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  A Secret Baby for the Vampire

  A Paranormal Romance

  By Jasmine Wylder

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content (Limited Time Only)

  Paranormal Romance Collection

  Paranormal Menage Romance: Her Two Dragon Princes

  About Jasmine Wylder

  Chapter One

  Come to me.

  The order came abruptly, shattering Cozul’s deep slumber and his icy blue eyes flew open in response. He was enveloped in a blanket of darkness but slowly the shapes of the blackened room came into view. He pushed himself off the hard back of the mattress, glancing at the half nude bodies of his latest conquests sprawled about the giant bed. Carelessly, he pushed Maxia aside, allowing for his feet to touch the cold marble of the floor. She stirred slightly but did not wake, sighing from the depth of her dreams and curling onto her side.

  Come to me. Now.

  Jemmy spoke again and Cozul scoured the floor for his robe, quickly covering his naked form. As he tied the sash about his wide but slender waist, he noticed his hands were trembling.

  I must drink, he thought, scanning the room for a potential donor but of course there was no one from which to taste. He was surrounded only by his own kind, hybrids who were likely to wake as thirsty as he had.

  Of course, they will wake at a normal hour, not rudely summoned in the middle of the day, Cozul thought with some annoyance.

  Cozul, the council awaits. Do not have me call you again.

  He grunted to himself, knowing that his insubordination would be documented and punished accordingly should he not appear in a timely fashion.

  Yes, Jemmy. I am coming.

  His bare feet floated above the chilled flooring as he recklessly tore the heavy black curtains away from the full length rectangular windows.

  A collection of gasps filled the room as the purple-blue light of late afternoon filled his chambers.

  “Close them!” Byana cried, shielding her eyes from the exotic rays of the northern suns but Cozul did not oblige. He moved along to the next set of glass, exposing each row of panes until the west facing wall was nothing but a view of the heavy grey clouds. The nimbus pockets hovered lazily over the lilac waters of the Seforic Sea.

  “Cozul, come back to bed,” Maxia called sweetly, licking her full red lips invitingly. He scowled at the women.

  “Get out,” he growled, striding toward the bed. They stared up at him, Byana blinking rapidly as he grabbed roughly at her arm, tossing her from the mattress. She fell unceremoniously between the mauve sheers, collapsing on the ground. Whimpering, she and Maxia scrambled for the remnants of their clothing before scampering from his room. He ignored their looks of resentment as they departed.

  They should have known better than to spend the day here, he thought with anger, glaring after them but they had already disappeared into the mansion, closing the double doors in their wake. I have told them time and again to leave when we have finished.

  Cozul scanned the black marble under his pale toes for footwear but he could not locate his slippers. He did not have time to search; his presence was required at the council.

  He followed in the aftermath of his female companions, his mind whirling. There was only one reason Jemmy would be calling for him.

  It cannot be my time again, Cozul thought. It had only been months since his last journey to the South. There were several others in queue before him but there was no other explanation for the order.

  Silently, he slipped along the shadows, the corridor lit only sporadically with weakened candlelight, dripping wax along the wrought iron chandeliers. The last of the daytime light had finally faded behind the gloom of the impending rain, evening overtaking the North.

  Along the red velveted carpet he stole, down the west wing toward the main foyer. He paused at the top of the twin staircase and peered down into the empty entranceway. Only the majestic statue of the snake haired woman sat, her blind eyes staring skyward as if praying for his lost soul. He saw no one but he sensed he was not alone. Carefully his translucent blue irises moved along the entrance hall but his careful deliberation produced nothing.

  Cozul reminded himself he did not have time for petty games of hide and seek with his clan. It was not unheard of for one of his counterparts to be lurking in the shadows, spying for a miniscule piece of information.

  If you are following me, you will meet your wrath eventually. You cannot stay hidden forever, Cozul messaged out silently. His ears honed into a slight heartbeat, faint and slow but quicker than it should have been. He smiled to himself. His words had inspired a slight fear in whomever was watching.

  Cozul, if I must call for you again, you will be put in the barracks.

  Jemmy’s tone was frigid and Cozul realized his mistake calling out to the hidden figure. Enforcing his silk kimono against his fair skin, Cozul glided down the stairs and toward the study, knocking once.

  “Enter, Cozul.”

  He threw open the door unceremoniously, the wood slamming against the wall and stalked into the room. Five annoyed faces stared balefully at him from their respective seats in the half circle facing the door.

  “Truly, Cozul, would it have pained you greatly to put on some clothes?” Braeden demanded, scowling at him. Cozul shrugged and flopped into a wing chair, facing the council nonchalantly.

