Chapter 13
Pacing in a hotel bedroom until the usual, hateful lethargy of sunrise hit was awful.
Even worse was waking up without a stitch on, tucked into the rumpled bed—how in the hell had that happened, she might not want to know—and being stared at by an ancient, wildly oversexed creature wearing only a black waffleweave thermal shirt.
The chair she’d used to brace the door was set at the bedside, and furthermore inhabited by said vampire.
Bright blue eyes, mouth tilted in a half-smile, the powerful old bloodsucker regarded her calmly; Simone swallowed an undignified squeak, jolting half-upright and clutching the covers to her chest.
Elbows braced on his bare knees, sleeves pushed up, his hair a gleaming-dark shock without the imprint of a hat, he looked a lot different than the skinny guy appearing out of thin air in her RV.
Healthier, certainly—no longer so gaunt, his shoulders filled out and his cheeks high-planed instead of hollow.
More than that, though, he looked awake, and terribly intent.
Completely, utterly focused. She’d never been stared at like this. Had he been watching her sleep, for God’s sake? “What are you doing?”
At least her voice didn’t break on the last word. But it was damn close.
“Enjoying the view.” His gaze dropped, leisurely, appreciative almost to the point of ogling. “You must have been lovely even as a mortal. No doubt many pursued you, men and women both.”
Her cheeks scorched as she made sure the blankets were pulled high; now she knew beyond doubt a vampire could blush. “Not so much,” she muttered. Just another middle-aged divorcée, really.
Sliding into marriage with Curt because it was expected, keeping the house pin-neat on his salary—entry-level insurance adjustor, a good solid career choice, and as he moved up through the ranks the frequent business trips were harder on his delicate digestion than on her loneliness.
Laundry, shopping, cooking, putting up preserves, sending Christmas and birthday cards to his extended family and her paternal aunt Kelly’s as well.
Simone’s parents, having done their duty, weren’t the type to keep in touch after unloading her into a marriage, and anyway there was the terrible car accident near her sixth wedding anniversary.
Right in the middle of the Aruba trip supposed to be her and Curt’s second honeymoon, as a matter of fact.
Christ, they’ve got awful timing, he’d grumbled on the way to the airport, and Simone had stared out the cab’s condensation-starred window at tropical scenery, muffling a bright sharp heart-stabbing sensation which very well might have been hate.
Taking her birth control pills on the sly because the thought of swelling up and pushing out a squalling copy of Curt was sickening in a way she never quite articulated even to herself, smiling nicely whenever one of Curt’s cousins asked whether they weren’t thinking about kids yet, wanting to adopt a cat from the shelter but Curt’s allergies forbade, the years piling up like dandruff until one day she looked around and realized she was forty-eight, where had the time gone?
And the years of weariness afterward, realizing her marriage was a sham and the rest of her life a desert.
Was that the ‘numbness’ this old vamp talked about? It certainly sounded similar, though maybe not as intense. After she got fangs, all sensations were dialed into the red and her memories of human life oddly dark, muted.
The sheets were cool against her legs and toes; thankfully, she wasn’t thirsty. Had he undressed her? She’d certainly freed herself of nightgowns and all other encumbrances while sleeping on hot summer nights before, but never since getting infected.
What if there was a cure, like Barry’s billionaire thought? Should she mention it to this old, overwhelming, completely unhinged creature?
“Then they were fools,” the old vampire said, as if consigning the whole human race to that category. “We should leave here tonight. I do not like how the mortals keep trying the door.”
“Probably want to clean the room.” She braced the blanket against her chest, rubbed at her forehead. The invisible seals clearly kept people out during the day; what would she have given for that skill when learning how to vamp? “Wait. Did you… how did you pay for this? You have to show ID, so—”
“They will take anything as identification, with proper inducement. And money is easy, my leman.”
Maybe for you. Still, having someone show her a few ropes might not be a bad idea. If she could just get him to stop… stop fucking her, for God’s sake. Simone’s breath caught; she was very aware of her bare shoulders, tousled hair, the vampire’s gaze roaming as his hands had a habit of doing.
It was goddamn distracting, to be stared at like this.
Her face must have changed, since his smile widened. “Do you doubt my ability to provide? I hunted well today, and will feed you soon.”
Oh, God. “When you say hunted… do you kill people?”
“Y’all can learn to drink without killing before the first century.” A slight, dismissive ripple of those now-disconcertingly broad shoulders, the merest suggestion of a shrug. “Ah, forgive me. I should say, you can learn. Fledglings, that is.”
Why is he apologizing? “But others can’t?”
