Male vampire x female character (Țepeș x Adriane - Full Moon Motorcycles) - Chapter One (sfw) (Patreon)

Hello all! While I'm finishing up this month's Patreon exclusive for you (m. dragonborn!), here's nearly 7k words of what was supposed to be the first in the Full Moon Motorcycle 'universe'. It's set before Demon's, Oats', and Pumpkin's stories!

I hope you come to love Țepeș as much as I have! He's got an interesting backstory, and although he looks intimidating, he's actually a huge softie under all that muscle and height. If you know Demon from his story, you get to see a different side of him in this, and you'll see why he was so keen not to introduce his human love interest to the gang after this (shitty) behaviour...

This is going to be on early release, but I'm keeping Demon's story back until it's finished so it doesn't spoil things, so keep that in mind if you leave a comment please :)

Content: plus size female character (unaware of the supernatural) is given a helping hand by the owner of a motorcycle shop, and returns later in the day to thank him, only to find half of the Full Moon Motorcycle bikers standing outside the shop that evening and goofing around. When she's offered a ride home, the tall, darkly-clad, silent biker nicknamed Țepeș volunteers to take her on his massive, black Ducati Streetfighter V4...

Wordcount: 6809

A dark, scuff-sided delivery moped — unsurprisingly missing its left mirror — clipped her elbow as it sped down the side street, spewing a cloud of nasty petrol fumes strong enough to make her cough. As she cradled her arm against her chest to rub at her elbow, Adriane’s heavy, cotton bag jolted down off her shoulder to catch painfully in the crook of her arm, and she cursed elaborately.

“Watch where you’re going, arsehole!” she yelling after the moped a second later, but they were long gone.

To add insult to injury, she snagged her boot heel on a crack in the pavement and tripped backwards to land hard enough on her ass that all the breath left her body in an inelegant grunt, and she was lucky she didn’t bite her tongue off when her jaw clacked shut under the force of the landing. The straining seams of her ancient and over-full tote bag finally ruptured on impact, and loose sheafs of paper fluttered up and away like white doves into the blustery autumn air.

“Shitting fuck!” she shouted and scrabbled to catch the remaining ones. If all of those pages got away, she’d have nothing to show at the interview — for which she was now probably going to be late — and there was no way they’d take her seriously without some kind of portfolio. And boy did she need this job.

“You ok there?” a rough, bass voice asked from right behind her. “Here, lemme help you.”

“My stuff,” Adriane choked out around a sob without turning around. “Shit…” Tears of raw frustration, tinged with exhaustion, filled her eyes and she bowed her head, willing herself not to burst into tears on the sidewalk outside some gritty-looking motorcycle shop in the back street of this new and relatively unfamiliar town.

“Here, come on. Let’s get you up.”

“What’s the fucking point?” she groaned, but she did get her legs under her and let the stranger help her to her feet with a kindly hand at her elbow. He released her and stepped back, and she smoothed the floaty, floral-printed, chiffon skirt down over her curvy thighs and tugged irritably at the hem of her cropped denim jacket before looking up at her rescuer for the first time.

She found an older man moving away to a respectful distance now that she was upright, and she regarded him a little warily. He wasn’t particularly tall or threatening though, with his wavy, salt and pepper hair falling scruffily around his ears and just brushing the collar of his blue-and-white-checked shirt. He had a short, grey beard, kind, smiling brown eyes and a significant barrel-belly. He also looked like maybe the kind of guy who rode a Harley and took no nonsense when pushed, but he seemed harmless enough as he steadied her and then stepped back another pace.

Adriane looked along the street and saw that one of the pages of her portfolio had landed face-down in a puddle, and the rest were lost to the wind. “Fuck,” she said again. She was forced to clutch the torn remnants of her bag to her chest to keep its remaining contents together, which felt like a metaphor if ever she’d known one.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked, raising his head slightly and breathing in as if he’d caught the scent of a familiar perfume. As he did, his hazel brown eyes caught the light oddly and seemed to flash amber. “You hurt yourself?”

