by Martha Woods
“Alright, thanks for talking to me.”
“Anytime. You have fun tonight. Give me all the details in the morning,” Cara says.
I agree and hang up the phone. Bella is looking at me wagging her tail so I take her down for a quick walk. Usually I’d take her for a run, but not today; I’m actually exhausted. I’ve got goose bumps on my arms thinking about what I saw while I was talking to Cara. The girls looked real enough to touch. What is happening to me? A vampire can’t get inside my head, a shaman wants to kill me, and now I see ghosts of dead girls. Either that, or I really am going crazy.
Back in my apartment, I start to Google vampires, reading up on all the internet has to say about them. But it’s hard to discern fact from fiction. I research older books to see if they have anything to say, books I can find from before Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. I get the feeling that it’s true they can’t come out during the day, and that they have some sort of ability for mind control. I’m not sure if they can transform into bats or if garlic will keep them away, or if the sleep in coffins. The legend about them having to be invited in is obviously false. I’m used to having proof of things – hard evidence that can give me black and white answers to questions that could otherwise trip someone up. This supernatural crap I’ve stumbled into is a whole different world. I need to know its rules.
Time goes faster than I expected it to. Before long it is 5, and I need to start getting ready for my date. I opt for tight jeans but a long shirt underneath which I can hide my gun. The shirt is a dark blue, falling lightly off my shoulder. I strike a pose in front of the mirror. Casual, but sexy. Somehow I manage to pull it off. It feels strange going out armed, but with a shaman werewolf out to get me, it seems like the best option. Bella whines her approval at my outfit so I bend down to give her a belly rub.
I put light makeup on, focusing on my lips to make them look more kissable. I still feel I look dull, nothing exciting about me, but Damon must see something I don’t. I try to muster more confidence – he did ask me out after all – but it is hard to see what a guy like Damon could see in me. I can be confident with a gun, I can be sure against a vampire, but when it comes to him, my heart rate goes through the roof. I don’t know what it is about him that makes him like him so much. It’s likely the mystery that surrounds my neighbor who stays up all night and for the most part keeps to himself. I do like to solve a good puzzle; call it an occupational hazard.
He knocks promptly at 7. I open the door and hold my breath. He is wearing jeans and a button up shirt, tight fitting. I’m not sure where he has hidden his gun, but my hands are itching to explore that form to find it. He smiles at me, scratching the back of his head. He has his hair combed for a change, and…is he acting shy around me?
“Sorry, I'm actually not used to asking women to go on dates,” he admits.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, my job doesn’t allow much free time,” he says. “Especially of late.”
“My job keeps me busy as well,” I say.
“I can imagine. Being a cop and all.” He offers me his arm. “Shall we go?”
I shyly take it. I can feel his muscles tense as my arm winds around his. Maybe he’s as nervous about this date as I am. I say goodbye to Bella and close the door, locking it. Hopefully, Vincent isn’t here when I get back. I have a sudden fear that the vampire might have a taste for the dog, but he seemed disinterested in her before, so I shake it off and try to keep my head in the moment.
“M’lady,” Damon teases, gesturing for me to step into the elevator first. I flush.
We walk to his car, an old white pick-up truck that can only fit two people comfortably. He opens the door for me, and I slide in, trying to be graceful. Graceful isn’t really my thing. The inside of the truck is clean, even though the outside looks pretty beat up, as if it has seen more trails in the woods than actual roads. I buckle my seatbelt, and Damon climbs into the driver’s seat beside me.
“Is sushi okay with you?” he asks.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had any.”
“I know this really nice place that’s quiet, so we can talk and stare into each other’s eyes,” he says, not looking at me. He’s being playful, but he’s still shy, I can tell.
“You’re going to have to stop making me blush so much,” I say.
“But it’s so fun.” Now he breaks out into a genuine smile as he pulls out of the parking lot. “It’s what I like about you. You’re so open about your emotions. Most girls tend to be guarded.”
“It’s not nice to make generalizations,” I say.
“You’re right. It’s probably just because of my limited experience with women.”
“How can you have little experience?” I ask.
He keeps his eyes on the road but reaches out to take my hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss. It feels so natural, like this is how it is supposed to be, and the feeling slows my heartbeat down. Just a small kiss, so old fashioned of him. I remember holding Vincent’s hand in my own suddenly, but quickly beat that out of my brain as I focus on Damon’s profile.
“I work a lot,” he says.
“What do you do?”
Damon goes quiet, and I see something flash across his face. A mixture of emotions, like he is trying to bury something deep inside. Automatically, the curiosity in me is spiked, and I want to dig until I find what he’s pushing down. I’m a forensic investigator; it’s what I do.
“I do security,” he says finally, as if he’s unsure about his own answer.
“Security for who?” I ask.
He kisses my hand again, distracting me from the question. “I’m sorry, Amy. I can’t really talk about my job,” he says.
* * *
I narrow my eyes. I don’t like that. It makes me nervous. Especially with everything that’s been happening lately, I’d feel a lot more comfortable with someone who could be straightforward with me. Still, I feel I should give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the duration of the date. What do I know? Maybe he really can’t talk about his job. Who should understand that better than a member of the police? But what are we supposed to talk about if not each other’s lives?
