First Place Winner (March 2025) "Temptation"

He bobbed his head about in a completely undignified manner, searching for an angle from which to see more clearly.

His suspicions were confirmed when the carriage suddenly sprang from the trees, the pair of sleek black horses trotting briskly at the behest of the suodden driver whose brimmed hat was pulled down in the front to shield his eyes from the weather.

Even from this distance, Vincent thought he could hear the driver's sharp whistle as he snapped the reins.

A man scurried out of the small gatehouse, raising his collar and bowing his head to the lashing rain. He hurried to the heay wrought-iron gate and unlatched it, then heaved on one side as he leaned and backpedalled until the ten-foot door was nearly perpendicular to the ornate, spike-tipped fence that stood sentinel between the estate grounds and the forest proper. The man returned quickly to the entrance and hauled the other side of the gate open just as the carriage arrived and shot through the opening.

The horse nearest the gatekeeper tossed its head and chaped at its bit in way of greeting as the driver lashed the reins and the carriage sped up the smooth track.

Vincent grasped the curtain tightly and held his breath as the carriage neared the split in the track. If the driver veered left, he was returning to the carriage house and the stables without a passenger, but if he stayed right then it was confirmation that Amelia had had answered his summons.

In his heart, the difference between the two outcomes could not be more antithetical if the path the carriage took represented the difference between life and death.

With spray rising from hooves and spinning wheels, the carriage veered toward the main entrance.

Vincent could see the driver rise from his seat and lean forward encouraging the powerful horses onward toward the manor, rain pelting off the prominent brim of his hat as his dark cloak flapped wetly behind him.

With a flourish, Vincent abandoned his place by the window and hurried toward the grand staircase.

An otherworldly fluidity born of familiarity carried him down the stairs. He did not even bother to run his pale hand along the polished mahogany handrail.

Jasper, meanwhile, stood dutifully at the front entrance until his lordship had arrived.

"Your waistcoat, m'lord," intoned the butler.

Vincent hurriedly straightened his clothing, then nodded.

Jasper pulled the ornate door open just as the driver prepared to open the carriage door.

A slap of wet wind struck Vincent as he stepped outside but he paid it no mind. His attention was focused entirely on the interior of the carriage as the driver beld the door open.

A young woman emerged from the shadows holding her voluminous hat firmly in place until she could stand up straight on the carriage step.

When she lifted her gaze, Vincent was taken aback. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered.

He held his hand out to her.

"Allow me, Lady Amelia," he offered.

The frills on the cuff of his white shirt fluttered in the wind.

She blinked at his outstretched hand, taking a moment to admire his long fingers, his manicured nails. She gazed into his blue eyes.

He is so very handsome, she thought, splaying her fingers as she braced her delicate hand on the velvet interior of the open carriage door.

Her face was a mask of stoicism. Her pouty lips betrayed no reaction to his chivalrous gesture.

Despite her seeming indifference, there was , he thought, a mischievous look in her eye. But of that, he was uncertain.

"There is no need for you to get rained upon for y sake, Lord Ambrose," she stated confidently, lifting her petticoat.

When he failed to take the hint, she shooed him back with a gesture.

He lowered his hand and took a step back.

"I am quite capable of descending without assistance," she insisted. "Please, take bo offense."

She hopped gracefully down to the ground.

He smiled.

"None taken" he replied. "Shall we?" He gestured toward the hospital interior of the manor.

"With pleasure," she responded before stepping past him and out of the rain.

Vincent shared an amused look with the carriage driver before following her inside.

He led her to the parlour then instructed Jasper to make certain they not be disturbed.

The butler bowed and closed the door quietly on his way out.

As Amelia stood in front of a large bookcase perusing its contents, Vincent took a moment to admire her dark hair, which hung in waves down to her slender waist.

Not for the first time, he felt himself drawn to her. As he approached, she turned.

"I was more than somewhat intrigued to receive your invitation, Lord Ambrose."

"Vincent. Please."

She did not acknowledge his request for informal address. Instead, she asked the question, that had been on her mind since his letter had arrived.

"Why have you summoned me? You know I am promised to another," she added presumptively.

When he did not respond immediately, she lifted her chin defiantly, daring him to deny his attraction to her.

A slow smile formed on his thin lips.

She basked in his rapt attention.

I simply must have him, she thought.

"I must admit," he began pointedly, "you have become much more than just a curiosity to me." His frost-blue eyes held her.

The tip of her pink tongue hade a brief appearance, nervously wetting her full lips.