“I’m good,” she said automatically, then added with a gesture at the soggy pages, “That was my portfolio though. I just got it printed this morning, and I don’t have the time or the money to get it printed again. My interview starts in —” she glanced at the old, analogue wristwatch on her left wrist. Only now, after the fall, it was cracked. Well, at least it wasn’t some fancy smartwatch. None of those for her with her bank account idling somewhere in the low double figures. “— twenty-eight minutes.”

“How fancy are we talking?” he asked and she frowned, confused. The man jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and explained. “I’ve got a fairly decent printer in the shop for flyers and stuff. If you’ve got a thumb drive with the files on, you can print it off here.”

She blinked. Miracle of miracles, she did actually have the USB drive in her jacket pocket. “You serious? I can’t pay you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said with a hearty smile. “C’mon. Time’s wasting and you ain’t got long.”

Adriane bit her lip, moved by the kindness of this complete stranger, and followed him into the bike shop.

It was dim inside, but far from unfriendly despite the fact that motorbikes were totally unfamiliar territory. A polished concrete floor gave it a modern, industrial look that fitted the grungy biker vibe, which was also echoed by orange accents and leather here and there, and it smelled of coffee and metal, fuel and oil, but the scents were earthy rather than unpleasant.

On the right hand side of the large, rectangular space there was a row of different kinds of motorbikes lined up around the edge of the room, all facing inwards, from languid looking cruisers to menacing sports bikes, and on the left side of the shop there was a small, clear expanse of floor, and a number of red, mechanic’s metal tool boxes and other equipment pressed against the back wall. At the furthest left end of the shop were racks of leathers and jackets and a shelf of helmets.

In that clear space though, a sporty but battered Honda motorcycle stood on the concrete with its back wheel hitched up on a paddock stand, and fairings scattered around like bits of a discarded takeaway box. Beside it, a young man was sitting cross-legged with his tall, lanky frame hunched over the parts of what Adriane took to be the engine, but really she had no idea. He had his back to them, with big headphones on and was nodding his head while he tinkered, so she ignored him in favour of following the older guy through his shop to an office at the back.

“Here,” he said as he stooped over a battered plywood desk covered with coffee rings, and wiggled the mouse of his computer to bring it back to life.

“Thank you,” she croaked, and fished the drive out of her denim jacket pocket. In ten minutes, she’d printed everything off for the second time that day, and while the quality wasn’t as good as the first lot, it was more than good enough.

“You want a lift to where you’re going?” the shop owner asked when she’d safely ejected the drive and stowed the printouts in an A4 sketchbook that she carried basically everywhere with her anyway, interview or no. When he saw the way she still clung to the ripped remains of her tote bag, he added, “And lemme get you another bag.”

“Why are you helping me?” she blurted as he went back to the main shop and drew out a sturdy, glossy, black plastic bag from under the counter. It was printed with the shop’s logo — the silhouette of a cruiser-style bike in front of a full moon — and the words ‘Full Moon Motorcycles’ hung beneath it in a faded, distressed, white font.

He shrugged and offered her another warm smile. “Sometimes people just need to catch a break. If I can offer you that, then I’m happy to help. I’ll give you a lift if you want — you said you were running late. Where are you headed?”

“Dahlia Ink,” she replied and the man’s thick, grey eyebrows rose. He looked like a kindly but rugged Santa Claus who’d spent too much time in the northern wilderness, and the thought made her want to giggle.

“The tattoo shop?” he asked.

“Yeah, you know it?”

He chuckled and shoved up the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt to show his muscular, hairy forearms which were covered in ink, some old and a little blurry, and some much newer and crisper. “You could say that. Sammy and I go way back, and she even made a start on my nephew recently,” he added, nodding with his chin at the guy sitting cross legged on the floor and surrounded by dirty-looking motorcycle parts.

“A start?” she said, eyeing his full sleeves of intricate, geometric ink that disappeared up beneath the black t-shirt that hung a little baggy on his very lean figure. “That looks like Hazel’s work. It’s gorgeous,” she added.

“Good eye. It is,” the man said. “I’m Hank, by the way, but everyone calls me Dad.”

“Adrianne,” she said. “And… ‘Dad’?” That struck her as a little odd and she hid a grimace.

“Apparently I have a habit of taking people under my wing…” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “But I can get Theo to take you if you’d prefer someone younger and faster, but you might like to arrive in one piece.”

