Read Darkest Desire of the Vampire: Wicked in Moonlight\Vampire Island (Harlequin Nocturne) Online
Authors: Rhyannon Byrd,Lauren Hawkeye
Chapter 1
I
sla Miller was not ready for the blast of humidity that descended on her like a wet blanket the moment she left the cabin of the boat.
Gasping a little for breath, she shifted uncomfortably as perspiration broke out over her skin, causing her sundress to cling and her pale red waves of hair to wilt. It was a radical change from the thin, dry mountain air of Colorado, and she wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.
Maybe she should have stayed home.
Trying to keep her tread steady as the boat swayed beneath her feet, Isla looked hopefully to the captain for help disembarking. The man who dressed like a pirate had, however, thrown her bags over the edge of the vessel, onto the wide wooden dock, and scrambled back to the far side of the craft, where he looked to be preparing for departure already.
“Off with ya, missy!” His words were barely intelligible over the sudden roar of the motor. “Yer stayin’ or yer comin’ back, but best decide right quick!”
Isla blinked, not impressed with the service. That said, it had been far more difficult than she had thought to find transport from the small Tahitian airport out to Ile de Nuit. She had wandered nervously in the airport, searching for a sign with her name, held by the person who was supposed to collect her and take her to the resort. Finally an announcement over the static-filled PA system had connected her with Gaspar, who told her that he was her personal concierge for the week and that he was so very sorry—he had thought that their shuttle boat would be repaired by this time, but it was not. If she waited an hour and had a meal—on them, of course—they would come to get her.
If she waited an hour, she’d lose her nerve entirely and book a flight back home. She cringed when she thought of the fit her mother would have when she found out that Isla—predictable Isla—had hopped on a plane and taken off for parts unknown without her approval.
Isla decided that she would rather stay and wait it out than return home early and face that. She hadn’t had many options for transport to the island, and the persistent old man who had followed her around the airport had finally worn her down.
Now she was feeling another change of heart. She wavered, not sure if she should actually disembark, or if she should go back to the airport and catch some transport back home, where she could curl up with a skinny cappuccino and a Matthew McConaughey movie. She could forget all about this trip, which had been foisted on her by her friend Jessie Spencer, and which she would never have agreed to if the details on the island hadn’t sucked her right in.
“Ye look like a good girl, lassie. Come on back to shore.” The words of the would-be pirate were what finally nudged Isla into action.
She wondered if all of the locals were as superstitious as this old man. Although the trip had originally been booked for Jessie, work had interfered, so her friend had given her the trip as a gift. Well, truthfully, Jessie had begged Isla to go in her stead. Isla knew how excited her friend had been, and though she wasn’t overly interested in a resort of any kind, she hadn’t been able to let down her best friend.
When she had, she’d warned her about the lore that surrounded the island. Locals thought that the island was full of vampires and werewolves and all kinds of things that went bump in the night—and during the day, apparently, or else the supposed vampires weren’t very smart for settling on a tropical, sunshine-filled island.
She wasn’t overly worried. Jessie was obsessed with the paranormal, which was why her friend had decided on a trip to this specific resort. For her own part, Isla didn’t believe in spooky creatures, so the island’s reputation didn’t matter much to her.
Isla figured that this was a publicity stunt. She had grown up in a household with a mother who insisted that the paranormal didn’t exist and that humans were ridiculous for perpetuating the legends. Isla hadn’t even been permitted to watch
Sabrina, the Teenage Witch
or
Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
As she looked around at the beautiful turquoise water, clear sky and white sand, she wondered why the resort would need any kind of publicity stunt.
It was beautiful. Though she had initially questioned Jessie about her resort selection—her lawyer friend was far more likely to enjoy a quirky gothic tone to her holiday than Isla was—now she was beginning to see why her friend had been so set on visiting the island.
It was beautiful. It was peaceful.
And better yet, it was miles away from her overbearing mother and her two perfect sisters.
The disreputable old man gunned the motor of the boat, urging her along. Frowning a bit—her version of a scowl—Isla shouted to him to wait a moment, then clambered over the edge of the boat. When she landed on the dock, she was red-faced and rumpled—not the sort of dignified impression that she’d hoped to present.
