Black Desire Read Free Page B

turned and gazed
at the man. She almost fell off her stool. The men around here were
unbelievable. Something in the water perhaps? The incredibly handsome man with
the perfect features seemed too good to be true. He stood at least six feet tall.
His longish dark brown hair was the color of milk chocolate and caressed his
neck and curled around his perfectly shaped ears. The eyes were the same color,
though she could swear there were yellow flecks in the deep, luscious brown.
Katrina marveled at his faultless facial features and its perfect symmetry.
Long brown lashes fanned his cheeks. There was no mistaking his masculinity
despite his pretty handsomeness. His body was muscular but not overly so, from
his thick corded neck down to his long, muscular legs. He was wearing light tan
Dockers but she could see the muscles bunch and flex in his thighs. She grabbed
her wine and took a deep gulp.
    "Katrina
Hammond," she managed to squeak out.
    He smiled. Katrina nearly
melted in her seat. The lines around his eyes crinkled. For a brief moment she
thought she saw a predatory look. Surely she imagined it. His lips, again, were
perfect.   His teeth were white and too
brilliant. Was he a model? He certainly looked as if he should grace the pages
of GQ . While this stranger's looks appealed
to her and she was having a definite reaction to such male perfection, the
response was different than the one to Tristan Black. His looks were not
perfect. Tristan was more rugged and in turn, dangerous and more appealing to her.
Tristan was not as muscular as this Devlin, his nose maybe too long, his eyes a
little larger than they should be. Perfect was not all it was cracked up to be.
Katrina preferred Tristan. Her stomach lurched nervously at the thought of
meeting Tristan Black for lunch tomorrow. In the meantime, what would be the
harm of finishing her wine and talking with a handsome man? None at all.
    ****
    Tristan sped down the
twisting, narrow and pothole-covered Provincial Highway 3, which hugged the
South Shore of Nova Scotia. Christ, now
what? The phone call was from the owner of a whorehouse some of the Clan
liked to visit on occasion in the town of Bridgewater. It would take him close
to forty-five minutes to get there .
"A mess caused by one of your people—Nightwood." The owner would
not elaborate further, only saying ,
"Get here fast, before the town police or the Mounties become
involved."
      With his father Draighean Black out on one of
his late night smuggling runs, it left Tristan the de facto head of the
Blackthorne Clan. Damn it all! He
slammed his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. And damn his Vampire
father for trying to relive his glory days of “Blackthorne the Irish
Pirate-Privateer” from the 1720's. Black, or Blackthorne, was not the family
name. His father was descended from the ancient Celtic clan Ó Léanacháin. His
father did not talk of his past but he did tell Tristan he was a warrior priest
at one time in the 1300's. He also told Tristan that Ó Léanacháin comes from “Leannan,”
meaning “lover.” What happened between the Celtic warrior and the night raider
Vampire pirate-privateer 'Blackthorne,' his father did not elaborate on.
      Raynor Nightwood was almost as old a Vampire
as his father and his father's close friend. Again, they kept it close to the vest
how Raynor was turned. Secretive and everything cloaked in whispers, which
pretty much summed up the Clan. That and rituals, vows, blood and sex.
      Forty minutes later, Tristan strode into the
older Victorian home that fronted the whorehouse. "All right, I came as
soon as you called. Where is he?" Tristan asked, exasperation in his
voice.
    The man pointed
behind him. "In the back. Room five. He made a right mess and it's going
to cost you. You lot will be cleaning it up, not me. And I don't want him back here
again. Understand?"
    Tristan nodded.
"Yes, I understand. I will see it done."
    Tristan turned the
door handle and walked into the