She followed his gaze and found that the young man had looked around at the sound of his name. He hadn’t taken the headphones off though, and he was glaring at her. His eyes were an extraordinarily light brown, almost golden, and he was regarding her as if she’d just insulted him somehow merely by looking in his direction.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Hank said with a new and definite growl to his gravelly bass. “He’s harmless. Mostly. So, what do you say?”

Adrianne bit her lip, then looked at the clock on the back wall behind the counter and swore softly. “Yeah, I’ll take that ride, thanks.”

“You ever ridden a motorbike before?”

Adi drew up short and shook her head. Somehow — despite the surroundings — it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d give her lift on a motorbike. She wondered what the hell she was getting herself into.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Here,” he said, ducking under the till and straightening up with a grunt as he held out a shiny, white, open-faced helmet. “Start with that.”

She’d been right about him riding a Harley. The low-slung beast chugged around the side of the building from a little access alley to meet her, and Hank indicated the rear half of the seat with a jerk of his head. Carefully, she climbed on and tucked her floaty skirt securely under her thighs.

“You ready?”

She nodded and hoped that she was.

In fact, the ride was so exhilarating that Adriane somehow forgot all about her anxiety for the full ten minutes it took to get to Dahlia Ink across town. She kept the plastic bag wedged between Hank’s back and her chest with one hand, and held his massive, rounded shoulders with the other. She tried to move with the bike while still gripping the seat with her thighs, and she could feel the rumble of the engine through her whole body, and as the wind whipped past her face and she suppressed a wild yelp of excitement, she half-prayed she would get the chance to ride one again.

Too soon, they pulled up outside the tattoo shop and all her fear returned like a wild wave crashing over her.

Adrianne hopped inelegantly off the low bike, the buckles of her clunky, black ankle boots clinking as she hit the pavement, and she raised the plastic bag in one hand as she thanked him. “You saved my bacon today, Hank,” she said. “I won’t forget it.”

She struggled to undo the D-ring of the helmet though, and Hank chuckled. “Here, let me.”

She leaned in, not feeling in the least bit threatened by getting so close to a stranger, and he helped her out of it and while her wild, wavy blonde hair sprang back into place, he hooked the helmet onto his wrist in a way she was fairly certain wasn’t entirely legal.

“I don’t want to jinx anything,” Hank smiled at her, “But from what I saw of your work earlier, it’s right up their street. I’m sure they’ll want to take you on, kiddo.”

Kiddo. She hadn’t been anyone’s ‘kiddo’ in a very long time, and the unexpected endearment made her eyes sting and her throat close up. “Thanks, Dad,” she managed to choke out sincerely and he grinned back at her. She turned on the spot before she could get any more emotional, or risk actually being late after he’d bought her back so much time.

Three hours later, she had a job.

She couldn’t believe it. The interview had felt more like a chat with a friend. Sammy, it turned out, was a tall, thin woman in her late fifties, with tattoos on every inch of her, right up to her jawline, and it was Hazel, with whom Adrianne had been in touch about the interview and whom she’d been following on social media for ages, who currently did almost all of the bookings. She was also Sammy’s daughter.

Adrianne and Hazel had enthused and chatted together about other artists they follow and admire, and then they’d designed a tattoo together as if Hazel were the client, before Hazel had had her demonstrate her skill on some synthetic skin. They’d taken so long enjoying the process, and had become so comfortable, that it was dusk when Sammy popped her blonde head in and wondered if they’d be finishing up any time soon.

“I need to close up my shop, darling,” she’d laughed in a husky alto. When she saw the tattoo sitting on the synthetic skin, Sammy stepped closer, her bright blue eyes made wider by the stark eyeliner that framed them. “You did that?” she’d asked Adriane, and when she received a torrent of excited praise from Hazel, she grinned. “When can you start?”

Adrianne had been so shocked, she’d asked Sammy what she meant.

Laughing, Sammy repeated the question, and Adriane found herself with a job, starting the following Monday.

Walking home through the deepening dusk that pooled between the spotlights of the streetlamps and skittered away from the lights of passing cars, Adrianne took herself back past Full Moon Motorcycles to thank Hank.

Outside though, she found a small gathering of people messing around on the pavement, and a row of intimidating looking bikes parked up beside them.

