Twice As Irresistible

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

ISBN:

978-1-77130-022-3

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Karyn White

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

TWICE AS IRRESISTIBLE

Tales from the Vampire Scribe, 2

Annalynne Russo

Chapter One

The Inquisition

As he towel-dried a shot glass and set it on the shelf above the

bar, Bobby DuBois spied a woman out of the corner of his eye. Even
from fifty feet away, his enhanced vision saw her hourglass shape
sway provocatively back and forth, turning heads in the wake of her
approach. His eyes fixated on the blonde’s well-toned thighs visible in
the short, black skirt that fell from her hips. She sashayed over to a
nearby barstool and sat down. Then she placed her elbows on the
distressed wood of the bar and leaned in, giving Bobby a glimpse of
two pale, creamy breasts underneath her fitted blazer. Flipping her
snow-white locks over her shoulder, she licked her pouty lips, and
shot him the most convincing “come hither” look he’d seen in
months.

She was definitely a knockout, and Bobby ought to know.

He’d seen hundreds of human prey pass through the doors of The
Crypt. Most of them left at the end of the night a few pints short of
blood.

“Give me a martini. Shaken with two olives,” said the woman

as her blues eyes drank in his shaggy blond hair and muscular build.
Her gaze swiveled from left to right, taking in every inch of his flesh.
Before he knew it, Bobby felt a burning sensation rise up from his
neck and spread across his cheeks.

Did this gal just make me blush like a boy caught masturbatin’

by his mama? Never one to give in to the sting of embarrassment,
Bobby couldn’t help but pay attention to the nagging feeling in his

gut. It wasn’t simply her shameless perusal. He knew this girl. He felt
it in his bones, almost as if he’d met the beautiful blonde somewhere
in a past life. Shaking off the eeriness of déjà vu, Bobby smiled down
at the woman and then proceeded to fix her drink.

In the mood to impress, he tossed two bottles of liquor into the

air, and watched them spin above his head in simultaneous fashion.
He caught both at the same time, and let their cloudy mixture settle on
the bottom of the cocktail shaker. He swirled the contents around in
the container, then grabbed a beveled martini glass off the countertop.
With a ripe lemon, Bobby traced the rim of the glass, letting its juices
slide down the slanted edge. His stellar bartending skills must have
piqued her interest, because she peered over the ledge of the bar to
take a closer look. Her eyebrows shot up. Then she rested her palms
against her chin and stared as if enthralled. He filled the glass to the
brim and dropped two ripe, green olives into the alcohol-fueled
concoction.

“Here ya go, darlin’. Enjoy,” Bobby said as he set the glass in

front of her. She reached out to grab it, and her fingers incidentally
brushed against his. Once again, that spark of familiarity struck him.
This time, he felt it in his groin. His cock grew semi-hard, while he
watched the woman lift the luscious cocktail to her lips and take a
slow, sensual sip. She looked down at his chest as if reading the name
off the badge clipped to his leather vest.

“Bobby DuBois, you make one hell of a martini.” She took

another swig before she lowered the glass back down on the counter.
“You’re not from around here. How long have you been working at
The Crypt?”

Bobby picked up a towel and wiped spilled liquor from the

bar’s surface. He glanced sideways at the beauty, a full-fledged grin
on his face. “How’d you come to that conclusion?” he asked
sarcastically, positive his sexy southern drawl had given him away.

“Your accent. And the fact that you give off that laid-back,

country boy vibe,” she said. His attention remained focused on his
work, yet still he saw her rise up off the stool to stare at his ass in the
tight jeans he wore. “You never answered my question. How long you
been working here?”

Bobby shook his head and chuckled. “What is this? The

Inquisition?”

“Just curious,” said the woman, sitting back down in her seat

as soon as Bobby turned to face her. She pulled a business card out of
her purse, set it on the counter, and slid it toward him. “My name’s
Savannah. Savannah Blake. I’m a reporter for the New York Daily
News. You have a few minutes to answer some questions?”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t have time for reporters, let alone a

tramp who flashes a bit of skin to try and get me to talk. Finish your
drink, and scram.”

