample room for more from this strong new series.”
—Monsters and Critics
Also by Laura Wright
The Mark of the Vampire Series
Eternal Hunger
Eternal Kiss
ETERNAL
CAPTIVE
MARK OF THE VAMPIRE
LAURA WRIGHT
A SIGNET ECLIPSE BOOK
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, February 2012
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
EISBN: 9781101575109
Copyright © Laura Wright, 2012
All rights reserved
SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
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To you, my readers, who love these boys just
as much as I do
GLOSSARY
Balas—Vampire child.
The Breeding Male—A paven of purest blood whose genetic code and structure has been altered by the Eternal Order. He has the ability to impregnate at will and decide the sex of the balas. He is brought in by Pureblood families and/or to repopulate one sex or the other in times of dire necessity. He is uncontrollable, near to an animal, and must be caged.
Credenti—A vampire community, ruled and protected by the Eternal Order. Both Purebloods and Impures live here. There are many all over the world, masked by the Order so that humans barely notice their existence.
Duro—Tender word for “brother.”
Eternal Order—The ten Pureblood vampires who have passed on to the middle world, yet make the laws, punish the lawbreakers, and govern every vampire credenti on Earth.
Eyes—The New York City street rats who run the sales of drugs, blood, and body to both human and vampire.
Gemino—Twin.
Gravo—Poisoned vampire blood.
Imiti—An imitation vampire, one who can take on the characteristics of a vampire if he or she drinks blood regularly.
Impurebloods—Any combination of human and vampire. They have no powers, a heartbeat, and can live in the sun. They only have fangs when blood is consumed. Males are blood castrated, their sex drive removed through the blood by the Order. Females are blood sterilized and the inside of their thighs are branded with Is.
Meta—A pureblood female of fifty years, she can still remain in sunlight, but needs the blood and body of her true mate.
Mondrar—Vampire prison.
Morpho—A pureblood paven of three hundred years; as powerful as a paven can get. He is sunlight intolerant, and the need to find his true mate becomes impossible to deny.
Mutore—A Pureblood vampire shape-shifter. A Beast. A child of the Breeding Male gone wrong. Is considered less than trash, and a bad omen on t
he Breed. Is usually killed right after birth when they shift for the first time.
Paleo—The Order’s secret location where Impures are blood castrated.
Paven—A vampire male of pure blood.
Pureblood—Pure vampire. Powerful, no heartbeat, will go through Morpho and Meta and find their pureblood true mate.
Puritita—One who is chaste.
Sacro—Dirty.
Similis—The Impure guards of Mondrar.
Swell—Vampire pregnancy.
Tegga—Nursemaid/nanny/governess.
True Mate—The one each Pureblood veana and paven is destined for. Each shares an identical or complementary mark somewhere on their skin.
Veana—A vampire female of pure blood.
Veracou—The mating ceremony between two pureblood vampires.
Virgini—Virgin.
Witte—Animal.
Table of Contents
Prologue: The Breeding Male
1 Mark of the Veana
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Prologue
THE BREEDING MALE
Scotland
1872
Titus Evictus paced in his iron enclosure, his fangs fully extended, his pale eyes dilated, his long, heavily muscled body nude save for the painful iron cup that imprisoned his cock. There were moments in his miserable existence, brief and gleefully hopeful, when he felt less than rabid, when his mind attempted to clear away the fog, when the scent of blood was not ever-deep inside his nostrils—and when the call of a warm, wet pussy didn’t send his body into spasms of painful arousal.
That day, however, was not today.
A veana was being led into his pen by two short pavens with long braided beards. Her kin. He recognized their scent from the night before. The veana struggled and grunted and breathed heavily, the scents of peat smoke and the spray of the sea escaping her skin. Though his nostrils flared and his mouth filled with saliva, Titus kept his back to the iron wall and his eyes down. After so many years of this delectable, tortuous labor, he now refused to look at the faces of the veanas that were brought before him.
He found their fear impossible to resist.
As her kin released her and quickly left the pen, slamming the iron door behind them, the veana stood stock-still, her fingers fisting around the gray fabric of her gown, the key to his iron prison dangling from the middle finger of her right hand. True to his nature, Titus wanted to leap upon her and take what was his, but his chains wouldn’t stretch that far. Like all the others that came before her, she would have to yield and come to him. It was how it was, how it must be. Until she submitted, gave in to her fate, she would remain captive, hungry for blood, and desperate.
And the longer she waited, the more rabid Titus would become. It was better for her if she came to him, unlocked him, lay beneath him within the next hour.
“Breeding Male?”
She spoke clearly and without tremor.
“Look up, Breeding Male.”
Titus’s chin twitched at her voice, her calm, determined tone. Normally it took hours, days for the veanas who were brought before him, caged with him, to give in, give up, and beg for a gentle hand.
“Now!” she said, so sharply it caused his fangs to descend. “Look at me!”
Titus couldn’t help himself, not with such a bold, impassioned tongue before him. His eyelids flipped up and he took in the daring Scottish lass, the one who carried no scent of fear on her skin or in her blood. She displayed fine curves and a heavy bosom. Her neck, though burdened with a thick strip of purity cloth, was the whitest, most luscious thing he’d ever beheld. And just a few inches north, long ringlets of honey blond hair framed a pale, pleasing face. But it was her pink mouth and her eyes—green flecked with black, staring straight into his, brazen as a demon goddess—that had his fangs dropping farther.
