The Coterie is a group of vampires who wish to do good under the direction of Cormag, an ancient Scottish vamp. When their existence is threatened, Cormag will do anything to protect his kind—including culling the evil. Meet the main players—Cormag, Anstace, Lincoln and Emily. Together they make a formidable team.
Emily had no idea she would grow from a mild-mannered woman into a kick-ass vamp. No one, no one threatens her man…
Dashed into the sea during a storm, Emily is rescued by a long-haired man who immediately intrigues her. He’s…mesmerising. Sexy. Beautiful. He takes her to his home, a lighthouse on a cliff top, where her attraction to him grows. She can’t fight it, even when she realises what he is—a vampire. He offers her immortality but ensures she knows exactly what she’s letting herself in for—forever with him, as well as hot and satisfying sex…
Emily becomes his attendant, the woman destined to spend eternity with the vampire Lincoln, sharing her blood, her life, and her body. He adores her, would do anything for her, but an earlier vow not to embrace the vampire lifestyle and The Coterie’s demands leaves him sorely tested when an old adversary kidnaps Emily, bringing Lincoln’s painful past hurtling back.
Publisher's Note: This book was previously released under the same title. It has been re-edited for re-release with Totally Bound Publishing.
General Release Date: 29th December 2015
The roaring thunder reminded Emily of a night not so long ago, when the waves crashed upon the rocks below the lighthouse, slapping the cliff edge and spewing into the sky. Hundreds of droplets had hung suspended for a moment, tinted white by the shaft of light streaming from the windows, the pitch sky a vast background littered with a million tiny stars.
She gazed out the window now at a similar scene, her stomach in knots. Lincoln was out there, battling the waves, trying to reach the stranded sailor who had radioed in seconds before his boat capsized. A swatch of illumination from the lighthouse beacon flashed across the angry sea, showing the hideous choppy waves and foamy spume ridges. Emily hated times like this, her nerves strung taut, ready to snap if news came that Lincoln hadn’t made it. And she would feel it if he didn’t.
She lifted her fingers to her mouth as a flash of lightning staggered across the horizon. The streak of light vanished, and she studied her image in the glass, a haunted woman, black hair wild, eyes wide in a white face pinched by terror. Another growl of thunder brought the sensation of goosebumps to her arms and she covered her ears, a tangible rumble humming through the floor and up into her body. Closing her eyes, she fought to combat her nerves, telling herself Lincoln would come home. Home to hold her in his arms and whisper everything was all right. Home to carry her to bed and make sweet love to her until the sun stuck its orange scalp over the horizon and chased the bad weather away.
Emily’s gums ached, her teeth elongating as her belly spasmed for a different reason. Hunger gripped her, the need for liquid sustenance strong, leaving her arms and legs weak. Lincoln had to return soon or she would be forced out into the bad weather—or worse, to feed from old Ray, the mortal who lived in the apartment below theirs. He would be sleeping, oblivious to the storm, oblivious to her creeping into his room to pierce his neck and suckle. Normally, she and Lincoln shared blood, almost like a ritual, something vampires just did, but it could become a bad habit if they allowed the need for blood to rule them.
No. I mustn’t think about feeding from others. Lincoln will come back. He will.
The hunger consumed her and another hunger joined the race—one of sexual longing. She yearned for her lover and turned from the bedroom window, moving to the kitchen to clean the microwave in an attempt to occupy her mind. Thoughts of Lincoln intruded.
She saw him as she had that first night, when the harsh waves had tossed her small dinghy into the rocks. He had peered down at her from the cliff top, the slash of the lighthouse beacon bringing him into stark relief before plunging him back into darkness. Then the moonbeams behind glowed, giving him a silver aura, the only indication he remained in place. He shouted, his voice whipped away by the spiteful wind, and she cried out, clinging to a large rock, soaked to the bone and so very cold.
He disappeared and Emily lowered her forehead to the rock, hot tears spilling. The sea bombarded her, high walls of black fluid smacking her body, goading her to release her hold. She clung on, hoping she would be saved. Something about the man on the cliff had called to her, and a slither of belonging had unwound in her belly, swirling with the hope. She gripped the rock tighter.
The faint sound of an engine filtered through the swoosh and shush of the water and she’d turned to see a cone of light directed her way, the illumination bobbing with the boat’s movement. The vessel drew as close to the rock as possible without damaging the hull. The craft, more modern than hers, was all chrome fittings, gleaming white fibreglass, and an engine that sounded like it could power the boat over even the roughest of seas.
In the calm between waves, Emily let go of the rock and swam towards her saviour, lifted out of the water by a strong grip on her wrist. She spluttered, resting on her side, the cruel wind slashing at her body, her teeth chattering. The man covered her with a blanket, and she clutched it in fists beneath her chin, willing the cold and body-racking shakes to leave her be. The boat lifted then sped away, jolting over the waves. She closed her eyes for just a moment and silently thanked whoever had saved her, sensing it had been the man on the cliff.
A short while later, the boat came to a stop and she forced herself into a sitting position, narrowing her eyes against the light spilling from a halogen lamp post at the end of a pier. Footsteps tapped on the deck, and Emily turned to face her rescuer. He stood looking down at her, a frown marring his brow, his mouth downturned with worry.
