She was all for sweet love, but right now she wanted fast love. She had longed to feel his skin against hers, his c.o.c.k settling between her thighs for too long to take the long way around. She wanted him now, five seconds ago if that could be arranged.

"Please," Eve begged as Leo finally pulled her pants down her legs and she sat up to pull his sweater over his head.

"Please what?" he asked, throwing the sweater to the ground, his hair deliciously rumpled as he tore at the close of his pants and was soon as without clothing as she'd longed for him to be.

"f.u.c.k me," she begged, running her hands over that amazing chest and down to where his c.o.c.k stood at attention nearly to his navel.

"You mean make sweet love to you," he corrected, pulling her hand away from his arousal and guiding her on top of him as he rolled to his back.

"Or I'll make sweet love to you," Eve said, lifting her hips and positioning the tip of his c.o.c.k at her entrance, looking down into his eyes as she slowly lowered her body, impaling herself on what was, without a doubt, her new favorite p.e.n.i.s ever.

"Sweet G.o.d, you're perfect," he moaned, his hands coming to her hips and his eyes closing for a second, as if he couldn't bear the bliss of looking at her and being inside her at the same time.

"I thought I was a brat," Eve said as she began to move slowly up and down, unable to believe how perfectly he filled her, stretched her, made her feel as if no other man would ever be enough now that she'd had him inside her.

"You are a brat, with ridiculous purple hair," he said with a smile as he pulled her mouth down to his, his hands coming to her hips, angling her body until her c.l.i.t ground against him with every delicious thrust.

"Well, you're a cranky old man," she gasped.

"You better believe it. Don't get on my bad side."

"How else will I earn my spanking?" Eve moaned as she felt the tension inside her begin to crest and braced her hands on his muscled chest.

"Just quit talking and come on me. Come on my c.o.c.k," he breathed into her ear and Eve found it incredibly easy to obey.

Her body exploded, her walls pulsing around his thickness as he drove up into her again and again, the sounds of him finding his pleasure taking her even higher until finally they lay still in the leaves, bodies growing cool now that the sun had almost set and they weren't too s.e.x-crazed to think better of being completely nude in forty degree temperatures.

"Let's go home," Eve said, turning her cheek to plant a kiss on his chest.

"On one condition. You move your things to my room."

"Can I bring my black satin sheets?"

"Bring whatever you like," he said with a smile and a small slap on her bare a.s.s that let her know exactly what he was hoping she would bring.

"And you're not going to b.i.t.c.h about the flow of energy?" she teased as they pulled on their sweaters and pants amid much mutual groping.

"I think my energy's flowing just fine," he said, taking her hand and shooting her a smile that nearly knocked her back off her feet.

"Stupid Feng Shui. I told you it was new age bulls.h.i.t. What you needed was p.u.s.s.y therapy."

"Shut up."

"Don't tell me to shut up."

"Brat," he smiled.

"Old fart," she smiled back. Then they turned and walked back towards the castle. Eve was very glad she had brought such a c.r.a.p load of luggage for a two-week stay.

THE END.

About The Author.

Anna J. Evans Anna J. Evans is a multi-published author who thinks romance is s.e.xier with a sense of humor. She loves reading and writing paranormal romantic adventures and is thrilled to hear from fans. You can visit her website, email her, or join her Yahoo group () for free reads, the latest publishing news, and monthly member-only give-aways.

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Anna J. Evans c/o Chippewa Publishing LLC P.O. Box 662 Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin 54729

FISHER OF MEN.

BY.

EMILY VEINGLORY.

FISHER OF MEN.

Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." At once they left their nets and followed him Matthew 4:18 Perry stood behind the bar, shifting from foot to aching foot. The goth-clad teenagers looked at him with disdainful eyes as they ordered their alco-pops. As well they might. Perry had no claim to beauty with his soft body, deeply lined face and coa.r.s.e gray hair. No doubt they saw nothing but an old man, older than they could imagine.

