when a mullo loves a woman - vamp fic

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When A Mullo Loves A WomanWhen A Mullo Loves A WomanWhen A Mullo Loves A WomanWhen A Mullo Loves A Woman

CHAPTER ONE

This story is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

You are free to share this sample chapter, in its entirety, but it must never be charged for.

Author:

Copyright © 2010 JoAnne Kenrick

All rights reserved.

www.joannekenrick.com

Cover art:

Copyright 2010 © Dara England

All rights reserved.

Publisher:

Decadent Publishing

www.decadentpublishing.com


She thought the mullo was just a myth…she was dead wrong.

Adam Flint's Gypsy visions always guide him to those who need his paranormal gifts. He

gets more than he bargained for in Pearl Kizzy, a beautiful spitfire from Liverpool. Adam knows

that to save Pearl, he must help her accept her own Gypsy heritage.

Although Adam and Pearl fight their burning attraction for one another, a night of passion

sparks memories of their treacherous former lives. Unable to face the loss of Pearl in this century,

Adam scrambles for distance from the love of his life. A rejected Pearl falls into the arms of a

Mullo--a gypsy vampire--who lays claim to her heart--and her life.

To survive, Adam and Pearl must accept their tragic past, and find a way to kill the undead.


Chapter OneChapter OneChapter OneChapter One

“Is he still behind us?” I nudged Celeste’s pink lycra-clad ribs to steal her attention away

from a store window. No use. The mannequins decked out in scanty outfits mesmerized her. I

nudged her again. She shrugged and pointed to a little black number clinging to a plastic body.

“I bet that would look great on me. What’d ya think?”

“Really, Celeste? I mean, really? We’re being followed, and you’re picking out outfits?”

I scanned the sea of tourists stampeding through the palm tree lined streets of Carmel-by-the-

Sea, California. The would-be purse snatcher, who'd been behind us for four blocks, was hard

to miss with his dark and grungy attire.

The early evening breeze skimmed his hood, throwing it back to expose a stare laced

with purpose, eyes deep, soulful. He caught my gaze, and a look of recognition hit him. He

picked up his pace to a jog. Friggin’ Nora. I focused my attention ahead, my breath fast, my

pulse pounding.

“Maybe he wants a date?” Celeste giggled, her blonde hair bouncing around her

shoulders. She cocked her head to one side and smiled. My heart sank; certain madness would

follow that cunning smile.

“Look, he’s all dressed up for you and everything. You should totally buy this dress.

You could wear it on your first date with him and loan it to me for the weekend.” She flipped

open her purple purse and rummaged through it. “Here, you should put some lippy on before

he catches up. I bet he’s a frosty pink guy.” Celeste produced a lipstick. “Voila.”

“Arr, ey, Celeste. Pack it in.”

“Someone’s upset.”

“Nope. Just concerned.”

She honed in on me, eyes alight with mischief.

“You are too. I can tell. Your Liverpool accent always comes out when you’re peeved.”

“Seriously, pack it in.”

To prove her point, she swiveled the lipstick up. I threw my arms up in defense, but my

delayed reaction was futile. She tackled me. After smearing pink over my lips, and a little on

my face, she admired her handy work through a finger-formed picture frame.


“Beautiful.” Celeste hiccupped.

“That’s the last time I put you in charge of the tequila when we’re making margaritas.”

“Are you suggesting I’m drunk?”

“Nope. Just… how do I put it nicely… three margaritas to the wind?”

“Hey. I only had two.”

“Three actually, but who cares? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s the matter of the

stalker on our heels.” I glimpsed back at the grungy stranger. He’d be disappointed. Art

students aren’t exactly known for being loaded with cash.

Now only a few yards away, he weaved in and out of tourists with ease.

“Celeste, we should get moving. He’s getting closer,” I snapped, nervous energy

creeping over me. She nodded, finally on the same page. “Let’s walk, fast.” I hooked my arm

in Celeste’s.

