Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  She came first, crying his name as violent tremors racked her body. The surge of energy rushed at him, crashing over him like a tidal wave and sucking him under. He came then, bucking and spilling himself deep inside as he held her tight.

  He scooped her up into his arms and dropped them both down onto the bed. The moonlight pushed through the open windows, bathing them in a warm, celestial glow. It was the warmest he’d ever felt at night. And the most content. And he liked it.

  He liked her.

  Of course you like her. She’s juicing you up for the big confrontation.

  But there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just the whirlwind of energy that drew him to her, it was the feelings. The sincerity in her gaze when she’d talked about making promises. The conviction when she’d talked about keeping them. She was caught between her mother and her aunt, yet she loved them both. Enough to forfeit her own happiness and try to please each of them.

  That’s what she was doing.

  He recognized it because he’d spent his entire life trying to please everyone else. First his mother. Then Mr. Caskey. Then Ellen and her father. Then the damnable hunger.

  Jake’s entire world now revolved around lust. The lust for sex. For blood. For revenge. For his own humanity. Rarely did he feel anything else. But when he’d sat at the picnic table with Nikki, he’d felt an overwhelming sense of camaraderie. And compassion. And understanding.

  For those few precious moments he’d felt like a man.

  Her man.

  He gathered her close and relished the feel of her soft skin against his own, and for the first time he let himself imagine what things might be like if the situation were different.

  If he were different.

  Maybe he wouldn’t walk away when all was said and done. Maybe, just maybe, he would actually settle down right here. With Nikki.

  If.

  11

  IT WAS ALMOST OVER.

  Nikki ate her last bite of waffle and downed the remaining sip of juice. She’d arrived at the ancient farmhouse where she’d spent her childhood a good half hour ahead of her mother, who’d overslept thanks to another late night.

  Not Nikki. She’d been early.

  No sleeping an extra three hours or trying to sneak in another spectacular orgasm. She’d scrambled out of bed around four o’clock. and left Jake sound asleep. She had things to do and places to go, a routine, and she’d been determined to keep her priorities straight.

  Once home, she’d done what she did every Sunday morning—she’d watched the last episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Tivo. Then she’d ordered some salon supplies on-line and put together the ad she was going to run in Tuesday’s paper—complete with a Fall Ball discount coupon. She’d also hung up the various paint swatches in her kitchen and tried to decide which colors she liked best. Then she’d put on her Sunday best and now she was here.

  She eyed the empty plate and smiled.

  Yep, the inquisition would end soon.

  “Here, dear.” Izzie wore an apron decorated with bright pink pigs, her favorite peach colored skirt set and a warm smile. “Have another blueberry waffle before we leave for church.”

  “Leave the poor girl alone, Aunt Izzie.” Jolene sat across from Nikki, her gaze hooked on the latest issue of Cosmo. She wore a hot-pink peasant blouse and a colorful Mexican skirt. Her hair was combed and teased to blonde perfection, her makeup firmly in place. “She’s already had two. You’re going to make her fat.”

  “She could stand to have a little meat on her bones.” Izzie plopped down another waffle on Nikki’s plate.

  “No man’s going to want her if she balloons up like a blimp.” Jolene grabbed the edge of the plate and handed it back to the old woman.

  “She already has a man who loves her for better or worse.” Izzie set the waffle in front of Nikki again.

  “She’s not marrying him.” Jolene handed the plate back.

  “She most certainly is.” Izzie set the plate down again.

  “I’ll eat half.” Nikki held her arms protectively around the plate and grabbed her fork.

  “So when can we meet this young man?” Izzie asked again, for probably the dozenth time since Nikki had walked through the front door. She’d first replied, “Soon,” but Izzie seemed determined to wrangle a definite answer from her.

  The last thing she wanted was to introduce Jake to her great-aunt. With his good looks and charisma, Izzie would surely fall in love with him, and that would only make fading him out of the picture that much more difficult.