She’d only intended to drop by to tell Hank that his good deed had paid off, but when she saw them all in their biker leathers — save for one guy who had a white t-shirt stretched over incredible muscles, and ordinary-looking black jeans that made his ass look fantastic, not that she was staring — Adriane found her courage waning.

She would have skirted around them entirely, risking death by delivery moped a second time to avoid them, if Hank hadn’t happened to step out of the shop a second later and spot her. “Hey-hey!” he called, waving and coming over to meet her. “How’d it go?”

With an awkward smile, Adrianne nodded, tucking a strand of wild, blonde hair behind her ear. “You were right. I got the job,” she mumbled. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you. I wouldn’t have even made it there today if you hadn’t helped me.”

Over Hank’s shoulder, she watched as the group of bikers slowly turned to watch their interaction, and she felt her cheeks grow warm under their obvious scrutiny. Half of them still had helmets on too, which didn’t help.

She could certainly tell that the muscular one in the white t-shirt was eyeing her up and down, even though he had his helmet on, and were those… horns fitted to the top? Christ, talk about intimidating. Another one also had a decorated helmet, but he had a white, fluffy bunny helmet cover with enormous floppy ears that didn’t look particularly traffic-safe, and he was busy tilting his head rapidly from side to side to make them flop comically. A much shorter biker standing next to him swatted at them like a kitten, and then the two of them fell about laughing.

When the bunny guy noticed her watching their antics, he perked the ears up like a puppy that’s heard the word ‘treat’, and then bashfully covered his visor with the ears a second later when she smiled despite her apprehension. He did a little victory dance while still astride his bike at her reaction, and she began to laugh out loud.

“Oh, those clowns,” Hank chortled fondly when he saw where she was looking. “They’re all idiots, but their hearts are in the right place.”

“Speak for yourself, Hank,” a tall and strikingly beautiful woman purred from where she was leaning up against her bike with her helmet under one arm. She had a heavy Irish accent, and wore all black, from the tight, black, cropped tank-top to her leather trousers and boots and the black jacket that was draped over the seat of her bike, which was a stark contrast in a pearlescent white wrap. She had the most incredible figure too, with prominent muscles and a lean silhouette that spoke of discipline in all aspects of her life. “My own heart’s on the other side.”

Hank just laughed, his belly jiggling with good-natured mirth, and he swatted his hand dismissively. “Ahh, Pixie, don’t scare my new friend off.”

Adrianne couldn’t help asking, “Pixie?” and regretted it the moment she opened her mouth.

The woman raised a sharp, dark eyebrow at her and glared pointedly. “If you have to ask, you don’t deserve to know.” And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked off into the shop.

“And people wonder why the rest of us think bikers are scary,” Adriane muttered.

Hank clapped her on the shoulder. “Perhaps you should come and meet Pumpkin then, to counter the impression Pixie made.”

“Oh, no, really, it’s fine,” she stammered, digging her heels in as Hank tried to steer her towards the others just as another bike turned down the side street, its engine purring thunderously as it slowed, exhaust popping with the downshift.

This biker was also clad head-to-toe in black, with a heavily tinted visor that reflected the streetlamp’s orange glow, and Adriane’s heart practically skipped a beat when she saw the monster of a bike that he drew to a stop at the curb. Most of the other bikes had fairings covering the innards of their bikes, but to her untrained eye, this one looked very naked with all its parts exposed, and it looked like a wild beast. Certainly sounded like one. She could see the word ‘Ducati’ printed in pale grey on the curve of the tank just in front of the seat, but the only real lick of colour to it lay in the gold accents of the fork that led down to the front wheel, presumably something to do with the suspension and brakes. They looked like pistons on a piece of steampunk machinery.

Its rider was no less intimidating than the bike.

With long, muscular looking legs, he easily steadied the bike as he angled the front wheel a little and killed the engine with his keys. When it was stable, he sat back with both feet flat on the ground on either side, legs comfortably braced, and folded his arms across his chest. He raised one hand to the short guy in a greeting though, and nodded his head, then returned his arms across his chest.

“Țepeș, you made it!” Hank chortled.

The new arrival nodded politely in Hank’s direction, and turned his attention to Adriane. He cocked his head a little to the side in an obvious question, and she swallowed.