Savannah jumped off the stool and came around to Bobby’s

side of the bar. One hand sat propped on a curvaceous hip as she
glared up at him. Her shoulders and back rose up, forcing her to reach
her full five-foot-five height. He could have sworn he saw steam
stream from the top of her head. Still, Bobby towered over her
unaffected.

“First of all, I’m not a tramp, and I don’t appreciate being

labeled as such. Second,” she said, digging her well-manicured
fingernail into his chest. “I’m just doing my job. People have a right
to know what’s going on in this bar. More than a few women have
been sexually harassed and one severely beaten by an employee, who
has since disappeared into thin air.”

Savannah’s accusations couldn’t be truer. The Crypt had been

plagued by a series of unfortunate events in the past several months.
The incident with Ivan Olshanskey was simply the straw that broke
the camel’s back. The newly-turned vampire from Moscow had lost
control one night and knocked the shit out of his very fragile, very
human girlfriend. Ever since then, the bar, owned by Andreas
Kristoplous, the leader of the New York City vampire coven, had
become the center of attention for media outlets eager for a front-page
scoop.

Still, Bobby could understand how Ivan, a former bouncer at

The Crypt, had let his romance with his lady friend get out of hand.
He knew how the desire to feed could twist a man’s perception of
right and wrong. In fact, Savannah was so close at that moment, he
could smell her blood. It smelled sweet, like a delicate mixture of rose
and honeysuckle. Need clawed its way up his belly. Without warning,
Bobby felt his incisors extend, ready to sample the reporter’s
succulent elixir. His hands fisted into tight balls at his sides as he
turned away from her.

“Go find another snitch, honey,” he said. “I’m not interested in

your self-righteous mumbo jumbo.”

Over his shoulder, Bobby heard her shout at him as he shoved

open the door marked Employees Only and slammed it behind him.
He pressed his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes, and bit down on
his bottom lip. A drop of blood trickled down his chin. His body
broke out in a fine sheen of sweat. Control was slipping, and if he
didn’t get himself reined in, he’d run back to the bar and drain the
sexy reporter dry.

It’d been eight months since he’d been turned, so restraint

wasn’t his strong suit. Two-hundred forty-one days to be exact.
Although it was his own damn fault. For years, he’d let himself be led
around by his dick – until one night a beautiful, red-headed
bloodsucker had grabbed him by the balls and stolen his mundane,
human life.

Marika had wanted to keep him by her side. A boy-toy she

planned to bring out and fondle at her leisure. But Bobby wasn’t
having it. He couldn’t do that to his family. The poor, working-class
New Orleans clan would never accept him for what he was, a
vampire. Catholic to the core, they’d shunned the occult, even though
voodoo and dark magic had permeated the Louisiana bayou for
centuries. He’d had no choice but to skip town.

Fortunately, Andreas had taken him under his wing and given

him a job. Bobby sure as hell didn’t want to cause the man any more
trouble. His poor boss had enough to deal with, especially with a
nosey reporter snooping around his place of business. Andreas had
recently gotten hitched to a drop-dead gorgeous vampire huntress by
the name of Eva Sambucco. She’d kicked his ass from here to eternity
before she’d fallen head over heels in love with the owner of The
Crypt. A notorious womanizer, Andreas fought her tooth and nail, but
eventually admitted defeat. The former enemies had exchanged vows
a few months back and were expecting a child soon. Drama was the
last thing their burgeoning family needed. After all his boss had done
for him, Bobby owed it to him to stay on the straight and narrow.

If only I can keep my ass from making a meal out of the

customers.

Chapter Two

Pleasing the Boss

Savannah snatched her purse off the counter of the bar and

headed toward the door. As she walked, her expensive Jimmy Choos
ground into the grey slate floor, matching the tempo of the loud
techno beats that thrummed in the background. Neon lights flashed in
her eyes, nearly blinding her.

