Chapter 7
Simone had expected brutal dismemberment, maybe her throat torn out, a brief burst of agony before she went dry-poof just like the bounties, a whirl of glittering dust and so long, that’s all she wrote.
Not… not this, whatever it was. She hadn’t come so hard since well before her marriage, and never with anyone else.
Maybe her post-infection dry spell had been saving up for a big blowout, or maybe the clitoral stimulation had done the trick?
And all on the floor of an RV she’d bought for cash in a lemon lot just outside Lorraine, Kansas, for God’s sake.
At least she’d cleaned every inch of the interior more than once, usually while thinking about how to go about another bounty. It was a relief, a luxury, having nobody’s dirt but her own to deal with.
Horribly vulnerable, to be sprawled under someone like this. Terrible to think that he’d gotten what he wanted and next he’d kill her, she’d have to go to hell knowing that her last hour on earth had been spent… like this.
She might even be laying on his stupid hat, which was deeply, mortifyingly funny in the way only life-threatening bullshit could be. And oh, hadn’t she learned the value of screaming dark hilarity, of laughing when it became too much to take?
Any woman surviving long enough in this hateful world knew that particular exchange rate.
Silence, except for her own breathing and a deep, slow thudding.
A leisurely two-tone thump, long pause, another thump, all falling into dead air.
She still couldn’t hear the wind, and that should have clued her in—but how on earth could she have guessed at a vampire just blinking into existence with no warning?
Her senses were acute, and she’d clocked every other bloodsucker she’d come across with no trouble at all.
Or had she? That was a fucking terrifying question. If one could fly under her radar, others could too.
And she’d been doing so well.
Come on. Think. Simone stayed very still, hoping against hope the old vampire would somehow forget about her.
Or maybe fall asleep, like her attacker had after the initial assault?
That floppy-haired bloodsucker had done terrible things to her, but not like this.
For one thing, during the first attack she’d been bleeding from several shallow cuts, which had seemed to drive the bastard even deeper into violent, drunken psychosis.
Her breathing evened out. That strange thumping was like a heartbeat—his? Why hadn’t she heard it before he resolved out of thin air? Did he have what he wanted? Was this some kind of vampire handshake, the etiquette when meeting a really old bloodsucker?
The last five years had been weird as shit, but this had to win some kind of prize.
Sure. Just gotta live long enough to cash the ticket in. Now she was painfully conscious of reclining on cheap nylon carpet, and maybe he wasn’t done because he was still…well, still apparently, entirely erect, and stuck so deep every small after-orgasm vaginal twitch reminded her of the fact.
She was trying very hard not to think about the taste in her mouth, either. Or the warmth spreading through her, the horrible dry spot at the back of her throat vanished for the first time since she’d changed into full vampire—because that metamorphosis hadn’t happened all at once, oh no.
That would have been too easy.
Still, once this particular vampire’s blood touched her lips, it was like yet another switch had flipped.
She’d very nearly forgotten what was happening with the rest of her body while she gulped greedily at a burning, delicious flow, and the taste wasn’t flat iron like the blood packs or even the complex mix of emotion and strange flashes of insight from the two humans she’d tried drinking from.
No, this vamp’s blood was different things in quick succession.
Blueberry pie, still warm from the oven.
The first few bites of a really good bacon cheeseburger.
An almond latte, Christ how she missed coffee.
An orange-and-vanilla popsicle on a hot summer’s day, the puttanesca sauce from that Italian eatery that had closed in Midtown ages ago.
All good things, most favorites she hadn’t tasted in years—or decades as the case may be.
Wait. Did I kill him, guzzling like that? Or maybe he was passed out since she’d taken down his blood pressure? But she could hear his pulse and he wasn’t unconscious-limp. Instead, he was considerately keeping most of his weight braced and balanced atop her.
As if sensing the question, he shifted slightly. The movement caused a ripple through her entire body, something poking at her post-coitally sensitive clitoris, and Simone gasped.
“Easy,” the old vampire murmured, his breath touching her hair. He still sounded like he’d gargled gravel for breakfast. “I’ll feed you agin’soon, darlin’.”