“What’s the plan? Hide out in the Victoria’s Secret changing rooms? Hope he doesn’t

barge in on us trying on plunge bras. Then again…he may look homeless, but he’s cute.”

“Excuse me.” A deep voice rumbled behind us and made me jolt up straight. I didn’t

need to look back. I knew it was him. Murphy’s Law told me so.

He drove his broad shoulders into the miniscule space between Celeste and me, the

touch sending a shudder through my body. I jerked sideways and almost tumbled. My missed

step loosened my grip on Celeste. He seized his opportunity and edged between us, brushing

against my body as he passed. What was he playing at? I checked my slouch bag.

Money: check. Phone: check. Pepper spray: check, double check.

“Pooh-wee.” Celeste made a sour face and pinched her nose.

“Gee. Thanks Celeste. Embarrass me some more, why don’t you?” I hoped—no,

prayed—that he hadn’t heard her.

He didn’t smell like a tramp, just looked like one. Still, Celeste carried on about how

much he stank, her over the top hand gesture blocking my view for a second. When my sight

re-focused, it was too late. The stranger had halted to a stop and rotated to face us. He swept

his long, dark bangs from his face to reveal a dark tan and strong jaw-line. He was gorgeous. I

gasped, almost bumping into him. A waft of his scent, crisp and fresh, teased my senses and

wrapped around me. He definitely did not stink, not unpleasantly anyway.

“Pearl, can I talk to you? Privately?” His voice was penetrating, deep. He knew my

name, from college, perhaps? He looked about our age. I grabbed Celeste’s hand and yanked


her close. I wasn’t going anywhere alone with a stranger. No matter if he knew my name, how

tantalizing he smelt, or how hot he was. With a slight twitch to his nostrils, he aimed a glare at

Celeste and then to me. His frown unsettled me, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off his unkempt

presence—bed hair, and what looked like, but didn’t smell like, week old clothes.

He seemed familiar. Something about his eyes, his beautiful jade green eyes. It felt as if

we’d met, like I should recognize him. Only I barely knew anyone in Monterey. Since arriving

at California State University, I mostly hung out with the same old crowd. We might have had

a class together, but since I never paid attention to anything other than the work of art in

progress, I wouldn’t know.

He caught my gaze in his. Uh-oh. Those were the kind of eyes that usually made me

melt. And I did. Melt, that is. I threw my attention down at the gum-speckled pavement, but

couldn’t resist glancing back into his eyes. His brows lifted, and a slight smile curved his lips.

“Geeze Mister, have a wash lately?” Celeste yapped.

I. Could. Have. Just. Died. I shot an unimpressed look her way. She shrugged and

mouthed, ‘tequila’. Yeah. Sure. Blame it on the booze.

His pupils enlarged, making his eyes darker and his stare soul piercing. How could one

man make me so breathless, so out of control, and so, so… Stop it, Pearl. You have to ask him

how he knows your name. Think. But I couldn’t think, couldn’t find any words to say, none

that would make sense, anyway. He gazed at me again, staring like a starved dog eyeing up

steak, curious, too curious for my liking. Unnerved, I diverted my sight, hoping for something

distracting. Instead, my stupid gaze settled on his body. Perfectly built, with masculine broad

shoulders and bulging biceps, he towered above me. But he wasn’t so tall that I couldn’t reach

up for a kiss, which I really wanted to do. Kiss a stranger, a devilish, handsome stranger? I’m

nuts. One minute, I’m worrying if he’s a bag snatcher, the next about what his lips might feel

like pressed against mine.

“Oh my God, look at that dress. It’s perfect.” Celeste squealed, undistracted by his

presence.

I noted her excitement, but didn’t turn to see what she fussed over. I couldn’t. My vision

locked on this mysterious stranger.

“We’ll do this another time, Pearl. Meantime, be careful.”

“Careful, uh-huh.”