“How dare that redneck call me a tramp!” She screamed the

words out loud as she lifted her hand to shield her face from the glare.
Exiting the nightclub through the luxurious red velvet ropes, she
leaned against the weathered brick and mortar exterior of the building
and pulled out her cell phone. She bit down on the inside of her
cheek, biding her time before she dialed. Her boss Larry wasn’t going
to be happy that she’d struck out, even though Savannah had a feeling
that every damn one of Kristopolous’s employees would be as tight-
lipped as Bobby DuBois. If she wanted to get the goods on the bar’s
owner, she’d have to think fast.

Unfortunately, Savannah’s hormones had other priorities. Her

treacherous body had reacted to the bartender’s raw, masculine
sensuality in full force. As soon as she saw him across the crowded
rows of tables filled with wealthy debutantes and yuppie
businessman, she’d felt the instant attraction ignite between them. At
fifty feet out, their eyes had locked. Savannah’s nipples had beaded
the moment she spotted him. They poked through the demure silk
chemise tucked inside her blazer. Her thighs went wobbly, and her
womb had clenched in anticipation as she had come face-to-face with
the gorgeous male specimen.

Bobby had wispy, dirty blond hair that fell haphazardly over

his face. He wore tight black jeans and a leather vest, sans shirt,
giving Savannah a generous glimpse of his tanned, muscular torso and
firm ass. However, it was his eyes that had transfixed her. Their
mesmerizing quality made her want to fall to her knees and worship
every inch of his glorious flesh. Funny how no other man had
precipitated such an immediate physiological reaction. Bobby’s
piercing green stare reminded her of springtime and all the
possibilities that came with it.

Maybe I can use that to my advantage? After all, spring was

mating season, and Savannah had no problem getting down and dirty
with the bartender. As long as it got her the information Larry asked
her to procure on Kristopolous, the reporter in her relished the
opportunity. Seduction clearly seemed to be in order, and Savannah
had a strong suspicion that her boss would be pleased with her
ingenuity.

Growing up, one of Savannah’s fondest memories had been

one from early childhood, bouncing on her father’s knee. With the
Sunday paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, he’d read
the headlines. Savannah had clung to his every word, riveted by each
captivating utterance spoken aloud. Stories of corruption and intrigue
always seemed to interest her the most. It was no wonder she’d fought
for a coveted spot in NYU’s Arthur L. Carter School of Journalism.
While her degree had helped her get her foot in the door, cracking the
Kristopolous case would no doubt jumpstart her fledgling career.

Once Savannah got the go-ahead from the honchos at the New

York Daily News, all she could do was wait for the bartender to make
his presence known. She glanced at her watch and read the time. Two
o’clock in the morning. No doubt the patrons of the The Crypt would
soon shuffle out onto the New York City streets as the establishment
closed its doors for the evening. A short time later, a crowd of people
rushed from the exit, out onto busy 87

Street, and down the stairs

that led to the subway tunnels.

Another thirty minutes passed. Savannah shivered as a chill in

the air shuddered through her system, and forced her to back away
from the bitter cold of the brick wall. She rubbed her hands up and
down her arms, trying to fight off the frigid temperature. Suddenly,
Savannah felt the tickle of a warm breeze. She glanced to her right
and saw Bobby, his menacing glare visible under the dimly lit
streetlights. She could have sworn she saw his eyes glow red.
Impossible.

“What the hell are you still doing here? I thought I told you to

get lost.”

“You did,” Savannah said, turning to face him. He’d put on a

leather jacket, but nonetheless, his bare skin underneath the sleek
material called to her. She reached out, letting one slender finger trace
the ridges of his rock-hard chest, then down until she caressed the
chiseled abs that peeked out from below his vest. Her hand rested

against his belt buckle, and she stared hungrily at his manhood
through the form-fitting pants he wore. Savannah could see he was
already erect. Eager to please. “I’m not here to pump you for
information. In fact, I was hoping you’d be the one to do all the
pumping. Inside me, I mean.”

“We’re talking sex, right? No questions?” Bobby did not wait

for an answer. Instead, he jerked her flush against his rigid shaft. Its
thick girth grazed her pelvic bone. “It’ll have to be at your place
because I don’t trust you anywhere near my apartment.”

