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    And Richer: Vampire Assassin League, #25
    And Richer: Vampire Assassin League, #25
    And Richer: Vampire Assassin League, #25
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    And Richer: Vampire Assassin League, #25

    By Jackie Ivie

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    About this ebook

    The VAMPIRE ASSASSIN LEAGUE
    They're Vampires.
    They're Assassins.
    They're Hot.

    How much worse could it get?

    This is Nigel's story.
    -The youngest associate finally gets his mate...


    YOUNG AND UNTRIED

    Nigel Beethan is the VAL’s second-in-command. He’s cocky. Self-assured. And terminally nineteen. He’s in Venice, handling his first solo excursion. On the prowl. Ramped up. Fixated. Thirsty. Because his mate is finally available.

    BEAUTY WITH CLASS

    Mandy Robes is believed to have the perfect life. Her grandfather is a duke. She lives at a huge estate. Has a big bank account. She used to have the perfect boyfriend, too. They broke up. And now the perfect life looks anything but.

    VENICE AT NIGHT

    Venice is a city of decadence and decay, light and shadow, luxury and vice. It awes and overwhelms even the most skeptical. A thousand years of history and romance are embellished with fine art. Alive with music. Theatre. Venice entertains. Mystifies. It’s easy to forget her past love here.

    Until the man who could be his double shows up...


     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJackie Ivie
    Release dateApr 28, 2015
    ISBN9781939820570
    And Richer: Vampire Assassin League, #25

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      Book preview

      And Richer - Jackie Ivie

      CHAPTER ONE

      Venice was supposedly the size of Central Park in New York City. U. S. of A. The guidebooks had to be wrong. Right now, Venice looked a hell of a lot bigger. Especially when viewed from rooftop level. The panoramic view included a lot of tiled roofs, mostly red; the outline of St. Mark’s Campanile - the tower of St. Mark’s Basilica, rising high above the red roofs; a plethora of narrow and not-so-narrow dark alleys; glistening canals of all sizes. Lots of windows - some lit, most of them dark; and all about in random pockets of space was the evidence of humanity. Partying. Singing. Drinking. Dancing. Kissing. And a few more sensual activities he’d come across without warning.

      The city was overwhelming, even in the dark. Derelict-looking buildings were propped between luminous party-driven edifices. The city was honeycombed with canals called Rio, streets called Calle, and streets that used to be canals but were now filled in, but still bore the Rio title. And everywhere was contrast. As if the city terminally wore a mask. Worn, crumbling brick buildings were fronted with expensive, fancy facades. Especially the palaces along the Grand Canal, such as the one he’d been given to use for his stay.

      One guidebook had stated that the city slept each evening, only to awaken each morn with the arrival of the horde of tourists. One book put the number at ten million tourists annually. Another at twelve. Either way, Venice was a major tourist destination. But, if it was slumbering, it slept with one eye open. If he concentrated, he could hear water lapping at marble foundations, gondoliers as they whistled and plied the canals, and ancient buildings as they struggled with the ravages of time, tide, and humanity.

      Venice had been a major world player for almost a thousand years. Most of that time was spent acquiring a treasure trove of riches that still adorned the city. The last half millennia it became party central. And now it was stuck in the hangover stage. It had been known as the Serene Republic. Right now, it resembled a serene statement on decay and decadence and over-indulgence. With an appetite for more.

      There was nothing else like it.

      Anywhere.

      The city was sinking. Wouldn’t last. Every flood got worse. Harder to recuperate from. It was hard to imagine, really. The city had a pulse Nigel could almost hear. Resilience he could feel. Strength he could sense. Venice wasn’t going down without a fight.

      The city overwhelmed, making him feel pretty insignificant, if he let it. Nigel’s hands shook for a moment before he controlled the reaction. There was too much at stake. And he was alone. Nigel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out without a mentor. Safety net. Back-up. This was ‘sink or swim’ time. Fly or die. Prove himself or cash out. Nigel was the youngest member drafted into the league by Akron. He was stuck at the terminal age of nineteen. Three weeks shy of his twentieth birthday. Unable to add a pound of muscle or a hint of more whiskers. It hadn’t bothered him before.

      Well. Not much.

