Vampire Illusion: A Sophie Vickers Thing
VAMPIRE ILLUSION
Book One
A Sophie Vickers Thing
TERI CHAMBERS
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published by Teri Chambers at Amazon
Copyright © 2016 Teri Chambers
ASIN: B01M04MEJU
Cover image © Pixalot from Getty Images Signature/Canva Layouts via Canva.com
First Edition: 2016
Second Edition: 2020
Third Edition: 2021
Teri Chambers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Dedication
For my wonderful family and friends
Thank you for believing
Contents
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY TERI CHAMBERS
CHAPTER 1
Lately, Sophie had become hooked on all things vampire, although, as blood did nothing for her, it seemed a strange obsession.
She watched vampire films so often, the images of ripped, virile males stamped themselves on the inside of her eyelids. Each time she blinked there they were.
Whilst reading a steamy scene from her favourite book ‘Vampires Bite Back’ and paying more attention to the page she was on than the can she swigged from, Sophie cut her lip.
Shooting off the sofa and into the bathroom she cursed silently, spitting cola and blood into the sink. The hand she’d used to cover her mouth, stung. A quick look at two deep puncture wounds in the fleshy part of her palm made her wince. So did the reflection in the mirror. It couldn’t be hers.
Elongated incisors, like tiny white daggers, prodded her bottom lip. With an almost hysterical whine, Sophie gripped the washbasin until her knees stopped jerking.
What the hell was happening to her? She grappled with a crazy vision of her dust blowing in the wind, drifting away to nothingness in the bleary light of dawn.
*
The Dental Surgery’s phone line was engaged. Sophie kept pushing redial on her mobile. This was an emergency and she wasn’t giving up. Tentatively, she ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth. The fa… no…she couldn’t say the word, had retracted.
A cultured voice answered on the third ring. Sophie swallowed the wrong way. Spluttering and wheezing, she tried to speak.
‘Take your time,’ the voice said.
‘I need to see a dentist,’ she squeaked. ‘I have fangs! Help me, pleeeze.’
There was a pause and a clicking sound as the receptionist keyed through the day’s list. Sophie took deep, calming breaths while she waited.
The clicking stopped.
‘Could you come in at 10.30?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Twenty minutes… She pressed the phone to her forehead and tried not to swear. She hated dentists, hurrying and, right now, Saturday mornings.
Never in her history had she showered, washed and dried her hair, brushed it and her teeth, in time for anything. Today could be worthy of a mark on the greasy calendar stapled to the kitchen door of her one-bedroom flat.
A quick check before leaving: door key, purse; money and debit card in purse. Sophie glanced at her phone: 10:20. A pulse in her throat jumped painfully.
‘Just do it,’ she hissed through clenched teeth.
Living on the edge of town had its uses. She ran all the way.
*
Thighs burning, lungs bursting, Sophie arrived thirty seconds before her appointment. Leaning on the polished oak counter, she panted out her name and details to the well-groomed receptionist: an Ingrid Bergman look-alike.
Feeling like a badly dressed teenager, she took the only available seat; settling between a girl of about ten and an old man, whose face sported as many craters as the moon.
Her imagination wandered as she stood and walked over to a console table set against the far wall. Absent-mindedly leafing through a stack of magazines, she slid one out and returned to her seat. Why did she have fangs? Were her teeth coming loose? What would she do if it happened now – who would she choose to bite? Stifling a snort of nervous amusement, Sophie flicked through the glossy in her hands.
Highlighted with pictures of large country houses set in lush grounds, the article expounded on how the other half lived. What they did in their spare time (buying racehorses, driving sleek, expensive sports cars; holidaying on their private islands somewhere warm and exclusive). Yeah, if only… Not in her world. A 9 – 5 grind in the town’s livestock auctioneering office followed by a weekend of not a lot.
She must have made a noise at some stage, because the old guy tried to edge away. Impossible to do of course as they were seated so close together she could smell the peppermint he sucked. It clicked against his teeth.
More than a little anxious about seeing a dentist, she swapped reading matter with the girl and became absorbed in a Justin Bieber article. He looked out at her, baby-faced and so…young. Sophie wanted to cry. At twenty-five, she hadn’t felt old - until now. She shifted position: her bottom was numb. She uncrossed then re-crossed her legs, groaning. All this rushing about wasn’t good for a person.
A petite dental nurse, looking pristine in her snug-fitting white
uniform, popped in at regular intervals; appearing with a sunny smile which seemed to zone in on its next victim.
