Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read online

  The Order of Vampyres 2

  Calling for a Miracle

  After fleeing her oppressive marriage, Larissa Hartzler will give herself to no man, but Bishop Eleazar King has other plans.

  Eleazar is appalled when he discovers the always-dutiful Larissa working in an English house of sin. As the most respected immortal of The Order, Eleazar has always maintained unwavering control, but everything changes once he is called. His long-standing position of authority is threatened when his need for his mate takes hold. There is nothing that will keep him from possessing the virginal Larissa as his mate. Not even her husband.

  Larissa's fear of being found by Bishop King transforms into confusion when she learns he is her mate. Five times his minor and broken on so many emotional levels, Larissa knows she will be an inadequate mate for Eleazar. With gentle patience, he begins to teach her what her husband never did, and slowly awakens Larissa's desires.

  Genre: Contemporary, Paranormal, Vampires/Werewolves

  Length: 127,239 words

  CALLING FOR A MIRACLE

  The Order of Vampyres 2

  Lydia Michaels

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  CALLING FOR A MIRACLE

  Copyright © 2012 by Lydia Michaels

  E-book ISBN: 1-61926-440-4

  First E-book Publication: March 2012

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Calling for a Miracle by Lydia Michaels from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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  This is Lydia Michaels’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Michaels’s right to earn a living from her work.

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  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to one of the strongest women I know. I am truly blessed to have her in my life as both my best friend and my mother. I love you, Mom.

  If not for our many inspiring trips for pecan pie over 22 and 222, I may have never written this series. My love for Lancaster was seeded by you. Thanks for always being there for me. This one’s for you.

  —Nanny-Goat

  CALLING FOR A MIRACLE

  The Order of Vampyres 2

  LYDIA MICHAELS

  Copyright © 2012

  Prologue

  Dane Foster leaned forward in his chair and prodded the snapping fire with the poker just as a marshmallow pegged him in the temple. He turned to the culprit and tried to look severe, but her laughing eyes, showing between her scarf and cockeyed wool cap, made it impossible. His little sister, Cybil, giggled and quickly sat back, the collapsible legs of her nylon camp chair whining from her slight weight. Laughing, Dane plunged the poker into the sandy ground and reached for the marshmallow. Blowing off a few speckles of dirt, he examined the sweet puff and popped it into his mouth.

  “Ew!” Cybil bellowed in a voice that seemed permanently shrill with youth.

  “What? We’re camping. Gotta eat a pound of dirt before you die,” Dane replied over a mouth full of sticky, white sugar.

  “Says who? I’m not eating any dirt.”

  Dane opened his mouth wide, offering his sister one last vulgar display of the squishy treat. He laughed at her revulsion and swallowed. Reaching to his left, he plucked up two skewers. “Here, give me the bag. I’ll set you up so you can roast one.”

  Sighing, she tossed him the bag. “Boys are gross.”

  “Yup.”

  “Shouldn’t you be a little more mature for sixteen?” she challenged.

  “Shouldn’t you be a little taller for ten?”

  Cybil stuck out her tongue, but took the skewered marshmallows from him anyway. They sat in silence, listening to the fire cracking and the autumn leaves slowly whispering through the branches as they fell to the ground. This was their tradition since their father and grandfather had passed away. Every October they, as a family, would retreat to the tall hills of northern Pennsylvania and reconnect. No television, no iPods, no game systems, just family. The only difference between this year and the last several years was that their Nanna was not with them.

  As if reading his thoughts, Cybil quietly asked, “Do you think last year was the last time Nanna will have ever camped with us?”

  They each held their skewers over the flame, eyes transfixed on the dancing tongues of reds, yellows, and blues. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He knew the answer was yes, but saying so out loud somehow made it all too real.

  “How do the doctors know how long a person can live? They could come out with a cure.”

  “There is a cure, Cybil. It’s called chemo. Nanna doesn’t want it.”

  “Why not?” she demanded angrily. Dane knew her anger was really confused sadness at the idea of losing her grandmother. He was sad, too, but he was a teenage boy. It wouldn’t be right for him to fall apart because his Nanna was dying.

  “You were too young to remember the last time. Chemo can make you really sick. It can make a person weak, cause them to vomit, and they can lose all their hair. It’s painful. Nanna’s already in pain. She doesn’t want any more.”