      Going solo felt a little scary, but there was a large helping of excitement being served on the side. That sensation ratcheted up as the evening wore on for what seemed like days. It was after midnight. He didn’t know the exact time. Time was worthless to a vampire. But he’d been searching since the sun went down. Checking and rechecking. The streets. Alleys. Dead-end tunnels. Canals and bridges. Gondolas. The cafes. The nightspots. All the tourist spots and then the private retreats. Hovering. Scanning. Listening. Hoping. The hours wore on endlessly.

      Oh.

      And leather pants itched.

      Somebody should have mentioned that little nuance of his new wardrobe. Forewarned him to wear boxers. Or thigh-briefs. Someone like the responsible party. Akron Profit. The leader of the Vampire Assassin League. All-knowing. All-seeing. Their guru of sense and justice.

      With a comedic bent that came out every so often.

      Like now.

      Nigel stuffed a knife blade beneath the waistband of his trousers and scratched absently at his upper thigh. He didn’t take his attention off the section of city directly below him. He was close. Closer than he’d been all evening. His heart was sending continual throbs through him. They were distinct. Real. As was the need for each breath. That’s how he knew.

      He was near her.

      The one. The only.

      His mate.

      The renewed sensations were proof. Undeniable. Seductive. And highly addictive. Nigel pulled his knife out of his pant leg. Sheathed it. Crouched down to shuffle along a roof edge, grimacing at how the pants bit into his balls. Akron had probably snickered when he’d ordered these things. Nigel forced the discomfort into his subconscious as he looked over the throngs below him. He was above the Campo Santa Margherita. The place was stuffed with people enjoying a lot of ribaldry. Making a lot of noise. She had to be down there. Somewhere. He’d just have to be patient while he zeroed in on her exact location. He wasn’t chancing another foray into the streets.

      He didn’t know how he looked. He didn’t have a reflection to verify, and the servant at the rented palace was old. Crotchety. Half blind. And male. Nigel hadn’t bothered asking if he looked okay. He figured he must look pretty damn good, though. The black mask was probably overkill. It didn’t seem to detract from him, either. Quite the opposite.

      He grinned, and licked his lips.

      The last bit of blood he’d taken had contained vodka. Gin. And a fair amount of brandy. Nice mixture. Even nicer to experience the buzz after he’d fed, propped the woman into a chair in a dark corner, and disappeared. He hadn’t drained anyone, there was no reason. She’d offered. He hadn’t refused. Besides...he told himself he needed to appease any hunger before approaching his mate. He was determined to keep the truth hidden. His fangs under wraps. His needs controlled. And finding a willing victim to get some fluid wasn’t difficult. They were almost attacking him.

      The first time he’d stepped into view at street level, a throng of women had ambushed him. They’d been mostly teens. Obviously taking advantage of the sixteen-year-old minimum drinking age. There had been squeals of delight, a lot of gushing, myriad requests for his number. His social network page. His contact site. One girl asked to be on his mailing list. Another took several ‘selfies’, while trying to catch his image in the background. To no avail. She’d decided it was her battery at fault.

      He guessed black leather must make him resemble a rock star. Or maybe it was how tall and lean the attire made him appear. It was Akron’s fault. Their leader had definitely updated Nigel’s wardrobe. Or sent it back a few decades. Maybe centuries. Almost everything was crafted in leather. Except his suits. Those were mainly superfine wool, and included all kinds of skinny ties. Skinny ties? What designer thought going back to the 1950s was a good idea? There was one suit however...that gave him pause. It was really cool. The slacks were another bit of skinny-leg design, but the jacket was midnight blue velvet. Perfectly tailored. Now, that suit, he could definitely rock.

      Akron had guessed his exact dimensions, too. These leather slacks fit like they’d been poured onto him. Even in the crotch area. There wasn’t much left to the imagination. They were almost worse than polyester bellbottoms would have been. Being built like a long distance runner or a champion swimmer seemed to really appeal to the opposite sex nowadays. The younger generation appeared to appreciate his physique much more than his generation ever had. That was another surprise.

      The last time he’d gone down into the streets, an even bigger group of women had surrounded him. Asking for the same personal information. One had wanted to be his ‘groupie’. And someone even begged him to sign her very ample bosom. She’d had a marker with

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