A thin girl stumbled by in her tall brothel-creeper boots and the music started. n.o.body was dancing yet, held back by the cordon of their adolescence self-consciousness. As custom dropped off, Perry watched the crowd fondly. They were little more than children and as such, even their pretensions had some charm.

To his well-practiced eye, intruders stood out clearly. The two bouncers, Tom and Sharon, were quick to zoom in on the older men that only came to leer-whilst leaving the occasional parent alone. It was good if the odd dad or mum came in to check the place out, so long as they didn't linger.

Perry's eyes drifted, noting where the black painted walls were beginning to peel, the blue light bulbs had burnt out, or some kid was as drunk as they should be allowed to get. Perry was not particularly proud of his joint, but it was carefully crafted to give the impression it gave. Vlad's had been the mainstay of the younger end of the Goth set in Hamilton for almost five years.

Sharon wandered over. "There's a girl barfing in the loo already. Should I toss her?"

Perry frowned. He had long contemplated not serving alcohol at all, but it would probably lose him his customers. "Make sure a friend goes with her, or she gets in a cab."

"I know the drill boss," she said with a fond smile.

The regular barman came in late and fl.u.s.tered. Teddy was a good kid who seemed to have a new piercing every day-so that he now resembled a golem built entirely out of discarded jewelry. Still, he was normally on time so Perry didn't ha.s.sle him and headed off to the DJ's booth.

He felt much better with a view down upon the crowd. The kids milled at the edges of the floor, with a few show-offs now beginning to strut their stuff. The beat was mainly eighties tonight; Perry had forgotten it was a theme night. That would explain the preponderance of black tutus and crucifix necklaces.

He leaned in the open window of the audio-booth. The new DJ 'Joose' shouted some unintelligible comment over the confusion of music and chatter. Perry would normally try to work out what he was saying, but suddenly he didn't have the energy. He merely smiled, waved Joose away and went back to watching the crowd. Black on black, with the white flesh of the under-dressed girls flashed in strange tessellations as they moved onto the dance floor, the more reluctant boys still hung back.

For a moment, Perry remembered when he saw people like this as dispensable sheep to be fed upon and discarded-a tawdry, h.o.m.ogenous ma.s.s of commonplace mortality. That callous perception drew him back like worn and comfortable clothing. He fought to regain the more sympathetic feelings he had cultivated of late. It was an unforeseen consequence of his strategy but Perry was getting rather used to having a softer side.

He started the club as an earner to tide him over, but came to see how it pulled in those kids that were otherwise such easy prey, to give them somewhere a bit safer to go than the back of the Wal-Mart or some deserted park. There were worse ways to get by, for a while. He didn't have too many other skills: occult alchemist for hire, fisherman with skills a century out of date?

There was a whisper of movement in the crowd that was perhaps a bit too sinuous. It might be another real creature of the night. In a vivid flash, he remembered the sensation of skin giving way beneath the sharp tines of his teeth like the skin of a ripe peach-the struggles of a drunken child easily still with the glorious feeling of mastery and the tang of intoxicating blood. Perry shut his eyes. The need for blood never entirely went away, but the sheer predatory desire for it had not welled so strongly within his for many months. He shuddered.

A touch on his shoulder startled him, but it was only Tom.

"You're not looking so good there, boss," he shouted at a practiced pitch and volume that carried through the bedlam. "If you want to head out back, I'll keep an eye on things."

Perry nodded and went back downstairs, doing his best to ignore Tom's worried look. It still wore on him to be treated like an old man after having spent so many centuries looking like a young and vigorous youth. His vanity stoked the dark instincts within, but he took firm hold of them as he pushed through the growing bustle towards the door to the staff area.

He strode down the dark corridor where there were already queues outside the toilets. At the door at the end, Perry fumbled with the key and went through into the offices. The fluorescent lights flickered on reluctantly showing the large open plan area with his office in one corner. A second key admitted him to the small, ex-storeroom where his desk, chair and bar-fridge sat. He left the light off and the door swung shut behind him. In the darkness he was aware of chills running through his body.

