Summer

The beautiful woman sashayed toward Adrian, shedding her clothes one item at a time on the floor of his studio.

“Duke,” she purred.

He never bothered with introductions, but somehow, the women always knew his full name, down to his lofty, noble titles. Adrianus Valerius Alberti, Duke of Rome, Count of Marsala, and Marquis of Venice.

“Adrian will suffice,” he said, preferring the shortened, more modern version of his name nowadays.

Tilting her head and letting her long, straight hair fall to the side to uncover the creamy expanse of her throat, the blonde gave him a smoldering look. “What do you want tonight?” she asked.

“You.” He made a come-hither gesture, anticipation building up straight from his groin to his fangs that were growing inside his mouth. Moving slightly, he made himself more comfortable in the armchair.

The blonde’s eyes remained locked with his, a chemical reaction to his charm women tended to experience in his presence, and not because he used glamour on his feeding partners. He would never influence someone else’s behavior using his vampiric power unless it was a matter of life and death. The woman had been more than willing, without him having to influence her behavior. When it came to finding a partner for the night, Adrian had never needed to work too hard. Truth be told, he had been exceedingly good-looking before he died at the age of thirty-one. Since he was resurrected as an undead, too, he had never wanted for company.

After a long night spent fixing his associates’ long list of mishaps, he deserved a good meal and some fun on the side. The blonde promised to be both, and she was aware of the rules, which was always a boon when dealing with mortals. He didn’t have any patience with simpering, virginal types who thought they liked to walk on the wild side, only to crumble and cry as soon as the fangs came out and the reality of what was about to happen became crystal clear.

“Where do you prefer to feed?” Removing her white lace thongs, she took the last step on her stiletto heels and stood bare in front of him.

Adrian reached out to trace the contour of her thighs, then slid his hand between them and finally paused at the apex of her long legs. He inched his finger toward her soft center. “I drink from here,” he said, gently pressing against her skin, making her shiver.

He waited for her shaky nod before leaning closer to her body and inhaling her essence. She had been ready for him since he met her at Tulipano Rosso, one of his nightclubs. They had exchanged looks, and she had followed him outside to his Ferrari. During the ride to the hotel he owned in the historical center of Rome, her hands had wandered all over his thigh, and he had let her. Her desire soon filled the inside of his sportscar, and had he been a greener vampire, she would have never seen the end of the ride. But Adrian’s ancient age came with several perks, one of them the ability to keep his nature in check for long periods of time. His strength of will was legendary among his peers, and it was a source of pride for him.

The woman moaned, making Adrian smile. He hadn’t even touched her yet. His finger brushed her petals, parting them to find her very center. As he entered her, he kissed the point where her leg and apex met, causing her to shake and utter some incoherent nonsense. Again, he couldn’t help but smile. He drew immense pleasure in giving pleasure to the women he fed on. He hadn’t experienced true physical release in a long time, but feeling those soft bodies writhing and squirming in ecstasy under his hands was the closest he would ever come to, well, to come again.

His fangs gently pierced her silky skin, and blood coated his tongue, a trickle at first. Pumping his finger into her, he started sucking in earnest, filling his mouth with her warm, wine-scented blood. He took from her until she reached her release, then retracted his fangs and passed his tongue over the prickles to heal the small wounds. Before raising his head, he kissed her softly, savoring the aftermath of her orgasm and the quivering of her flesh. He hugged her legs when they threatened to give away from under her, keeping her standing.

“That was amazing,” she whispered a few seconds later, her fingers laced through his hair.

He leaned away, releasing his hold on her. She wobbled on her high heels at first but immediately regained balance and made to kneel in front of him.

“That won’t be necessary.” Adrian helped her up again. “You were great.” He stood too and led her toward the door. “Thank you.” When she started to complain, he said, “I enjoyed our time together, but it’s now time for you to go back home.”

The woman blinked and gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s just that it was so good and—”

“It was good for me as well.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Goodbye.”

Later, when he was in his studio overlooking Campo de’ Fiori, he opened a vintage Brunello di Montalcino and poured a good measure of the dark-red nectar in a large glass. He let the wine oxygenate as he looked at the square below. Rome never slept, especially during the summer, and this area was one of the most popular. A crowd of tourists, neighbors, and students from the nearby university had gathered to look at the shooting stars. Couples kissed and parents held their children close as laughter and cries of wonder resonated throughout the square.

Adrian felt the usual pang of loneliness squeezing his heart in a cold grab. Almost two thousand years old and nobody to call his own.