One of the patients, a Goth, reacted to the laser smile. His long legs stilled from their incessant jiggling. Heads turned to watch the couple disappear through a pine-panelled door and down a brightly lit corridor. Presumably, Sophie thought, to one of the waiting dentists and a sound-proofed room. Did she imagine the smell of mouthwash and fear?
Eyes darting around to see who’d be called next, she caught the attention of the receptionist. Ducking her head to avoid eye contact, Sophie pretended interest in the pop quiz, but quickly turned over the page when unable to answer more than two questions.
Apart from the occasional rustling of a newspaper or magazine, the only thing louder than the silence hovering over the room, was the hollow ticking of a large glass clock attached to the wall above the door. Its skeletal brass cogs and wheels moved in an unrelenting pattern of monotony.
Sophie, breathing to the rhythm of that blasted clock, crushed the comic between sweaty hands, anticipating her name would be next.
It wasn’t.
She peeled the comic off her fingers.
The clock ticked…11.30. So much for rushing…
*
At last, it was her turn. Like a tractor beam, the smile drew her in.
They walked down the corridor, the nurse asking Sophie various questions such as, ‘Do you have any allergies?’
‘Yes, two – blood and pain.’
‘Is there someone we can call if necessary?’
‘You could ring my mother. She may actually answer.’
‘When was your last check-up?’
‘Pass.’
Stopping outside one of the rooms, its door ajar, Sophie’s heartbeat escalated. Was it too late to make an excuse and leave? Apparently it was. She stepped over the threshold.
Lying almost horizontal on the black-leather reclining chair, Sophie gazed up at a retro version of a Where’s Wally poster on the ceiling. When a smooth, deep, sexy voice asked her to ‘open wide,’ her eyes darted from Wally to Whoa There Handsome, and stayed.
This was her dentist?
A light fragrance from his skin filtered through her scrambled wits. Sophie’s attention turned from the slight pressure of his fingers to the fixed concentration on his face. In particular his bottom lip, caught between perfect, white teeth. He wasn’t wearing a mask, which seemed unusual, not to say unhygienic, but she mentally waived the thought away. He certainly didn’t have bad breath. In fact, he didn’t seem to breathe at all.
Sophie continued her close study of him. His hair, casual but not scruffy, was so dark it looked black: his skin smooth and tanned. The contrast of it against the pale blue tunic was tempting beyond belief. Her left hand hovered above her lap, eager to stroke him. She snatched it back.
Frowning and oblivious to his lucky escape, he straightened and turned away to tap some secret information into his computer on the counter next to him. Sophie began to fidget.
He swivelled round, raising the back of her chair until they were at eye level.
‘I can’t find any loose teeth. Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake, Miss Vickery?’ His eyes scanned her face as he spoke.
‘Vickers – rhymes with knickers.’ She scanned him in return. ‘No, I’m not mistaken. I had fangs this morning. Not for long but they were there.’ Those rich, brown eyes… ‘Blood, a lot of blood,’ she whispered, trailing off altogether.
Sophie glanced towards the nurse, afraid what she’d said sounded ridiculous. There was a look of interest on the woman’s pretty features - nothing mocking at all.
‘Well, you don’t seem to have “fangs” at the moment – at least none I can see. Your gums look fine, although I think you might be slightly anaemic as they’re rather pale.’ He smiled at her and lightly touched her wrist.
Goose bumps rose up immediately. Flashes of electricity pulsed through her whole body. There was a sharp crack somewhere close to her right arm, followed by sparks, which flew between her skin and his fingertips.
The dental nurse took a step back, pressing latex-gloved hands to her face.
Mr. Delectable snatched his hand away, shaking it as if throwing off residual energy.
‘Are you wearing anything made of polyester?’
He asked the weirdest questions.
‘No! My jeans are denim, my top is a silk and cotton mix and my jumper is cashmere. Oh, and my boots are …’
‘Leather…yes, I can smell them. No mistaking the real thing.’ He cocked an eyebrow at her.
Without missing a beat, Sophie continued, ‘I thought electrostatic had been virtually eradicated in dental surgeries.’
‘Hmm…’
‘What does that mean?’ If she thought the power release strange, it was nothing compared to the way he was studying her. Clinging to the sides of the chair to combat an overwhelming urge to grab him, Sophie inhaled sharply. He smelled delicious.
A tiny spark of light flashed around his irises. He blinked and they were back to normal.
‘I think you’ll be fine, Sophie Knickers rhymes with Vickers. You can go now.’ He gave the smallest of grins before turning back to his computer. ‘You can pay at reception on your way out.’