"I would be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about you," she whispered breathlessly, her dark eyes half-lidded.

"Come. Sit," he said, drawing her forward with his eyes as he backed toward the plush sofa. When he was certain she would follow, he broke off his gaze and lead her to the place he had chosen ahead of time.

"A drink, perhaps," he suggested, motioning to a table behind the sofa that held several crystal decanters.

"Thank you, no," she said, arranging herself at one end of the sofa.

She is so young. There are many things she has not yet tasted.

He sat at the other end of the sofa.

The space between them mocked their mutual desire.

"You carry yourself with great poise and confidence for someone so young. How old are you, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

She held her small hands together in her voluminous skirts but did not fidget. She eyed him thoughtfully.

"I am old enough to know that it is impolite to ask a lady her age, even when seducing her."

He did not deny his intentions. Instead he crossed his legs at the knee and turned toward her.

"You are quite the enigma to me, Amelia. I am unreservedly fascinated by you."

"You interest me as well," she confessed.

He smiled politely, his lips parting ever so slightly.

"I'm so pleased to hear that," he replied, his eyes seeming to catch the shimmering light from the crackling hearth across the room.

"Why don't you move closer to me," he suggested.

To her ears it sounded more like a command than a request.

"I really should not," she replied, but without conviction.

They gazed into each other's eyes.

"However," she added once the silence between them had become unbearable, "if you were to move closer to me, there would be little I could think of doing to discourage you."

He drew the side of his index finger across his lips pensively, then lifted his gaze toward the high ceiling and gestured as if he were appealing to a higher power.

Perhaps drawing inspiration from his thoughts, he turned to her once again.

"From the moment I first saw you at the fairgrounds, I knew that there was something special about you," he declared, leaning toward her.

"Is that so...Vincent?"

Hearing his name on her lips pleased him to no end. He edged toward her on the sofa.

Her eyes were dark pools. Her lips parted.

He thought she might smile, but instead she closed her eyes and turned her head away from him.

She tilted her head slightly then pulled her voluminous hair to the side, exposing her neck to him.

The submissing gesture gesture was all the encouragement he needed. He moved closer and reached out, cupping her soft cheek in his palm as his lips bent to her neck.

She sighed as he kissed her.

Suddenly she pushed him away, pressing her hand where his lips had touched her. Her eyes widened as she looked at the palm of her hand.

It was smeared with blood.

"You bit me," she said matter-of-factly.

He sat back and wiped her blood off his lips with the side of his hand. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment.

"How is this possible?" he said aloud. "You should be entranced."

She shook her head, flabbergasted, then sneered at him in a very unladylike manner.

"What are you?" she spat.

Vincent sneered back at her, exposing a long canine tooth. He tasted her blood on his tongue.

She doesn't taste human.

"I could ask you the same question."

Two rivulets of dark ichor oozed down her neck.

He produced a silk handkerchief and held it out to her.

She snatched it from him angrily and pressed it against the wound, glaring at him all the while.

"You are a shadow walker, aren't you?" she said accusingly. "No wonder I couldn't infiltrate your dreams."

"I prefer sanguivore," Vincent replied distractedly. He made a sour face. "What in the nine hells is in your blood?" he gasped.

He stood and went behind the sofa, pouring two fingers of liquor into a tumbler before swishing it around in his mouth and swallowing it. He moved to put the decanter down, then thought better of it and poured three more fingers into his glass before returning to his seat.

"Well, this is a fine situation," Amelia lamented. "My carriage won't be here until after midnight."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "You have a carriage coming for you?"

Amelia looked at him as if he were a simpleton. "Well, I wasn't planning on walking home, was I?"

Vincent smirked and sat back in the plush sofa.

"If I'd had my way, you wouldn't have been able to walk at all." He raised his tumber toward her in salut before taking a sip.

She laughed, despite herself.

"Likewise. I suppose I should make myself comfortable then," she declared. She removed her large hat, revealing two small horns on the top of her head.

"Ah, so you're a demon then," he surmised, scraping the top of his tongue beneath his front teeth.

"A succubus, yes. I'll take that drink now," she said, running her fingers through her long hair.

From the Author

In my writing, regardless of genre, I explore the emotive.  Engaging readers with an interesting, well-written story is important, but my purpose goes beyond that.  When I write, I seek to captivate readers so they become immersed in the story and invest themselves emotionally in the characters and their circumstances.  Evoking human emotion through storytelling is what separates great writers from good writers, in my opinion.  That is where the magic resides.

-- John Grim

Discover more of John Grim's work on Booksie.