  “There’s no reason to meet him,” Jolene said. “They’re not getting married.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “No, they’re not—”

  “What are you reading, Mom?” Nikki blurted, eager to change the subject.

  “An article about Texas bachelors. It says here that Dallas has more doctors and lawyers and financial gurus than any other city in Texas. Of course, they don’t have much to offer by way of construction workers or the more rugged types. If you want to meet a cowboy, you have to drive to Austin. Or Midland. Midland’s got lots of cowboys.”

  “How about insurance agents?” Aunt Izzie settled down at the table with her own plate of waffles.

  “Who wants to date an insurance agent?” Jolene sipped her coffee. “I’m talking about men who’ve amounted to something. Sports stars, entertainers, Internet traders, realestate gurus.”

  “An insurance agent is something.” Namely because Aunt Izzie’s one and only true love had once been an insurance agent named Tom. He’d gotten hit by a truck before they’d married, and Aunt Izzie had mourned him ever since.

  “I like insurance agents myself,” Nikki offered. “William over at the State Farm office is pretty hot.”

  “He barely makes enough money to buy those hideous suits that he wears,” Jolene said.

  “They do look a little dated,” Nikki agreed.

  “Vintage,” Izzie quipped. “Isn’t that what you young people call it?”

  “It’s only vintage if it’s done on purpose,” Jolene told Izzie. “If you’re just wearing it because it’s all you have, then it’s just plain old.”

  “Maybe it’s all he has,” Nikki offered. She cut half the waffle into four pieces and shoved one into her mouth.

  One down…three to go.

  “He’s the top-rated agent in town,” Jolene went on. “He makes plenty of money, he just doesn’t want to part with any of it. He’s cheap.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being thrifty,” Izzie said. “I’m thrifty.”

  “My point exactly. Look at this place, Iz. You’ve got the same wallpaper that you had back in the fifties—”

  “What about your date last night?” Nikki cut in, drawing her mother’s attention. “Who was he?” She stuffed bite number two into her mouth and chewed.

  “Bernie Maguire.” A smile touched Jolene’s lips. “The man is a total dreamboat.”

  Nikki tried to reconcile the Bernie she knew with the dreamboat concept. He was fifty-something, three times divorced, no kids, with a fake tan and dyed hair. He wore his pants too tight and enough gold chains to feed a family of four for the next fifty years.

  “We went for a steak dinner over at Olsen’s Diner—he had a rib eye while I had my usual salad—and then we went two-stepping over at this new dance hall in Calloway.”

  Nikki shoved bite number three into her mouth.

  “I heard about that place,” Izzie said. “They were raided last month by the sheriff’s office for selling drugs.”

  “They did not get raided. One of the deputies was having a bachelor party and the whole lot of them showed up to wish him well.”

  Nikki forked the last piece.

  “That’s not what Amelia Patterson said,” Izzie pointed out.

  Chew.

  “Amelia Patterson is almost one hundred years old,” Jolene countered. “She can barely stay awake during bingo.”

  Swallow.

  �
�She stays awake most of the time.”

  “Why, she hasn’t kept her eyes open for more than—”

  “Done,” Nikki announced. She pushed back from the table. “I hate to eat and run, but I really have to go.”

  “What about church?” Izzie asked.

  Nikki thought about two hours sandwiched between Izzie and Winona—Jolene didn’t do church—and shook her head. “I need to run by the hardware store before I head over to the senior’s center.” She volunteered her hairstyling services every Sunday to the Greyhounds who couldn’t afford an actual salon visit.

  “Such dedication.” Izzie beamed. “Let me fix you a snack to take with you.”

  “Stop stuffing the girl.” Jolene stood. “You’re going to make her sick.”

  “It’s just a little something to tuck into her bag for later.”

  Nikki opened her mouth to referee, but her brain had snagged on the word bag. As in the black leather satchel she used to carry around her hair supplies.

