Prince Michael the Bad Read online

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  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction,

  the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons or events is

  coincidental.

  Copyright August 2020 – Ana Calin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  TO BE CONTINUED

  CHAPTER I

  Michael

  “A long time since your adoptive daddy has graced us with his presence.” Geneva’s tone is casual, but I know better. Every time Octavius announces that he’s coming to the club she’s on edge, and uses her anxiety as a pretext to sit too close to me and push her tits against my arm.

  She has an impressive bust size and a curvy backside, but her outfit is too tight, and her cleavage too much, making her look desperate. She’s wearing false eyelashes, and bright red lipstick on her thin lips. Ever since we ended the intimate part of our arrangement she’s been trying too hard to make me see what I’ve lost, achieving quite the contrary of it.

  I wish I could have given her more, really. But I’m not a creature of romance, and she’s always known that. I’m a vampire, a demon, a monster. Whenever I sit at a table to negotiate with a man, I think of three ways of killing him. My heart is made of iron and violence, and that used to turn her on, but only because she thought she could tame me. But there’s no rescuing this monster, and she’s had to learn that the hard way.

  “Milord,” my headman calls, breaking the line of bodyguards that walls our VIP lounge from the stairs and the rest of the club. “The Serpent Lord is here, but he’s not alone. He says he’s brought someone special, and he’s asking that we keep things, well, civil tonight,” he concludes nervously.

  It doesn’t take a professional translation to understand what he means.

  Blood whores have already started trickling into the VIP lounge, and the tattooed bikers that Geneva likes to watch fucking them have already made themselves comfortable on the couches behind us. But I signal the waiter to inform them inconspicuously there will be no show tonight. They are to keep it low until the Serpent Lord leaves.

  My face is impossible to read, as always, but my interest is piqued. This is the first time Octavius has brought someone in for ‘business’. The crowd parts to let the Serpent Lord through as he heads towards the stairs, flanked by a small army of bodyguards with arms as thick as gutters, their black suits straining at the seams, club lights bouncing off their sunglasses.

  “That idiot could have given us the guest’s name,” Geneva says, pulling her smartphone out of her clutch. “We could have looked him up, done a bit of homework until he got here.”

  “The mystery will be lifted soon enough.”

  “How can you be so calm about this?” she says angrily. “It’s not like we’re handing out candy here.” She motions towards the swarming hall of raving people, hoping to get chosen, and be taken to the lounge.

  Our men move out of the way to let the Serpent Lord and his guest through. Before I even get a visual of the person he’s brought along a scent wafts over, and it’s like lightning cracks in my head. My blood pounds wildly in my ears, and all my muscles tense.

  “Finally, son, long time no see.” Octavius greets with his wide, unnatural grin. I always hated that word from his mouth, almost as much as I hated it from my biological father, but I suppose bastard has to show off. It’s a big thing, calling the Devil’s Son your own. But now I’m way too taken with the guest to even care.

  I don’t even hear the rest of his introductions as he takes a seat, his baldhead glistening in the laser lights, his sunshades as black as tar. All I can focus on is the irresistible scent of this woman’s blood. Because it is a woman that he brought along, and she’s no Victoria’s Secret model like his other meaningless dates. She’s someone he wants to do business with, someone he takes seriously.

  And I have no choice but take her seriously as well. It takes a whole fucking lot not to jump her and tear her apart right here, right now. Her scent is unlike anything I’ve ever smelt before, stirring a reckless hunger that has been hibernating deep down inside me for centuries. I would feed on her with raw passion.

  My eyes zero in on her, blocking out everything else. Raspberries and blueberries, that’s what she smells like, a rich scent that fills my flaring nostrils. My vision reddens, and I’m about to lose it, but a smashing sound tears me from my bloodlust. I’ve broken the glass of cognac in my hand.

  The girl’s eyes widen, and she squirms in her seat. I can tell that she can feel the tension in her bones, and yet she puts up with it pretty well. The way I look at her must be pretty intense, too, unsettling her, but not a chance in hell I’m looking away anytime soon, not with everything she’s just awoken in me. She’s clearly not the kind of woman who would normally come to a place like this. Not the average willowy model looking to hook a filthy rich bastard as dry and blotched as a three-hundred-year old turtle in the VIP areas of high-class London clubs. Instead of tall and slender she’s rather short, with curves in all the right places, and a very attractive bone structure. High cheek-bones, perfectly black eyebrows, intelligent gaze.

  “You might have heard of her, she runs a successful vlog, Uncensored Truths with Angelique Serrano,” Octavius says. “She’s an influencer and social media celebrity.”

  “Oh, an influencer, yes?” Geneva snorts.

  “Miss Serrano is somewhat of a journalist,” Octavius explains. “And she stumbled over certain stories about your club, son.”

  “Is that why you brought her here, because she stumbled over stories?” I hiss, baring my teeth, my eyes trained on the girl, but my anger directed at Octavius. “If you were to invite everyone who heard stories about us into the VIP lounge it wouldn’t be much of a special place, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Don’t forget—,” Octavius says with deeper meaning. “She is a social media influencer.”