With a broad smile awakening his previously hidden dimples, and a spark of discord in

his eyes, he turned his back to us and hooded up. Hands firmly rooted into the pockets of his

hoodie, he sauntered off.

Be careful? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Do you know that weirdo?” I shook my head. “He seemed to know you.” Celeste

winked then nudged me. You would never believe she was three years my senior at twenty-

five. And although she often acts without social boundaries or any evident concept of tact

(which she blames on her tree-hugging, daughter-ignoring mother), I do love her. Our

friendship had been instant, from the moment we met. She was the annoying sister I’d never

had. And although she often says I am the mum she never had, we worked. That’s what

mattered.

“Yeah. Freak.” I agreed, still dazed. And then I remembered. Oh crap, bad lipstick job. I

pouted my lips and then stretched them to a wide smile, gauging the thickness of the pink

layer on my lips.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I was just a little psyched about you finally getting

some action. I just wanted to lighten your mood a bit. You’re always so serious. But it doesn’t

look that bad…honest.”

“Meaning it’s all over my face, and I look a state.” Well that explains why the guy had

been eyeing me up in such a manner. He was probably wondering if the circus was in town,

and if I was selling tickets. Frig.

“What does it matter? Sure, that guy was hot, but he was also damned freaky. So who

cares what he thought? You should be caring about Evan’s opinion.” Celeste knew me inside

out. She was right, of course. What did it matter?

I dashed for the front pocket of my bag, knowing I had a tissue there. Alongside the

crumpled up tissue, lay something unexpected.

“What’s this?” I used my fingers to slide the cold, hard, dime-sized object out so I could

inspect it.

“How’d that get in there? What the Alongside the crumpled up tissue hell is it?” I

shoved it in front of Celeste’s face. She snatched it from me and took a whiff.

“Think it’s a ginger root,” Celeste noted before sticking her long nail in it. “Yup, ginger

root.” She walked on, casually glancing in the shop windows. I trailed behind her, trying to

digest what had just happened.


“What the hell did that guy shove in me pocket?” Scenarios raced through my mind. He

could be a mass murderer taunting me. Or I might find bunny stew on my doorstep? Yikes.

Was that why he told me to be careful?

“Friggin’ Nora. Do you think he’s into voodoo or something? They use herby-type stuff,

don’t they?”

Celeste twirled to face me. She smiled, rolled her eyes and arched her thin blonde

eyebrows. It was the look I got when she thought I was overreacting. It wasn’t an attractive

look, but it was a regular one.

“Maybe he’s into voodoo or something,” Celeste mimicked, shaking her head in dismay.

“Herbs and all that jazz are used in loads of different magical practices. He could be Wiccan

or a Shamanic Healer. Morgan belongs to a Wiccan coven here in Carmel.” She took the

tissue from me and scrubbed away the signs of her lipstick attack.

“I had no idea. Morgan seems so, well, normal.”

“Honestly?” Celeste raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about it, ginger root is harmless.

He probably fancied a date and was doubling his chances or something.” She took another

wipe at my face. “There. Gorgeous.”

“A date huh? That wouldn’t be so bad, although a bit creepy. If I wasn’t sorta, kinda

taken, I might consider…”

“Sorta, kinda? Girl, you are so taken!”

“I guess.”

“Guess nothing. One date with you, and Evan will be head over heels.”

“Celeste, be realistic. This is me we’re talking about. Boring, old me who reminds you

of your mother.”

“What? No way. You’re nothing like my mother. If you were, I hardly think we’d be

friends.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But seriously, I’m worried about that guy. What if he’s some psycho?”

“Or the Campus Murderer?”

“Cheers for putting that thought in my head. Good job it’s just silly campus talk.”

“So isn’t. They couldn’t find any cause of death for the girl they found dead.”

“They did. They announced it as heart failure.”

“Sure. That’s what they have to say if they don’t want to cause a panic on campus.”

“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes at her.