“Fine by me.” Before she could finish the sentence, Bobby

pulled away and strutted to the curb to hail a cab. The absence of his
heated embrace left Savannah achy and bereft. Yearning for his touch.
She wanted to run back to his side. Yet she didn’t want to appear
desperate.

Chapter Three

Pain in the Ass

The taxi ride proved excruciating. Savannah kept her distance

on the other side of the car. She fidgeted in her seat almost
incessantly. Yet she remained silent and refused to meet his gaze.
Was she playing hard to get? After her earlier attempt at flirtation,
that idea seemed rather hard to swallow. Either way, she’d soon
succumb to his powers of persuasion.

Bobby swiped his hand through his hair and groaned. The

thought of drinking Savannah’s blood left him horny and hard as
steel. His eyes roved over her curves, trying to decide which mound
he’d sink his fangs into first. Her breasts? Her pussy? Her ass?
Maybe all three.

He glanced at Savannah’s creamy thighs, then followed the

path upward. His attention was drawn past the hem of her short skirt
to the soft, supple skin just below her ass.

The sweet spot. That’s where he’d take her. In more ways than

one.

Once they‘d entered the fifth floor Manhattan flat she called

home, Bobby took a moment to acclimate himself to his surroundings.
The room was mostly dark, cast in shadows by the tiny rays of
moonlight that shone through the windows. Shiny wood flooring
reflected the light and bounced off the ground to give Bobby a
glimpse of the apartment’s layout. All four walls were painted in a
shade of pale pink. The headboard and armoire had been stained with
a white-wash finish. A stark ivory-colored couch sat in the corner of
the room, without a single spot to blemish its subtle elegance.
Everything about the room oozed delicate femininity, in absolute
contrast to the seductive vixen dressed in black who’d come on to him
in the bar. Savannah was definitely a mystery, one he intended to
solve before the end of the night.

Bobby kicked the door shut and turned her in his arms, her

heaving breasts pressed against the adjacent wall. With his foot, he
spread Savannah’s knees apart, and prepared her for his assault.
Already, he could smell the musky scent of her arousal. The distinct
aromas of sex and blood swirled about in his nose. He felt like a
connoisseur of fine wine sniffing a glass of rich, fruity goodness

moments before he consumed it. Bobby reached between her legs and
swiped a dollop of feminine juices onto his finger, then sucked it into
his mouth. He heard Savannah gasp, saw her body shudder in
response to his touch.

“Hmm. You taste sweet.” Bobby let out an audible sigh.

Would Savannah’s blood taste as scrumptious as her sex? Just
thinking about it made him drool. Her lush curves deserved to be
worshiped, yet he knew he couldn’t do them justice in his current
state of mind. Already, he felt the beast rise to the surface, and if he
didn’t act fast, he’d bite her before he could fuck her.

Bobby’s fingers delved inside her pussy, his movements

desperate. Erratic. She was already wet, but he wanted her drenched
in desire. Drizzling with need. He counted on that moisture to
lubricate Savannah’s ass before he took her there. Her breath grew
shallow and labored. Her womb clamped down on his digits,
drowning them with sticky, sugary nectar.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Savannah cried out. Too bad.

Bobby had other plans. He jerked his fingers from her folds, then
released the clasp that kept her skirt intact, and let it drop to the floor.
In one swift motion, he slapped her plump ass cheek with the inside
of his hand. Savannah winced, then moaned, the sound almost a growl
in her throat. Within seconds, a bright red blotch marred her derrière.

“Move to the bed,” he said, nudging her to the edge of the

frilly, pink and white floral comforter. As she stumbled across the
room, the remnants of her undergarments dropped onto the wood like
splatters on a painter’s canvas. “Bend over. Lift that bodacious booty
in the air so I can spank it again.”

Savannah followed his instructions to the letter. As he

accompanied her to the bed, Bobby slipped his jacket from his
shoulders and stripped off his clothes a piece at a time. Other than
Savannah’s three-inch suede pumps, they were both naked.

