The Long Night E-Book

Lucy Felthouse

• Herausgeber: Lucy Felthouse
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Forever is a long time for a vampire… but is all that about to change for Lailah?

Lailah’s neighbour, Loulou, is well known for hosting wild, extravagant events, so as Lailah heads over there for the much-anticipated annual Halloween bash, she thinks she’s prepared for pretty much anything. Soon after arriving, though, she discovers Loulou has outdone herself—and presented Lailah, who, as well as being an actual vampire, has come in fancy dress as one, with the opportunity to have a little joke at her own expense.

What Lailah’s not prepared for, however, is the appearance of three gorgeous men in uniform. Their out-of-place getup piques Lailah’s curiosity, and as polite conversation turns to flirtation, Lailah gets the weirdest feeling nothing is ever going to be the same again.

But how will Luke, Leo and Jack react when they discover Lailah’s vampirism isn’t just for Halloween?

Note: This novella has been previously published as part of the Duty Bound with Bite anthology.

Leseprobe

The Long Night

By Lucy Felthouse

Text Copyright 2021 © Lucy Felthouse.

All Rights Reserved.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the aforementioned author. This book was created without the use of AI. Scanning by AI for training purposes or derivative works is strictly prohibited.

Warning: The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Cover design by The Tyger’s Eye.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

If You Enjoyed The Long Night

Chapter One

I’m prepared for pretty much anything on my way to my next-door neighbour’s house for her Halloween party. Loulou is well known across north London for her wild, extravagant events, a few of which I’ve had the good fortune to be a part of—they’re always good fun. So I’m expecting something spectacular—she wouldn’t let me help, or even have a sneak peek at the decorations, so whatever she’s gone for will be a complete surprise to me.

The nearest streetlamp to our houses is providing just enough light to show off her outdoor decorations. I smile as I push open her fake-cobweb-covered front gate, duck as a plastic bat swoops toward my head, then make my way up the garden path, which is lined with creatively carved pumpkins, the tealights nestled inside each helping to illuminate the way to the door.

For all intents and purposes, I’m walking through a graveyard. Headstones in varying states of decay litter the grass. Noises ring out periodically—the hoot of an owl, the howl of a wolf, the yowl of a cat. There’s even a dry ice machine secreted somewhere, as a sinister, low-lying fog hovers over the ground.

I jump and gasp as I pass a large tree to find a decrepit, bloodstained zombie grinning at me from behind its trunk. Tutting, then chuckling at my own silliness, I mount the three steps up to the porch, where more of the same greets me, as well as some macabre smiling skulls, blood dripping from their mouths and spiders crawling from their eye sockets. It’s great, it really is, but there’s nothing unusual about any of it. This is Loulou we’re talking about—I’m waiting for the ‘wow’ factor, that extra something she’s thrown in to make her party an event that’ll be talked about for weeks, maybe even months, to come.

A sign with Gothic blood-red print is fixed to the door.

PARTY THIS WAY. ENTER IF YOU DARE.

Obviously, I dare. With a roll of my eyes, I depress the door handle—which has a large plastic spider hanging off it—and step inside. It’s only a few minutes past the official start time for the party, so it’s still pretty quiet. I’m fine with that—it gives me the opportunity to have a good look around at what Loulou has done with the décor before it gets too busy, too heaving with bodies. Live ones, that is. The dead ones dotted around the place don’t seem to care one way or the other.

I don’t bother announcing my presence to my neighbour—we’ll find each other before long. Instead, I immediately start exploring, exchanging the occasional polite nod with other early partygoers as we pass. The scent of pumpkin spice hangs in the air. So far, so typical—more cobwebs, spiders, pumpkins, skulls, bats, black cats, ghosts, witches, zombies, black floaty material draped everywhere, creepy music…

Then something catches my eye. Toward the back of what is usually Loulou’s enormous living room—the properties in this area, including mine, are huge—is a sectioned-off area. A partition, designed to look like an old stone wall. It’s dark, gloomy, spooky. I love it. And that’s before I notice the sign affixed to the arched doorway embedded in the wall.

THE VAMPIRE’S LAIR

A snort escapes me, and I quickly look around to make sure nobody noticed. I’m alone, thankfully—probably the others are diving into the drinks and snacks which are most likely laid out in the dining room, getting their hands on all the best stuff before other people arrive.

I open the door carefully, since I don’t know how sturdy this whole shebang is, and I don’t want to wreck it—Loulou’ll kill me—and enter, eager to find out exactly what Loulou thinks a vampire lair looks like.

You’d think she’d have an idea, really, given she lives next door to one. Not that she knows, of course—I don’t make a habit of announcing my true nature to people. It just results in disbelief, asking for proof, which then often leads to screaming and freaking out. I just can’t be doing with that kind of drama. Therefore I keep my supernatural status to myself, and move around just often enough to ensure people don’t start to notice I haven’t aged a day since they first met me.

I’ve owned the property next door for centuries, but have lost count of the number of times I’ve technically lived in it, if you see what I mean. I’ve only been here eight months or so this time, so I’ve got ages to go before I need to even consider moving—especially in these days, where if anyone did start to notice, to comment, I could cite hideously expensive face creams, Botox, even plastic surgeons, if necessary, to throw people off the scent. I don’t like everything about modern life, but there are benefits to it.