But then, she never came across as dignified, a fact that her family never let her forget.
Behind her, the motor of the small boat roared. She waved an American bill in her hand to leave him a tip, but the operator of the boat had already shoved the throttle back and was chugging quickly away from the dock.
Isla thought that she saw the old man cross himself dramatically as he piloted the boat away. She closed her eyes, then opened them again.
No. Surely not.
Isla rolled her eyes. If vampires were roaming the island, then they were certainly hiding their existence well. There were no bodies, no missing persons reports...no evidence of anything other than a beautiful, lush resort that stood on an island with a wealth of local lore.
She’d checked. Not that she didn’t trust Jessie to have chosen a safe vacation spot—but she knew her friend had a fascination with the supernatural. A few missing persons reports might just draw Jessie in, rather than repelling her. Thanks to the superstitions of Mr. Pirate, Isla was not feeling very positive about the start of her trip.
“Mademoiselle Miller?” Agitated, she turned as the voice with the lovely, cultured accent spoke her name. When she saw the speaker, her jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Um. Well. Hello.” The man who had spoken was possibly the most perfectly beautiful person that she’d ever seen in real life—the type who looked as if he’d been airbrushed. Blond, with intense violet eyes, he had pale, perfect skin that gleamed in the bright sunlight.
Something about that seemed off to her, but she was far too off balance from the journey to think what it was. Still, even though he wasn’t her type, he was very easy on the eyes. Pursing her lips with a hint of amusement, she began to see yet another reason that her man-hungry friend had chosen this place.
“Welcome to the Ile de Nuit, Mademoiselle Miller. I apologize that we were not able to arrange for better transportation to our resort.” The beautiful man extended his hand for Isla’s own. His palm was chilly against hers, as were his lips when he lifted her hand to his mouth for a small, discreet kiss.
“Well. It’s all right, I guess.” She was charmed by the gesture. If Jessie were here, she would have a date with the man already. Isla was far more reserved, however, and already knew that this man, handsome as he was, wasn’t for her.
She wanted that visceral tug deep in her gut, that primal recognition of a soul mate.
And that was why she was always single. She wanted the real thing, not some tropical island fling.
“I am Gaspar.” The man straightened back up and smiled flirtatiously at her, and Isla felt a bit of her agitation from the long day of travel melt. If the man had truly been flirting with her, she would have been intimidated, but she recognized the type of man that Gaspar was—he loved women, all women, and that included her.
She could handle that.
“We spoke on the phone earlier. I will be your personal concierge while you are here.”
“My concierge?” Discreetly—or so she hoped—Isla brushed her hand over her forehead, wiping at the sweat accumulating there.
It was so
hot
here.
“Oui.” Gaspar handed Isla a device that looked like a high-tech beeper. “If you need anything, anytime that you are in the resort, simply press this button. I will hear it, and provide you with whatever you want.”
Shading her eyes, Isla looked past the man to the gates of the self-proclaimed haven and the massive, bone-white buildings behind them. She could see a huge pool that sparkled turquoise in the sun, the water glinting through the bars of the fence.
“I can’t imagine what I could need. It looks fabulous.” Yes, it looked fabulous indeed—luxurious, rich and relaxing.
“Still. Anything that you need, anything at all.” Picking up Isla’s massive suitcase and carry-on tote without even a grunt, Gaspar gestured with his head for Isla to precede him to the shiny black golf cart that sat at the end of the dock. “If you require a hamburger at two in the morning, you should press that button. If you wish for a dinner companion, press the button. If you need someone to apply sunscreen to your back, you contact me.”
From two steps behind Gaspar, Isla started. To apply sunscreen to her back? Then Gaspar turned and winked at her, openly flirtatious, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
“I think I’ll manage, but thank you.” Men who looked like him just weren’t interested in women who looked like her. Petite and with curves that she often thought were a bit overly ripe, Isla wasn’t the kind of woman who men typically checked out.
