by Jackie Ivie
Well. Ignoring him wasn’t working. That moved her to option number two.
If she decided to fight against this, she’d probably need medical, psychological, and pharmacological help. Along with a straitjacket. None of that would be cheap. Delusions of flight while in the arms of a solidly muscled guy claiming vampiric powers was probably not covered under the group health plan. Besides, she didn’t use medicinal panaceas for anything that happened to her. Regardless of how depressed she’d gotten over her divorce. She’d seen enough of the mile-long stare coming from the zombie-creatures that got created by using the new wonder drugs. She’d rather be insane.
...which did bring her to the third option: Embrace it.
Sure. She could accept this bit of psychosis. Pretend it really was happening. Play-act through it. She was a fine actress. She’d taken a year of drama in college, pondered a Minor in theater to accompany the Major in fine arts that got her nowhere jobs. Acting was something that came naturally. She was very good at it... because acting was akin to living a lie and she excelled at those.
And why was she now quoting her ex?
“You can open your eyes now. We’re here.”
Okay. That voice was enough to curl leather when it was just an auditory sensation. Feeling it reverberate from the chest she was hugging was just beyond necessary. The effect sent her heart into circus antics and her hormones into shock. Or something. Shivers rippled down both arms, her legs, and modified her spine into an icicle. And that’s when she decided that embracing this bit of insanity might actually be worth it.
And it would make a hell of an entry in her memoir later.
“Um. Where... is here? Exactly?”
She managed to answer although her lips didn’t function properly. And her voice was breathless. That’s what came from trembling that just wouldn’t cease. His arm tightened.
“My abode.”
“Look. Mister Per—”
Her voice stopped. Not because she didn’t want him to know what she called him, but because she’d opened her eyes, and her jaw dropped and words failed her. They were standing in a foyer. Or rather, he was standing there. She was in his arms, with her legs wrapped about his hips, and she didn’t know how she’d managed that without at least noticing it. And then she factored in the space they stood in. Holy smokes. The guy had space. The area looked cavernous. It even felt large. Echo-inducing large. The entryway was in the usual antebellum style, wasting square footage with the width of it, while an elegant staircase climbed the left wall, curving at the top into the second floor some eighteen to twenty feet above them. An enormous chandelier blocked the view as it dangled down from what looked like the second floor ceiling. Or third level floor. Or attic. Sweetness. The foyer was amazing. Totally.
“Devereaux.”
“What?” she asked.
“My name is Devereaux. Not Mister anything.”
“Um. You should put me down.”
“As you wish.”
No. She was wrong. He shouldn’t have put her down. The moment her feet touched what looked like marble floor, things changed. Sydney stepped back a step. Another. She gained a little of her common sense back. And sense of propriety. Heck. She might be in the Big Easy, but the last thing you could call Sydney Ross was easy. Or cheap. Or available. Or open. Free. Uninhibited.
She repositioned her thick rimmed glasses to the correct position atop the bridge of her nose and looked across and up at him. And felt her heart quiver. Or something that gave her voice the same affliction. “Listen... uh Mister... you have a last name?”
“Why don’t you just call me Dev?” he offered.
Now. Episodes from reality weren’t supposed to include gorgeous guys with devastating smiles that included equally devastating accents. Nor were delusions to have decadent, old-world, romantic-sounding names. This sort of combination was inducing more than insanity. The next thing she knew she’d be envisioning him... naked. Against her... hmm. In the same state of undress. What a nice dream. Way too nice for psychotic episodes. Then again, what did she know? Maybe this was why folks in a mental ward were so happy. And here she’d thought it was the drugs.
Wait. Sydney. You’re not cheap. Or easy. And this guy was way out of her league. If she even claimed one. But... wow. His stance, with hands on hips, just gapped his jacket open, highlighting spectacular abs and mid-section, while framing slim hips and really nice, lengthy legs. Those trousers of his might as well be spandex for the way they clung to what looked like amazing thighs. Double trouble wow.