“I must have, for the habit mostly carried after the fire.” A slow blink of those bright eyes, catlike. “Leman do not suffer the urge to glut, so you have never killed, yes?”
Oh, I’ve killed. Just not people. “Only vampires.” Which was probably a bad thing to admit.
And how had her life come to this—sitting naked on a hotel bed, calmly discussing murder and bounties with a bloodsucker so old he didn’t remember ‘the first century’?
And his casual ‘mostly carried’ was kind of concerning. “You’ve done that too. Right?”
“Of course.” Like it was no big deal. “And I will again, if necessary.”
Oh shit. Was he eventually going to kill her? All the talk about being special, about being rare, might just mean like veal, or like foie gras.
“For example, if another sanguinant seeks to claim my darling. Or if a mortal distresses her—they can be dangerous in swarms, you must realize. Other creatures are not much hazard, since most of the demimonde knows better than t’approach a leman.
” The smile faded, and now his unblinking blue stare was that of a large predator.
Sharp, alert. Dangerous.
“Look.” It was super difficult to sound anything other than petrified at the moment. “You want to leave, and I’ve got some things to do anyway. So how about I get dressed, and—”
“We shall go anywhere you like.” Quiet, but with a note of finality.
The vampire tensed, leaning slightly forward, and if his gaze had been direct before it was downright scorching now.
Not just undressing her with those bright azure eyes but laying her bare, as if the sheet, blanket, comforter didn’t matter.
“But first, my darling, I must please you.”
What the hell does that mean? She had a suspicion. The sinking sensation in her middle met a curious, dark excitement, quickly repressed. “It would be really pleasing to get dressed,” she said, hoping it would work.
And staying very, very still.
“Afterward.” He began to uncoil, slowly.
Simone’s breath caught. She scrambled backward, her shoulders smacking the headboard, and seeing a half-naked man leap onto the bed, crouching to balance easily, should have been ridiculous.
It wasn’t, mostly because he was so controlled.
Knowing exactly how strong he was, how fast, was both alarming and an odd, mordant relief.
There was nothing to be done; he was a hurricane in vampire form, and she a rowboat caught on the waves.
“Wait,” she pleaded, edging clumsily sideways, the mattress giving an alarming groan. “We can talk about this, we can—”
“You’ll fall,” he noted, mildly. “If you want to be taken on the floor again, I do not mind.”
Simone froze. Miraculously, he did as well, and that smile was back.
He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.
Worse, there was a traitorous trickle of heat between her legs.
She couldn’t get in enough air; her skin seemed at once too tight and absurdly sensitive.
Her nipples were hard as ice chips, standing to attention, and a terrible, volcanic thrill shot through her.
“Well?” A bare whisper, his lips caressing the word. “Bed, or floor, darlin’? Choose.”
Her nerve broke. Simone pitched the opposite direction, and a heartbeat later he was on her.
A spinning, a disorientation, rumpled cloth and mattress sinking under her and the shadow of him looming above, his mouth finding hers in a delirium of hunger.
Her claws sprang free, skidding along hard straps and sheaths of muscle, refusing to catch; she squirmed desperately, knowing it was hopeless, helpless to stop.
His cock found what it wanted, burrowing into hot slickness, and his hand was under her right knee, lifting.
Her legs parted almost eagerly, her ankles finding each other and locking at the small of his back. He braced himself, a lion-purr rumble vibrating in his chest, and thrust, hard. Her throat filled with a scream, vanishing into his. Greedy kisses, as if he liked it.
As if he couldn’t get enough.
Her body knew what it wanted, eager to blot out the uncertainty, the fear, the constant questioning.
She writhed in concert with a monster, forgetting everything but the fire spilling between her nerve endings, the need pulsing in her most secret parts, the desire to be filled.
He took direction eagerly, every slight shift and begging twitch of her hips answered without hesitation or resistance, and she actually hissed when he freed his mouth from hers because she wanted to be kissed.
She wanted distraction while he fucked her, so she didn’t have to breathe or think.
But he made a swift movement, and suddenly the scent exploded in her head—warm, delicious, coppery, coating the back of her throat, the fangs popping free.
Blood. His blood.
And oh God but it was good, the warmth sliding down her throat, the tastes overlapping and combining as she swallowed, as she squirmed underneath him.
As she fed.
Building and building, taking its time, his rhythm almost leisurely as she gulped at the flood, and finally a burst of lava spread in concentric pulses, every thought and fear blotted from the universe as she came again and again, arched and shameless as a cat in heat, safely trapped underneath a hot, muscular weight.
Simone had never understood how some people could crave sex, do risky, embarrassing things just for the sake of getting laid.
But oh, God, now she did.