CHAPTER 3
Alain
I look over across the back leather seat of the town car being driven by my chauffeur, Jean-Luc, and still can’t believe that I convinced her to do it. Buffilda Bunny Winters is now my girlfriend for a full month.
The pull through my middle reminds me just how unwise this deception really is. Sure, I’m not some mad rapist out for a good time, but Bumpy is made of curves and na?ve expressions. It’s already difficult not drawing her onto my lap… and we’ve barely begun our journey.
“So,” I grumble, searching for conversation to break the tense silence that’s fallen between us, “you’re a vampire slayer. What’s that like?”
“Like you’d imagine, I guess. Hey, out of curiosity, do you think a pencil might work in place of a stake?
You know, if you were a vampire, say, and I was to slay you?
” She eyes the stack of white legal pads in the holder on the back of the driver’s seat, and the cupholder of pens and one pencil next to them.
I often work from my car. No time lost, is my motto. Too much to do, and not only because I’ve wasted the better part of eight hundred years perched on a roof scaring pigeons, as she said. No, keeping busy lets me clear my brain of all the useless nostalgia and regrets that clog it so full.
“If you stab me with a pencil, you’re going to ruin another shirt.”
“Or suit.”
“This one is only good for the trash now. The makeup said it was waterproof.” I hold up my sleeve where the human coloring has darkened the edge.
“Guess they didn’t account for holy water.”
“Minx.” But the way she’s eyeing my chest makes me add, “If you ruin any more of my clothing, I’m apt to take it personally. Be a good girl. Neither of us wants me to take you over my lap and give you the spanking you deserve.”
And… there it is. The bright red she blushes is like a fist squeezing my balls. It’s like a breath of fresh air and a gut-punch all at the same moment.
This scheme is going to be so much harder than I anticipated.
“You were saying?” I continue, after silence dampens the entire interior. “About being a slayer? What are the highlights, would you say? Or what things don’t you like about your chosen profession?”
She huffs.
“What?” I can’t help smiling.
Her shoulders ripple, undulating that wonderful bust of hers, and drawing me in like waves into a terrifying ocean. My stomach cramps again. Another vise clamps around my cock. The urge to rub between my legs to relieve some of the pressure is near irresistible.
This is such a bad idea. I should just drop her off. Humanity be damned.
“It’s not so much a chosen profession as it is the one I was handed when I was born. I was more or less . named after a famous, fictional slayer by parents who seriously needed to get out more. Or less. They probably could have avoided their fate that way.” She sniffs.
“Dead?”
She nods and sniffs again.
My heart aches for her obvious loss. I understand it so well. What I don’t understand is to how to lift her out of grief, so instead, I say nothing.
The car inches along. If only Manhattan traffic didn’t snarl like fine gold chains in a drawer, I could already be home, keeping busy, setting her up in her suite, putting space between us. We really need more space between us.
Suddenly, she says, “I like staking vampires. A lot.”
I have to force myself back to the conversation. “Have there been many?”
She shrugs again.
I can’t help smiling. “I’m your first, aren’t I?”
Another flush of red. Bingo.
Suddenly, I can’t help but laugh. She’s as delightful as a real angel. They have the greatest senses of humor, but mostly, it’s fun to be around them because they stumble over themselves so much. Being with them is like watching funny cat videos, but she’s cuter. And sexier.
“Everyone starts somewhere, stone-boy.”
“Stone-man, Bumps. Very much a man.” I watch the shift of pink across her features before I turn the subject. “ow did you know where to find me to stake me?”
She begins picking at the skin around her thumb nail.
“I heard a couple guys discussing you. I told my tutelary, so he contacted The Network. They have connections, so knew you’d be taping a show, but they failed to tell me it would be a live broadcast. Also, they agreed with the two nitwits in Café that you bear all the hallmarks of a vamp. ”
“The Network consists of lamentably small-IQ do-gooders. What are my vamp hallmarks?”
Another ripple of those perfect shoulders.
She’s so pretty, it should be illegal. “You’re beautiful, with all that dark hair and your piercing amber eyes.
Plus, you wear makeup. That’s what vamps do to avoid people noticing their death pallor, or so I’m told, but you really cake it on.
I think their makeup is more sheer. Plus, you’re rich. Classic sign.”
“Very rich.”
“And not at all modest.” She glares at me.
“Guilty as charged. What else?”