He pulls up to the sushi restaurant and I’m distracted from my line of thought, curious about the restaurant. It is indeed small, quaint and quiet. The lighting is a soft blue on intimate tables for two. It’s empty other than the wait staff. Damon helps me out of the truck and takes my arm again to lead me inside.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Why did you get into forensics?” Damon asks as we take our seats.
“I’m not sure. I’ve just…always been drawn to blood?” It comes out as a question. Probably not the most romantic thing to say, I admit.
Damon seems taken aback by that, but the waitress is by to take our order. Damon orders a sushi boat for us to share that has a sampling of all the sushi restaurant has to offer. Sushi isn’t my favorite thing to eat, but it is a nice healthy change from the BBQ and burgers I’ve been ingesting of late.
“Okay, how about this: do you believe in love at first sight?” Damon asks, trying to change the subject.
“To be honest, I’ve see too many relationships fall apart. People are not meant to be monogamous; did you know only 5 percent of mammals actually are?” I say.
“I didn’t. But I’m going to change your mind,” he says confidently, making my face flush.
He orders warm sake for us to share, pouring me a glass first. The warmth of it fills my belly as we continue to chat about different things. The conversation ends up coming naturally as the waitress brings food and we start to eat. Damon tells me about growing up in Kentucky on a farm, and that he hasn’t upgraded his truck in years, just fixes it himself whenever it breaks down. I tell him about my job and some of the most ridiculous cases that I have run into, which he laughs at.
I feel his leg idly rubbing against my own. He isn’t flirting with his mouth anymore, but with the movements of his feet and
hands. He reaches out occasionally to squeeze my knee, and I don’t bat him away, the whole time somehow able to carry the conversation without struggling or saying something stupid. Maybe it is the small amount of alcohol in my system, but what Cara suggested seems really tempting. I’m not a prude; I don’t have a standard I hold my dates to. I’ve had one-night stands before and not felt guilty about it in the morning. The problem I’m running into now is that I really like Damon, and somehow sleeping with him now might be taking things too fast. I am just getting comfortable talking to him, how could I get comfortable being naked with him?
He hasn’t even kissed me – I don’t know why my mind is going there already. I just want to be in his arms somehow, to have them tightly surround me to chase away the bad dreams that have become my reality. I somehow feel safe around Damon, safer than I have ever felt with any other human being. He’s a good guy. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.
We finish the meal, and he asks if I want to go for a walk. This time, he takes up my hand and intertwines our fingers as we begin to walk down the strip.
“I hope this is okay,” he says.
“Y-yeah it’s okay. It feels natural,” I say.
“I know.” I can see his cheeks reddening a bit as he looks away from me.
“Oh, did I manage to make Damon blush?” I tease.
He suddenly twirls me around so I’m standing very close to him. His hand moves to take up to my chin and he lifts it to meet his lips. Damon has to bend down slightly to reach me and then his soft lips are pressing against mine. I feel no scrub of a beard; he must have shaved just before coming out with me. My heart flutters in my chest as he turns my head to the side to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds its way inside my mouth, and I open to him, letting our tongues intertwine to release the pent-up desires we (or at least I) have felt since we met at that crime scene. What could be more perfect than someone else who works the night shift? Tommy and I always had trouble meeting up with our schedules. Maybe that was one of the reasons I cut and run when I did. But Damon, Damon seems to be making time for me. For this moment. For this sudden kiss of pure desire that has me melting against him.
He breaks the kiss with some reluctance, and I meet his green gaze. His hand touches my cheek, moving along my jawline and over my lips.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the night I met you,” he whispers.
“Was it worth the wait?” I whisper back.
“Yes,” he says, and he kisses me again, drawing me closer to his body. I forget all about walking or standing or breathing and let myself fall into him. My hands wrap around his neck, and he draws me in with his strong arms around my waist, careful of my holstered gun, to deepen our second kiss. It is everything I wanted in the first but more.
“We should go,” he says pulling his face inches from mine.
“We should, we’re drawing a crowd,” I say. People are walking around trying to hide their stares from us. Apparently, public displays of affection are frowned upon in front of sushi establishments.
He draws me to his truck with some urgency, unlocking my door and picking me up from the waist to put me in the high cab. I laugh at the way his face is flushed; there is a smear of my lipstick across his lips. He looks like a teenager who just kissed the girl of his dreams. Damon closes the door and opens his own, turning to kiss me again once he is inside the truck.
“Are we going too fast?” he asks.
“I don’t know, where are we going?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, should we talk about it? I want you, Amy, but we can wait. We can hold on,” he says.
“We can see when we get to my apartment,” I say as my heart does a little flip. He grabs my hand and kisses it, then we’re off. The average time for the first sexual encounter is usually by the second or third date. But I could die tomorrow or even tonight, murdered by a maniac shaman. I might as well live my life as much as I can.
Damon makes those morbid feelings disappear. He doesn’t exactly fly down the road but he is defiantly pushing it, at least ten miles over the speed limit. He waves at the cops still posted outside the compound. My detail. I’d nearly forgotten them. There must have been more of them outside the sushi restaurant as well. I can’t think too hard about it because Damon is squeezing my hand.
