Blood and Bondage
Authors: Annalynne Russo
Evernight Publishing
Copyright© 2012 Annalynne Russo
ISBN:
978-1-77130-119-0
Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor:
JS Cook
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
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No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
BLOOD AND BONDAGE
Tales
from the Vampire Scribe, 3
Annalynne Russo
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
The Nuptials
Oliver stood in front of the full-length mirror
in his bedroom. His nervous fingers fumbled with the bowtie he’d tried to
fasten around his neck for the past ten minutes. Once he finally got it into
place, he turned to the side to stare at his profile. In a few months’ time,
he’d shed more than forty pounds and replaced it with lean, well-defined muscle.
He had no choice. His best friend and colleague, Eva Sambucco, had ordered him
to drop the dead weight.
“If you want to walk me down the aisle, you’ll
need to lose the doughboy center,” Eva had said, mocking him with a jab to the
gut. The sassy vampire huntress pulled no punches when it came to her upcoming
nuptials. In a scene straight out of one of those neurotic, ego-boosting reality
shows, Eva had placed her hands on her hips and demanded that Oliver endure a total
body makeover. A host of non-negotiables had to be met. Everything from a pair
of new-fangled disposable contact lenses to a shopping spree to breathe life
back into his outdated wardrobe was in order.
Oliver had to admit, he looked pretty dapper in
his brand new duds. But, he wondered, was the huntress really making him go
through a complete metamorphosis simply to look fashionable for her wedding? Or
was it an attempt to spiffy up her boss to help him land a bed partner? After all,
once she and Andreas said their “I do”s Oliver would be left to fend for
himself. Having worked together side by side for the past six years, Eva knew him
better than most. She had first-hand knowledge when it came to his personal
life. Truth be told, he hadn’t been on a date in years, let alone spent an
evening in the arms of a willing woman.
As the counsel general for the Bureau of
Paranormal Affairs, or BPA as it was often referred to, Oliver Polinksi had no
time for romance. Work was his life. He spent his days and nights leading a
cadre of deadly assassins trained to vanquish evil from the streets and
alleyways of the Big Apple. An international organization created to police
supernatural beings, the emissaries of BPA hunted down and killed everything
from ghosts and goblins to vampires and werewolves.
Oliver wasn’t a killer; he was a commander who
masterfully orchestrated his troops. They carried out a multitude of tasks that
proved necessary in order to keep people safe from the bad guys. Believe it or
not,
worst offenders, their proclivity for sucking life out of innocent, unassuming victims
the least of their many indiscretions. Oliver’s job was to make sure bloodsuckers
didn’t cross the line. The few that did ended up on the wrong end of a sharp wooden
stake.
Unfortunately, his number one assassin’s
upcoming wedding to a vampire no less, had thrown a curve ball into his
unwavering code of ethics. Vampires were predators, murdering members of the
human race in exchange for their own selfish survival instinct. Or at least so
he thought up until Eva had fallen head over heels for the head of the local
coven. On top of that, she was three months pregnant with his spawn. At first,
that fact had turned his stomach and made Oliver’s fingers itch to yank the son
of a bitch’s heart from his chest. But once he’d gotten to know him, Andreas
Kristopolous hadn’t turned out to be too bad of a fellow. As long as he treated
Eva right and kept the city’s vampire population in check, the two men had no
beef. If only he could convince the rest of his team to keep their cool.
Needless to say, they weren’t happy about one of their own changing sides.
Oliver scrubbed his fingers through his hair,
and shook off the painful knot of nerves that had formed between his shoulder
blades. He slipped on his loafers and headed down the stairs of the old Victorian
house to the waiting taxi. Pulling up the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket, he read
the time on his watch. Six thirty. He had exactly half an hour to get from Long
Island to
Shit! Eva will kill me if I’m late. The huntress
had little family to speak of. They were a lot alike in that regard. Therefore,
Oliver had no recourse but to show up on time.
“Step on it, my good man,” Oliver said to the cab
driver. “I’ll pay you double.”