  “She doesn’t look like she’s in pain. She doesn’t even look sick.”

  “She is.
Just because people don’t talk about things doesn’t mean they don’t feel them.”

  “She’s just giving up!”

  “You can’t surrender to something that was always bigger than you. We all die, Cybil, if Nanna wants to die peacefully and with her dignity intact rather than stripped away by medicine and pain, that’s her choice. She had a full life. She had no control over losing Grandpa. Let her at least have control of her own destiny.”

  His sister suddenly plunged her golden, puffed marshmallow into the flames and watched dispassionately as it caught fire and burned into nothing more than blackened ash. Dane could tell she was fighting tears. It seemed that was all there were anymore, tears. His mother had been barely keeping it together since they arrived. He continuously caught her swiping the rims of her eyes until they grew red and puffy with irritation. That was the problem with small families. When you lost someone you lost a notable chunk. After his grandmother passed, and he knew she would sometime over the next few months, it would only be him, Cybil, and his mom.

  His sister suddenly stood. “I’m going to look for Mom.”

  Dane stood to follow her. Rather than pluck the warm, toasted ball of puffed sugar off the skewer he simply dropped it into the fire next to Cybil’s forgotten marshmallow ash. He wasn’t in the mood for it anymore anyway. “I’ll come with you.”

  It was getting dark and harder to see. Dane regretted not grabbing a flashlight before they left their site. The snap of twigs under their feet was muffled by the crunch of newly fallen leaves. With each breath a cloud of mist filled the air before them. It was getting cooler. He wouldn’t be surprised if the temperatures dropped to the forties once the stars came out.

  “How far did she go to collect sticks? There’re sticks all over the place. She could have just walked around our tent and found enough to keep the fire going all night.”

  Cybil continued to chatter and complain. She was one of those kids that always needed to fill the air with meaningless words as if the silence was simply unbearable to her. He had a feeling his mom wasn’t looking for sticks, but rather a quiet place to hide and cry. It had to be sad losing a mother, even when you were a grown-up.

  There was a loud crack followed by a crash that echoed through the woods to their left. Dane squinted into the darkness. Under the shelter of the trees, it was growing impossibly dark. He turned to make sure he could still see the glow of their fire reflecting off the canopy of branches surrounding their site. He didn’t want to get lost.

  “What was that?” Cybil asked in a shaky voice. “Are there bears in these woods?”

  “There are bears all over Pennsylvania, Cybil. It was probably just a big branch falling.”

  “Maybe we should go back.”

  Dane agreed, but he couldn’t remember if his mom took a flashlight either. What if she was lost? He wondered if he should go grab one of the halogen lanterns back at the site then return to find his mother. “Let’s call for Mom,” he suggested.

  They each took turns yelling for their mother, but she never yelled back. They had walked farther into the woods and Dane was losing sight of the glow from their fire. The more he turned and searched the shadows for his mother, the more disoriented his sense of direction became. “Okay, on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three…” They each shouted out for their mom. When there was still no answer, Dane shut his eyes at the fear tickling up his spine. Pretending to be stoic, he reached for Cybil’s smaller hand, but knew he drew just as much comfort from her touch as she did from his. She was no longer chattering. That meant she was scared as well. They tromped across the dying leaves covering the ground and stepped carefully over twisted roots. When Cybil lost her footing on a dip in the nonexistent path, he quickly steadied her. The woods suddenly seemed too quiet, their breathing the only sound.

  Dane stood still. Cybil watched him as he slowly turned in a circle, straining to see into every shadow. There was suddenly a backlash of wind as something ran past them. The dried leaves kicked up in the breeze, twirled halfheartedly, then settled back on the ground. Both Dane and Cybil looked to the left where they thought the animal had headed.

  “What was that? And do not say a bear,” Cybil said, squeezing his hand painfully.

  “That was too fast for a bear. It was probably just a cat or a fox or something.” But Dane knew the animal had been too large to be a cat or fox, too large to be a deer also. Whatever it was, it was big. And fast.

  Just then the animal raced past them again, too fast to see, but close enough that Dane felt a backlash of wind from its speed hit his face. Sleeping birds scattered from the trees above and smaller rodents scurried to safety under the leaves at their feet. Cybil whimpered. Then all was eerily quiet.

