Read Not His Vampire Annie Nicholas Online

  Non his Vampire

By

Annie Nicholas

Affiliate I

The dragon's castle loomed ahead. Rumor was people who trespassed on his land went missing. No 1 always found proof so information technology could all be urban legend, or and then Trixie Russell told herself over and over every bit she coaxed her animal control truck up the steep incline.

Apparently, the castle had a rodent trouble. Brave rats to want to alive with dragons. Trixie wiped her sweaty palms on her work jumpsuit and so the steering wheel would stop slipping in her grip. Her cell telephone went off and she jumped. It was her sister, Ruby.

"Hullo," she answered via Bluetooth.

"Where are yous? You were supposed to be domicile xxx minutes ago. I was worried." Cerise treated her as if she still wore diapers. They lived together in a role of town where women shouldn't walk around alone. Even at the scissure donkey of dawn, like now.

"I have to run one more errand." She hoped the dragon was a morning person.

"Where?" Cherry-red yawned. "I want to know how much longer I accept to stay awake."

"Become to bed. I'll be fine." Her sister worked the nighttime shift besides, waiting at an all-nighttime diner. Ruby was always exhausted.

"Patricia Bella Russell, where are you?"

Trixie could lie. She should lie. In that location would be less yelling and Cherry wouldn't worry. "I'thousand just retrieving some kennels a customer borrowed." Just she sucked at lying. Red would know immediately and there would be more than just yelling. So, she stretched the truth. Win-win, Ruby could relax, maybe fall comatose while she waited on Trixie, and she would wait—well, shit. Trixie got zilch out of the bargain because she'd feel guilty either way. "It shouldn't exist more than an hour."

Ruby grumbled something under her jiff about Trixie'south boss. She silently agreed. "Fine. I'll put on a pot of coffee. Call me if you'll be longer."

"Certain thing, sissy." Trixie hung upwardly and counted her blessings. If Ruby knew where she was headed, she'd be so pissed off neither of them would get any sleep today. Ruby wasn't the most responsible person, except when it came to Trixie. She wished Ruby-red could adapt her priorities. Brand them a little less about Trixie and a little more toward herself.

When Trixie's boss had threatened to fire her over some missing cat kennels, she had promised to have them back in urban center hands by tonight. She knew where they were, just if she told boss-human then she'd definitely lose her task.

The dragon had them.

Trixie had an invitation to the castle…of sorts. The black dragon of New Port, harbinger of fume and darkness, had adopted all of her all-time friend'south cats, then her friend had lent him all the kennels to ship the animals to the castle without Trixie'south consent or knowledge.

Yeah, that'south what friends were for, correct?

The transmission of her truck ground as she shifted into a lower gear and crept the final half mile to the top of the mount. Stone gargoyles watched her progress with focused interest. They decorated the castle wall and tied her stomach in knots. A forest filled with shadows surrounded the area and was so dense she couldn't distinguish the tree trunks from each other. Her gaze kept drifting to New Port, her home, which sat at the base of the mountain. She wanted to exist beneath with all the other humans.

She liked that New Port had dragons and was proud of the honor, merely she'd never desired meeting one.

She parked her animate being control vehicle in front of the castle's massive wooden doors and stepped exterior. The cool air played with her hair, whipping the pink strands around her face up.

Hands buried in her jumpsuit overalls, she stared at the old edifice. Its age made her bones ache and her whole neighborhood could accept fit inside. The gargoyles' gazes followed her fifty-fifty when she strolled a few feet to the left then back again.

That wasn't creepy. Nope, non at all.

A wooden breast sat on the ground past the door. Marvel got the better of her and she peeked inside. Clothes. Men's and women's. Not very prissy ones, either. She didn't understand, only then once again, she wasn't a dragon.

She drew closer to the entrance and ane of the gargoyles turned, watching a bird fly overhead.

She screamed. The sound left her breathless as she scrambled away from the castle, tripping over every believable rock between her and her vehicle. Fuck this. Her boss could have her chore and come here himself.

