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The Following excerpt from THE HOLIDAY STALKING is for readers 18 and over. Excerpt from The Holiday Stalking by Kate Hill Available from Ellora's Cave! Prologue Rome, AD 63 Vincent watched as one of his favorite slaves—a shapely black-haired woman called Octavia—cleaned sweat from his smooth, well-muscled chest. Behind him another slave, Aurelia, scraped his back dry. After spending the morning training with his sword, it felt good to spend a few hours in the private bath of his villa, being washed and massaged by his lovely women. “Enough,” Vincent growled, wrapping his arm around Octavia’s waist and hauling her to his chest. “Time for the bath.” She smiled, her large brown eyes gazing into his. “And me?” Aurelia stepped from behind him and rested a hand on his broad shoulder. “Of course.” He bent his head and kissed her, his tongue snaking into her mouth. Aurelia took his face in her hands and moaned softly, her own tongue caressing his with hot, moist strokes. Vincent waded into the pool, filling his cupped hands with water and wetting his torso. Aurelia approached, slipping her arms around him and tilting her face upward for another kiss. He smiled, allowing his fangs to slip from their sheaths. Her heartbeat quickened with desire as she revealed her own tiny, white incisors. “I need you so much,” she murmured, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I want you to take me.” Vincent licked her neck, pausing with his tongue flat against a throbbing artery. Most of his female slaves were hybrid vampires—ones made by bite. Not only did he require the strength of their bodies to satisfy his own ferocious lust, but he was special among his kind and only hybrid blood could sustain him. He was an Immaculate—a vampire born, not made. Dominant. Aggressive. Unstoppable. As he pulled Aurelia close and sank his fangs into her soft, delectable flesh, he felt Octavia stroking his legs underwater. Her breasts pressed against his thighs. She rubbed her nipples over the backs of his knees while one of her hands grasped his cock and stroked it to rock hardness. Aurelia moaned, her fingers sinking into his shoulders as he drank her blood. Gently nudging Octavia aside with his foot, he walked to the edge of the bath and pressed Aurelia against it, thrusting his cock into her hot, tight pussy. Octavia gasped as she broke the surface of the water. Within seconds, she stood behind him. One of her hands slipped around his waist while she used her other hand to fondle Aurelia’s breasts. Octavia rubbed her clit against his hip as her teeth sank into his shoulder. Aurelia cried out, her cunt throbbing around his cock, her arms clutching his neck in a spasmodic hold that would have strangled a mortal man. He continued thrusting fast and hard, driving her to orgasm after orgasm, until he tired of her body and reached for the other slave. Grasping Octavia by the waist, he hoisted her to the side of the bath and lowered his head between her legs, lapping and nipping her clit. She shivered, burying her fingers in his hair. When she trembled on the edge of climax, Vincent leapt out of the pool, landing in a crouch beside her. “Come,” he ordered, hauling her on top of him as he stretched out on the damp floor. She straddled his waist, her heated cunt swallowing his cock. Rocking atop him, her fingers clutched his hips and tangled in his dark, kinky pubic hair. Vincent panted, his teeth aching for blood as his cock strained for release. “Forgive my intrusion,” the soft voice of another slave, Cornelia, sounded from the door. Neither Octavia nor Vincent stopped their carnal motions, but he snapped, “What, Cornelia?” “The Emperor wishes you to join him.” “When?” “Right away.” Vincent snarled, grasping Octavia by the hips and shoving her onto her back. The Emperor would have to wait until Vincent finished with his bath. “Come here, Cornelia.” He glanced toward the door as he pounded into Octavia’s writhing body. Cornelia, her curves partially concealed by her floor-length stola, approached, her green eyes tinged red with lust, her little fangs glinting against her lips. “Undress.” The slave obeyed, running her tongue over her full lips. She lay beside Octavia, positioned so Vincent could fondle her clit and explore her pussy with one hand while he continued thrusting into the other woman. Aurelia, not wishing to be neglected, hoisted herself out of the pool and knelt beside Vincent, squeezing his buttocks, running her finger along the crack between each hard globe, and grasping his sack. Vincent bit Aurelia, ramming into her as his heart pounded and he came hard amidst the three beautiful slaves. Pushing himself to his feet, Vincent reached for his tunic and left the women still playing amongst themselves. His women provided such pleasures that he wondered why some men bothered with love. It made them weak. Vulnerable. It was a waste of time and energy. * * * * * A short time later, at another magnificent bath, Vincent sat beside Nero, sipping wine and watching gymnasts perform. He resisted the urge to yawn. Mortal athletes were so inferior to his kind. Vincent’s boredom turned to annoyance when a lean, dark-haired gladiator known as Seraphimus entered the bath. The man’s scent was overpowering—and infuriating. Seraphimus was, to Vincent’s knowledge, the only other Immaculate vampire in Rome. He was a gladiator and flaunted his powers so blatantly during the games Vincent wasn’t sure how all of Rome didn’t discover the truth of vampires’ existence. Seraphimus—also a favorite of Nero—was Vincent’s most hated rival. They had despised one another on sight—at least Vincent had despised Seraphimus. The man’s quiet, observant nature was unsettling. He carried himself like one of the ancients when Vincent felt sure his roots were common. Vincent’s teeth ground as Seraphimus approached, bowing to the Emperor, though the expression in his pale green eyes was anything but humble. “Join us,” Nero told him. “I have called you and Vincent here to share something I know you both will appreciate.” Seraphimus glanced at Vincent before sitting on the opposite side of the Emperor. Vincent cursed silently. He could have been home enjoying his women instead of looking at Seraphimus’ arrogant face. Still, Vincent knew better than to refuse the Emperor—unless he wanted trouble, and he had no desire to leave Rome again. “There.” Nero pointed to a lovely, dark-skinned woman. Only her long black hair concealed her luscious curves. A gold loin cloth left her smooth, muscled legs bare. The gymnasts cleared the floor. Musicians played soft music as the woman danced. Vincent stared at her, fascinated by every delicate hand-movement, every bounce of her bare breasts as she spun and swayed her hips. This mortal woman was as rare and exotic as the most ancient vampiress. He listened to the throbbing of her heart. As the music's pace increased, sweat beaded on her lovely skin, causing it to glow. Suddenly he realized she was staring in their direction. At him? No. Vincent growled, a sound too low for mortals to detect. The dancer couldn’t keep her eyes from Seraphimus—and the gladiator seemed awed by her. Vincent heard Seraphimus’ pulse racing like a mortal’s, keeping time with the dancers as if they were one heart beating for two. Nero turned to Vincent and smiled. Vincent returned the gesture. Seraphimus might be a favored athlete, but Vincent was a Senator’s son, and a close friend of the Emperor. He would claim the slave dancer. She would belong to him forever, and Seraphimus would never, never have her...

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