Her legs weren’t just experiencing rivulets of shivers, they were trembling, too. Good thing she wore loose-fit denims, the jacket Stan had already noticed... a button-up blouse in graduated peach shades. And beneath that was a thong with matching push-up demi-bra; ordered from that erotica catalogue that was guaranteed to give her kissable cleavage. And this Devereaux looked like the perfect guy to test that on.
Hmm.
Oh... buggers. What was she doing? Thoughts like this might fit the embrace the madness section of her options, but that didn’t stop them from being way out of line. Way, way, way out. She licked her lips, and got down to business.
“So. Hey. This is your place then?”
He nodded.
“What’s the square footage?”
His lips twisted. Her innards mirrored it.
“Am I here for a tour or what?”
His eyebrows lifted at that one, highlighting little lines on his forehead. And her heart swooped this time. Fully. Taking a dive to her belly where it seemed to radiate pulse beats from there. Or something of that nature.
“I believe I’ll go with the ‘what’ portion of your query,” he finally answered.
“Well... while you do that, I’ll just take a look around. Fair?”
Sydney turned her back on him. That was probably stupid, but looking at him was overwhelming just about every sense she had. And some she hadn’t known she possessed. There was a large doorway on her right. She went through it. She found herself in another large bit of space. The room had another high ceiling, a marble fireplace along the inner wall that looked like it rose from the floor, the entire thing overseeing about eight hundred feet of space. Maybe. It looked about twenty feet wide by at least forty in length, but the far end was in complete shadow. The room contained long windows along the outer walls, topped with plaster designed cornice pieces. Each window had a valance across it and drapes at the sides that were so long, they made puddles of material on the floor. They did nothing to cover over clear, perfectly polished glass that showed a view of closed painted shutters, in what looked like a forest green shade. The window decor was a French design... from last century sometime. Her grandmother had redone her entire house in it. It was wasteful and stupid back then. It looked elegant and absolutely perfect here. The dark burgundy material sat atop more marble floor, and served as a divider for the pieces of perfectly crafted and old-fashioned furniture. Sydney moved her eyes. Wow. He even had a grand piano in here, atop a pedestal, so highly polished, it shone,
And Devereaux was seated at it.
Sydney gasped and stepped back a fraction.
Buggers. She’d forgotten how fast he moved.
“Hi there,” he said.
Sydney cleared her throat. It sounded raw and unladylike, but she had to find her voice somehow. “This room is perfect for gatherings of the undead. Or... perhaps for sending one to stay and wait until they’re granted an audience. Truly. I can just see it.”
“Can you now?”
“Is this a parlor, then?”
“More or less.”
He ran a finger along the keys, putting an eerie flourish of sound into the room. That lifted more than goose bumps. It chilled. Sydney clasped her hands together in what she hoped didn’t look like a defensive move and turned around.
“All right, then. I’ll just do a bit of touring myself. I’m going to guess you have a study or something on the other side of the entrance ha
ll here?”
She was walking as she spoke and was completely wrong. It was a dining room. Or might have been designated as one. But this one was of immense proportion. A quick glance showed a long dark wood table looking pretty tiny down the center of the room, despite having about twelve chairs on either side. She didn’t count for accuracy. There appeared to be a doorway at the far end, but that portion of the room was shadowed. Indistinct. Not here at the front of the room. This room was almost as breath-taking as the foyer had been. Or the parlor. And basically the same dimensions. The walls were hung with larger-than-life-sized paintings, most featuring men who looked exactly like Devereaux in various poses and in various period costumes. They almost covered over the wall space done in off-white wallpaper of a fleur-de-lis pattern. The entire room was large and light and airy. Or meant to be. The fireplace in this room was even crafted of a lighter shade of stone. The windows appeared to be the same floor-to-ceiling proportion as his parlor, and had the same shuttered view from between the drapes. Only difference was these window treatments were done in a tone-on-tone striped pattern in the same shade as the walls.