  The girl fights to keep her composure, crossing and uncrossing her legs in an effort to appear confident and comfortable in her seat, but her fear is too obvious. Small beads of sweat glisten like pearls just below her hairline. Not that she could possibly be comfortable in the tight golden dress that glitters in the club lights, the lower part bursting at the seams around her succulent hips. My gaze slips hungrily down her olive-skinned legs. Fuck, even her skin tone makes me want to lick her before I stick my fangs into her throat. I don’t think I’ve ever stared at a woman like this before. I almost feel like a creep.

  “Miss Serrano,” I slur. “I hope you’re not too influential for your own good.” I hold out my hand for another glass of cognac that the waiter hurries to provide. “Digging up secrets of the London nightlife isn’t the safest activity for a young woman with a bright future to be engaging in. Nightlife business people often have unorthodox ways of deflecting attention. I wonder who even took the chance to point you in our direction.”

  Her cheeks flush, her dark eyes slipping down to my lips.

  “I can’t reveal the identity of my sources.”

  My cock twitches. Her voice is deeper than I expected, with a husky undertone. I wonder what she’ll s
ound like when the reality of those stories she stumbled upon corners her, thirsty for her blood.

  “Sources.” I sip from my cognac, my eyes never leaving hers. “I would say your guest is more than just a bit of a journalist, Octavius. She didn’t stumble over those stories, she actively searched for them.”

  Crimson spreads over her high cheekbones. She’s not wearing any make-up except for nude lip-gloss and some mascara, which is intriguing. Most women coming here cover every single patch of their faces with foundation and aggressive make-up. You can’t find a blood whore in the VIP lounge without Botox and breast implants. But Angelique Serrano is intriguingly comfortable in her own skin.

  “Miss Serrano’s protective attitude towards her collaborators is indeed touching,” Octavius says, relaxing back as one of the girls takes a seat by his side and offers him a drink. “I But what impressed me most was hearing her talk about the club on her channel. She also talked about you.” He sips, giving the info a chance to sink in. I can feel Geneva’s searing gaze on me, but I keep my eyes trained on Octavius and the influencer girl, while keeping a poker face.

  “Information about me,” I slur. “I see. That means the bomb is already out there. Not much chance to undo that now, is it?” Threat seeps into my voice. I can sense the blood rushing through the influencer’s veins, and my nostrils flare. If the harm is done, maybe I don’t have to restrain myself after all. Maybe I’ll just throw myself at her, pin her under me and suck her dry. “So why are you here? Because if you’ve already gone public, there’s not much you have left to negotiate with.” My fingers tighten dangerously around the new glass.

  “I haven’t given my tribe any definitive facts about you, Sir, because I do not have them,” she says, mastering her voice, but her chin is trembling. She’s scared as fuck, but manages to mask it pretty well. “I thought I’d look into things before I put fake news into the world. It’s the reason why people follow me—they know I’m all about truth, and not sensationalist tricks to get attention. So all I did is release some... let’s call them teasers. One, in particular, stirred a lot of interest.”

  “And now you want something in return in order to keep the big guns tucked away, is that why you’re here?” A low laugh vibrates in my chest.

  “That’s my point, I do not have big guns yet. What I want is to get to them, because those big guns can help me with some of my problems.”

  “Angelique doesn’t plan on making anything public,” Octavius puts in. “In fact, she’s here because she wants more information. You see, son, she believes that we have access to secrets that can save the human race a lot of suffering. But, if anything should happen to her during or after this visit, what she’s got so far, those teasers, are set to go live on her channel and not only. She has over a million followers on her social media.”

  “Yeah, thousands of other people have a million followers, too, and they are just as irrelevant,” I retort. “They don’t actually influence shit.”

  “A select few of these people do have power over public opinion,” Octavius says. “The information could spread like wildfire and attract too much attention.”

  “These days you need more than one million followers to go viral. Because I suspect that’s what you’re after.” My eyes move between him and the girl. “I think you should have discussed this with me in private before you invited Miss Serrano here.”

  “Yes, I should have, son.” He stretches, his slender body moving in slight ripples under his shirt. To the human eye his movements look alien, even repelling, because his is a serpent shifter’s body. By the way Angelique cringes as he lowers his arm, putting it around her, she sure is disgusted. “But, to be completely honest with you, I took special interest in Miss Serrano, and the only thing I could think about after my headman brought her last video to my attention was to meet her in person. That was her way of getting to us, you see—posting a video online that just couldn’t be ignored.”

  He hisses the s in every word, and that makes the skin crawl all over the influencer girl. I can tell by the expression on her face, by the jagged trembling of her lips. She thinks she can hide the signs of her disgust, but there’s no fooling my vampire senses. Even the chemistry of her body sours whenever Octavius speaks, and now that his arm is around her, her stomach revolts.

