The Virgin Vampire and the Shifter
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by Melanie Thompson
Category: Erotica/Paranormal Erotica/Gay Fiction
Description: Something strange is happening in Seattle... Targ and his partner Jax are investigating a string of strange murders in the gay section of Seattle- and the detectives have a feeling that there is something... unusual about this case. Twins Tuco and Rickie rush to their grandmother's deathbed, just in time for her to tell them her dark secret- they are not their father's sons. Their true father was a strange man from Brazil with many secrets, and powerful skills that he has passed on to his sons. Chan Balum is an ancient vampire made when the Mayans ruled Guatemala. Determined to find the perfect sacrifice, one that will bring the gods back to Tikal and his power back to him, he spends his nights stalking the streets of Seattle. Each victim is tried and each one fails the test. Until he finds Targ, and makes him one of his own. When their shared enemy brings the detectives and the twins together, Rickie and Targ fall in love at first sight. But until Targ finds a way to be free of the vampire's curse, the two can never be together. Don't miss the drama, mystery, and sex in this HOT story from Melanie Thompson!
eBook Publisher: Ravenous Romance, 2011 2011
eBookwise Release Date: February 2012
1 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [253 KB]
Reading time: 164-229 min.
"This place is a dump," Enrique Valdavar said as he parked the rented Land Cruiser and climbed out. "I was assured the Jaguar Inn is the best in town."
"We're in Flores, not Sao Paolo." His twin brother Tuco grunted as he lifted Rickie's suitcase out of the back. "What did you pack in this thing?"
"I had no idea what to expect from the weather. I came prepared."
"We're in Guatemala. It's hot. It's damp. And it'll probably rain."
They spoke in Portuguese, their native language, though both men were fluent in Spanish, English, German, and French. Enrique also spoke Arabic. As a profiler for Interpol, Rickie needed to know many languages. Tuco had learned much of his from Rickie and at university. Tuco was a professor at the University of Guatemala where he taught Mayan history and the history of the indigenous people of the Americas.
Rickie's job took him around the world. Currently he was at home on a holiday. This was fortunate because he had time to respond when their aging grandmother sent them an urgent request to attend her deathbed.
"Do you think she's really dying this time?" Tuco asked as he tossed his backpack into the small room on the third floor. "This is the third time la vieja has called us here in two years. Each time she rises from her bed and proceeds to drive Aunt Cecilia insane . . . before we have been in her house ten minutes."
"We're her only grandsons, Tuco. Try to put yourself in her shoes. She wants to see us and we're always too busy to come. So she says she's dying. It's a classic play for attention from a lonely woman."
"You put yourself in her shoes. If this wasn't the Christmas break, I wouldn't even be here. I shouldn't even be here. I had plans, you know."
Rickie patted his hand. "Carmina Angel. She'll wait for you. Trust me."
"We were heading for the beach. I had a condo reserved for the entire week." He grabbed his crotch and laughed. "You don't know what you're missing."
Rickie shuddered. "Thanks, but no, thanks."
After tossing their bags in the miniscule room, the twins walked out into the narrow street. Flores was a tiny town on an island in the middle of Lake Peten Itza. The buildings were old and the streets cobbled. Few vehicles traveled the alleys; only strange little rickshaw taxis could fit through the tiny lanes.
They climbed the hill to the top of the town and stopped in the park to stare out over the calm waters of the lake. As the sun slowly settled behind a bank of clouds on the western horizon, the sky turned orange and purple. On the far bank of the lake, the lights of the tiny town of El Ramate were blinking on and the towers of the ancient Mayan ruins of Tikal could be seen cresting the tops of the jungle.
"It's so beautiful," Rickie said.
"Well, in minutes it will be so dark and there are very few streetlights. You can enjoy the view later." He grabbed Rickie's hand and pulled him down the hill. When he touched his brother, he felt an instant connection and chills shivered up and down his spine.
He was the oldest by only four and a half minutes. The midwives said he'd been born with Rickie clutching his ankle. Even when they were apart, they could sense each other. Things got complicated and strange when they matured and Rickie's true nature began asserting itself. Rickie was gay and Tuco was most decidedly heterosexual. He loved full-breasted, tall, dark-haired Brazilian beauties, but he'd take a short blond one or even a redhead, just as long as they were female.
And with their looks, he had to fight the women off. Even Rickie had to turn women down all the time. His brother had just broken up with Hernando, a prissy little bitch who couldn't keep his pants up. Rickie quickly figured out Hernando was cheating and sent him packing. Rickie could read people, which led him to his chosen field. As a profiler in Sao Paolo, his seemingly psychic ability to get into the heads of bad guys had brought him to the notice of the International Criminal Organization known as Interpol. He now got paid the big bucks to track terrorists and bad guys all over the world.
When they reached the bottom of the hill, they turned left on Calle Union and walked the short distance to their grandmother's home. The house was right on the lake. The front on the street was plaster-over-mud bricks painted tan. A polished wooden arch was set over a red door. Rickie knocked and Aunt Cecilia answered.
"Boys, my handsome nephews," she gushed. "Come in, come in." She glanced behind them. "But where are your suitcases? Aren't you staying?"
"We have a room at the Jaguar Inn," Tuco said as he walked into the cool, tiled entryway.
"Your grandmother will not be pleased." Aunt Cecilia was a fiftyish spinster dressed in a long black skirt and a white peasant blouse that hung on her thin frame. She clutched a black wool shawl around her shoulders even though it was warm. Her graying hair was pulled into a tight bun. Long earrings with jet beads dangled from large ears and a filigreed silver cross lay on her flat chest.
"There is no room here for us and you know it," Tuco said as he gave her a careful hug and kissed both her wrinkled cheeks. "We love the house and the view off the patio is delightful. It's just very small and we don't wish to crowd you. Where is Grandmother?"