  “I was not expecting to be woken from a rather wonderful slumber,” Cozul replied truthfully, casting an ankle against his knee and watching the group speculatively. He hoped they had a clear view of how little he wore under his robe. Jemmy glowered.

  “Sit properly. You are among your elders. Show some respect,” the head of the council growled. Protest sprung to Cozul’s mouth but the look in Jemmy’s shiny green eyes warned him against it. Slowly, he sat up, his spine aligning with the high back of the chair. The two beings stared unspeaking at each other until Amaia cleared her throat.

  “I imagine you know why we have sent for you, Cozul,” she said, sitting forward. She was the oldest of their clan, somehow the effects of the virus never working to reverse or stagnate her aging process as it had with the others. Amaia was of Old World stock, her characteristics reflecting the original vampires. She had withstood both World Wars and the Half-Truce but she continued to grow old, something which baffled the other clansmen. Yet despite her advanci
ng physical properties, she seemed to increase in power. She was not dying, but she was easily the most ancient member in all the known tribes.

  “I can only assume that you are sending me South again,” Cozul replied, sighing heavily as if saying the words pained him greatly. The white-haired female nodded, sitting back against her chair. It seemed very much a throne against her shrinking but regal body and long fingernails. Her chilled eyes glowed with wisdom and malice.

  “May I ask why I have the honor again?” Cozul asked. “If I am not mistaken, it is Atieno’s time to make the journey.”

  The council was quiet for a moment and Cozul tried to hear their inner thoughts but the act was that of futility. They were much more advanced in the art of secrecy, all five being of old breeding. None of them had encountered the bittersweet effects of interbreeding with the mortals, not like Cozul’s generation. During the Second World War, during the plundering of the South, vampires had begun planting their seed at will, impregnating hundreds of humans and resulting in thousands of halfblooded children. When the Half-Truce had been enforced, the Old World vampires had swept into the South before the erection of the Great Divider, reclaiming the hybrids from mortal parents in the night and raising them among the immortal. While the mortal blood which flowed through Cozul’s veins allowed him many benefits such as the ability to handle direct sunlight without substantial pain and possessing humanoid physical traits, it did lessen some of the more supernatural elements which the oldest of the clan claimed.

  Jemmy finally broke the silence and nodded at the others.

  “Yes, it is Atieno’s time to go but we prefer your choices,” he answered simply. Cozul found his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Something was not being said, something he could sense, but he did not know what it was precisely.

  “Your last donor has just passed,” Amaia offered. “She was with us for six months.”

  Cozul was surprised to learn of it. He spent little time in the blood banks, his rations fed to him in deep urns, delivered to his suite daily just as everyone else in the estate. The banks were for the simpler class to work, harvesting from the donors, keeping them alive as long as possible and reporting to the elders when a new one was required to replace one of the existing bodies.

  Still, he recognized that six months was likely a record amount of time to have kept a mortal alive under those circumstances.

  “Is that so? I wonder why she withstood more than the others,” he commented idly. He did not really care. His track record for picking the most viable donors was second to none, which is why he was often called upon. It caused some friction among his peers, not because the hybrids longed to venture South but because it gave Cozul an almost elite status among the elders. They called him Chosen, a nickname he found highly unfitting.

  “You have a knack for picking the strongest donors, Cozul,” Amaia told him, her lambent orbs fixated on him. He smirked cockily and folded his hands over his belly. He recognized he had the upper hand in this conversation and he was grateful he could finally demand what he had wanted for years.

  If I refuse, they will simply send out Atieno and receive another subpar mortal and ask me to go again in a month. I should make the most out of this request. The worst they can say is no.

  Cozul wondered how he would react if they refused. He decided to ask.

  “These travels are exhausting,” Cozul answered slowly and gaged the reaction of the eldest. Simultaneously, their mouths tightened and Cozul realized he had them precisely where he wanted them. They were already concerned he would refuse.

  “Yes, but as usual, we will provide you with a jet and the proper necessities.”

  Cozul nodded, his smirk widening slightly.

  “Yes, but I am most concerned of when I return,” he told them. “I require rest and I am constantly bombarded with others wanting to learn of my travels, knocking on my door at all hours of the day. I feel…overwhelmed.”

  Jemmy exchanged a look with Amaia and the other three councilmen sat back, allowing for the negotiations to commence.

  “We cannot do much about the orgies you host in your quarters if you invite them in yourself,” Jemmy snapped.

  Cozul lost his smile and glowered at the leader, rising to his feet.

  “I resent the implication that I have loose character,” he snapped but Amaia put up a hand to silence the two before both of their infamous tempers exploded beyond reconciliation.