  Dread bubbled as her mind raced back through the past few hours. She’d been so anxious to keep up her usual routine and not let herself get distracted that she’d done just that. She’d gone off and left her bag—filled with everything from her scissors to her combs to her mother’s favorite hair conditioner—sitting on the kitchen table.

  “Here you go, dear.” Izzie handed her a stuffed brown paper sack. “Have a nice day.”

  But Nikki’s day had already been shot to hell.

  She’d forgotten.

  To make matters worse, she now had to drive back home and pick up her bag, which meant she couldn’t stop by the hardware store without being late to Golden Acres. Which meant she’d let Jake McCann screw up her schedule.

  Again.

  “LET’S SEE WHAT YOU got.”

  Jake stared at the two aces and three kings he held in his hands and fanned them out on the table, a smile on his face as he stared at the man seated across from him. “Let’s see you beat this.”

  The man took one look, threw down his own hand and muttered a curse.

  “How about we go double or nothing?” Jake shoved the stack of gold coins he’d won toward the center of the table. “I’ll even spot you a couple of cards.”

  “It’s too damned late for me,” the man muttered. “Besides, I intend to walk away with my britches on, and right now that’s about all I have left.”

  “What about you?” Jake’s gaze went to the next man.

  Hopkins, who owned the general store across the street, shook his head and pushed away. “Got me a sweet little filly waitin’ upstairs and I ain’t of a mind to piss her off.”

  “Willy?” Jake eyed the owner of the livery stable.

  “I’m out, too.”

  “That’s what I get for playing with amateurs.” Jake had wiped out a table of professionals just last week, a match that had ended with him having to draw his gun. They hadn’t taken too kindly to losing to a local and so they’d been sore losers. And damned dangerous ones.

  “It’s late.” Willy shrugged. “I promised the wife I wouldn’t be late again. I already missed supper twice this week. You ought to head on out, too. Ellen’s probably waiting.”

  Not yet. Her daddy liked to eat late—after he’d taken an evening nap—and so she was just cooking supper at this point. Liver and onions. Her daddy’s favorite. But Jake wasn’t her daddy and he couldn’t stomach liver and onions. Any more than he could stomach the cold, hard man who’d forced him to marry his daughter because he’d caught Jake compromising her virtue.

  Truth be told, Ellen’s virtue had been compromised a helluva long time before Jake had hooked up with her. But he’d been the one who’d gotten caught. The one her father had wanted—needed—to help with his horses. The one who’d been so naive and love-struck that he’d actually believed Ellen had felt something for him.

  She hadn’t. He’d been headed out of town—free for the first time in his life—and she’d wanted to go with him. And so she’d done everything she could to make him want to take her along.

  She’d lied to him. She hadn’t been the least bit in love with him. Rather, she’d wanted out. Out of this town. Away from her domineering father.

  Instead she was stuck.

  They both were.

  He gathered up his gold, downed the last of his whiskey and reached for his hat. Outside, he stepped down off the porch and stared toward the livery, where he’d left his horse.

  Music drifted from the far end of the street, and Jake thought of the sizable amount he’d won tonight. Enough to take off for good if he’d been the kind to turn his back on a promise.

  That or he could buy Ellen that dress she’d been wanting from that fancy-schmancy mail-order catalog.

  She’d like that. And maybe, just maybe, she’d like him. For a little while anyhow.

  He turned toward the saloon. A few more games, he told himself. Three at the most, and then he would head home.

  Because Jake McCann kept his promises. He always had and he always would.

  By the time he walked out of Mattie’s, it was well after midnight. On his third round he’d wiped out a group of ranch hands from one of the neighboring farms, and they were none too happy. It was time to get while the getting was good.

  He stepped down off the porch and started for the livery stable. Mud squished beneath his boots. The street stretched out in front of him, so dark and quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Even so, Jake didn’t hear so much as a footfall behind him before he felt the hand close around his throat.

  White-hot pain ripped through his jugular and blood gushed down the front of his shirt. A growl ripped open the silence. Jake felt the mouth at his neck, drawing on the open gash, sucking the life right out of him.