“Are you all right?” he asked with an English accent, moving closer, holding out his hand for her to take.
She grasped it, her fingers curling around his wrist, and he hauled her upright. Her hair stuck to her temples and a gust of cold wind snapped at her cheeks, bringing a fresh bout of shivers. Nodding, Emily eyed him, her tongue stilled by his beauty. A woollen hat covered his head, long black hair peeking from the ribbed hem. Eyes the colour of heated coal regarded her intently. How did they glow like that? The flare in his irises receded, leaving behind hazel eyes with amber flecks, and she told herself she had imagined them in their former state.
“Come, I’ll take you to the lighthouse,” he said, helping her onto the pier and guiding her along.
The wooden slats echoed dully beneath her bare feet, and for a fleeting second she wondered whether her shoes had sunk to the bottom of the sea or if they had been washed up onto the rocks as she had been. Her boat had disappeared—fathoms deep now she suspected—and the knowledge that she may well have been down there with it shocked her. Tears of relief came, and her rescuer’s strong arm about her back made her realise how close to disaster she had come. She unashamedly leaned into him, allowing him to take her inside the lighthouse.
“Sit,” he said, pointing to a wooden table and chairs, situated in front of a roaring fire opposite the door.
Emily obeyed, her drenched clothing sticking to her skin. Sea droplets pattered onto the tiled floor, pooling at her feet. She tried to thank him, but no words came. Instead, she watched him move about the large space, kitchen area to her right, office to her left. Windows, huge sheets of glass taller than herself, showed nothing but blackness outside until the beacon flashed over the grounds, lighting up snatches of the sea, the grassy cliff top, the storm-laden sky, clouds with grey bellies and intermittent lightning in the distance.
He filled a kettle and put it on to boil, the flick of the switch a snap of sound, and placed a mug on the small work surface. Moments later, he added instant coffee, then sugar and cream. He turned to her, those eyes aglow again for a heartbeat, and cocked his head. “You’ll need to get out of those clothes.” He walked toward her. “If you’ll come to my apartment upstairs, you can change into something of mine for now. Then I’ll contact your family, let them know you’re safe.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, the touch hot and...right.
She finally found words to answer him. “I...I have no one to contact.”
He frowned. “No one?”
“No.”
“Right.” He glanced at the ceiling then back at her. “Come, but you must be quiet. The man who runs the lighthouse by day lives on the floor above. I doubt Ray will hear us—he sleeps through anything—but I wouldn’t like to chance disturbing him.”
That voice... Proper, his tones clipped, precise. Not only did he come from another country but from another...century? She frowned, trying to make sense of the feeling she had that something wasn’t quite right here, that this man wasn’t from this time. Why would she think that just from his voice? Why was the inkling so strong inside her?
Emily shrugged off the unlikely thought, rose and followed him up stairs that wound with the curve of the building, past a door on a circular landing then up another flight to a second door. She trailed him over the threshold, conscious of her clothes dripping on his hardwood floor, and glanced around the semi-circular, windowless living room. Three doors in the back wall stood open, revealing a kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, all with the same huge windows of the ground floor, overlooking the sea that had very nearly claimed her.
He faced her and held out an arm, indicating that she go into the bedroom. “Please, help yourself to a shirt and some bed shorts. If you want a shower, the bathroom’s through there.” He paused and smiled, showing canines a little longer than normal.
The sight of them alarmed her. She stepped back, mind full of questions. She felt stupid at thinking about vampires then, telling herself the storm, the night and its happenings had turned her towards stupid fancies. Vampires—did they exist? Really? Oh, she’d read about them, of course she had. Didn’t everyone? Fairy tales and movies had ensured she was scared by anyone with teeth like his, but that was just a silly childhood worry, wasn’t it? No way did the undead walk the earth. Never had. She placed her hand on her chest, her heart beating wildly beneath. He smiled again, the teeth somehow less sinister now, and she released a wobbly breath.
It’s my nerves, that’s all. Shock at what’s happened. I’m thinking irrationally.
Natalie Dae is a multi-published author in three pen names writing in several genres. Natalie writes mainly BDSM erotica. She loves a Dom/sub relationship and is fascinated by how it all works. The trust issue is the best thing about it for her, so creating characters who have to adopt trust is one of her priorities. “Watching my characters bloom under tuition is such a treat,” she says. “I find it such a privilege to be able to write about something that makes me learn something new with every book.”
She lives with her husband and youngest daughter in England and spends her spare time reading—always reading!—and her phone, complete with Kindle app, is never far away. “I can't imagine not reading or writing,” she says. “It's a part of who I am. Without it I'd be more than a bit lost.”
Natalie has many more BDSM tales swimming around in her head, so her workload for the future is very full. “What better way to spend a weekend than writing?” she says. “Saturdays are my main writing days, so I get up, open up a work in progress and rarely leave the desk. Unless I really have to!”
She writes at weekends and is a cover artist/head of art in her day job. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Geraldine O’Hara and Sarah Masters. Natalie also co-authors as Sarah Masters with Jaime Samms, and she co-authors with Lily Harlem under the name Harlem Dae.
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