  “What is it you are seeking, Cozul?” she asked but the younger vampire held Jemmy’s sneer contemptuously.

  Cozul, look at me, Amaia ordered silently and despite his resolve, he found his dark head turning to address the ancient female.

  “I would like my own dwelling,” he told her. “I no longer wish to reside in the mansion.”

  There was a murmur of disapproval and Jemmy began to shake his head.

  “No,” he replied firmly but Amaia held up a gnarled hand once more, her white, curled fingers cutting off the quiet din of protest. She considered his request for a moment and then nodded.

  “It can be arranged,” she replied. “But you must leave tonight. The other donors are on their last legs also. We may not have the luxury of waiting even a day.”

  Cozul eyed her, surprised by her willingness to succumb to his demands.

  It was unheard of for a crossbreed to live away from the others. Only the originals had the option of moving from the clan yet, few opted to do so. Their way was that of solidarity, not solitarity.

  “You are dismissed, Cozul,” she told him. He did not immediately move.

  “I will have my own house on return?” he questioned and Amaia nodded.

  “As I said.”

  He seemed uncharacteristically uncertain, regarding the council with cynicism. It had been easier than he had anticipated.

  I should have asked them years ago, he thought regretfully. And I should have asked for more!

  “You are dismissed, Cozul,” she said again. This time, her voice had lost its pleasantness and Cozul turned for the door.

  As he exited, Jemmy gazed at Amaia in shock.

  “Why did you agree to such a foolish request? He only wishes to leave so that he can continue with his whoring ways on the sly. He fears reprisal from his actions!”

  Amaia did not reply, rising with surprising agility from her antique chair and crossing the room for a goblet. She took a sip on potent red liquid before regarding Jemmy.

  “You are dismissed,” she told the three other members of council who shuffled from the room obligingly.

  “The hybrids cannot survive on their own. They are not strong enough as a breed. They lack the qualities we possess.”

  “How can we be sure of that?” Amaia replied. “We have never given them an opportunity to prove themselves. Since claiming them from their mothers’ breasts, we have coddled them, protected them, giving them only the jobs we cannot do lest we are captured in the South. But we have never let them live alone.”

  Jemmy threw up his hands in disgust.

  “Cozul is hardly the bird to throw from the nest, Amaia. He is arrogant and insubordinate. There are dozens of other hybrids more worthy of their own home.”

  Amaia smiled coldly.

  “How many others have asked to leave?” she retorted. “They are too comfortable in our protection. Cozul is opening the door for others to venture forth into the world.”

  “We are not designed to live independently of one another!” Jemmy insisted but Amaia was losing her humor.

  “You forget that we were not designed at all,” she hissed. “We were the aftermath of something gone awry and we learned to adjust and persevere. If we are pack creatures now, we may not be in five hundred years. Our biggest asset is our ability to overcome and change. The hybrids are not like us and we should not treat them as such.”

  Jemmy opened his mouth to speak but the flash in the old woman’s eyes stopped him.

  You may have won this inane bid but I will be watching you,
Cozul, Jemmy vowed.

  Back inside his quarters, Cozul turned to stare into the Seforic Sea.

  I will likely miss this view, he thought, watching the night fowl swoop across the waves seamlessly. But I will not miss this house.

  It was the only home he had ever known, being brought to the North when he was merely a babe. He had no recollection of the short time he had spent in the South, not even the sound of his birth mother’s voice. Like the other half-bloods produced in the war, he had lived in an estate for a century, not unlike the super rich of the South. He and the others had lived a charmed life, playing polo, swimming in the sea, and basking in the beams of the three moons of Kaptis; but Cozul had always had a longing for something more.

  The elders sent them to the South for donors only because they were too easily recognized. As per the Half-Truce, the hemispheres were completely isolated from one another, guarded by both mortals and vampires on each side of the Great Divider but there were other ways to enter, especially when the mortals did not know how easily the hybrids assimilated.

  How could they know? They have never seen one of us, not that they are aware. We are practically a myth to them, the Second World War a century ago. The only memory the humans have are that of the pasty, long fingered heathen with razor sharp teeth and the ability to control their minds. That was what their elders would remember, the ones who remained alive. Nothing would prepare them for a hybrid. They do not recognize us when we are staring them in the face.

  An inexplicable flash of emotion jolted through him but it was gone before Cozul could place it. It was often difficult to place when he had a feeling; his vampire genetics did not allow for sensations to remain long. Apathy had been a standard in his bones since birth but occasionally he would find himself experiencing something he could not identify. As he pivoted from the glorious view of the night and began to ready himself for his trip, Cozul wondered if he had just felt a pinprick of melancholy.