He opened the fridge that sat beside his desk. The light within limned the room. A few cans of beer sat inside and an open can was set in the shelf inside the door. Even should someone look, they would be unlikely to bother a half-full can-and that was where the vials of blood were secreted.

It was the true problem with his addiction that cold-turkey would be a death sentence, but Perry had taken to following a very firm rule. Every day at midnight he could have exactly 5ml of beef blood. Any more would awaken the hunger, any less and he would begin to feel wane and ill. It was unfortunate that this equilibrium left him looking so old, but it was better to be old and ugly than staying in thrall to his maker and depending on innocent blood to survive.

Perry was tempted even though it was not yet nine. He had wondered whether the last lot of blood had been too old or watered down. The way he was feeling now seemed to confirm it. He would get a new stock from the butcher's. His love of homemade black pudding was well known to the staff there, so they would not be surprised. He just had to make it through to tomorrow evening.

Quickly, Perry slammed the door shut. It was a firm rule for a reason-his own instincts could never be trusted. What he needed was a distraction, something-anything-to get him through to midnight in the hope that even off blood would get him the rest of the way.

Perry returned to the bar. It would get busy now that the music was on and the crowd was getting active, heating the room up. Perry felt a numb distance between himself and the crowd, and a nagging feeling itching at the back of his head that he had forgotten.

Ted was pleased to see him; the place was starting to buzz. The chat had gone and the crowd was dancing. Perry hung his jacket over the stool beside the phone.

He leaned to hear the shouted orders and turn crumpled notes into sugary bottles of liquor, none of it over five percent as a salve to Perry's conscience. Time slid by in an easy rhythm.

He leaned over to one pale boy with an unusual shock of natural blonde hair.

"What does the Maitre d' recommend?" purred the voice with uncanny clarity and suddenly the air seemed scented with jasmine and ozone.

Perry drew back in surprise and gave the boy a second look. Perry's boredom and fatigue melted away as he took in the pure symmetry of the boy's face. He felt his tired body automatically coil into a wary half-crouch, his nostrils flared searching for the smell of vampire musk. Out of the corner of his eye, Perry saw Teddy glance over with surprise.

"Nothing that we serve-sir," Perry said in a normal voice, confident that the vampire would hear him all the same. "A discerning palate would be better served elsewhere."

The amethystine blade was in his jacket; all he needed was a moment alone to turn this hunter back into his native dust. The pearlescent shine of the boy's immaculate skin showed that he drank deep and often.

The vampire made some reply, but Perry could not hear it, his own ears were dull as any old mortal's these days. If this one was following the usual pattern of things, he had asked where else he might go. The drifters usually did, a.s.suming that 'honor amongst vamps' would incline him to a.s.sist.

Perry retrieved his jacket casually and signaled to Teddy that he was off. Teddy looked worried and Sharon was coming over. Perry went around the bar to avoid them and headed for the side entrance. He waved Sharon off but noted that she was still keeping an eye on him as he skirted the dancers and slipped out through the fire door. The vampire followed him, of course.

Perry waited until they were both outside and then pressed the fire-door closed, that shut everything but the pounding ba.s.s in. It was full dark in the alleyway with only a little light from the lamp out on the main street. The concrete gleamed, vacant even of the usual hunched smokers, probably because of the harsh winter chill in the air. The vampire would not feel the cold, nor be hampered by the darkness. Perry felt the thrill of the peril approaching, wondering whether this would be the time the meta-hunter became prey, just a little too slow for once. Yet he paused.

The vampire smelt wrong. There was no musk, none of the normal signs of a blood-drinker. Perry hated to hesitate; it lost him what little advantages he had-of surprise, or his magical blade. He scowled. He had to be sure. "So, what are you?" he said. "And what do you want?"