  “Miss Serrano,” I say. “Do you realize the kind of danger you’re exposing yourself to? I mean, I understand that you have means in place to harm us if we harm you, but those means don’t provide protection. At most, they can provide revenge. So, if anything intrigues me about you, it’s not your story or your demands. It’s your courage.” And the enticing scent of her blood that keeps me on edge, but I leave that out.

  “Your father promised he would ensure my safety.”

  Like his promises are worth a spit. “My adoptive father.”

  Octavius’ face hardens. He hates it when I point that out, and I always get a kick from his reaction.

  “Wonder why you felt the need to make that clear again,” he hisses.

  “Because I am the Devil’s Son, and you’re not the devil,” I retort, eyes locked on the influencer girl. “Now, I’m curious just how much you know about us, Miss Serrano.”

  “Like I said, not as much as I desire to know, but I did make some interesting discoveries.” Her gaze awakens a strange sensation in my stomach. A longing to possess her, to subdue her. There’s a power hidden in her dark irises that intrigues me, and that I doubt she’s even aware of. “Lord del Drac.”

  I give her a crooked grin, which sends the hormones racing through her body. They change her chemistry, and I can smell it. “Interesting. How did you stumble upon that name?”

  She looks down at the raving crowd, laser lights playing on her face. “The story is actually quite unglamorous, Lord del Drac. Just look at your club, it’s full to the brim.” She cranes her neck, looking demonstratively behind me, at the blood whores and the bikers. “Not to mention your lounge guests. There have been a lot of them along the years. Tough to keep a secret with that much fluctuation.”

  “That’s true, and it would make perfect sense, but no one here knows my real name.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, eyes never leaving her flushed face. “Actually, besides Miss Geneva Daniel here by my side and Octavius de Vandenesse by yours no one in this city does. So, Miss Serrano, why don’t you start by being perfectly honest with me. Playing games will only make things worse. Who is your source?”

  She pushes her chin forward. “I’m here for a deal, Lord del Drac. As you can see, I do possess sensitive information that neither you nor your adoptive father want out there. My being dead when it comes out won’t change the consequences its disclosure will have for you. So give me what I need, and your secret will never leave here.” She points to her head. “But leave my sources alone. I’ll never disclose those.”

  “Well, that’s not going to work for me.”

  She looks over to Octavius. “I could use some help here.”

  “I’m sorry, Angelique, but this is a decision Michael has to make. He’s the one whose secrets you dug out.” He looks at me, trying to appear fond. He’s anything but. I still think that, when he originally found me in the gutters of Istanbul, he intended to kill me. But I was already a monster, and he was a businessman. He knew he could bank on me.

  I narrow my eyes at them, measuring both Octavius and the girl. The sleazy tone of his voice tells me he wants something from her. Maybe it’s a one-night stand, but I don’t think that’s gonna work with her, not without him using his paralyzing power on her. She’s a smart woman, and she’s sure as hell not a blood whore, like the one now staring jealously at her from Octavius’ side. No, there’s something about Angelique Serrano that demands that she be taken seriously. And it’s that very something that makes me want to see her on her knees in front of me right now, those intelligent dark eyes staring hungrily at my cock.

  “I found Angelique Serrano online,” Geneva says, scrolling dow
n her phone through what I think is Angelique’s IG. “Apparently many of her followers have their own large following, so she’s influencing influencers, which makes her reach much larger than most IG celebrities’. But I would hardly call those people experts in anything. I have doubts about the market value of the people she’d be influencing. They’re into vampirism, shifters, witches, wizards and other types of nonsense.” Her eyes shoot up at Angelique over the edge of her phone. “It’s seems like you’re chasing fairy tales, Miss Serrano. I don’t see why anybody would take you seriously, much less why we would.”

  Angelique smiles. It’s a sensual, but also confident smile.

  “Did you watch the last video I posted? Go ahead and watch it, it’s short.” She signals the waiter. “Will you please get me a Vodka Martini? One ice cube, two olives.”

  Spoken like a boss.

  I look down at the display of Geneva’s smartphone as she plays the video. Two minutes in, I see why Angelique Serrano believes she can negotiate with the Devil’s Son.

  Angelique

  BY ALL GODS AND DEVILS. How did I even manage to get out of there alive? How could I keep my cool on the outside, when on the inside I was shaking like a clairvoyant chicken before slaughter?

  I slam my back against the apartment door as I drop my bag on the floor. I slide down on my butt, burying my face in my hands, my shoulders slouching in such relief that I find myself thanking God that I made it out of there with my life.

  “Angelique,” Mattie whispers as she peaks out from the kitchen, hitting the lights. “What happened, how did it go?”

  She hurries over and helps me up from the floor. I’m shaking from all my joints, but at least I don’t have to hide it anymore. I’m safe, I’m home, I’m with my room-mate and bff Mattie.

  She sits me down at the kitchen table, running her hands through tap water and wiping my face to invigorate me, but it’s only when she pushes a mug of steaming tea under my face that I’m able to start blabbering words.