Here’s a snippet from Dominion, Book 1 of the Dominion Series:
As background, Michel is an 800 year-old vampire-hunting vampire. He’s been searching for an ancient manuscript that documents his death and rebirth as a vampire and that of his identical twin brother Julien in 1224 France. Eve is a novice vampire hunter gifted with paranormal skills. She found the manuscript in her dead mother’s research files and met Michel when she searched for a translator. Michel took the original manuscript from her, but she found a translation of the manuscript misfiled in a box. Michel doesn’t want her to read it and has come to her apartment to get it back. She’s hiding in a large armoire in her bedroom with a Samurai sword in her hands.
The door closes, and I sit in the darkness of my closet, the sword grasped between my hands, tears in my eyes. He’ll find me by smell alone. Vampires are like bloodhounds, able to track humans long distances by scent – especially one whose blood they’ve tasted. Which just happens to apply to me and Michel.
I grip the sword more tightly. Can I really attack him? If he threatens me, I will. I know I can kill him if I get a chance.
I hear his boots on my hardwood floor as he paces around my apartment, hear the rustling of papers, the opening and closing of drawers. Then he enters the bedroom and stands across from the armoire. I can see him through the gap between the two doors and he’s wearing his cassock coat and his hair is mussed, and he’s breathing fast, his jaw clenched.
A long moment of silence passes.
Finally, I hear a heavy sigh from him – it sounds of exasperation. It’s not the sound a vampire hell-bent on torturing and killing me would make. I wipe my nose, which is running due to my tears.
Stupid stupid… I should never have read that manuscript.
“Are you that afraid of me?” he says in a voice edged with frustration.
Finally, he sits on the bed across from me and watches the armoire, his elbows resting on his knees. It’s as if he’s staring right at me. He can’t see me, can he?
“I’ll wait all night, Eve. I’m a very patient man.”
“Wait for what?” I say and I think how stupid it must sound for me to be speaking to him through the closed doors of the armoire.
Oh, damn… this is a nightmare.
“For you to bring me the translation.”
I should do what he says, because this stand-off is stupid and I know it.
“How do I know that you won’t go all vampire on me and kill me once I give it to you?”
“What?” I can see him shaking his head, his frown resolving into a look of disbelief. “Why on Earth would you think I’d want to kill you? Jesus, Eve. Are you that unaware?”
“I don’t know what you’d want, Michel.” I feel a bit foolish now. “I don’t even know you.”
“Eve, right now, I’m more in danger from you than you are from me. In case you forgot, you can beat me. If you had real weapons when we fought, if you’d have had a stake, you could have killed me.”
“You can kill me as well,” I say and sniff. “All you have to do is get close enough to mesmerize me.”
He smiles at that and rubs his eyes.
“Well, then I think we’re evenly matched. I promise not to mesmerize you,” he says, a lopsided grin on his lovely face, “if you promise not to try to decapitate me with that Samurai sword.”
“How did you know I have a sword?”
“There’s one missing from your wall.”
I scrunch up my face. Of course. He knows about the swords because I told him, pointedly.
“The manuscript’s in the linen closet in the bathroom,” I say. “It’s under some tea towels.”
He nods but doesn’t get up.
“Thank you,” he says and waits, watching. “Are you coming out now?”
I don’t say anything for a while. I can’t face him.
“No,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Just go get it and leave.”
He runs a hand through his hair and makes a face of some kind. I can’t quite see it because he moves briefly out of my field of vision.
“But I want to talk to you,” he says.
“I’m listening,” I say after a moment.
“Sacristy…” he says, hitting his forehead with his fist. “Eve, I want to kiss you.”
That admission sends a rush of warmth through my body, right to the deepest part of me. I close my eyes and try to breathe, my face hot.
“You can’t,” I say, barely able to speak over my breathlessness, my heart fluttering.
“Why not?” he says, his own voice soft.
“Because my nose is all red from crying.”
And then he’s at the armoire opening the door, and he reaches for me, taking the sword out of my hands, throwing it onto the floor so that it skitters across the hardwood. He takes my arms and pulls me up, restraining my hands behind me, holding them firmly so that I can’t resist. With the other hand, he wipes tears off my face with gentle fingers, his expression all concerned, his brow creased.
“Eve…” He doesn’t kiss me. Just looks at me, his eyes moving over my face. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” And then he leans down and kisses me. Softly. When he pulls away, he examines my face, touches my cheek with a finger, running the tip through my tears.
He seemed so angry when he came into my room, but now, he seems sad. I do fear him, despite the knowledge that I could kill him. The thing is, I feel far too much desire for him, far too much empathy for him, far too much admiration for him after reading the manuscript.
I want him – so much. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way for any man and I barely know him. I’ve never felt this much desire, this much lust, this much human sympathy, and it chokes me. But he’s far too old and experienced and powerful and I feel like a small child compared to him. Like he could just overwhelm me and I’d lose myself, drown under his power like a swimmer caught in a riptide.
“What do you want?” I say, so confused by him and his actions.
He shakes his head. “You.”
And then he kisses me hard, his eyes closed, and a wave of desire floods through me, making me dizzy and I realize it’s that connection thing again. I’m feeling both our desire. My legs tremble, threatening to give out so that he has to hold me up. He picks me up and carries me to the side of the bed, laying me down across it, leaning over me, pinning my hands above my head, and I feel as if I’ll pass out from the intensity of the emotions that rush through me.
He rests on his elbows, his body between my thighs, his hips pressing into me, his face directly above mine. I can barely breathe as I wait for what he’ll do. He does nothing – just looks at me, fingers brushing hair off my cheek, then tracing my mouth. I close my eyes, unable to keep looking into his too-blue ones, and just lie there, not sure what I think should happen despite what my body and heart tell me I want to happen.
My body aches for him and I want him inside of me, right now.
He exhales heavily, making a sound in his throat, and leans his forehead against mine.
“This could get very complicated.”
Then, much to my shock and confusion, he releases my hands and rises up, standing at the side of the bed, his hands touching the bare skin of my knees which are spread wide. I’m sure he can see everything by the way my nightgown is hiked up around my hips but I’m unable to move and he just stands there, looking at me, watching me, his eyes so intense. My body is so ready, my mind – the thinking part of me – completely silent, not caring what happens or what it means. I just want to feel him inside of me.
He runs the back of his fingers along the inside of my thighs and his touch sends a jolt of pleasure right to my sex and my back arches and my eyes close from the intensity. Then, somehow, he’s on top of me, his naked body pressed against mine and he’s inside of me, and he’s so nice and thick and then he’s thrusting, his mouth on mine and I gasp as waves of pleasure surge through me, my muscles clenching.
But then I catch sight of him from under my lashes and he’s still standing there at the side of the bed, fully-clothed, his fingers touching the skin on my inner thigh his own eyes are closed, his lips parted.
He fucked me in my mind and made me orgasm with just a touch of his fingers…
He opens his eyes, blinking.
“I have to think,” he says finally. Then he leaves the bedroom, me panting from what he’s done to me, my face hot.
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