The Vampire in the Bookstore

by Elle M. Drew

She was thoroughly wrapped up in whatever book she held, and he found that, for the first time in a very long time, he was more interested in the person holding the book than the book itself.

“I’m Declan, and I have a love for older books and manuscripts. I enjoy finding old and worn treasures which haven’t been touched in years, and restoring them to life. And I happen to enjoy reading the pages within, although I will admit I have not read every book within my collection, because as you mentioned, collecting books and reading books are two separate hobbies. While I will admit that I first entered this shop in search of treasures from a recent estate sale, I find the company in front of me much more interesting than anything on these shelves.”

Because here he was, Declan Triarius, kissing the back of her hand and choosing her company over that of books. As it turned out, his cold touch did indeed set her on fire.

Fuck. This was the problem with humans. They were so fragile, their life a flimsy thing which could be snapped away from them in an instant. And this human in particular, Rosamund. Beautiful, ethereal. She practically glowed in front of him, particularly when speaking about a book, or even just looking at him.

He needed to know if the ink and parchment had seeped into her blood, her love of books something he could taste.

No, not dinner. Dessert. She would be the perfect dessert after his meal, for he would have to sink his teeth into another human before laying his hands on her once more, lest he accidentally kill her when he broke skin and tasted her very essence. No, he would savor every moment of her time, every word she uttered, and then once she was soft and pliant under him, he would taste her, taste her skin in all ways, both as a vampire and as a man. Only if she was willing, of course, but he could smell it on her, could even taste it in the air. She was attracted to him, as much as he was attracted to her. She wanted his attention, bloomed under it, and he... What were they keeping in the bowels of her university, that she had emerged with such potency that he was so thoroughly ensnared by her very aura?

aura was curious. She was curious. And he had to know more.

Was it getting hot? Why was she flustered? Was he next going to ask how many bookshelves she had, and how full they were? Was she turned on by this? Wait, of course, she was. She was a bookworm. A book hoarder. A book dragon. A library troll. She was a bibliophile. And the man in front of her loved books as much as she did.

Rosamund, a vampire. His companion. His queen. He could gift her every book in his possession, could build and expand his shelves, could assist her in acquiring new pieces of art and finery, and he could dress her with the trunks abandoned in his various rooms, waiting to be preserved or worn. He had so much wealth, so much he never cared for, trinkets he had picked up through his travels, various gifts as well. She enjoyed preserving and archiving, he could give her that. Give her everything.

And now he had someone he could share it with. If she would say the word, he would give her everything.

He had to make an impression, a good one. His library would do the heavy lifting, but it was one thing to offer a bibliophile a library, and another thing entirely to ask to take their life. She would have to give her consent, and he would have to prove himself worthy of her, worthy of her time and companionship.

No. She would know his true nature before he stripped her bare, would know the truth of it all. He would have all of her, freely, with knowledge, or he would have none of her.

Rosamund took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. This was the wildest, craziest, most dangerous thing she had ever done. All of it, from seeking him, to finding him, to dinner with him, to now being at his place, his freaking castle. It was insane. She was insane. And yet, he was about to show her an expansive library, one which he had never shared with anyone else. She felt like freaking Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and the child in her, the one who knew every word to every song from the animated film, leapt for joy. The woman in her was pressing her thighs together, trying to remind herself that showing off his library was not a form of foreplay... Okay, no, there was no point in lying to herself. This was definitely foreplay.

The loft, the balcony, the second level above, were all open. The rolling ladders, the stacks going from floor to ceiling, reaching as tall as the manor itself, were all building and flowing around and around. Stacks were sitting in neat rows on the floor, waiting to be organized. Stacks of books on desks. Books open on a table. Books upon books, upon books upon... She felt faint, everything overwhelming as she turned, trying to look at it all. Thousands upon thousands. No, hundreds of thousands. Even that felt too weak a number. The number of books, amount of learning, the possibilities, were all of it endless. There were books with matching leather bindings, a set of collections to be certain. Books purchased within the past year, the spine revealing modern and contemporary titles. She wanted to touch them all, to run among the stacks. She wanted to ride across on the ladders, to climb up each of them. “I am never leaving,” she breathed out as she turned, trying to look at it all, but still finding more books with every turn of her body.

“A bookshelf can take you anywhere. A library can take you everywhere.”

He wanted to view his prize. Wanted her to view his gift to her. A human... a woman... another being. He was sharing this with her, his most secret and precious treasure. Years of gathering and collecting, all sitting in one space. And here she was, a being who also saw value in it. A person he could share with. A woman he could... Love. If such a thing were even possible for a vampire.

He would have her in front of the fireplace first, and then on the couch, and then he would carry her to his bedroom where he would continue his worship, having her body contorted and alive in so many ways which only he could give her.

“A book can take you somewhere,” Rosamund said suddenly, her head tilted to the side. “A bookshelf can take you anywhere. A library can take you everywhere.

“My attraction to you is limitless. I crave you intellectually, yes, but also carnally. I would know your body, every soft dip, every sound you make, every desire you hold.”

“I want you.” Declan stopped moving his head at her words, and looked at her, his gaze darkening fully. His eyes were so black, she was lost in them, unable to look away. “You know I want you. Desperately. If you touched me, I would lose my mind. So, my condition, my request, my proposition, fuck—” “Say it,” he growled, leaning into her. “Tell me you desire what I long for.” “I do.”

“If you’re going to turn me, if you’re going to drink from me, and me from you, then have me. Have sex with me. Fuck, that feels so lacking a word, but I want the intimacy too, I want the pleasure with the pain, I want you, I want your teeth in me while I ride you and—” Declan’s growl cut her off, and then he was surging forward, his mouth at her throat.

“Bite me,” she begged, struggling against the bond. “Drink me, undress me, fuck me, love me, just bite—” He did as she demanded, his teeth sinking into her skin, sending webs of pain shooting through her body, from her throat to her stomach, and down her arms, then continuing into her very soul, through every part of her being. Pleasure quickly followed, a high she couldn’t chase enough, like a drug made just for her.

“And when I catch you for the last time, I’m going to devour every last drop of you.” Rosamund shivered where she stood, and he looked lower, to where her skirt covered her sex from his view. But not her scent. “I do not mean your blood, Rosamund. I mean I will have you sit upon a throne and allow me to devour every drop of your sex. You’ve been calling to me all evening, driving me insane. I will taste you.”

“Oh, yes. My jaw will be quite the throne for you. I long to feel your thighs on either side of my head, gripping me. You will always be welcome to sit on it.”

“You forget, my dear, that I am dead. I don’t breathe. You can sit on my face for hours, without pause, coming on my tongue until you cannot move. And even then, I’ll still devour you.”

“Do not silence yourself, nor hold back,” he urged, nuzzling at the top of her thigh. “I want to hear all of your screams.”