Read Drawn to a Vampire Online

Authors: Kathryn Drake

Drawn to a Vampire





Drawn to a Vampire





By Kathryn Drake





Drawn to a Vampire

By Kathryn Drake

Copyright © Kathryn Drake 2015

All Rights Reserved.


All characters in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.



Chapter 1





That night I
felt entirely alone.  Which is kind of ironic, as I had people all around me – hot, sweaty, dancing people – off their heads on drugs and alcohol.  The evening had started off all right, me and a few friends, getting ready in my room, drinking vodka with redbull while dancing to fun music. 

As soon as we hit the club my friends dispersed.  Rachel, my best friend, spotted her boyfriend across the room – her new boyfriend, may I add (they were in that loved up phase when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other).  It was quite frequent that I felt a strong desire not to look their way. 

There I was, on the side of drunk, alone in a crowd.  The music was incredibly loud, so when a couple of guys approached it was pretty hard to hear what they had to say.  I eventually worked out they were offering to buy me a drink, and I felt too lost, my heart too empty, to refuse.  Three drinks later and they’d convinced me a free party would be a great idea.  Their mate had a mini bus and we needed to leave right away.

Rachel hadn’t been too impressed when I’d told her I was leaving.  “What the fuck?” she’d said.  I totally should have listened to her.  But she was drunk, too, and didn’t put up much of a fight. 

I found myself bundled into the back of the said mini bus, with a whole load of guys and girls I didn’t know, most of them dressed in old school DM’s and actual tied died eighties stuff.  There was a lot of black eyeliner and fuzzy hair.  I was crammed between the two guys who’d invited me, but really I was in my own world.  My own head.  All of this seemed like a weird dream – and I felt detached from everything. 

It was a pattern I’d been noticing quite a lot recently. 


Questioning of the what and the why and the point of it all. 


That sums it up nicely.

Bored with life. 

I’d just hit eighteen, and was nearing the end of my A-Levels, but instead of feeling excited at a whole host of opportunities I just knew existed, I felt numb.  Numb of studying.  Numb of going out and being deserted by my friends.  Numb with no idea what to do next.  Uni did not appeal.  Surely it would be more of the same. 

Travelling?  Ha!  That’s what everybody does to find themselves.  Right?  I didn’t feel it would help me find myself.  I wished I knew what would. 

The further I got into my course the more this feeling intensified.  The more the detachment increased, and the more reckless I became.  I wanted to do something.  Trigger something.  To do anything that would make me feel again, make me want something. 

I needed to want something, that was what was missing. I was eager for new experiences, with new people.  But making myself fit in was another thing altogether.  Actually being there, in my body, while experiencing those things.  It just wasn’t happening.

I guess we were in that little bus for a good hour, the roads getting narrower and rougher, until we were on a bumpy forestry track, and all I could see out of the window was the outline of evergreens against the starlit sky.

Outside it was cold, and I let someone put a jacket over my shoulders and pull me to their side, in a one armed hug.  I barely glanced to see who it was.  I let myself be led towards the music, the big sound system set up in a clearing in the woods, the dancers so out of it they were in their own worlds, too.  I joined them.  I didn’t dance with them, I danced next to them, alone, in company.  Again. 

I let myself go.  I didn’t care.  I just danced and danced, feeling the music thump through me, and yet not feeling it.  Not really. 

I danced and danced until I couldn’t draw breath, until I was boiling hot and the jacket I was wearing was just too much.  I took it off and put it by the mini-bus we’d arrived in and decided I very much needed a break.

I picked up a bottle of water from a crate and then sat on a boulder, by the edge of the trees.  Moss cushioned my butt from the granite, and I could smell the freshness of pine and earth and night time.  I looked away from the drugged out dancers and up at the sky, picking out Orion, The Plough, and Cassiopeia, and the night was so clear I could even see the Milky Way spanning across the sky.  I drank the cold water and shivered as a gentle wind blew away the light covering of sweat from my skin.

That was the moment my life changed. 

He stepped out of the forest. 

This man. 

He was utterly fine. 


And like Lucazade he made my stomach bubble and he did far more than that. 

He took a seat on a boulder by my side, slipped off his leather jacket and placed it over my shoulders.  This time I did take notice.  I slid my arms into the leather and wrapped it tightly around me, all the while not able to take my eyes off his face.  He had blue eyes, a deep penetrating blue, and his pupils were enlarged in the dim light.  I saw them flash red, catching the light from the disco system.  His skin was pale and he looked thin, like he’d been ill and was just recovering, but somehow this added to his beauty, giving him a fragility, giving him an imperfection which made him real. 

He had dark hair, almost black, like a sleek raven, and a chiselled jaw with a hint of dark stubble.  He flashed me a smile.  I’ve heard that term before, I’ve read it – ‘He flashed me his smile’. ‘Yeah right,’ I had thought.  ‘Why ‘flashed’?’  This time I got it.  It was a sudden thing.  His face broke out into a wide smile, a smile which made his eyes light up, his face sparkle.  It made me jump straight back into my body.  I was there.  With him.  And I lit up inside.

I smiled back.  Not so much a flash, more a slow creeping smile as adrenaline, or some other powerful hormone, started to make my body sing.

“Hi,” I said.  Just ‘hi’.  What else could I say?  Suddenly I wanted to say so much.  I wanted to find out about this man – who he was, why he was here, what made him him.  And yet my throat seized up and ‘hi’ was all I could manage. 