As soon as the car pulled up in front of the
church, Oliver hopped out. He was already ten minutes late. He’d be lucky if
Eva didn’t shoot him on sight for his lack of punctuality. He swung open the
heavy wooden doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral and crossed the threshold; his
shiny shoes reverberated against the lustrous marble floor. Oliver glanced up,
taking in the scene for the briefest of moments. The walls were adorned with
vibrant religious-inspired frescos painted in the renaissance style. Elaborate
candlelit torches hung from the edge of the pews, surrounded by bunches of red
and ivory roses.
Andreas waited next to the altar, nervously
tapping his fingers against his forearms. The frown on the groom’s face was proof
enough that his bride was ready to tear her boss limb from limb. One of the
ushers, a fellow BPA agent by the name of Adam Sapien, greeted him at the door
and led them down a corridor to the left of the church’s main entrance.
“Hurry up, boss,” Adam said. “Eva’s about to
blow a gasket.”
The minute Oliver rounded the corner, Eva turned
to face him. It didn’t take a mind reader to discern the huntress’ mood. Disapproval
marred her olive complexion, evident by the pouty lower lip and irritated scowl
splashed across her face.
“I’m sorry. I know I’m late. Blame it on the
insufferable traffic,” he said, raising his palms to the air in a gesture of
defeat. Eva stared at him from across the room as if scrutinizing his
sincerity. Then, a grin spread across her perfectly-polished features. Oliver
smiled back, and took in the woman’s breathtaking beauty. The fitted,
mermaid-style wedding dress she wore clung to her curvaceous hips. It fanned
out just above the ankles, and streamed behind her like a wave of luxurious
white silk. Eva’s plentiful, yet demure bosom peeked over the edge of the
gown’s crystal-embellished bodice. Tendrils of wispy, dark-brown hair cascaded
over her shoulders and down the slender column of her throat. She glowed
luminously with the roundness of her pregnant, yet barely noticeable belly.
“Are you ready to proceed?” Oliver asked, the
hint of his Eastern European accent impossible to miss.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, reaching out
to wrap a wrist around her boss’ outstretched elbow.
Arm in arm, they walked down the aisle. One side
of the church appeared to be packed with a horde of the undead, while the other
was brimming with an army of eager vampire vigilantes. Contrary to popular
belief, supernatural beings had no problem stepping foot on holy ground. In
fact, many of them were bred from Eastern European descent and had used the
Orthodox Church as a refuge from their enemies.
Still, the tension in the room was thick. It
loomed above the crowd as if it were a cumulous cloud ready to release a
torrential downpour. Father Mancini stood firm by the altar, his demeanor
serious and somber, anticipating the imminent danger. Behind him the unsuspecting
harpist sat on a cushiony stool strumming the chords of the Traditional Wedding
March.
Poor thing. She had no idea of the danger
brewing in her midst.
Suddenly, Oliver felt a pair of eyes trained on
him; his highly-tuned sixth sense screamed in ominous warning. He scanned the
pews in search of the culprit, but to no avail. Then, he heard a melodic feminine
voice whisper in his ear. He’d grown accustomed to hearing soft murmurs in his
head, but this one came through loud and clear. Its haunting soprano pitch made
one side of his jaw twitch unexpectedly, a nervous habit.
Who’s the George Clooney look-alike escorting
Andreas’s bride? He’d make for a tasty midnight snack.
Eva must have felt him stir. She cocked her head
and glanced up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in a question. “What’s the
matter?” she mouthed the words.
Oliver shook his head, shrugging off the bitter
taste that had risen up like bile from the pit of his stomach. Sometimes, his mind
reading ability turned out to be a bloody nuisance.
In fact, looking over his shoulder had become
second nature to Oliver. Born in
mother shortly after the end of Hitler’s reign of terror, his family was used
to being treated like second-class citizens. Many of them had perished at the
hands of the Nazis. Even before that, his ancestors
had been persecuted for far more than their religious beliefs.