Riding Lucifer Read Online Kiernan Kelly

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)


Zephyr is a vampire with a past, and that past’s name is Lucifer, an angel-vampire hybrid with a charming smile and a delicious body, who’s every bit as wicked as his namesake.
When circumstances throw Zephyr and Lucifer together to fight against a common enemy, will they be able to overcome their shared past, their differences – and a burning desire for one another – in order to win the day?

Full Book:

Chapter One

The chrome beast roared, filling the night with the primal scream of its twin-cam engine, and marking its territory with the scent of oil and exhaust. Rubber squealed as the rider revved the motor, then released the brake. The tires found traction on the road, and the bike peeled away from the curb, leaving spoor in its wake in the form of a long black skid mark.

Zephyr bent low over the bike, exhilarated as always by the rush of air against his skin and the road beneath his tires. There wasn't much left to thrill him after walking the earth for three centuries, but speed could still do it. He pushed the needle into the red and beyond, up past ninety, then closer to one hundred, and grinned, exposing his fangs to the desert wind. The racing motor sent vibrations through his balls, stiffening his cock.

Riding his bike was almost as good as sex, the only other activity that could still give him a rush.

Almost, but not quite.

He wore full biker leather—vest, pants, and boots—not for protection, but solely because he enjoyed the soft, slick feel of the tanned hide against his skin and for no other reason. The chances of him losing control of the bike and kissing the asphalt were so slim they were virtually nonexistent, and even if he did, he wouldn't be hurt, at least, not for long. Indeed, he was bare-chested beneath his black fringed vest and commando under his tight leather pants. He wore his hair tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, more a concession to comfort than safety. While blowing free in the wind, his long dark hair could impair his sight, but it was the discomfort of it whipping across his face that caused him to bind it.

There was another reason for his speed tonight aside from pleasure. He’d received a summons to appear with due haste before the Council, and no one, not even Zephyr, kept the Council waiting any longer than necessary.

Thinking of the Council sucked every ounce of joy out of Zephyr's ride. What the fuck business do those dried-up assholes have with me? I've broken no laws, caused no trouble, not since…

No, he refused to think about that time of his life. Things ended so badly between them the memories still caused him too much pain, even after all these years. Sometimes, they crept into his thoughts anyway, slipping in as stealthily as tendrils of morning fog. There before he knew it. When forced to, he thought of the time as The End, in capital letters. Anything worth making the undead wish to die again was worthy of no less than capitalization.

Fucking Lucifer. Damn him to hell.

He gunned the motor and tried to outrace the memories.

Zephyr lived his life quietly now, staying away from those of his breed by choice, feeding only when necessary, careful to show extraordinary restraint. He never glutted himself as he had in the early days, and as many of his contemporaries continued to do. He took his nourishment only from state-licensed volunteers. He never drained those he tapped, never left bodies strewn about for the human authorities to have fits over. He didn't flash his wealth; he lived frugally, paid his taxes, and tipped the mail carrier at Christmas. He recycled, for fuck's sake. He was a good citizen and a model nightwalker in all ways, a virtual Vampyre boy scout.

What reason could the Council possibly have for summoning him and why with such urgency? They'd coached the directive in dire terms, using words like "imperative," and "immediately," and "on pain of re-death."

Knowing none on the Council possessed even the slightest shred of humor, it wasn't mere hyperbole. If they said "re-death," they meant the true kind, the one nobody came back from.

The answer came to him like a bolt of lightning, quick and dangerous enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck. There was only one reason why the Council would demand his return posthaste.

Luce must be back in town, and probably as pissed off as all Hell and causing twelve kinds of trouble, and the Council, having spent the last few centuries with their heads tucked so far up their collective ancient asses they could see their own spleens, had no idea how to deal with him.

After The End, Zephyr thought for sure all this trouble was behind him, that the Council had forgotten his name and his face, and he could live out his existence in relative anonymity. Not so, it seemed. Instead, the past had risen up as suddenly as a shark breaching the water, ready to take a huge bite out of his ass.