bryn n sinjin 02.5 - blood lust

Table of Contents

 

BLOOD LUST

HP Mallory

 

Copyright ©2016 by HP Mallory

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

 

ALSO BY HP MALLORY:

THE JOLIE WILKINS SERIES:

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

Toil and Trouble

Be Witched (Novella)

Witchful Thinking

The Witch Is Back

Something Witchy This Way Comes

THE DULCIE O’NEIL SERIES:

To Kill A Warlock

A Tale Of Two Goblins

Great Hexpectations

Wuthering Frights

Malice In Wonderland

For Whom The Spell Tolls

Eleven Snipers Sniping (Novella)

A Midsummer Night’s Scream

THE LILY HARPER SERIES:

Better Off Dead

The Underground City

To Hell And Back

Persephone

The Bladesmith (Novella)

THE PEYTON CLARK SERIES:

Ghouls Rush In

Once Haunted, Twice Shy

Big Easy Murder (Novella)

THE BRYN AND SINJIN SERIES:

Sinjin

The Scent
Blood Lust (Novella)

 

CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

About the Author

 

ONE

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sinjin Sinclair and this is my story.

As the following tale belongs to me and we are, as of yet, unacquainted with one another, I suppose the onus is on me to give you a bit of background information regarding yours truly …

I was born in England. London, to be exact, in 1414. Before your imagination strives to convince you that I am a ghost, a demon, or some equally disagreeable creature, I shall tell you now that I am neither. I owe my immortality to a disease of the blood. That is to say, I am a Master Vampire.

I imagine that announcement may very well be accompanied by involuntary gasps of shock, or even heart palpitations, so let me please assure you that although I have an appetite for the sanguine, I am also unflaggingly a gentleman.

Returning to the nature of my title, perchance you find the label “master” slightly mystifying. Allow me to explain …

In my estimation, the vampire should be divided into two subcategories. For the sake of this dialogue, I shall refer to a “vampire” as a bloodsucker, and the much more estimable “Master Vampire” as his own namesake. The first category, bloodsuckers, are simply creatures who cannot move about in the day, and who enjoy increased speed and strength compared to ordinary humans. Their diet consists exclusively of blood.

The Master Vampire, in contrast, is much older and much more powerful than his lowly colleague. Like fine wine, vampires ripen with age. We become more powerful, stronger, faster and, in my particular case, more attractive. The passage of time also sharpens our skills and the Master Vampire’s sophisticated powers of persuasion and our ability to materialize and dematerialize at will naturally increase exponentially.

What specific qualities does a Master Vampire possess? you may ask. If you were to guess age, you would not be entirely correct. Yes, old age naturally develops one’s wisdom and skill in most instances, although there are those bloodsuckers with whom I share my six hundred years who have left me unimpressed, to say the least. Hence, age is not, in itself, a sole qualifier in discriminating a true master from a novice.

A true Master Vampire receives his laudable title through the vehicles of legend or gossip, for lack of a better description. Any established and/or gifted bloodsucker will begin to earn a reputation for himself. In so doing, he invariably attracts the attention of a Master Vampire, who might adopt the nascent bloodsucker, embracing him beneath his proverbial wing and rearing him, in order to teach him the fine art and practices that belong to the master.

Such was the path I followed before I found myself in the very enviable position I now enjoy. My title was bestowed upon me by Varick, a true Master Vampire. He was once was my superior and I, his ward. Not so any longer. Now, I answer to no one, save myself and the queen of the Underworld.

“Sinjin!”

Ah, yes, and the queen’s noble sister, the lovely Bryn.

Lest you wonder, Bryn does not share the irresistible desire for fresh hemoglobin with me. That is to say, she is not a vampire, neither master nor bloodsucker. Instead, she calls herself an “Elemental.”

Now, you may speculate what an Elemental could be, and based upon one’s observation of the Lady Bryn, one could imagine an Elemental as a headstrong individual who inevitably proves quite difficult to get along with. One would also assume that Elementals spend entirely too much time arguing and not enough time following the more Epicurean ideals as demonstrated by myself. Elementals are gifted soldiers, yes, but they are not at all in touch with their sensitive, sensual sides. In conclusion, suffice to say that Elementals are rather shrewish by nature.

To describe an Elemental based upon the Lady Bryn’s outward appearance, one must admit that Elementals are dangerously attractive. Amply gifted in both the breasts and derriere departments, one might erroneously assume that all Elementals possess a celestial form that is designed to drive any creature of the male persuasion into complete lunacy; or failing that, to idiocy, or worse. Luckily for me, I am unaffected by the Lady Bryn’s charms, although I must confess an uncanny fondness for her breasts. And her posterior.

Although it pains me to admit, the presumption that all Elementals possess lovely breasts and bottoms is sadly incorrect as half of the Elemental population are men.

As far as I can gather, Elementals are most similar to witches, although the shrew does not appreciate the comparison. Candidly speaking, she is quite “high and mighty.” Be that as it may, as an Elemental, she is perfectly capable of healing herself and others. She is also a sensitive, which means she can eavesdrop on other people’s thoughts, excluding mine, a fact which I find extremely fascinating. I have yet to understand the reason why she is inept when it involves the siphoning of my mind-waves; while she apparently has no trouble reading the thoughts of other Master Vampires. I simply must conclude this conundrum is merely another example of my disproportionate superiority.