His broad chest matched the obvious strength in his legs, and his arms and shoulders looked amazing with the padding of the thick, black biker jacket. Wearing black biker leathers top and bottom, and tall, black motorcycle boots, he very much looked the part.

Hank obviously read the new arrival’s curiosity and chuckled warmly. “This young lady just landed herself a job today,” he grinned and reached back to pat her on the top of her arm in a familiar way that had her heart clenching unexpectedly. She wasn’t used to people touching her so freely, but it was far from unwelcome just then. “Adrianne, I’d like you to meet the biggest bunch of sweethearts you’re ever likely to come across. Everyone, this is Adrianne. Be nice to her or she’ll tattoo the word ‘penis’ on your body next time you go to Sammy’s.”

“Hey, you work at Dahlia now? Awesome!”  the short one said in a husky alto, flicking their visor up to reveal almond shaped eyes that rose and tapered at the corners and… were those contacts? Their eyes were a bright, golden yellow with slitted, cat-like pupils. The guy with the rabbit helmet cover punched them on the upper arm and said something that Adrianne didn’t catch before swatting his friend’s visor back down to hide those unusual eyes.

The one with the horns adorning his helmet shook his head and stumped off into the shop to join the tall woman incongruously named Pixie, and as Adrianne stood there on the pavement, a maelstrom of emotions swirled through her. Hank had made her feel welcomed and accepted, but the treatment those two had given her left her feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under her feet and she was still waiting to hit the asphalt for the second time that day.

She swallowed thickly again and turned back to Hank. “Look, I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to say thank you. I’ll head home now.”

“You got far to go, kiddo?” he asked, scowling. “It’s pretty dark now. Slip of a girl like you shouldn't be wandering around alone in this part of town at night.”

She blurted out a laugh, the sound bubbling out of her in a bit of a rush, and he seemed surprised by her reaction, if luckily not offended. “I’ll be fine, Dad,” she said and she heard someone’s breath catch in surprise beneath their helmet, though she couldn’t have said who. “And I’m hardly a slip of a thing,” she added, flushing. She suddenly felt very aware of the extra weight around her hips and her middle.

“One of the guys could take you,” Hank said, chuckling. “You were a natural earlier!”

She shook her head. “No, really, you’ve done enough for me today.”

Silently, the one on the beast of a bike raised his gloved hand and Hank clocked the movement with evident surprise. “Țepeș, you’re offering to give her a lift?”

The massive biker nodded once.

“I thought you were going with Pixie to keep these two jokers out of trouble?” he said, raising a thick, greying eyebrow at Bunny Guy and his short friend.

The guy called Țepeș — that had to be a nickname too, surely? — shrugged and pointed at the shop.

“You think Demon will keep them in line?” Hank snorted. “As if he won’t be pulling wheelies along with the rest of them.” He sighed heavily, and shook his head. “Fine. If I trust our new friend with any one of you, it’s you, Țepeș.”

Țepeș gave an almost courtly bow of his head, and then got off his bike in one, graceful movement.

Adi’s mouth went dry.

He had to be six foot four, and he was broad across the shoulder in a way that made his waist and hips look sinfully narrow. She hadn’t seen a stitch of him beneath the gear, but she found herself deeply, viscerally attracted to him in a way she’d never been to, well, anyone in her entire life. Apparently I do have a type after all, she mused privately. Tall, dark, and biker.

The door of the shop opened with the raucous clang of a brass bell and the guy with the devil horns on his helmet stormed out, regarding everyone with a searing glare. He no longer had his helmet on, and it swung wildly from his fingertips as he came to an abrupt halt. He had a face like a thunderhead as he regarded the gathered bikers with dark brown eyes.

“You want me to get on that?” Adi hissed at Hank, staring at the big guy’s monster bike and trying to diffuse the situation a little. “It’s a bit different from yours earlier…”

Hank barked a short laugh, tossing his head back. “Oh honey, that bike could eat mine for breakfast, but there’s no one I’d trust you with more than Țepeș. I promise”

“Țepeș… As in, Dracula?” she whispered in Hank’s ear.