“Look who’s talking, Pearl. You went looking for off-campus accommodation as soon

as that happened, so you must doubt the official story, too. And it’s a good thing you did, or

we wouldn’t have met.”

“Erm, we have the same classes, so we would’ve met.”

“Oh yeah.” Celeste laughed. “Talking of class. We have that extra Life class on Monday.

We can interrogate Morgan about the use of ginger in spells. Will that set your mind at rest?”

I nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

“Tell me again, why did we sign up for summer art classes again?” I chuckled. I knew

why, it was because Celeste had a crush on the nude model we’d be drawing.

Celeste linked her arm through mine, the gesture indicating everything was peachy fine.

I knew I had a habit of over analyzing stuff, except this time I was sure I had cause to worry.

And I hated that I had to wait until class before we would see Morgan.

“I’ll throw it away.” Celeste tossed it into a street trashcan. “Now it means nothing. I

promise, if I see you dating that guy I’ll slap you sideways to break his spell. Okay?” Celeste

flicked her head back and let out a belly laugh.

“Date him? Not on your Nelly!” I said, covering up the fact that one more minute with

him, and I would have been flat on my back and begging for a good seeing to. I could blame it

on the fact that I’d been single for way too long, or on his yummy green eyes. But there was

another reason why I had been so attracted to him, a reason I had trouble admitting. Yes. It

was the whole bad boy thing he had going on. Risky equaled frisky. I’d always had a bad boy

fetish, which, in laymen’s terms, means I always fall for the wrong man. Always.

“Chill out.” Celeste put her hand on my shoulder in a comforting, sisterly way. “You’ll

be with Evan soon.”

Evan. He was the exception to the rule. The opposite of bad boy. He was cute,

chivalrous and, not that it mattered, totally loaded. I felt the weight on my shoulders lighten. I

was looking forward to our date in the jazz club, the place where Mum and Dad first met. I

had been interested in Evan for months, but he had only just become available.

“This is where I leave you, my liver bird.” Celeste pointed towards a small art gallery

above a tea store. “I’m meeting Pierre. He promised me a private showing of his latest

pieces.” She winked. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

She wasn’t going there for the art. We both knew it. He’d taught us oil painting

techniques at CSUMB for one semester, and Celeste had acquired extra curriculum


lessons…of the carnal kind. I didn’t know what was up with that girl. Pierre, ten years our

senior, was a French hunk. But he had an ex-wife and a kid back in France. Thank goodness

the academic year was over. Not only did it mean summer break, but more importantly, it

meant Pierre was going back home. His one year contract was up and Celeste could move on.

“An extra lesson, huh, one for the road before he goes back to France next week?”

“Yeah, something like that. Now, I wanna hear all about your date when you get back,

so if I’m sleeping, wake me. Evan gonna drive you back home?”

I nodded. Home was only a ten minute drive, or twenty minute bus journey away.

“If you get stuck for a ride, call me. You’re welcome to bus it back with me around ten.”

“Okay. Enjoy.”

“You know I will.” She beamed, strutting across the street in her stilettos and micro mini

that exposed a little more than it should have. Her panty line, for instance.

Pierre was waiting for Celeste in the open doorway. When she reached him, he scooped

her up and planted a lingering, hard kiss on her lips. He scanned the street to check that no one

had seen them before whisking her inside.

I continued down the bustling street, trying to follow the instructions Evan had scribbled

on a yellow Post-it note. As directed, I turned left at Anchor Street, then right at Seymor. So

far, so good. When I reached the end of Seymor Avenue, pavement and road definitions were

replaced with uneven cobblestone.

One more quick turn and I found Row, a cute narrow street full of old red brick

buildings, most of which were covered in creeping ivy and colorful window boxes.

I strolled along enjoying the quaint European flavor the area had to offer. I could see

Dad’s comparisons to some of Chester’s side streets. When I was younger, we would often

drive down to Chester, England’s Tudor walled city, for afternoon coffee and shopping. We

would sit outside his favorite café in the centre of Chester, regardless of the weather.