And then she saw Devereaux.
He stood at the far end of the table, his hand resting on the back of a chair, as if it was nothing to race that far in a blink of time. At least, nothing on that chest or belly looked out of breath. It just looked fine. Sculpted. Masculine. And just maybe if he fastened his coat or donned a shirt, she wouldn’t have to keep noticing all that.
Get a grip, Sydney. He’s a vampire. Vampires do not breathe. Geez.
“Well. This looks perfect for any scene with dining we might script. What am I saying? Vampires don’t dine. They don’t... do they?”
“What do you look like beneath those spectacles of yours?” he asked, right out of the blue.
Her heart skipped a beat. And damn that organ for being so attuned to everything about him! Sydney tipped her head sideways and regarded him for long moments. It didn’t seem to do much. He didn’t even look like he needed to blink.
“Like a person who can’t see. All squinty-eyed and lost. What’s through that door, there? The kitchen?” She pointed.
“Butler pantry.”
“And behind that is the kitchen?”
“You wish to see?”
“That is why I’m here, Mister... uh... Devereaux. I’m seeing how a real vampire lives. Right?”
“Live is such a contentious word,” he replied.
“You have a pretty extensive vocabulary for a dead thing.”
“I have a lot of time. I read.”
“Right. How?”
“Like anyone else, of course. I love reading.”
“And you just happen to be in a book club or two? Or maybe you have a library card and the library here in New Orleans stays open all night?”
He smiled. She should have known what was coming.
“I have a staff. How else would I keep my abode in perfect condition? They keep me apprised of maintenance issues. I have it centrally conditioned to any climate change, so I don’t have to redo the interior constantly. Humidity is an issue on old wallpaper fixatives.”
“I’ll bet,” Sydney replied for something to say.
“My staff also orders books for me.”
“What kinds of books?”
“All kinds. Literary. Non-fiction. Commercial fiction. Mysteries. Romance. Science fiction. Would you like to see?”
“Uh...”
“My library?”
Oh no. He has a library?
She was going to have a really hard time fighting an attraction to him now. This was cheating. Nobody who looked like him needed more. That was just adding unnecessary kindling on the fire. Sydney licked her lips. Gripped her hands tighter. Conquered the urge to approach him. And then her feet just did it. Coming within an arm-span of touching him. And that just meant she had to look up.
“Is your library close?”
“You like books, do you?”
“Devereaux.”
“Sorry, love. I was just pondering the vagaries of fate. And irony.”
“Irony?” she parroted. Oh my! He’d just called her ‘love’.
“I’ve met lots of women... none of whom liked me because of my tomes. This must be what is meant by poetic justice.”
“I never said I liked you at all.”
He grinned, putting pretty sharp canines on view. “Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”
CHAPTER FOUR
He shouldn’t.
He really shouldn’t.
It wouldn’t be fair. Or honorable. Or moral.
And why the hell should he care about any of that now? Merde! He didn’t question the vagaries of fate. And he never hesitated. Devereaux Castillion jumped at what was offered. Always had. And yet, now... he dithered? And pondered honor and amoral behavior?
When had that happened? And why now? With her?
He sucked in his cheeks, putting minute slices into his lower lip with his canines. Tipped his head slightly. And shook in place. Again.
This was incredible! He had his mate. Right there! There wasn’t any doubt, either. This mating thing was creating all kinds of havoc throughout his frame - havoc of a sort he’d thought long gone. Lost. For all eternity. Acceptance was better than hoping. Wishing. Longing. Yearning.
He’d suffered all of that, but never mentioned it. Nobody did. That was a sure path to complete insanity. Akron had been succinct. He’d warned Devereaux. And re-warned him. Some vampires found their mates and it was a glorious thing. Some were never that lucky. Devereaux had listened that entire night, deep in the grip of fevered tremors, panting with each agonized breath. And then he accepted what Akron offered. Dev had no one to blame but himself.