“More or less,” Hank shrugged. “We’ve all got nicknames.” He pointed at Bunny Guy and said “Pumpkin,” then at his short companion and said, “Pickle. Pixie you’ve already met, and this charming fellow is Demon,” he added with a warning look and gesturing towards the scowling white-t-shirt-guy, apparently immune to his acerbic gaze.

“I don’t want to put anyone out…” she hedged.

“It’s your call, but Țepeș has never crashed, come off, or broken the speed limit.”

“That last one is bullshit!” Pumpkin crowed. “He’s just never gotten a ticket for it!”

Țepeș, arms still folded even though he was standing beside his bike now, fixed Pumpkin with a silent but very pointed look that made Adi laugh all the same. For someone who didn’t seem to be very vocal, he was very expressive.

“Fine, but at least he’s never lost a backpack, Pumpkin!” Pickle snickered, their voice muffled from behind their helmet.

Pumpkin made an indignant yipping noise. “It wasn’t my fault she didn’t hold on! You have to at least hold on!”

In the background, Adi saw the one called Țepeș shaking his head slightly, but she saw his shoulders rise and fall as though he was chuckling. He might have seemed intimidating, standing beside that big, black bike and clad all in black gear, with a visor so dark she was surprised he could see anything at all through it, but he somehow gave off the friendly, long-suffering vibe of the group’s loving older brother.

Adriane pursed her lips and huffed a little breath out of her nose. It had been a day of good fortune already — why not push it a little further? “Ok,” she said, looking at Hank, but it was Țepeș whose attention sharpened visibly at the word. He barely moved a muscle, but his entire being tensed and went still.

Hank looked back at her. “You’ll ride with him then?”

“If he’s ok with it,” she said, looking to Țepeș, who nodded a couple of times.

“Lemme grab you a lid then,” Hank said, rapping his knuckles on her head.

Assuming he meant ‘helmet’, she said, “I can return the helmet on Monday morning, if that’s ok? I’m gonna be passing by on my way to work. And if any of you want any ink, you know where to find me.”

“Ooh, I wonder if she’ll do me?” Pickle joked, taking off a glove and showing oddly greenish skin as they flexed their fingers wide to show the bare expanse of skin on the back of their hand. Their nails were black and filed to a slight point, like claws, and Adi’s eyebrows twitched upwards at the sight of it.

“You should be so lucky, Pickle!” Pumpkin snorted, then added something again under his breath which prompted Pickle to shove their hand deep into their hoodie pocket, out of sight. Adi wondered if the green was a tattoo, a medical condition, or a trick of the light. Either way, she didn’t stare.

From his spot on the concrete sidewalk, still glowering like a thunderstorm on a summer evening, Demon snarled, “She isn’t doing any of us for fuck’s sake.” 

Without his helmet, his face showed dark, heavy brows and nearly black eyes that fairly boiled with unfounded hatred for Adriane as he turned to regard her. He took a step towards her and she moved back in surprise at the vehement, unbridled malevolence in those dark eyes. His skin was a warm, olive brown and he was banded with tight muscles, but while he was probably only a few inches shorter than Țepeș, an almost tangible cloud of threat and danger seemed to billow around him like an aura.

“Fuck off,” he spat down at her, jerking his chin upwards to emphasise the command. “You don’t belong here.”

Pumpkin tensed like he was going to say something, but it was Țepeș who moved first.

He stalked away from his bike towards them, and both Pumpkin and Pickle skittered slightly to the side out of the way. It was like watching two chickens scrabble out of the way of a guard dog. Or perhaps a wolf.

Holy shit, Țepeș really was tall.

Demon squared his shoulders to meet the challenge as Țepeș approached him, but Țepeș halted a few steps short of him, turned his back on Demon, and swivelled his helmeted head down to regard her instead. With his left arm, he gestured back towards his bike and he paused there like a mime artist waiting for another coin to drop into his hat.

Not wanting the situation to escalate, she looped the bag over her wrist again so it wouldn’t slip from her fingers as they rode, and made her way towards the beast of a bike.

As she passed Demon, she could have sworn she heard him growling in his throat at her like an animal, low and savage and inhuman, and something shivered all the way down her spine and left her with goosebumps. Only when she was a step or two away from his bike did Țepeș move again.