This was the first time any other vampire had actually spoken instead of just staring as if hypnotized or making quasi-drunken noises, their fangs out and their eyes laser-locked on her.
And save for the hoarseness his accent was no different than the bartender’s last night, right down to the marked, flat drawl.
Jesus, I just got fucked by Gunsmoke Dracula. It could have been funny, if she’d felt like laughing. Simone didn’t like the thought of a vampire sounding human. But at the same time, she herself sounded reasonable enough to pass—or so she hoped.
Barry certainly seemed to think so. And oh God, how she wished she’d hung up on the video call and started driving, making miles before dawn.
“Are you going to kill me now?” The words quivered in her no-longer-dry throat. So much for sounding brave, but she needed to know.
At least she had her wind back now. He was terrifyingly strong, worse than any bounty she’d ever come across—there was a reason she stuck to the young ones—and the appearing-out-of-thin-air thing was a definite advantage on his part.
All of which meant she had to be sneaky, play for time, and hope to hell he felt like monologuing his evil plans. Generally it wasn’t hard to get a man talking about himself; she hoped she still had the knack.
“’Course not.” The old vampire moved again, withdrawing slightly as if shocked. “Thought I’d ask yer name, an’… an’ talk.”
Little late for that, mister. “My name?” Simone sounded blank, dazed, and hoped he was buying it. Even if she wasn’t quite playacting she certainly felt a bit dizzy, along with a deep warm sense of physical well-being she hadn’t experienced since…
Good God, she couldn’t think of when. Even right after becoming full vamp, discovering she could run at near freeway speed and jump at least a ranch-style house with a single bound. Experimenting to find the limits of her new status had been kind of a blast, to be honest.
Then she’d found out about the thirst. Each and every burst of superhuman ability had to be paid for, naturally. It fucking figured. Simone twitched, knowing any attempt at escape was most likely useless, but he moved again.
“Whate’er you like.” The old vampire pulled free with slow care, each movement precisely controlled. It wasn’t so much the strength as the restraint, Simone decided, and though staying motionless was probably a better option she couldn’t help herself.
The moment it was possible she scrambled away toward the rear of the RV, nylon rasping her palms and bootheels—not to mention scraping her bare ass, because he’d ripped her jeans right off. He’s shredded his own pants as well. Plus, she had indeed landed on his hat, which was sadly crushed.
Mr. Old Vampire rose with that same eerie, controlled grace, eyeing her mildly as she fetched up against the narrow closet next to the bathroom. She’d gone right past the side door, and cast a quick, longing glance in its direction.
You could just go straight out the wall of the RV.
With fresh strength from several gulps of super-old-vampire blood, it was more than possible.
Her nether portions gave a twinge, unused to all this activity; for breaking her post-divorce dry spell, this was certainly a landmark.
Don’t be hamstrung by convention, Simone.
“I wouldn’t do that, now, darlin’.” The old vampire should have looked ridiculous, pantsless with a considerable hard-on she might have admired under other circumstances, wearing only a torn thermal waffleweave and those brand-new boots.
But there was nothing funny in the way his head cocked slightly, like a cat watching a struggling mouse—or the sheer sense of age and force spreading from him in an invisible, undeniable haze. “Y’all oughta know I won’t hurt you.”
I don’t know that at all, thanks. Simone pulled her bare knees up and hugged them hard, grateful she still at least had her own shirt on.
“You’re old.” Her voice wouldn’t work quite right; the words shook like an old woman’s limbs in the aftermath of a bad stomach flu. “Is… is that why you’re not crazy?”
Although you could just be hiding it really well. And if you’re sane, what the hell did you just… just fuck me for?
“Oh, I been crazy for a long time. Couple centuries, mayhap?” He looked very comfortable, all things considered, as if this was his RV and Simone a new, slightly tiresome guest. “But you fix that right up, pretty little leman.”
Oh, shit. It occurred to her that maybe sucking on blood pouches had kept her from going cuckoo like other vamps, and now she’d just taken in a few pints from a monster who cheerfully admitted to being around the bend.
Even more terrible was the realization that he hadn’t used any form of protection.
What if the staggering, fangs-out craziness of other bloodsuckers was a strain of rabies, or an STD? How long did she have before she went foaming, biting, barking psycho?