  They simply stood stock-still, hoping the animal, whatever it was, would leave them be and go away. No such luck. A low growl began to thrum like a purring heartbeat to their right. They slowly turned their heads as one, as if they shared a brain. Dane could see nothing but his sister’s smaller silhouette clouded by the silver mist of her breath. The purring stopped.

  Peculiarly, there was a crunch in front of them that had them snapping their eyes in that direction, but what was watching them was not that way. As if a thousand splinters of fear suddenly shot into Dane’s heart, he felt the most frightening sensation of his life. Hot breath puffed along the back of his neck. And then there was a low growl.

  They each turned. Dane wasn’t sure if he screamed. He could hear nothing over his sister’s bloodcurdling cry. Eyes, unnatural glowing eyes, watched them from two feet away. It was no animal. It was a man, but not a man. Standing slightly hunched, the beast had matted hair, snarled and tangled with leaves and twigs. He wore no clothing, but his flesh was caked with mud. Fangs. It had fangs like a rabid dog and claws like a hawk. He quivered and pulled in one hundred useless breaths as he saw what the beast held in those dirty claws. His mother’s lifeless body.

  Chapter 1

  Larissa bounced impatiently behind the curtain as her body thrummed with adrenaline and her pulse raced faster than the music vibrating Club Silhouettes. It was Halloween, a holiday the English celebrated by dressing in costumes and handing out candy. When her boss had lain out a selection of provocative costumes for the girls to choose from, she had eagerly selected a dainty black lace ensemble with soft black fur lining the trim, a tail, and two tiny kitten ears.

  Larissa loved clothes! She loved the freedom English women had in choosing their garments, so many colors and decadent fabrics. It was a world of indulgence outside of the farm she had lived her forty-nine years on. In two months she would be fifty. Of course she didn’t look a day over twenty-five. Fifty years old, a woman in her own right, yet she felt as if she only reached an age of maturity one month ago when she fled her oppressive Amish roots and risked everything in order to find happiness.

  She regretted nothing. Sure, she missed her parents, but since she had been given to her husband, Silus Hostetler, like an auctioneer passes over a horse, she had seen her mother and father less and less. Her younger sister, Gracie, she tried not to think of. She did miss Grace. And then there were Adam and Cain. Her one blessing was that her brother Cain had found her. He had given her some money and helped her find a place to live while he, too, was taking some time away from the farm. He, however, was a male and did not have an overbearing husband to answer to.

  Cain was her only link to the family she had left behind. She trusted him more than anyone in the world to protect her freedom and not run back to the farm, telling of her whereabouts. He understood she could never return, not to the farm, not to their sheltered way of life, and most of all, not to Silus.

  A low, soft whistle sounded behind her. She turned and smiled as Vito, her friend and the club bouncer, stepped closer.

  “Well, will you look at you,” he said as he took her hand and slowly twirled her for his inspection. “Prettiest kitty I’ve ever seen.”

  She felt her cheeks heat and smiled as she look
ed toward the floor. “Thanks, Vito.”

  “You up next?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you dancing to?”

  “‘I’m a Slave 4 U’ by Britney Spears.”

  He nodded. “Good choice.”

  Larissa readjusted her cat-ear headband then turned. “Is my tail on straight?”

  She waited, heard Vito clear his throat, then waited as he said in a low voice, “Ah…yeah…just…” She felt him adjust the black-feathered tail hanging from the back of her black lace panties. His cool fingers briefly touched the flesh of her bottom and she reflexively went up on her toes. “Looks good.”

  She turned and smiled up at her big friend. “Thank you, Vito.”

  “No problem. Candy’s song is ending. You better get ready to go out there.”

  She nodded and turned to peek out the curtain just as Candy ended in a flourished press across the floor of the stage that reminded Larissa of a mermaid pulling herself out of water. The song ended and Larissa took a deep, calming breath. She loved to dance and the fact that she found a job that paid her to do just that was a blessing.

  With one last look to make sure her high, shiny, black boots were zipped tight, she stepped out from the curtain and waited for the lights to hit her. The lights made it so simple to lose herself on stage. As they highlighted her every move for the audience they also provided her privacy. So long as the lights were on her, she could not see another soul. She was alone, on a stage, dancing out every emotion her body could feel and draw from the music. She was learning to finally see her body as something to be proud of rather than something to fear.