A blush crept upwards from my chest, and for a second I lowered my eyes, embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking straight back.

“Hey,” he said.  “It’s a bit chilly, isn’t it?”  And he smirked at me. 

My heart leapt, and I giggled.  I actually giggled.  So unlike me of late, but it seemed funny to be talking about the air temperature when I wanted to know
.  Suddenly everything – the party, the situation, me, what I’ve been going through – it all seemed highly amusing.

Luca raised his eyebrows at me and chuckled too.  His laugh was deep and sexy and warmed me right through.  His knee brushed against mine and I nearly melted.  I stopped laughing right away and my eyes met his.  His smile dropped too and he reached out with his hand, sliding his fingers under my hair, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck, and he gently brushed my cheek with his thumb.  It felt like my blood rushed to my face where he touched me, even though his skin was cool.  It was like my body was trying to compensate for his temperature, creating an equilibrium between us.  It felt right for him to be touching me.  So, so right.  I glanced down at his lips, feeling myself gravitate towards them, sounds of the party becoming a background blur.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Marilyn,” I murmured, closing my eyes and breathing him in.  He smelled too good – toxically so – like a drug I wanted more than I’d wanted anything before.  “What’s yours?”


And then his lips were on mine, melting against mine, soft and sweet.

This was different from any kiss I’d experienced before – it was like I could feel him under my skin. I could feel my heart pounding, I was conscious of every beat, and the blood thrumming through my body, coaxed by his fingers into life.  I know it sounds ridiculous, over the top, like I’m romanticising the whole thing, but it felt like we were meant to be together … that what followed was right.

I kissed him back, reaching out for his face, feeling his stubble under my fingers, slightly course, but still soft, youthful, but utterly sexy.  I ran my fingers up, over his cheeks and through his hair, cold and damp in the night air.  I felt his teeth against my skin and I breathed in deeply, smelling his masculine seductive scent.  It was not after shave, not artificial – just him – like he was giving off a sweetness which awakened my senses and sent them into overdrive.

All I wanted was him, with every particle of my being.  It was intense.  Overwhelming.  I could barely contain myself to do this, but for a moment I removed my lips from his and said, “Let’s get away from these people.”

He didn’t stop to answer.  He took my hand and stood, pulling me up – which was a good thing, too, as my legs had a serious case of the shakes.  He was taller than I’d expected, maybe four inches taller than me, and I’m no shorty.  His fingers tightened around mine and he led me away from the party, into the pitch black of the woods.  There was one negative about this, and this was the only negative that crossed my mind, and that was that I could no longer see him.  But I could feel him.  And then we were alone, and I was free to do just that. 

I grabbed his t-shirt with my free hand and pulled his lips towards mine.  His kisses were firm and he wrapped me in his arms, his hands finding their way beneath his jacket and beneath my top.  He held onto the bare skin of my back and kissed harder, urgently, and I felt shivers, that had little to do with the cold, run through my veins.  His lips ran along my jaw and down my neck, and then he bent lower and kissed my collarbone as his fingers rose to my breasts, pulling my bra up and out of the way.  He cupped my left breast and massaged my nipple between his fingers, and his other hand grabbed my bum and pulled me against him.

“Fuck,” I said.  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”  But regardless of this, the weird thing was, I could believe it.  I could totally believe it.

“Do you want me to stop?” he teased, pulling me closer to him.

“You better not,” I said, and I found his lips again and he kissed me, his tongue finding its way into my mouth, massaging mine.

“I fucking want you,” he said.

“I want you,” I said, no reservations, no thought, completely caught up in these new desires.  And as his fingers skimmed over my tummy I shuddered.  As his hands found the button at my jeans I gasped.  And as he touched me I felt more turned on than I ever had before. 

Seconds later he lifted me up and pushed me against a tree and then he pushed into me and I groaned.  He pumped deeper and deeper and kissed me at the same time, and I breathed him in, his face, his neck, and then he was kissing my neck and I felt a sharp twinge and shouted out and it was like twin points were piercing my neck, and yet his face was still there, his lips were still against my skin.  I struggled to get away from the pain, but he held on tight, greedily, and it was weird but I could almost feel the blood leaving my body, entering him, fortifying him.  And he was still inside me – in, out , in, out, and it was weird – the pain and the wanting to escape, and the pleasure, and the wanting to be closer – that my mind failed to comprehend what was happening and everything began to become fuzzy and floaty and I drifted in a haze of pleasure, all pain gone. 

Suddenly his mouth was missing from my neck, and for a second I felt its absence, then he was brushing my lips against his neck, and something wet was there, wet and warm.

“Drink,” he said, and, as if in a trance, I did as he said.  It tasted rich and metallic and a part of me started to realise it was blood.  I was drinking warm, wet, metallic blood, and then he said, “Stop,” and I did, moving my mouth away, my lips still coated in it, still wet with blood.

I was in a pleasurable haze though, not registering the weirdness of what was going on as he kissed me again, and thrust into me, over and over, and I clutched against him, holding him to me, trying to get closer, needing him, and then his hands were on my neck.  I felt a sudden movement, accompanied by a searing pain, and then – no-more.

I don’t remember what happened next.  For me time stopped, and it didn’t start again until morning.



Other books

Silent Dances by A. C. Crispin, Kathleen O'Malley
Lie to Me by Gracen Miller
The View from the Bridge by Nicholas Meyer
Emily's Affair by Kindel, Elijana
Famished by Hammond, Lauren
The Test by Claire, Ava