We get out of the truck and barely make it into the elevator before he is pinning me against the wall, his lips soft but firm against mine. There is some sort of primal savagery to his kiss, a craving so deep it is crawling underneath my skin. I want to rip that shirt off him and see what is underneath. This is not how I was expecting the night to go, but I’m excited about it.
The elevator opens, and he leads me towards my apartment, planting kisses on my neck as I fumble to open the front door. He nibbles my ear and runs his tongue around the edge of it, making me gasp with delight. Bella lets out a bark when she sees the two of us, but I shoo her off as Damon picks me up by the waist. My legs wrap around him, and he carries me like that to the couch with our lips locked together. I keep having to remind myself to breathe, I’m finding myself totally drunk on him. He lays me on the couch, pulling back from me to caress my face.
“You’re so lovely, Amy,” he says. He’s leaning down to give me another kiss when something jerks him off me and throws him across my living room.
I let out a scream.
Chapter 7
Damon hits my kitchen wall, but it doesn’t seem to faze him because he’s on his feet again. He draws out a long silver knife – I have no idea where he was hiding that – and crouches down. There is no fear in his eyes; they look set to murder.
“Stay there, Amy,” he says.
“What is he doing here?” I hear a voice behind me say. I look back and see Vincent standing on the balcony.
Damon is moving towards the vampire, not with inhuman speed, but he’s definitely faster than I thought he would be. He pulls a cross out from around his neck and Vincent hisses, drawing back. Bella is up, jumping in between the two, and yelps as Vincent trips over her. Damon is on top of him before I can blink and he’s moving to slice at the vampire’s neck. But he only manages to draw a small, thin line of blood before Vincent throws him off into, one of my side tables, knocking it over and shattering a lamp.
“Stop it!” I yell. Both Vincent and Damon immediately freeze.
“Vincent, you have no right to be in my apartment,” I say, facing the vampire and drawing my gun.
“I think you already know your gun will do little to harm me,” Vincent says.
“But we know I’m a much better shot,” Damon says, rising up from the crumble of my broken lamp and table and raising his own gun. His hands are steady, too steady. I’ve seen plenty of cops handle their weapons and I know instantly, he’s a professional.
Vincent hisses again, showing his fangs, and I step between the two of them. I can’t let Damon kill Vincent. This is the one creature who can potentially stop Elric, if what he told me is true. But Damon is breathing hard and looking very trigger happy right now.
“Move, Amy,” he says.
“Not in the mood to have blood stains all over my apartment,” I say, my voice short and tight. Come on, Amy. Deescalate the situation. I try to keep my voice even. “My table is already broken, so you can calm down on the destruction of property. And this is sort of the only person I know who might be able to protect me,” I add, motioning to Vincent.
“Vampires don’t protect anyone,” Damon says. There is a sharpness, a coldness to his voice I have not heard before, and I don’t like it.
“And hunters are doing a poor job of keeping things in check,” Vincent hisses.
Hunter? I look at Damon, the knife in his left hand, the gun held unwavering in his right, the cross around his neck. He seems steady on his feet, and he knows exactly what Vincent is. No wonder I felt so safe with him. Apparently, his nighttime security job is hunting the undead. I want to ask him more, but I also want to kick him in the shins for not telling me. I’m
not a fan of secrets.
“Vincent is here because apparently I’m the next victim,” I say. This is my apartment. This conversation will be on my terms.
That causes Damon to lower his gun. The two men eye each other. I note Damon’s cross again and decide it’s about time I go out to get one. Who knows if it’ll work against Elric, but better safe than sorry, right? Besides, Vincent can’t be the only vampire in LA, and I doubt all of them are as opposed to killing.
“How does he know that?” Damon asks.
“Because I’m hunting Elric down. He’s powerful, dangerous, and he threatens to expose us all. We’ve been playing this game for centuries now. He finds a town, scares them, almost lets our secret out, then vanishes. He’s not the easiest to find, and you hunters have been failing terribly,” Vincent says.
“We haven’t been failing,” Damon growls.
“No more fighting,” I tell them. My shock is wearing off and now I’m mostly just irritated. “You two need to calm down, drink a cup of tea, and talk to each other like adults. Vincent, you sit in the kitchen, Damon sits on the couch,” I bark out the orders.
Both men stand there and stare at me. After all, I was screaming a moment ago, but I’m not a damsel in distress, I’m not interested in their apparent feud, and I’m tired of their games.
“I said sit. It’s my life on the line here, and I’m sick of secrets,” I say.
Damon takes a seat on the couch but keeps his gun at the ready on his lap. Vincent sits on one of my bar stools and leans back against the wall, looking appealing and dangerous all at the same time.
He winks at me as I walk by. I flush red, and he laughs. Damn men, damn face. I wish then I weren't such an open book about how I’m feeling. I ignore him as best I can and go to my kettle to make everyone some chamomile tea so this party can calm the fuck down. Not that I think it will work for vampires, but it is worth a shot. If nothing else, he’ll be too busy drinking the tea to run his mouth. Okay, I’m more than a little irritated.