That was it. She’d been dismissed.
CHAPTER 2
As Sophie stepped into the street, all thoughts of Mr. Delectable vanished. Blinding prisms of light stormed her retinas. She blinked rapidly, cursing the sudden blare of traffic and conversation threatening to burst her eardrums. Waves of odours rushed up her nose - some more pleasant than others.
With both hands to her ears she stopped breathing. Leaning against a sign for restricted parking, Sophie wondered if this was a Weird Happenings Day she hadn’t heard about. Eventually she straightened, peered around and resumed breathing. Her world was back to normal, or at least the small English port town in which she lived.
Still engrossed with her recent experiences, she walked a few steps before blundering into a haystack: that’s what it felt like, anyway. ‘What the hell…?’ Sophie rebounded but somehow remained standing.
‘Sorry, sorry – didn’t mean to bump into you, wasn’t thinking that’s all.’ The guy apologising was tall, dark and, well, no need to continue... His jeans and open necked shirt could only be designer. She was mesmerised to the point of verbal drought. Where had these men been hiding? Why did she not see them before? Why was she wasting time thinking stupid questions when Mr. Look Me Up, Lay Me Down, was almost nose to nose with her?
‘Oh please don’t apologise, Mr. …er…?’ Yeah - cute move.
‘Damien, my name is Damien. Please do accept my apology Miss… um…?’
‘Sophie will do nicely thank you.’ Stop drooling she reminded herself, what’s gotten into you? Again with the questions!
‘Well, Sophie, as I said before, my mind was on other things.’ Damien stopped talking and stared at something over her left shoulder, his eyes narrowing momentarily.
‘Look…’ They both spoke together.
‘Great minds...’ He groaned at the sound of his bland comment.
Her lip curled slightly.
He tried again. ‘Do you fancy a glass of something?’
Sophie was about to pounce on Damien’s suggestion when she recalled her mother telling her not to appear too eager.
‘It makes you look cheap, darling. We don’t want that now, do we?’
Visions of her mother, all twin set and Lady Di pearls, hovered between her and possibly a stonkingly good night. Sophie pulled down an imaginary blind between the lady and herself. She wasn’t cheap; just a shrewd negotiator.
‘Sounds like a plan.’ He couldn’t know she was someone who hardly ever, no, strike that, never, socialised. ‘Where do you suggest we have this well-earned drink?’
Damien bestowed a smile of such magnitude, for a moment Sophie forgot she was human and needed oxygen. She gasped an intake of air and saw the tiny spark
of light surrounding his hazel irises before it vanished. What the…?
‘I know somewhere perfect for a day like this.’ He grinned, tapping the side of his nose.
‘What exactly is “a day like this”?’ The question seemed valid to her. She’d never experienced a day which held as many surprises as this one.
‘Let’s just say it’s an ‘about to get better’ day.’
Sophie was hooked. ‘Well, in that case, lead on.’
*
Damien guided her towards one of the town’s oldest pubs, The Drum, and held the door open, because he was, after all, a gentleman.
‘Very nice,’ Sophie murmured. The interior looked impressive. Oak panelling covered the walls and a mahogany bar swallowed up a third of the spacious room along one side. Suffused lighting, unobtrusive music and Persian carpets, gave it the ambience of a private club rather than a public house.
No overt smells of beer or food assailed her; just a whiff of smoke from a cigar held by a large, dark-suited gentleman, who sat at a round table away to her left. He was engrossed in his newspaper. As she watched, he lifted a small glass of amber liquid to his lips, but before swallowing its contents, flicked a glance in her direction. Sophie shivered.
Cupping her elbow with his hand, Damien steered her away from those inquisitive eyes, and helped her onto a bar stool before seating himself. The barman, a small man, stood almost shoulder level with the counter. He was smartly dressed in black trousers, clean white shirt and black bow tie, and, after nodding towards both of them asked if they were ready to order.
Sophie casually scanned the rest of the room while sipping her white wine spritzer. A few feet from the bar were wooden tables and chairs, showing the patina of age. Past the immediate group of tables ranked a definite demarcation line of others, bearing white cards with ‘Reserved’ printed on them in black ink.
At the farthest end of the room, dark brown, wing-backed leather armchairs formed a horseshoe around an inglenook fireplace. Quiet conversations punctuated by stifled laughter, drifted from that direction. The whole place appeared redolent of an earlier era.
A small brush of air across her hand brought her focus back to Damien. How could she not pay attention to him? He resembled a vampire from one of her daydreams. She stifled a giggle – she was not the giggling type – never had been.