The bird's shadow circled her, blocking out the sun. Every musculus in her trunk turned to rock as she stared above.

The dragon circled slowly until it landed next to her. White scales covered her sleek body and long white feathers grew from her wings and tail. She swung her long, svelte cervix in her direction. "Aren't you Betty's friend? The homo one at her soulmating. I tin't forget the hair."

Trixie tried to answer but fifty-fifty her jaw was frozen.

The dragon sniffed the air. "Y'all don't have to exist agape. I'm Angie. The nice dragon." She winked. "I don't eat people, only pop tarts."

Trixie didn't know dragons came in the prissy variety. Or that they made popular tarts that big.

Angie changed shape until a petite naked woman with a nighttime, pixie haircut stood in the dragon'southward identify. Trixie couldn't pull off short hair properly. Her face was also narrow and her eyes too big. Angie moved toward the torso by the door and pulled out some apparel.

The gargoyle gave a high-pitched whistle of appreciation.

Angie'southward confront turned shades of pinkish to rival Trixie'southward hair. The dragon scowled at the castle wall where the gargoyle had returned to stone. "Which one was it?"

Trixie kept her gaze pinned to the castle, trying not to stare at the naked dragon-woman. Shifters. Until a few weeks ago, she hadn't known any. Now they paraded through her life. Most of the time without clothes on. She should be used to it by now, but Trixie wasn't equally liberated as her sister.

Scanning the wall, she pointed to a trio on the right corner of the tower. "I idea it was that 1." She shrugged. "But they all kind of look akin from this distance."

"Eoin says their turning to stone is a defence force mechanism. They infest a castle, mimicking the existing stone work so we can't tell which ones are the troublemakers." Angie yanked the wooden doors open and stomped within. "They're as bad as the rats."

The gargoyle in question waggled his fingers at Trixie in a friendly wave.

"I recollect in that location'southward but one of them." Was this chat existent or was she having an acrid flashback?

"That'southward how it starts. Ane moves in then the residuum of his family follows." Angie'due south voice echoed from deep inside the edifice.

Not wanting to lose her, Trixie hurried into the foyer, pushing thoughts of gargoyles to the back of her mind. She was hither for the kennels, and so she could return to her normal human life. Piece of work her job, collect her paycheck, and hang out with her sis and their friends. Life was practiced. Normal was better. She was happy being human.

Especially afterwards witnessing what poor Betty had gone through finding her soulmate. Trixie would detest for some stranger to march into her life and plow everything inside out.

Wings, changing shape, raging hormones? It sounded like puberty on steroids. No thanks. She liked men who didn't pound on their chests.

Inside the castle, Trixie tried to close the door and most dislocated her shoulder. "Motherfucker." She rubbed her sore joint. Little Angie had swung them open up so easily. "I don't think I'm strong enough to close the doors," she shouted. Her voice echoed back and sent a shiver down her spine.

This was how horror movies began. She hesitated to take a step forward.

Was she really going to be that girl? The one who went looking for the monster in the nighttime?

She shook her caput. Angie wasn't a monster. She was a dragon—a self-proclaimed nice dragon.

"Angie?" she sighed. She had hoped the kennels would be stacked by the front archway then she could just load them and go. A girl could dream, couldn't she?

One careful step at a fourth dimension, she left the safety of the sunlight. Hands held out in front of her, she felt her manner forward, hoping to run across a light switch and a map. For all her bravado, she couldn't afford to lose her task. The hours were shitty but information technology paid ameliorate than any other job she was qualified for and she didn't qualify for much. She and Ruddy needed a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. Electricity was optional some months.

Trixie'south fingers trailed over cold stone until they hit a gap in the wall. She stumbled forward and caught herself on what felt like a banister. Stairs. Not bad assurance of fire, she'd nigh gone head over heels down a flight of rock stairs. That would have killed her for sure.

A faint sound caught her attending. It sounded like singing. "Angie?" Her whispered question was barely audible.

"Hi?" someone whispered dorsum. The vox seductive and very male.