The shrew can also manage the act of shapeshifting. Not to mention her very nasty left hook …

“Sinjin!” she demanded before placing her hands on her hips defiantly. She regarded me with what could only be construed as pure irritation. “Where the hell have you been?”

Although I do not technically report to the amiable lady, there are moments when I wish someone would inform
her
of that fact.

“Lady Macbeth,” I answered with a slow smile. Stretching my long legs out before me, I further reclined against my favorite pine tree standing proudly behind me.

My pine tree overlooks the cliffs of Kinloch Kirk, the residence of the queen which happens to be located in Scotland. I must admit, as a native Londoner, I am not overly fond of the Scottish in general. I find them tirelessly rebellious and generally uncouth (as evidenced by the king of the fae, an apish sot who goes by the name of Odran). Regardless, I have made Kinloch Kirk my home, as the queen’s chief protector as well as the ambassador of her people. I am quite important, if I may humbly confess. However, allow me to return to my interaction with the harpy …

While observing her, my smile was not feinted or forced as I do find myself genuinely amused by the tempestuous imp. “To what do I owe this honor?” I asked, my agreeable mood made evident by the pleasant tone of my voice.

“Honor my ass!” she abused me. Jutting her glorious breasts forward, they bounced roundly with the effort, causing me to temporarily wonder if she were wearing a brassiere. My most earnest hope was that she was not. Believing that breasts (especially large ones) are one of the most wonderful aspects of femininity, I endorse the notion that they, therefore, should be free of any and all restraints. How else could a chilly breeze achieve its desired effect in pebbling the nipples?

“I must admit to my fondness for your ‘ass’ as you so eloquently refer to it,” I said. I glimpsed the topic of the hour and nodded to show my approval, thereby offering her an olive branch. Yet, I was still uncertain as to the reason she was so upset with me.

“Ugh,” she grumbled as she rolled her eyes upward and her frown soured. The woman is as congenial as a rattlesnake in a thunderstorm, but she is genuine. Unfortunately, genuine people are difficult to find, in my experience.

“As to my whereabouts,” I started before feeling an errant tickle upon my lower back. I rubbed my backside against the bark of the tree, somewhat like a great bear. A grizzly bear. “I have been sitting here, enjoying the lovely moonlight.”

“Well, you’re late!” the little twit railed back at me, her eyes fuming. I could not say I was alarmed by her obvious distress. The truth of the matter is that I quite enjoy her outbursts; they lead to more jerky movements, which make her copious breasts and round bottom move with even more motion than they are otherwise accustomed to. The mark of true sexuality should only be judged through movement; of that I am convinced. It may come as no surprise, but I am also quite partial to Internet videos of naked women jumping on trampolines …

“To what engagement am I tardy?” I asked with little to no interest. In actuality, I was moderately intrigued, but my feigned apathy only further ignited the little she-devil, happily leading to even more bouncing flesh. Yes, I honestly must admit to being an opportunist in the highest degree.

“No engagement!” the dragon seethed through her flames. “You were supposed to train with me twenty minutes ago!” She glanced down at the notebook in my lap which seemed to further enrage her. “And instead, you’re sitting here, writing in your diary!”

I chuckled. The fierce tigress can be quite humorous. But despite how entertaining she can be, I did not want to reveal my business to her. I firmly snapped the cover of the notebook and stood up. She was utterly wrong. Although I most certainly was not penning an entry in my diary, I
was
sketching the layout of one of our enemies’ training facilities.

Coincidentally, Bryn had roots from this exact facility. Yes, once upon a time she was an enemy of the state, an enemy of the people. However, she is now firmly ensconced as one of our own. Her deprogramming was quite a feat and rather lengthy as the hellion is certainly stubborn. But if I am nothing else, I am patient and resourceful. Having been handpicked by the queen herself to oversee the reconditioning of her sister, I did not back down until I was certain the hellcat could perform as a model citizen and an example to Underworld creatures everywhere.

Even though my business had everything to do with the shrew, I dared not let her know what I was planning, fearing her unsolicited involvement. This mission was only for one. I could not, nor would I endanger any of my comrades, least of all, the queen’s sister.

“Did we not wrestle mere hours ago, my pet?” I asked as I glanced up at her and smiled. Though she is certainly a capable warrior, she is quite a small package. Small but delectable.

“The last time we trained was this morning! And it wasn’t even for a full hour because you had to go tend to something!” she spat back at me, vitriol flashing in her eyes. As a rule, the lady will not tolerate anything which conflicts with her own desires. I follow the same rule which means we usually find ourselves at odds.

“I am a busy man, my dear,” I answered with no hint of apology. “Such is the grueling life as the queen’s ambassador.”

“Busy?” she scoffed sarcastically. She eyed the base of the tree where I had been enjoying the evening’s moonlight. “Busy? Taking a snooze, don’t you mean? You can’t fool me for two seconds, Sinjin,” she started. “And as far as being my training partner, you suck! And then some!”

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