Țepeș returned to his bike and stooped to flick the metal footpegs out at the back so she could use them like stirrups to brace her feet, and he held out his right hand like a gentleman helping a lady to mount a horse while gripping the left handlebar with his left hand.

She slid her fingers into his leather-clad grip and tried not to let her breath catch as she felt how strong he was. His arm didn’t even dip or move as he took her weight to steady her while she clambered on. It wasn’t the most elegant she’d ever been — especially with an audience all watching her from the pavement —  but she got up onto the back of the bike without flashing her underwear at them, and only then wondered how Țepeș was going to get on now that she was blocking him from swinging his leg over, but he just threaded one long leg over his own seat and sank down in front of her.

Adi became suddenly far more aware of his presence than she had been of Hank’s earlier when she’d ridden pillion behind him. Every creak of Țepeș’ leather jacket seemed loud in her ears, and when she realised no one else was talking, she twitched her head around and found Pumpkin, Pickle, and Demon all staring at her, though Demon’s face was the only one she could see. His expression was caught somewhere between disgust and, oddly, hurt. From inside the shop too, she glimpsed the tall biker woman, Pixie, and Theo, Hank’s nephew, both regarding her with a cool, level gaze. Demon sneered one last time, shoved his helmet on, and stalked over to mount a red Ducati Panigale standing nearby. He turned his back on her and revved it deafeningly to life.

Unfazed by the attention, Țepeș carefully pushed his bike upright from where it had been leaning at rest on the sidestand, flicked the stand up with his left foot, adjusted his hips so that he was evenly balanced in the saddle, and, without looking at his friends, started the bike.

Before Adi could remind him that she still didn’t have a helmet, the sheer noise of it drove all thoughts from her head.

The thing roared in her ears and she felt its vibrations travel through her legs and up her body. On Hank’s cruiser, she’d felt pretty secure and settled in her seat, but on this, she felt perched and a little bit vulnerable. She had just begun to regret accepting the ride when Țepeș twisted a little and glanced back at her. Without looking at it, he plucked his phone from the mount in front of him and tapped the screen with his fancy, touchscreen-compatible gloves until he brought up a navigation app before handing it to her.

She punched in her street address and slid his phone back into his gloved hand.

With the phone safely nestled on its mount again, Țepeș looked back at her once more. He tapped the right side of his ribs with his right hand.

“You want me to hold your waist?” she asked, thinking there was no way he’d be able to hear her over the noise of his bike.

He nodded once. Actually, she’d been vaguely wondering if it would be inappropriate to cling to him like a koala and hoping he wouldn’t mind if she did.

“I still need a helmet…” she said, eyeing the shop where Hank was just returning to them. “And I hope I don’t hit you with my bag,” she added, but she gripped the leather at his shoulders to adjust her seat a little, and felt the stone-solid muscle beneath before she moved her hands obediently to his waist. Fucking hell, the man was built like a brick wall. A jolt of desire so acute and so unexpected shot through her that she nearly let go of him as if she’d been burned, but she made herself stay put.

She realised though that she’d have to let go again when Hank returned with the helmet, but the older man slid it onto her head and did up the strap for her like she was a kid about to ride her first bicycle. “I can see why they call you ‘Dad’,” she smiled, and Hank laughed heartily, amber eyes glinting from the deep creases around them.

He rapped her playfully on the crown of her head with his knuckles again and then stepped back onto the pavement. “Good to go. Remember, kiddo, lean with him but not too much. You were a natural earlier. And yeah, just bring the helmet by on your way to work.”

She smiled at him again, and tried to swallow her nerves. “I’ll bring coffee too if you tell me how you have it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, sweetheart. Take care, Țepeș. Nice and easy.”

“Aw,” Pickle yelled, bouncing on the balls of their feet, “You should show her how fast that thing can go, Țepeș! Maybe pop a wheelie for her too?”

Without comment, Hank simply cuffed Pickle up the backside of their helmet as he passed to return to his shop, and Țepeș just hung his head and shook it in an exaggeratedly world-weary way that made her laugh.

“I’m guessing this is all pretty standard then?” Adi asked as she used Țepeș’ solid shoulders to pull herself a little closer to him to talk, thinking not only of Pickle’s behaviour, but of Demon’s too.