Vampirism wasn’t eternal life. It was endless existence. Lifeless. Chilled. Emotionless. Bereft of any passion except that for blood. And that’s exactly what it had been. Until now. With her. This Sydney Ross, LLC. Looking across and up at him.
Right there!
Dev shook again with the awareness before he could halt it. He’d found her! Sweet paradise! And while things within him had started changing the moment he’d sensed her, nothing could’ve prepared him for direct contact. Holding her altered the physical realm even more! His heart beat in accompaniment to hers, while newly-awakened senses bombarded him with emotions: Lust. Craving. Hunger. Passion. Want. Need. And all of that just ratcheted higher each moment he spent in her presence. An endless series of tremors ran through his frame. His knees weakened more than once. He was amazed she didn’t notice.
What the hell?
Where was the justice in this? Dev had her completely in his thrall. He was one of the best at projecting control over humans. And keeping it. And yet... right now –faced with sweetly pursed lips, a frame that sent pulses of electric charges, and the sight of one little vein, tapping against the flesh of her throat – he hesitated?
Dev looked deeply into the gray-toned eyes of his mate, watching him from over the rim of her disfiguring glasses. She had stunning eyes. Truly. Surrounded by lush, dark lashes with the darkest outline of deep blue all about the iris. She had a hard-to-define shade of eyes. One moment they appeared blue, the next silver, and the next, a purplish tone. He’d been studying them. The color depended mainly on how the light hit them. And how impacted she was by his power. That’s when they looked blank - like hammered silver.
Eyes like hers should be clear and untroubled. Easily probed. Plumbed. They shouldn’t be riveting him in place, grabbing at him; suctioning him into depths that promised everything. Why... even as he gazed into her eyes, snagged by something indefinable, the room about him faded into nothing but a background for her beauty. Was she enthralling him? How was that possible? That was his modus operendi.
Ah, to hell with it.
Indecision was for cowards. Devereaux opened his lips in a semi-snarl, reached for her shoulders and bridged the distance between them. Then he was lifting her
at the same time that he lowered his head, fully intent on that vein. Once there, however, he wavered, prolonging the moment, running his tongue along her skin and raising goose bumps. He knew she’d be nirvana. Perfection. He opened his jaw to stab through skin and then the greatest shriek stopped him.
Dev jumped, going airborne before he could prevent it. He spent the next micro-second dropping back to the floor. The shriek came again. Insistent. Piercing. Sydney shook her head slightly, blinked several times in rapidity, and then moved to pull a cell phone from a jacket pocket. Dev frowned.
Not good.
“Oh. Hi Stan.”
Dev listened to the answer with half an ear and no interest. He was intent on counting seconds. Tracing time. Damn it.
“Oh. I’m fine. Yes. Really? It’s four? Already?”
Some more words. He could make them out, but he’d reached twenty seconds of his count. She had twenty-one left.
“Too much? Is it negotiable? Well, we might not need it. This place is fantastic. Oh. I don’t know. Another hour. Maybe more.”
Another hour? How about an eternity of hours?
“I’m about to tour the kitchens. Actually, as old and perfectly maintained as this place is, I’m going to guess the kitchens are outside. Maybe in a different building. We’ll probably have to cross a courtyard. What? No. Don’t wait up. I’m fine.”
Another smattering as Stan replied. She had ten seconds before Dev was going to have to end her call. That might not go over well. Eight. Seven. Six.
“Take care. Yeah. Later.”
She clicked her end button. Devereaux held out his hand, palm up.
“What?”
“Phone.”
“Why? You have a problem with cell phones in this place?”
“Now.”
She looked up at him and sent a thrill right through his newly awakened heart. That almost stopped him from using his mesmeric power. Almost. There wasn’t an option. Hunters weren’t stupid. They’d barely left the vicinity. Having Sydney Ross, LLC, disappear would probably engender another vampire alert. Two of them in that span of time would just get more Hunters descending on New Orleans. And more notice. Devereaux would probably be ordered to report to VAL headquarters again, too.