The only thing sexier would have been a pair of shiny, steel-

toed cowboy boots.

The reporter licked her bottom lip and cocked her head

sideways, probably to see him better. Lust swam in the depths of her
deep, blue irises. Then Bobby raised his hand over his head and
released it. Whack! Palm to ass. The sting of skin-to-skin contact shot
up his arm before it shifted in reverse and settled in his groin.

Savannah had no time to recover. Bobby yanked on the long,

blonde locks that spiraled down her back. Her slender hips arched
toward him while his stiff erection parted her folds and took the
plunge. The ridges of his shaft pierced her barriers and scraped the
inside of her womb. In and out. Over and over again. His cock
pummeled her wet pussy. The friction was almost unbearable.

Bobby reached around her waist and flicked her clit with his

thumb. With his other hand, he inserted a single finger into her tight
anus, pumping to the rhythm of his cock’s measured thrusts.

“Oh, yes. Yes!” Savannah screamed in obvious pleasure. “Put

your cock there. In my ass.”

Hearing Savannah’s naughty plea made his shaft throb inside

her. On a lust-filled moan, Bobby drew back, and temporarily
relinquished his grip on her quivering body. She sank head-first into
the mattress, her voluptuous rear still raised in the direction of the
ceiling. He reached for his discarded leather coat and rifled through
its pockets. Then he pulled out a small vial of lubricant that he kept
there for nights like this. Without hesitation, he flipped open the cap,
and lathered himself in oil.

Bobby took hold of his cock, squeezing its wide base as he

pressed the tip against her back door. Inch by inch, he stretched the
muscles in her ass, urging her to accept his entire length. Savannah’s
snug opening bore down on his shaft. She milked him. Fucked him.
Left him on the verge of spilling his seed.

Bobby jerked his lover’s body against his own. His cock

continued to pound inside her, while she writhed and moaned
underneath him. He fondled Savannah’s swollen breasts. Inundated
with sensation, the predator recognized it as the perfect time to strike.
On instinct, his sharp canines emerged. They sank into her shoulder
and tore a hole into the tender flesh. Warm deliciousness slipped
passed his lips as he siphoned her blood using a slow, languorous
suction. Her honey-sweet flavor swirled around in his mouth. The
scent of sex lingered in the air.

Savannah arched into the shelter of his sweat-soaked torso and

screamed his name.

“Bobby. Oh God, I’m gonna come.”
Her recently-breached buttocks clamped down hard, causing a

series of explosions to set fire to his loins. Bobby shut his eyes tight,
watching a colorful array of light detonate inside his mind. Blazing

asteroids and shooting stars painted every corner of conscious thought
with rich, vibrant hues. That same rainbow of white-hot heat rose up
from his balls like fireworks erupting across the midnight sky. Bobby
growled, unable to hold back any longer. His cocked throbbed and
pulsated within her ass. Cum shot out from the tip, branding
Savannah’s sweet spot just as his incisors had marked her bare skin.

They both collapsed on the bed. Their chests rose and fell as

oxygen slowly flowed back into their lungs. Sex and perspiration
covered their bodies.

Savannah turned in his arms to look at him, her stare fiery and

intense. She rubbed the twin pinpricks above her shoulder blade,
while her face scrunched into what appeared to be an irritated scowl.

“I’d heard The Crypt was crawling with vampires,” she said.

“I guess I should have listened to the rumors.”

Bobby frowned, furrowing his brow as he studied her

expression. “Rumors? What kind of rumors?”

“Just the usual. You know what I mean. Vampires use sex to

seduce their victims, then suck the life right out of them. Blah, blah,
blah.”

“You ain’t afraid of me?” Bobby asked, confused by the

reporter’s ballsy attitude when it came to bloodsuckers.

Savannah laughed, causing her warm breath to skate across his

flesh. “I grew up in New York City. There’s very little that scares
me,” she said, her hands tracing the contours of his six-pack abs. “But
one thing’s for sure when it comes to you, Bobby DuBois. You’ve
been a big fat pain in my ass since the moment I stepped foot in that
nightclub.”