Unwittingly, he would attract women with his distinguished streaks of grey hair, sense of

style, and broad shoulders. They tried, but all attempts at pick-ups would be futile, I doubt he

even noticed them. His eyes would glaze over as he thought of Mum, who had died of

pneumonia when I was just three years old. That was the reason why I was studying art here

rather than in Liverpool. I wanted to connect, to get a feel for what it was like for my mother

growing up in Monterey Bay, since I never had a real chance to know her. And I was

following in her footsteps by studying art at CSUMB.


Dad hadn’t been back here since 1983. That was the summer he had fallen in love with

Mum. They had met in the jazz club across the street, the same place where Evan planned on

wining and dining me.

I took a shot of the club and hit ‘send to Dad’.

“Shit.” The photo I had taken wouldn’t send because the stupid phone had run out of

power again. I stuffed it back in my bag.

The evening air was filled with echoes of soft jazz and smells of Italian food. I inhaled

pungent aromas of garlic bread and pizza. Yum, my favorite. To distract my growling need for

food, I scanned the street. The surrounding shops were crammed with eclectic stores selling

stuff like art supplies, obscure music CDs, and tie-dyed attire.

I had never been to Carmel-by-the-Sea before. In fact, I rarely ventured far from

university. Note to self: I really must get out more. It was well off the beaten track, cute in a

small, seaside town kind of way. A far cry from Liverpool and its greasy fish ‘n’ chips soaked

in salt and vinegar, and the dank smell of the docks after a heavy downpour. Here, the air was

cleaner, brighter, even on foggy days.

An ivy-covered store was on the corner where I was to meet Evan. Books on various

outlandish subjects were in the window display—magical herbs, spells, and such. I yearned to

investigate; perhaps I would find something about ginger. But a “closed” sign hung in the

glass of the oak-framed door. I cupped my hands to the window, making do with peering in. I

couldn’t see much, just more books. Shame, it would have been an interesting way to kill

some time while waiting for Evan, who had told me there was a café on this corner, rather

than a book shop.

I checked the road signs to confirm my location. Yes. I was in the right place. I checked

my watch. Evan was half an hour late.

The early summer air, reminiscent of spring, had turned chilly as dusk approached. The

breeze chapped my lips through the worn-out frosted lipstick Celeste had forced on me earlier,

and wafted my long hair about in an erratic nature.

I began to worry as I examined the once bustling streets. Had I been stood up? Few

student-looking types still wandered about. Café waitresses, wrapped up in fleece sweaters,

dragged in tables and chairs from the sidewalk, which had earlier been a busy scene of

alfresco dining. From time to time, people full of liquor rushed by. Some smiled or winked my

way. Others shouted obscene offers on how I could spend the evening with them. None of


them bothered me as much as the approaching darkness did, or the stranger’s warning to be

careful.

Another ten minutes had passed. I had been stood up, hadn’t I? It was time to call it a

night and go home, tail between legs. I examined the area for a call box so I could phone

Celeste, but saw none. Now what? Walk? I remembered seeing a bus shelter a few blocks

back.

Bus. Friggin’ Nora. That was my only option with no phone. To say I was fuming mad

with Evan would be an understatement, but I would forgive him. One look at his puppy dog

eyes would see to that. The recollection of Evan’s cuteness led to visions of imaginary

embraces with him. He leaned in to kiss me. His lips met mine, hot, tingly, and electric. He

pulled away and, in my mind, I opened my eyes. It wasn’t Evan in my daydream anymore. It

was Mr. Mysterious. He smiled. I melted. His scent filled my nostrils and heated me inside

out. He was so masculine, sexy. Sod it. It was only pretend.