She gestures up and down my body. “The whole thing, really. You look like you’re carved of marble. You’re kind of perfect, and sexy, and seductive… except for that slight hunchback, but the consensus is that you were crippled before you were turned, and the turning didn’t solve all your problems.”
From elation that she thinks I’m sexy and seductive, I bottom out. Hunchback. That’s not very flattering. I knew a real hunchback, once upon a time. Quasimodo didn’t get the girl.
“It’s the wings,” I point out. Ah, vanity.
“Vampires don’t have wings.”
“Exactly.” But when her brow furrows, I shake my head. “Did you have to travel far to try to stake me?”
“Twelve hours by train.”
“Touch of southern in your voice… where are you from?”
She hesitates, then says, “Originally, New Jersey. Morristown. But I attended UNC Chapel Hill, and I’ve been living there since graduation. My tutelary teaches there, so it just made sense to stay.”
“I see. We’re going to New Jersey now, actually.
” I look out the window. The drive is far too slow.
If I’d flown, I’d already be there, but I can’t trust Bunny not to jump out of the car if I’m not with her, especially since we’re snagged in traffic.
“That’s where I make my home. Alpine, New Jersey.
I think you’ll like it. We won’t catch much in the way of paparazzi. ”
“Just far enough away for you to hide your evil deeds.” She sends me a snarky smile that ricochets right down to my cock.
Fake girlfriend. Fake girlfriend. Fake girlfriend. Those lips are not going to pop off your cock, Alain. Get your head out of the gutter.
The ensuing silence must encourage her because she adds, “Because I grew up in New Jersey, I kind of know my way around the city. It was easy to find the Finance Now headquarters.”
“And the roundtable program you derailed.”
She snorts. “More like a semi-circle.”
I slap my hand on my thigh, creating a loud noise in the confined space. “Exactly what I said. Should have called it Slightly-wavy-line-table. You made quite the impression on the old geezers.”
“I was on a mission.”
“You’re lucky I’m a gargoyle. If you had managed to slay me—and your aim was quite true, by the by—you would be in a world of hurt by now.”
“Don’t remind me,” she grumbles, still picking at her nail. She’s quiet for a few more moments before she erupts. “It’s not that I wasn’t aware I could be caught. I just thought that you would die and I would have a chance to run while everyone gaped at your smoldering pile of ash.”
“Vampires don’t turn to ash… or smolder.” Regretfully.
“Right. I know that.” She glares at me. “It was a metaphor.”
“Of course.” She really needs to read more if she’s going to go up against a real vampire. I should lend her some books. Immediately.
“I was being dramatic. I’m just saying that people would have noticed the black blood, which would have taken the heat off me.
Plus, I’m good at running. I could have made it out of there during the chaos that followed your death, but then…
ugh!” Her head flops down between her hands. “I’m such a failure.”
Instinct takes over. I lift her onto my lap in one small movement, and when she squirms, I hold her head against my aching chest. “No, no Bumpy, you’re fine.
You would have killed me if I’d been a vampire.
Really. You were so good, so quick. I was really impressed.
We all were.” A little frightened, maybe, at least, the humans were.
But me? I was definitely impressed.
She sniffs hard and buries her face against me. “Really?”
“Really, truly. You are by far the best vampire slayer I’ve ever met.”
“Have you met many?” Her voice is muffled by my jacket. Ruining it further, most likely.
“A few. I’ve been around a long time. I’m from Paris, originally. I was created to help guard Notre Dame.”
Her ears perk up a little. “What’s that like?” she asks, mirroring my question of a few moments earlier.
“Long, long stretches of idleness, lots of gossip, long, long stretches in stone. We used to take turns in shifting into flesh, because even stone has needs. Too long idle and we’d go crazy.
But to your point, the square surrounding Notre Dame has always lured vampires like candy does children.
I think it’s the dichotomy between the sacred and the profane.
The two ends are constantly pulled towards each other in battle, as if the war is being fought even at the molecular level.
At any rate, I’ve witnessed…” I stop to count, but then shrug—not enough to disturb how she rests against me, but just enough to indicate my confusion.
“At least twenty slayers, but probably more. My memory isn’t what it used to be. And you, Bumps, are the best.”
She sniffs again before drawing her head back to look me in the eyes. “You really aren’t a vampire?”
“I’m really not. Here.” Jostling her a tiny bit more, I draw out a handkerchief from my pocket. It’s emblazoned with my initials and probably draped in my scent of frankincense, myrrh, and benzoin resin. It’s a deep, sweet, slightly bitter aroma.