Bobby reached behind Savannah, and yanked her ample

curves toward his partially-erect package. Hell, he was ready to fuck
her all over again. He leaned his head next to her ear. His whispered
words came out hoarse and gravelly. “Darlin’, I’m certain you
enjoyed every minute of it.”

Chapter Four

The Double Cross

Savannah stretched her overworked limbs across the width of

the mattress, drowsy and well-sated from their lovemaking. Bobby
spooned her from behind. With his fingertips, he made figure-eights
along the underside of her bosom and abdomen, making her tremble
from his touch. He kissed his way from Savannah’s mouth to the
tender flesh of her neck, then turned his lover in his arms in order to
nuzzle her swollen, achy breasts. His cock now fully-erect, she felt its
thick girth separate her ass cheeks and push against her moist, eager
folds.

“Sorry, lover boy. I’ve gotta work in the morning. Sleep

beckons,” Savannah said, reaching back to grab a handful of blond
hair in order to pull him in for a goodnight kiss. “Feel free to stay as
long as you’d like.”

“No problem. Mind if I take a quick shower before I head

out?”

“Sure, go right ahead,” she said. Bobby hopped off the bed,

leaving his chiseled physique bare before her eyes. Savannah licked
her lips, then sighed as he padded across the wood floor to the
bathroom and shut the door. Too bad she didn’t have more time for
pleasure. She had serious digging to do.

Once Savannah heard the spray of the shower jets, she jumped

to her feet. Wrapping the soft pink sheets around her middle, she
grabbed her smart phone out of her purse and tiptoed over to the
couch where Bobby had dropped his drawers. She searched his back
pockets and found his wallet. Then, she typed his Louisiana driver’s
license number and the nine digits printed on the front of his social
security card into the keypad of her phone.

A sly smirk spread across Savannah’s face. She’d pilfered

enough information to run a thorough background check on Bobby
DuBois. She had a feeling that he’d come up clean. Even so, her work
at The Crypt was far from done. The early morning meeting she had
planned with her boss would give her a chance to brainstorm their
next move.

One thing proved certain. The over-zealous lover who’d

rocked her world had turned out to be a vampire. The whispered

rumors and twisted, tabloid fodder were true. New York City must be
teeming with creatures of the night.

I think I’ll keep that tidbit of information to myself when I chat

with Larry. Otherwise, he’ll think I’m out of my mind.

Savannah never would have believed it if Bobby hadn’t sunk

his sharp, orgasm-inducing fangs into her flesh only moments ago.
Truth be told, she’d never before experienced ecstasy quite as
exquisite. Hell, the bloodsucker had barely touched her engorged
pussy, let alone her ultra-sensitive clit. For the better part of the last
hour, he’d concentrated on pleasuring her ass. Even then, she held her
climax at bay. It wasn’t until his serrated teeth had pierced the skin
above her shoulder, that she inevitably melted, buttery and dripping
wet in his arms.

Savannah could still feel the intense heat of his mouth on her

skin well after the moment of passion had passed. Bobby’s sexual
assault had unfolded like a Shakespearean melodrama. Masterfully
executed. One minute dreamy, almost light-hearted, and the next
tumultuous and all-consuming. With his mouth, he’d taken his time,
suctioning her life essence slowly as if to savor each drop. His shaft,
on the other hand, had speared her again and again. Rough.
Demanding. In complete control.

Savannah had relished every minute of it. The contrast of

sensation from gentle to brutal had driven her insane with need. A
raw, burning desire rose up from deep within. It gnawed at her insides
and forced her to scream his name, begging for more. For everything
the hot and sexy vampire demanded, including her blood.

Sex with Bobby DuBois was out of this world. Amazing. She

couldn’t be sure if his appetite for blood made the difference, but
regardless, she knew she’d return for seconds. Thirds even. Already,
the urge to jump into the shower with him and wrap her wanton thighs
around his cock ate away at her better judgment.