Țepeș nodded a few times, and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, they were off. She clutched at him with a squeak of fear, lurching close enough to clonk her helmet on the back of his.

“Sorry,” she shouted, but there was no way he could hear her over the roar of his aftermarket exhaust. He huffed a little laugh though and she tried to relax in case she hurt him with her death-grip talons, or, worse, distracted him.

Although the bike was clearly capable of matching anything she would have found on a racetrack, Țepeș pulled out into the deserted street at a measured pace, and to her relief the black bag around her wrist didn’t flap at all when it was wedged between them. It did mean she wasn’t completely pressed to his back though, and wondered if she could risk moving it to her thigh instead. Deciding against it, she stayed where she was and tried not to shuffle around.

Adriane tried to see if she could see any hint of what Țepeș looked like under his gear, but there wasn’t so much of a whisker of skin visible anywhere. His jacket collar came high up his neck, and he seemed to have some kind of under-layer on too, like a balaclava. Where she had seen the skin of the others’ necks beneath their helmets as they’d moved, or maybe a hint of their hair, there was only soft, black material. She wondered what colour his hair was, and whether it was long or short.

There was no way to talk to him while they rode. The bike was deafening, even with the soft cushioning of her helmet, and the wind rushed around them in a wild stream that made everything seem even faster. It was as exhilarating as her first ride had been, only with the added element of attraction to this mystery biker in front of her.

Time blurred, though it was just under ten minutes later when they arrived outside her apartment building, and Țepeș killed the engine with a twist of the keys and steadied the bike on the sidestand with a practised flick of his left heel.

As the engine died, it plunged the street into silence until a bottle smashed somewhere further up the road and the sound of angry yelling started up. Adriane ignored it. She was used to the sounds of her neighbourhood by now.

She had just shifted, preparing herself to step down without falling face-first, when Țepeș twisted at the waist and reached his left arm back, opening his hand again. She used him to steady herself as she dismounted, and when she was standing firmly on the asphalt, she looked up and found her own distorted reflection staring back at her from the curve of his blacked-out visor.

“Thank you,” she croaked and shot a glance up at her building. “I’d invite you in, but I figure you’ve got plans with the others tonight and I don’t want to keep you. It was kind of you to give me a ride, Țepeș.”

He inclined his head slowly in a ‘you’re welcome’ gesture, and when he didn’t say anything else, she took a little snatched breath and nodded awkwardly.

“Right. Ok, well, I’ll… I’ll head in. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”

Again, he bowed his head but this time he brought his hand to his heart in an oddly formal gesture before letting it fall to rest idly on his thigh. He didn’t make any move to start his bike up again.

“Cool. Ok, goodnight, Țepeș.”

One more tiny nod, and she turned and left him sitting there astride his monster bike. It was only as she heaved open the door to her building and looked back that she realised he was waiting to see that she got inside safely, and she offered him a broader smile.

Laughing softly, she waved and called, “Thank you! I’m good now.”

He leaned forwards and flicked the kickstand up in a smooth motion, then twisted his keys and pressed the button on his grip, and the bike leapt back into life with a growl like a lion. He revved it purposely a couple of times, and again, she felt it in her body though she was twenty feet away from it.

Glancing over his shoulder to check for oncoming traffic, he pulled away and was gone in a matter of heartbeats. Damn, she was grateful he’d been so careful with her on board, because that bike could really shift.

As she lay back in bed much later that night and stared at the ceiling above her, the scent of leather and engine oil drifted across her mind, and she felt a tightening in her core at the memory of Țepeș’ broad shoulders and narrow waist as she’d sat behind him on his huge, black Ducati. She’d googled “Ducati bikes” earlier while she’d waited for the microwave to ping at her, and had figured out that his was probably a Ducati Streetfighter V4. Costing over twenty grand new, she wondered what he did for a living to afford a bike like that, but mostly she wondered who he was beneath the leathers and the calm, courtly, silent exterior.

Well, if she wanted to find out, she’d have to go back to Full Moon Motorcycles again, and she could start by returning the helmet on Monday.

_

Thank you for reading, and thank you for your comments on HouseMates Chapter Two too! I hope you enjoyed this one, and as ever, I look forward to your reactions and comments immensely!

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