It’s definitely tempting to stick around in this neck of the woods. Out of all my properties, the one next door’s my favourite. With its dark, weather-worn stone, thrusting turrets, arched windows and doors, gargoyles and wrought-iron fence and gatework, it looks every inch the vampire lair it actually is. Back when I had it built, I was going for something foreboding, something to scare people, keep them away. The stuff of nightmares, as they say. Now, though, it amuses me enormously to think I live in a house that is precisely what it looks like, and yet passersby don’t believe it for a second. Not even the costumed little kids that traipsed up and down mygarden path earlier this evening, their tiny pumpkin buckets full of sweets and chocolate, truly believed a vampire lived there.

And that’s just the way I like it. I’m not a hermit, far from it, but I prefer to fly under the radar, not get noticed too much. Which brings me to a downside of modern life. Social media. Don’t get me wrong, I know why lots of humans find it brilliant, even get addicted to it, but for someone like me, it’s a total pain in the arse. Ending up in photographs, even the backgrounds of them, plastered all over the internet for anyone to see, for eternity, increases my chances of someone eventually noticing my longevity, my moving around. Maybe even some stupid computer algorithm would pick it up before a human did. And you can see why that would be problematic, right?

Tonight, though, I don’t have to worry. I’m so heavily costumed and made up that I barely recognised myself in the mirror before I came out. And yes, before you ask, I do have a reflection. Don’t believe everything you hear, okay? So if I end up accidentally photobombing someone this evening, it doesn’t really matter. Nobody will put two and two together, equate the black haired, be-fanged, red lipped, red fingernailed vampire with the actual vampire who lives next door.

Yes, you did read that right. I’m here, at my nutty neighbour’s Halloween party, dressed as a vampire. What? It’s just a little joke—except I’m the only one who knows the punchline. Somehow that makes it even funnier.

And now I’m having even more of a joke, albeit at my own expense, by checking out this vampire lair. It’s pretty good, actually. Laid out to resemble the interior of a castle—Dracula’s castle, perhaps?—it’s all rough stone walls, sconces, candelabras, antique furniture, suits of armour and a coffin sitting on the floor at the back. It’s open. I move closer, the dim light posing no problem to my enhanced eyesight, and check it out. It looks expensive; black lacquer, polished brass handles and fixtures, and an interior lined with cushioned satin in the deepest red I’ve ever seen in a material. In fact, if it was even remotely true that vampires sleep in coffins, I’d be quite happy to give this one a go—it looks pretty comfortable.

Consider me impressed—this ‘lair’ is exactly the sort of talking point I was expecting. It’s authentic without being too over the top, which I reckon will chill most people to the bone. If there’d been blood splatters up the walls, for example, or a mutilated body lying around, it’d have gone the route of tacky and made people laugh, rather than creeping them out. This strikes an excellent balance.

I snap my head toward voices I suddenly hear on the other side of the partition. Deep, male ones. Laced with amusement, happiness. They’re teasing each other. Egging each other on, maybe? An idea forms.

My lips stretch almost painfully around the fake fangs I have stuffed into my mouth as the grin takes over. I can’t help it—my stupid, childish sense of humour has kicked in, and I’m unable to resist. I quickly jump into the coffin and lower the heavy lid, sealing myself into the darkness. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest—I’m a child of darkness, remember? Nor does the lack of oxygen. I don’t need it, after all, I just breathe because people would notice if I didn’t.

I wait in silence, listening as the door in the partition creaks open and the men—three of them, I think—enter the ‘vampire’s lair’. I suppress a chuckle as I consider what’s about to happen. You’d think someone my age would be more mature. Nope!

“Wow. Loulou really went all out, didn’t she? This looks great—really creepy,” comes one voice.

“Yeah. Like a proper Transylvanian castle, this is,” pipes up another.

“Even down to the bloody coffin—look,” says a third.

There’s a brief silence, I’m guessing as they peer at the coffin, then each other, contemplating what to do next. If anything. I really hope they don’t just turn and leave. That’d ruin my fun. Though I could just wait here until some other unsuspecting victims happen along.

“D’you reckon there’s anything inside?” says the first man, the slightest hint of trepidation audible.

“What, like a vampire?” the second man replies, scorn dripping from his voice.

“Well… yeah. Not a real one, obviously!” Man number one tuts, then adds, “Shall we have a look? This is Loulou’s party, remember? Anything’s possible. Knowing her, it could be full of beer.”

There’s another pause, and I’m guessing they’ve agreed, because the clump of footsteps grows closer, then I hear the scrabble of fingers against the coffin lid as they try to find purchase.

I tense, digging my stupid fake teeth into my bottom lip to keep myself from laughing, giving myself away at such a crucial point. After a moment, there’s a mutter of acquiescence, and I feel the movement of air against my skin as the seal is broken. There are groans as the heavy lid is slowly shifted. I have milliseconds to decide what to do—do I just lie here, play dead? Do I snap to a sitting position like a jack-in-the-box? Or do I sit up slowly, eyes wide, fangs bared, clawed hands grasping? What will shit these guys up the most?