Suddenly, Savannah heard the faucet shut off. In the blink of

an eye, she was back in her bed, feigning sleep. Her lids at half-mast,
she watched him get dressed and make his inevitable exit. As he
turned the knob, his gazed wavered, studying something on the small
end table next to the door for several seconds. Then, he shook his
head and disappeared out of sight.

****

Bobby toweled himself off, his cock so hard he could hang the

small bit of material from its edge like a coat on a rack. If this kept
up, he’d never be able to fall asleep once dawn approached. He
sighed, thinking of the naked reporter that waited for him on the other
side of the bathroom door. Savannah was a beautiful woman. A
fantastic fuck. Too bad she was a God-damn snitch. Otherwise, he’d
be out there screwing the shit out of her all over again.

Bobby had to remain distant. Aloof. Especially if he wanted to

prevent the snarky journalist from uncovering any deets on the
Kristopolous family. Unfortunately, his cock refused to go along with
that course of action. In fact, not a single part of his anatomy seemed
in agreement. His mouth watered, desperate to taste her. His fingers
itched to caress her pale, creamy skin. No matter how much he tried
to resist, Bobby knew he’d be back inside Savannah’s panties before
the end of the week.

The bathroom door creaked open. Bobby stuck his head out,

not sure whether or not his lover still lie awake. To his relief, he
found Savannah sleeping, her golden locks splayed across the pillow.
Her breathing was deep and peaceful. Without a sound, he slid his
jeans over his hips, then slipped the vest and jacket around his
shoulders.

Walking on the balls of his feet, he moved across the floor to

the front door of the apartment. It was still dark outside. But the rays
from the moon had shifted, letting additional light spill in through the
open window. As Bobby turned the knob on the door, his gaze was
drawn to the simple wooden picture frame set on a nearby end table.
The word “sisters” had been etched into the grooves of the wood.
Inside the five-by-seven photograph, two lovely, pale-faced beauties
peered back at him. Their eerily similar smiles and stunning
aquamarine orbs sat poised to perfection.

Suddenly, that nagging feeling returned. The one that

screamed at him that he’d met Savannah sometime in the past. Bobby
cocked his head to the side, staring at the image of the two women.
Then it dawned on him. He’d seen Savannah before. Or at least,
someone who looked a whole heck of a lot like her.

Two months earlier, a blonde bombshell had sauntered up to

his bar shortly before closing time. She’d ordered a cocktail, then
flirted as if her life had depended on it. Bobby had had no choice but

to take pleasure from the willing wench. Why not? After all, she’d
nearly begged him for it.

For the life of him, Bobby couldn’t remember the bimbo’s

name. Sara? Shawna? No, Sienna. That’s what it was! Once that tidbit
of information had been jogged from his memory, he remembered
fucking her brains out in the dark alley behind The Crypt. He’d even
dreamt of slipping inside her sweet pussy a second time. How could
he forget that face? No wonder it had felt like déjà vu the moment his
eyes met Savannah’s across the crowded room earlier that night. The
two were obviously siblings, identical in every way, from the blonde
shoulder-length hair, to the crooked dimple on the left side of their
pale cheeks.

Lord have mercy! Savannah and Sienna must be twins.
Bobby shook his head in disbelief, then jerked open the door,

and stammered outside, still a bit discombobulated from his recent
realization. Standing in the hallway outside Savannah’s apartment, he
leaned against the door frame, and shoved his hands in the pockets of
his jeans. The pointed edge from a piece of cardstock pricked his
pinkie. It was Savannah’s business card; he’d forgotten all about it.
The vampire pulled it out of his pocket and fiddled the lustrous paper
through his fingers like a cowboy strumming the strings of a guitar.

Bobby would no doubt dial the reporter’s digits the next time

the need to feed struck a chord in his soul. Knowing him, that call
would happen sooner than later.

Maybe I can convince her to let Sienna tag along, too.
Twice as irresistible.

The End

www.vampirescribe.com

Other Books by Annalynne Russo:

Irresistible Nemesis

Rendezvous with Rumpelstiltskin