"I'one thousand looking for Angie." She descended slowly in her blinded state.

"Why? She'southward such a diameter."

Trixie paused at the bottom of the long and deep stair well. A loftier stone entrance stood above her head. She could run into faintly considering a light flickered far ahead. It illuminated just enough for her to perceive she was in a large room. Heavy darkness surrounded the chimera of calorie-free. This was where a smart person would turn around, and she was a very smart person. She twisted, one foot on the footstep, set to run.

"Do not go." He sounded so disappointed. "I'm so lone. Eoin is also occupied with his new mate to talk to me anymore."

"I'll let him know."

"Are yous a thief?"

"No, why?"

"You lot go on whispering. Are we going to substitution secrets?" Though he whispered, she could yet hear him.

He was right. Why the hell was she whispering?

Okay, time for a reality cheque. She wasn't starring in her ain horror movie—she was in a dragon's castle. That housed a gargoyle, but he hadn't been evil. He had only made Angie blush with a whistle. It was actually kind of funny. What the hell, when in Rome… "Do you lot happen to know where the cat kennels are stored?"

"Aye."

She took a step toward the low-cal. "Where?"

"It'southward a cloak-and-dagger."

She gave her ponytail one abrupt yank, and so glanced up the staircase.

"Come on, little mouse. A few minutes of chat in exchange for information."

She squared her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. Little mouse, her ass. She'd grown upwards in the worst part of New Port and notwithstanding fucking lived there. Murder, drugs, and theft were her playgrounds. She and Ruby got through it together. A picayune dinged with a few rough scrapes, but all limbs intact. Withal walking, nevertheless talking. Some weirdo in a castle basement did scare the crap out of her, but she wasn't going to let him know information technology. The all-time way to get a victim was to deed like one.

Damn information technology, she should have left every bit before long as she'd heard her voice echo.

Stupid her.

Chapter Ii

Trixie crossed the empty apse, her footsteps echoing against the stone flooring. The room reminded her of a dungeon that she'd seen in a few movies, and those movies could take used a few pointers from this place. The light guided her into a long hallway. It flickered through a door at the end.

Stopping at the threshold, she noted the rusty iron bars that must accept been the door. Oh. Then, it was a dungeon. Okay, dipshit, you walked all the mode here of your ain gratuitous volition. No one to blame for this mess but herself.

The door was ajar. A skillful sign, right? She peeked within.

Someone sat on the floor by the lit candle stand up. A candelabra? People still used those? Well, she guessed the dragons did. She just assumed the place had electricity. Might be that was why she couldn't detect a low-cal switch. And…she was rambling in her own caput.

There was a human being. Ink black pilus streamed from his bent head, pooling on the flooring around his hips. He rested his arm on his knee covered in thread blank wearing apparel. Lifting his face, he ran his midnight gaze over her from head to toe and back again. He rose to his feet in a smooth motion that spoke of a very masculine forcefulness. He held out his paw. "Viktor Petrov at your service." His distinct Russian accent was clear enough for her to empathize him easily.

"I'm Trixie." It felt impossibly correct to place her palm confronting his and let him to kiss the dorsum of her mitt. She found herself the sole focus of Viktor's perceptive near-black eyes, the eyes of a man who was used to stripping away souls, unearthing the nearly deeply buried truths.

"A pleasure to run into you, Trixie. Please, come bring together me." He gestured to the dirty floor equally if it were a posh love seat.

"Umm, I'yard skillful." She stood at that place, still stunned at the sight of this gorgeous man a couple of inches from her. Her inner vixen purred.

God, when had she adult an inner vixen? Merely this guy could brand nuns suspension their vows.

"As you wish." His lips formed a perfect seductive smile. "I am happy you did not run." He ran his fingers through her hair, catching a few knots in the process. "Lovely shade of pink. Neon, is information technology?"

"You know your hair dyes." That was the exact proper noun of her color.