She lifted her chin and regarded him. “What say ye, Breeding Male?”
Titus could form no words. Instead, he growled at her.
The veana grinned at his animal-like response, flashing her own set of needle-sharp fangs. “That’ll do fer a start,” she said, her brogue rich and throaty as she looked him over.
His cock pulsed inside its iron prison—the one that kept his hand away when he was blindly desperate to mate—the one that preserved his seed. Never in Titus’s long life, in his capacity as Breeding Male, had a veana ever spoken to him in such a manner. Once beneath him, there were moans, yes, and cries, both in fear and in pleasure…but never this. This calm, this curiosity, this nearly lusty excitement…
“It has taken me quite some time, Breeding Male,” she said, walking toward him, her hips swaying gently beneath her simple gown, “not to mention great effort, to find myself here. I have heard the tales of ye, and those who were in fear of yer touch—but I am no silly lass. Aye, I may be virgini, but I have prepared myself for ye.” She smiled. “Many nights, many times.”
Fire raged through Titus and he strained against his chains, the clash of metal echoing throughout the pen enclosure. His nostrils widened with every step she took, eager for more of her scent. How could it be? he thought desperately. There was no fear in her scent—not even a trace. It was impossible and yet it was how he had always wanted this moment to be. Just once. He despised himself every second of every day—but not today, not this moment. In this moment, the reflection staring back at him in her green eyes was not of the monster Breeding Male.
It was of a desired paven.
He ran his tongue over his fangs as she moved to within a foot of him.
The words of the veana’s father to Titus’s master last eve made sense now. She was six months into her Meta and in that time there had been no appearance of her true mate’s mark. Her father had claimed that she was unconcerned with retaining her purity, remaining outside in the eve without the watchful eyes of her kin. And just three nights ago, she had been found on her knees in the family barn, servicing an Impure field worker.
Disgusted and terrified that they would be burdened with the stain of an Impure swell, her kin had thought it time the veana visited the Breeding Male—time she had her womb filled with his Pureblood seed.
Titus watched hungrily as the veana stripped the purity bands from her wrists and neck, then started to work the buttons of her gown. He didn’t need clothing removed to do the job he was required to do, only the quick lift of her skirt, but as she slowly revealed her skin to him, each pale inch, he understood the true feelings of lust—pure, not purposeful, lust.
“I would be content with a wee paven, Breeding Male,” she said, stepping forward, taking the key she had been given and unlocking the iron cup between his legs.
Her hand shook slightly in her work, but it was not from fear. He knew this. He scented this.
He let loose another feral growl as his rod sprang free.
She licked her lips at the sight. “But dunna be quick about it. They willna come for me until daybreak. We have much time together.”
Stripped bare, she lay down on the hard stone floor before him, displaying her pale, young body, her long legs, her glistening cunt to his ravenous gaze.
His cock stood straight up and ready, and as she opened her legs for him, the cry—the howl—that erupted from his throat could be heard all the way to Edinburgh. He was Titus Evictus and he was the Breeding Male. In an instant, he was on top of her, his fangs striking into her shoulder as his cock slid deep inside her hot, willing body.
> 1
MARK OF THE VEANA
Boston
Present Day
Her fangs had been inside him only once, and yet they had left an unseen mark on his skin, his blood, even his breath. In consuming his blood she had consumed his very soul and now—every day, every moment he existed, she moved inside him, her unending hunger deafening as she searched and slithered through his veins, circled his muscles, squeezed until his brain threatened to explode.
Lucian Roman sat perched, as he had for the past seven nights, on the snow-crested roof of Bronwyn Kettler’s brownstone. Still and menacing as a gargoyle, he ignored the vibration of his cell phone in his coat pocket and stared without purpose into the heavy snowfall, which dropped bride-white over the silent Boston credenti landscape. An hour ago, the streets had been alive with Impures running about, adorning the doors of their master’s dwellings as well as the gates, fences, and lampposts leading up to the Gathering Hall. The tasteful bunting and subdued winter flowers were a testament to how the Boston community viewed the binding ceremony of its true mates—with serious and reverent celebration.
Now the streets were empty and silence reigned, as did the snow, and Lucian sneered in appreciation as the decorations for tomorrow’s Veracou were quickly being buried in heavy white frosting. Would a blizzard annul the binding ceremony between Bronwyn and the paven who claimed her mark? Lucian thought not. But he would remain, affixed to the roof to watch. To wait. To see the binding done and over. Or—if his blood had its wish—to see Bronwyn run from her true mate, reject her body’s choice.
As another wave of longing, of desire-ladened torment pulsed in his bones and brain, Lucian’s fangs slowly descended and the blade in his fist trembled.
There were only two ways to stop this madness.
Fuck her or kill her.
And yet he could do neither and remain free. The former would turn him into a Breeding Male one hundred and seventy-five years before his time—a rutting animal with no conscience, no control, only a hunger to claim. While the latter would send him to Mondrar, the vampire prison, for all eternity.