The boy was watching him intently, a light breeze blowing his flyaway hair from his fine, alabaster features. "I am Leon," he said. "And I am interested in you."

Perry smiled bitterly. "Oh, I'm fascinating, I am," he said, fingering his blade within his jacket pocket. "Why don't you tell me what you're really after?"

His mind went back to the strange movement he had seen in the crowd earlier-the lithe movement of a vampire. Why on earth had he not followed that up? He would never leave a vampire just wandering the club!

"Such modesty," the vampire said as he stepped close with noiseless tread. "I find you very interesting. A vampire with such-self control."

He cupped Perry's cheek in his smooth cool palm and gazed up at him with acid-washed eyes, their color lost in the darkness. Perry felt his disquiet melt away, and a long parched desire rose within him. Bloodl.u.s.t and simple...l.u.s.t swirled inside him as he fought for control. Bloodl.u.s.t? If this was a vampire before him, he should not feel that.

He pushed Leon away with shaking hands. "Do not tease an old man," he said.

He felt the strength in Leon's small, lithe body but the pretty boy gave way magnanimously. Perry felt a physical attraction that was too sudden and too intense to be true.

"I don't know what you are, boy, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I don't want to see you again."

He turned away and headed back towards the front door rather than fumble with a key while Leon looked on with an amused little sneer of a smile that he seemed to habitually wear. He was pleased for the cover his jacket gave for the disarray of his body.

The blood tasted as thin as dishwater. The night lurched on. Perry's mind had its foot caught in a painful, pretty little trap. No matter how he tried to distract himself, his mind's eye was fixed on the fine, sneering features of the blond boy. Well, no, more like a young man even if he was only the mortal age he appeared. Which would be about twenty, up close perhaps, a little more. A little too handsome to be a real man and a little too alive to be a vampire. Perry had some idea that there were more creatures on heaven and earth than even he knew of-and this was certainly not one he could easily identify.

Nor do I care, he instructed his recalcitrant libido. Not that it seemed to be listening.

Perry brought up crates of bottles, sorted the recycling and binned the trash. He served bar when it was busy, dodged the dancers and got under his bouncer's feet.

Sharon was worried; she sent Tom out front and came over to grab a word alone in the alcove behind the bar. She pulled the velvet curtain and turned on the fluorescent bulb. Its tardy, flickering kindling was jarring on Perry's eyes.

"What's up, boss? Who was that guy?"

"Friend of the family," Perry said with easy bitterness. "You can consider him barred."

Lifetimes of practice made the lies roll easily off his tongue.

"My folks are difficult," he ended with a shrug. Sharon accepted it easily. He was straight with her every single time he could afford to be, and he employed on good terms. It made for understanding staff.

"...And you don't need to be telling me about it," she said to show that she got the real message. "But maybe you'd be better taking the balance of the night off. I swear the rest of us can carry it two more hours and if you take your cell, we can always call if needs be."

Perry was glad for the opportunity to be off. The crowd seemed peaceful enough and the night was already starting to wind down. Of course, it also meant he must be looking as bad as he felt.

"Alright then," he said. "You drop the takings into the night box at the bank. Don't bother with the coin, just get the notes sorted."

"About time you got a safe," she said, not for the first time.

Perry tried to raise a smile as he headed for the door. "Call if there's any problem," he said.

He had to go back to the office to get his phone from the desk drawer. He left through the back door and paused in the car-park. The asphalt was slick and the smell of city rain was in the air. He could delay even further by going back to search for his umbrella or to call for a cab. The cab sounded like a good idea and it was his usual habit, but the thought of his cottage came to him. A clear memory of the cozy wooden house on the riverbank, its door swathed by tamarillo vines. If he cut across the defile, it would only take twenty minutes.

He set off at a fast pace. The orange glow of the suburbs gave him enough light to see by. The streets were pretty deserted. A clutching of smoking teens whispered on a street corner. Something to the effect of 'that the bloke who runs the disco.'