In my make-believe world, I squeezed my eyes tight and indulged. Hot and lustful, that

would be the only way to describe how I imagined his kisses to be. What is the matter with

me? I was supposed to be lusting after Evan. Heck. I had been after him for months because I

thought he was so gorgeous. And he was hot, but in a cutesy way. Mr. Mysterious though, he

gave new meaning to the word. And he’d kinda put me in a naughty mood. Shame he just

disappeared, I could do with some good old fashioned lip action right about now. It had been

too long. Oh dear. Celeste was proving to be a bad influence on little ol’ me, the shy one. Ha.

If he showed up now, shy would be the last word you’d use to describe me. Honest! But he

wasn’t here. It was just me, hot and bothered, dreaming about kissing the unobtainable. And

what a dream it was.

A kid across the street pulled me out of my dark fantasy by hollering something smutty

toward me. He was just a teenager, bark worse than his bite, probably. I laughed it off, but just

in case, tightened my grip on my bag.

I checked my appearance through the shop’s reflective window and saw my eyes were

watery from the chilly breeze, which had encouraged my jet black massacre to run.

“Chuffin’ ‘ell! Look at the state of me.” I attempted to wipe the excess mascara away

but gave up.

A soft light flickered on within the book shop, catching my attention and enabling me to

see into the shop. A figure shuffled towards the door, the posture suggesting an elderly


gentleman. I couldn’t see everything through the reflective glass without being obvious. But

when he neared, I saw him take down the closed sign and unlock the door. He then walked out

of sight. How strange to be opening a shop so late. Then again, given the nature of the shop,

perhaps not.

The chill, and Evan’s lateness, was taking its toll on my patience. And I wasn’t about to

spend any longer hanging out on a street corner. Goodness knows what people must be

thinking of me, but touting for business came to mind. I re-checked my watch. He was nearing

an hour late.

“That’s it,” I declared to no one. “I’m going inside to browse for five minutes. If he’s not

here by then, I’m going home. Hey, maybe there’s a phone inside?”

I grasped the tarnished brass door knob with a tight grip. A tremble tinkered through my

hand and up my arm, and a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed and twisted the knob.

“Ashes to ashes,” I said out of nowhere. Well that was plain strange, but could have

something to do with downing one of Celeste’s super strength margaritas. I didn’t feel tipsy,

but her mixes of lethal ingredients have been known to sneak up on me.

I shook myself out of it, drew in a breath of hesitation, and scanned the street. It was

dead quiet now. The jazz club staff had finished packing away outdoor furniture and had

closed their doors to keep out the evening chill. Inadequate street lights partially illuminated

the pavements, leaving many darkened places for strangers to hide. The streets felt menacing,

reminding me of the Liverpool docks after midnight. Definitely time to get off the street

corner.

I turned the knob, pushing my weight into the door of the strange little corner shop.

When I opened the heavy oak door, it scrapped past a ceiling-hung copper bell, which let out

an old-fashioned door chime. The noise sent an unnatural jolt of electricity down my spine.

A hidden source of light set a pulsating red glow across the entire shop, adding to the

hesitance I felt. My intuition should have sent me running, but for some reason I wanted to

enter this unusual scene.


This free sample was formatted by JoAnne Kenrick

When A Mullo Loves A Woman – Decadent Publishing – 3rd December 2010

About the author

JoAnne Kenrick grew up in a small sea-side town in North Wales. Having experienced life

in several different countries, she now lives in North Carolina with her husband, two children and

a lazy cat. When they aren’t demanding her attention, she can most likely be found watching a

vampire movie, reading or baking up a British feast in her N.C. kitchen. And if you can’t find

her, she is hiding in her writers cave. You can visit her website @ www.joannekenrick.com

Authors Goodreads Page

www.goodreads.com/joannekenrick

Authors Facebook Page

www.facebook.com/joannekenrick

Buy Link

http://www.decadentpublishing.com/product_info.php?products_id=178&osCsid=55f54hn

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when a mullo loves a woman - vamp fic

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