Chapter 1
The man beneath Donté writhed and cried out, a fragile human life in the throes of passion as the vampire captain fed. At last Donté withdrew his
fangs from the pulsing artery in the thickly muscled neck. Blood spurted and fat droplets landed on his lips before he could seal the punctures
completely with his healing saliva. Finally, the seepage slowed and Donté swiped at the remaining crimson trail lingering across Vasily's throat,
shoulder, and smooth, defined chest.
As second mate, there were few on Captain Donté Lucienne's ship, Night Stalker, with more authority. Vasily had once been a Russian sailor,
scooped from the deadly sea, now serving a vampire captain with no allegiance to any country other than the Caribbean vampire colony of Noctra.
There was no doubt the man served his vampire master with all the loyalty Donté could require in a crewmember. A ripple of sleek muscle
shimmered as the young Russian readjusted his position, arms stretched at a wide angular vee to the sculpted headboard of Donté's bed. The
captain gazed down at him, his cock still buried inside Vasily's tight hole. The mate's eyes were closed, his mouth slack. He was a man caught in
the erotic vise of his vampire master's pleasure.
Donté felt the tight heat of Vasily's passage wrapped around his prick, sucking him deep inside. The infusion of Vasily's blood thrummed through
Donté's body, rejuvenating him, engorging hard dick and hungry veins with new passion. And then Donté shifted his lean hips. He began to rock,
his cock frictioning in and out of the slick, hot channel. Donté saw the shadow of Vasily's eyes roll, head dropped back, jaw slack, and his lusty
moans drenched the atmosphere of the cabin.
"Open your eyes, Vasily," Donté commanded.
As though weighted by hidden forces, Vasily's eyelids slowly lifted. Donté studied the unfocused, dilated pupils that almost completely
obliterated stark white, as the vampire thrust his hips. Droplets of salty sweat decorated the golden, naked body. Donté leaned forward to trace a
moist path over the sailor's chest, circling each erect nipple, razing sharp teeth across resilient human flesh.
The vampire slowed his rhythm and circled his hips. Vasily cried out. Donté lifted up, reaching between their hard bodies to grasp the stone-hard
prick of the young sailor. Human, hot and needy.
As the ship rocked and swayed, Donté synchronized his rhythm with that of the ship as he thrust into and undulated against Vasily's delectable
body. He reached up to where Vasily's arms were shackled about his head and stroked a finger along the warm, supple flesh of the sailor's rigid,
ropy forearm, tracing the path of a particularly fat, purple vein. Vasily shuddered beneath Donté.
"Please, Captain."
Donté stroked a tongue over Vasily's bulging pecs, tugged on a nipple, chewing at it lightly. Vasily's cries crescendoed and dropped, rose again
and again, like surging waves lapping at the hull of the Night Stalker. Needy, in delirium, far removed from reality.
Donté's fangs sank into the supple muscle of Vasily's chest and the young man cried out, spurting his seed into Donté's hand. The vampire
supped on his youthful, vibrant lifeblood, his cock buried in Vasily's ass.
Donté slowly extracted his fangs and swirled his tongue over the puncture marks, leaving faint red indentations in his wake. He studied Vasily's
chest, admiring the tracks decorated across his warm flesh. Every sailor in his crew sported the vampire piercings upon their skin, each
crewmember having been personally handpicked by either Donté or Donté's vampire sire, Captain Sterling Savoir, to serve as members of their
respective crews.
Human, well-mannered, beautiful young men, all committed to serving the vampire masters of Noctra Island.
Donté smoothed a hand over the piercings, listened to the thundering heartbeat, the shallow breaths of his lover for the night. This was the
second time he'd fed from Vasily in less than a fortnight and he would savor tonight. His blood was too rich, too addictive. If he fed from him once
more before the next full moon, he was likely to draw the young man too close to the crossover. He dared not take the chance.
Pulling his still hard cock from inside Vasily, he lifted from the bed and walked over to the table. It was early yet, hardly a stroke after midnight, and
he planned to savor his young sailor until the first misty fingers of dawn cut through the night. At the rate Donté was going he might not last if he
didn't slow down. Sips only, no more than a pint of Vasily's blood or he'd push him too close to the edge. Donté poured some of the finely aged
French burgundy into a goblet.