  “No!”

  The grip on his throat disappeared and Jake slumped to the ground. The sound of his heart beat a slow, sluggish rhythm in his ears, each ka-thump growing further and further apart as he lay there for what seemed like an eternity. He was dying. He knew it, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

  He tried to keep his eyes open, to call for help, to offer up his winnings in exchange for his life, but the only sound that came out was a choked gurgle.

  “You can’t die.” The tortured voice pushed past the pain thundering in Jake’s head and he felt his body being lifted.

  Help. Someone was helping him.

  He wasn’t sure what happened next because the pain overwhelmed him. By the time it calmed enough for him to actually breathe, he was lying on a soft bed of straw.

  The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of animal hair. A barn. Maybe. He couldn’t tell because there were none of the usual sounds. Just an eerie quiet and the occasional whistle of the wind. And something else.

  A presence.

  He fought for a breath and forced his eyes open. Through a blurry haze he saw the dark shadow of a man leaning over him. A knife glittered in a sliver of moonlight that pushed through the gaps in the roof.

  Jake fixed his gaze on the curved blade, desperate to focus, to see the markings that had been cut into the sharp steel. Sam Black. The letters gleamed as they caught another shaft of moonlight. Blood coated the hands that held the knife. Jake blinked again, but he’d seen enough. This was the man who’d tried to kill him.

  The man who was about to finish the job.

  Jake struggled, but he couldn’t make his arms and legs cooperate. The shadow raised the knife and sliced it through the air. Jake waited for the pain. More blinding pain. But it didn’t come this time. Instead the blade sliced into the muscular forearm of the man who held it and drew a thin line of red blood.

  “You have to drink,” a deep, raspy voice urged. “Before it’s too late.”

  Jake fought as the red heat splashed into his mouth and pushed at the man’s bleeding arm. But the blood kept coming and coming, filling his mouth, running over his chin to glide down his throat and mingle with his own.

 
He sputtered and choked and then it was simply too much. He closed his eyes and gave up the fight.

  He felt his body being rolled into a coarse blanket and then a weight pushed down on him as if he were being buried.

  But he wasn’t dead yet. Not completely. His heart still beat. Once. Twice. He heard it. He felt it.

  And then he stopped feeling altogether.

  Dead…

  Jake bolted to a sitting position. His chest heaved and his pulse raced. He stared at the dark emptiness of the cave that surrounded him. In the far distance he heard the buzz of crickets. It was barely sunset and he should still be sleeping the sleep of the dead.

  But he wasn’t.

  He closed his eyes and thought about the day after the attack. He’d found himself buried beneath a pile of hay in an abandoned barn miles from Junction. He’d been frantic, clutching at his chest, only to find that it hadn’t been ripped to shreds.

  A dream.

  That’s what he’d thought at first. That the attack had been a weird, twisted nightmare courtesy of the bottle of whiskey he’d nursed while playing his last round of cards.

  But deep down…deep down, he’d known the truth. Even before the first pangs of hunger had hit him. For sex. For blood….

  He’d been dead, all right. And reborn at the same time. No longer a man but a vampire.

  And vampires didn’t have nightmares when they slept. They rested, rejuvenated, healed. It was all-consuming. There was no waking up for a snack. No tossing and turning. No thoughts of any kind. No dreams like the one he’d just had.

  Jake blinked and rubbed a hand over the left side of his chest. Muscles rippled beneath his touch, his skin as smooth, as perfect as always. He touched his lips. Sure enough, there was no blood. Still, he could taste it. He could taste him.

  He was close.

  That’s why Jake had had the dream. There was no doubt now that the Sam Black they’d written about on the plaque in the town park was the same one that had turned Jake. Sam had died here and so he was on his way, heeding the call the way they all did.

  Jake could feel it in the awareness that rippled through his body and the vivid memories that rushed through him. Sam was close, all right.