Don't Drink the Holy Water

Don't Drink the Holy Water

by Bailey Bradford

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781784308650
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date: 11/17/2015
Series: Vamp for Me , #4
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 134
Sales rank: 634,891
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn't happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey's brain demanding to be let out.

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey's office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey's presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

Read an Excerpt

Copyright © Bailey Bradford 2015. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Pride Publishing.

Excruciating pain filled West so completely he couldn’t even scream. Every nerve-ending in his body burned as hot as the sun, and agony rolled through him in waves without a second’s relief.

Images flashed through his head, fangs, glowing red eyes, horns and wings—those wings, God but he could hear them, a creaking, sticking-together sound even as they were flaring out behind his attacker.

West couldn’t tell the present from the past. The bits and pieces that were bouncing around in his brain weren’t coherent.

Fangs, wings, glowing eyes? He was hallucinating, and he wished that the pain was a hallucination too.

He knew it wasn’t. That kind of suffering couldn’t be imagined. West had never been given to daydreaming and fantasizing anyway. Not more than any sexually frustrated young man his age, and likely much less so, given his responsibilities.

His responsibilities— West tried to shout for his brothers and sisters. The pain he’d felt before then doubled. Something horrific was wrong with his throat, and he wept as blessed darkness pulled him down.

But his sleep held no comfort. There, he still couldn’t escape the evil that seemed to be surrounding him. He heard laughter, bitter, hateful laughter that made him believe Satan existed. Before that moment, he’d assigned all evil behavior to humans rather than some spiritual force—now he doubted that. Something very evil did exist, and it’d come for him in a dark alley.

It was what he got for acting like a whore.

That simple truth resonated in him, until all he could hear was the laughter and the word whore, as a deep sensation of loss permeated his soul, or what used to be his soul.

* * * *

West heard them first, the soft voices, murmured words, then he dared to open one eye enough to peek. He caught a glimpse of four strangers, all males.

One kept drawing his gaze. Tall, dark-haired, very refined in appearance, wearing a nice suit. There was a tug at West’s gut when he looked at that particular man. It was unnerving, but better than the agony West had been suffering.

He closed his eye and did a quick mental examination of his body. He was stiff, his muscles ached, but there was nothing like that bright, hot pain he’d been immersed in.

When he swallowed, his throat still felt raw, much like when he’d had strep as a kid.

Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe I got sick. I could be in the hospital—

West shut off the delusional bullcrap. He wasn’t in a hospital. Those men weren’t doctors. He didn’t know who they were, what they wanted with him, but he’d been attacked, and had things done to him. The pain hadn’t been imagined, and he heard that rough, hateful laughter every time his heart began to pound. The men’s voices filtered through regardless.

“Is he awake?”

“Augustin, perhaps you could get a glass of ice?”

“Ice?” A snort. “But he can’t drink or—”

A much put-upon sigh sent a shiver down West’s spine.

“Augustin, please. Ice can be used to sooth a dry throat.”

“Ohhhhhh, I get it. He is awake!”

“Come on, let’s get the ice,” a third man said.

West had no idea who anyone was, and could only put a name to one voice, that of Augustin. He listened intently for footsteps and heard only one set. His hearing seemed to be very clear for some reason. There was the whisper of a door opening, then the soft click as it was closed.

“You can keep your eyes shut if you prefer, West. It is understandable to want to hide from what has happened.”

West bristled and before he knew what he was doing, he’d pried both eyes open. He found himself glaring at the attractive man in the suit. Just as quickly as his anger had welled up, it vanished. He wanted to please the man speaking to him, and an incomprehensible hunger was forming in his gut.

“It’s the need to feed. I can help you with this, but soon you will have to take your sustenance from another. I cannot bond with you more than I have by making you.”

Bond with me? “What—” West closed his eyes again as fiery pain filled his throat. No speaking until that part of him was healed up.

“I have a mate, and so I will not take another lover. You will find that you want to please me, and want me in a sexual way, but that will ebb. It is the bond between a sire and his fledgling. Once you have sorted out what has happened to you, you will be able to control the impulses you are now feeling.”

What West was feeling was sheer terror. The whole wanting anyone in a sexual way brought back vivid memories of being attacked. He didn’t know all of what had happened to him, which was both more terrifying and relieving. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Something wet and warm plopped onto his lips. West didn’t question—the need was too strong. He opened his mouth and coppery liquid dribbled in.

Some part of him realized it was blood and recoiled, but the rest of him rejoiced as he grabbed at the arm pressed to his lips. He opened his eyes the moment he began to suck like a hungry baby, pulling in long drafts of blood.

No, no, no, no! What the eff are you doing?

West told that voice to shut up. He moaned as he swallowed, the blood coating his sore throat, the taste of it bitter yet sweet as honey.

He couldn’t look away from the intense gaze of the man he was feeding from.

“You are scared. It will get better. I wish there had been another way, but…” The man shook his head slightly. “You have had enough. Find your control, find your core, and cleave your way to it. You haven’t lost the essence of yourself.”

West wanted nothing more than to make the man proud of him. The hunger in his belly was gone, his throat hardly hurt. He disengaged his fangs—

“No!” West shouted, grabbing his head with both hands.

How had he become the thing from his worst memories?

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