"Information technology is my duty to know such things. I am an artist." He came closer. Though Viktor was cute, what saved him from crossing the line into a more than delicate prettiness was the stubborn hardness of his jawline, the unflinching expression in his stare.

Then she noticed a metal collar around his cervix.

Cotton processed hair. Viktor bet she tasted just as sweetness. His fangs ached as well as other parts of his body. He had been alone in this dungeon besides long, to the betoken of looking forward to Eoin'southward brusque visits.

"Are you a nowadays?" Viktor scanned her beige jumpsuit jumpsuit. A attachment ran upwards the center and there were various stains on the fabric.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She quirked her head, maybe insulted. He was not sure. His mind still rang with the echoes from countless nights of bloodlust and, to exist honest, human women… Well, women in full general, confused him when he was sober. They said no when they meant yep and aye when they meant no. Then changed the rules and said no when they meant no. Or was information technology regal?

Expect, what was he thinking almost?

He scratched his chin.

Dinner cleared her throat. "What did yous mean past a nowadays? I'm non a delivery person, if that'south what you meant."

Honesty would probably ship her running, simply lying was too difficult of a concept for him to grasp yet. His mind was a honeycomb of instincts and his brain was oozing out of the holes his hunger had caused. "Sometimes Eoin hires professionals to feed me, merely they tend to clothes more—" He couldn't think of the give-and-take.

"Professional," she offered. Her optics were wide, non with fearfulness, but with wonder.

Viktor smirked. "You lot are practiced." The innocence was conceivable and ambrosial. She was a very good actress. He would have to get her business organization card. She struck all his bells with only the right tone, and afterwards hundreds of years, his bells were so croaky he was shocked by his reaction. "I wanted to say more seductive, just this outfit…" He rubbed the thick material betwixt his fingers. "Information technology works for me. Modernistic working daughter, not afraid to go dirty." He leaned in and inhaled. Under the usual urban center smells, he scented strawberries, coffee, and canines.

They jerked away from each other simultaneously.

"I'm non who you recall I am." She edged toward the door and out of his range. "You said you knew the location of the cat kennels."

He opened his oral cavity just nothing came out. He scratched his head and marched back to where he had been sitting. "You were serious? Y

ou are looking for what again?" She smelled strongly of canine. Not wolf. Their scents were close but someone with an acute nose could tell the departure easily. It was similar the variance between grapefruit and oranges. Ane was tart, and the other sweet and tasty.

"Cat kennels." She spoke slower as if he had cerebral trouble, which in some fashion he did—had. He was better. She used her hands to make a box shape. "Pocket-sized cages in which to acquit pocket-sized animals."

"Eoin did not send you?" Maybe he was not as recovered as he had thought. "Are y'all real, Trixie?"

She dropped her hands. "What the hell is going on here? Of class, I'k existent. How long have you been downwards here?"

"A few days? Maybe weeks. It is difficult to remember." Viktor grinned and airtight the altitude betwixt them. That familiar smell could only mean one thing. "Are you a weredog?" He and Eoin had had a running argument of their existence. He believed if the wolf diverseness existed so should the other. With all the other were-animals in the world, why not dog? Yet the dragon kept pointing out the obvious. Where were the dog packs if they existed? Viktor believed they were likewise evolved to require packs, or too rare.

"No," she dragged out her reply. "Why would yous think that?"

"Your odor. Why do you aroma so much of dog?"

She winced. "It's my job. I'thou an animal control officer so I deal with lots of dogs."

He sighed. Ane twenty-four hours he would prove the dragon incorrect, but today was not the ane.

Trixie gave a small laugh. "You look then disappointed. Do weredogs even exist?"

The sound of her amusement was pure sunshine. "Aye, simply I have yet to discover ane." He winked. "Come into the light. I desire to come across you better."

She glanced at the open prison cell door.

"I will not hurt you lot. The thought of being alone again is threat enough to guard you against impairment." He held out his mitt and noticed the clay under his nails, the threadbare material of his clothes. Prince Charming, he did not resemble.

Ignoring his hand, she circled him. Her gaze focused on his collar.

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