“After you, mademoiselle.” Gingerly, Isla climbed onto the golf cart, and as she did, her heart started to pound. She didn’t like new things and tried her best to avoid strange situations. Now, because she hadn’t had the heart to turn her friend down and because deep down she knew that her life needed a kick in the pants, she was about to enter some fancy French resort on some tiny Tahitian island...and she was alone.
Alone. Nerves began to churn in her gut. Gaspar shifted in his seat, his nostrils flaring as if Isla’s anxiety somehow had a scent.
She could do this. She could do this. She just needed to distract herself.
“Are you all right?” Gaspar cast a sidelong glance of concern in Isla’s direction, and she gave herself a mental kick. No matter how fragile the hold on her self-esteem had been lately, she was a grown woman. She was taking an adult vacation. It wasn’t that big of a deal.
Except that to her it was indeed a big deal, one that was loud and clear in her mind. Jessie knew it, too, and if Isla didn’t know how much her friend had very much wanted to come here herself, she might have thought that Jessie had chosen this unique resort specifically to push Isla completely out of her comfort zone.
“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just...a little overwhelmed from the day.”
“We’ll fix you up soon enough.” Gaspar cast her a flirtatious smile. Isla felt as though she should be responding in some way, but she felt nothing.
Well...she did feel something, just not toward her cute concierge. She felt relief. Saying a silent but fervent thank-you to Jessie, she breathed the humid air in deeply. No matter how stressful the day had been, she was here now, on a tiny island in Tahiti, with a personal assistant who wanted to spoil her.
How bad could this possibly be?
* * *
He smelled her before he saw her.
The blood fizzing through the human’s veins smelled, of all things, like fresh, juicy mango, overlaid with a hint of Tahitian vanilla. It made his mouth water, and no wonder.
He’d always been partial to dessert.
Sloane Goldhawk didn’t trust anything, anyone, until they showed him why he should. The woman stepping neatly off the small boat that had ferried her to the island looked as sweet as she smelled, with her long strawberry hair pulled back in a simple braid, the color setting off the smooth-as-cream skin of her shoulders, which were bared to the sun by her white sundress.
She sure didn’t look like the kind of woman to volunteer blood services to a colony of vampires. Hell, she didn’t look like she’d ever even heard of the creatures in her life.
But then, he was certain that she had. Humans had three trains of thought about Ile de Nuit—or Vampire Island. Some were superstitious locals who regarded the place as the devil’s playground and wouldn’t set a foot on the island for all the money in the world. Most were vampire groupies, that rare subset of humanity who not only believed in the reality of vampires, but who accepted what was right before their eyes and craved the thrill of being near nature’s deadliest predator.
Most, however, were people who had heard the legends about the island and scoffed, certain that the stories were nothing but that—fiction made up to draw visitors to the island.
The exact opposite was true in the latter’s case, however. Unless a human was a fanger—a proven vampire groupie, one who wanted to live on the island in exchange for providing blood—and had been invited personally by Lucian, then reservations at the resort had a mysterious habit of being full at the time of booking.
Lucian St. Baptiste, leader of the clan that lived on the island, had created the perfect little ecosystem. Humans who got a sexual thrill from being hunted, being fed on, were happy, and they were protected by rules against overfeeding. In turn, this gave the vampires a ready, fresh food source at all times, so long as they followed the rules of the clan.
Existence was peaceful in the hedonistic paradise of the island, far removed from the problems of the world.
That was why Sloane was there—for that peace. The mysterious owner of the island, who Sloane had yet to meet, had been searching for a mechanic for the resort. Though Sloane would have thought the man would want someone who would join his clan, strengthen it, he had offered Sloane the job, having heard that Sloane had been looking for some time away from his corporation. It wasn’t at all odd for one vampire to reach out to another in that manner—the vampire community was small compared to that of humans.
In the six months he had been there, he had tried to keep mostly to himself, enjoying the beauty of the sun and the sea, using them to try to heal.
Though he didn’t judge them for their sexual proclivities, Sloane still couldn’t bring himself to feed off one of the fangers. Didn’t those people understand that, clan rules or not, their lives were very much in danger whenever they were around a vampire at all, let alone in a sexual situation with one?