Love at First Bite Bundle

by Kimberly Raye

  She’d been at it again today. Nikki had left a message on his cell while he’d been in the shower.

  “She’s still here.”

  But even if she hadn’t warned him, Dillon would have known.

  He couldn’t shake the awareness that rippled up and down his spine, the certainty that someone was there. Watching. Waiting. And while Dillon had meant to hunt down the Ancient One, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, instead, he’d somehow drawn him out.

  That he’d drawn him here.

  Uneasiness rushed down his spine and he felt a tap on his shoulder. He put on his most charming grin and gave a polite “Thanks, but not right now” to the woman who’d come up behind him. She was the cousin of a cousin of a cousin visiting for the weekend and the only woman in the entire place—with the exception of Bobby Sue Montgomery who was here with her husband, Walt, celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary—that Dillon hadn’t slept with.

  She was sex trophy, pretty with pouty lips and long, dark hair and a curvy figure and he forced himself to take a second look. Other than the slow, steady rumble gnawing at his gut, he didn’t feel even a ripple of desire for her.

  Nothing intense.

  Nothing like what he’d felt last night.

  He signaled the bartender to bring him a second round before shifting his gaze back to Meg.

  The minute his attention fixed on her, she stiffened and missed a step. She teetered and the man caught her. His hands slithered around her waist and he pulled her close and—

  No.

  Hell, no.

  He pushed to his feet and, just like that, Dillon forgot the hunger raging inside of him and gave in to a fierce swell of possessiveness.

  Regardless of what happened tomorrow, right now, at this moment, Meg Sweeney was his.

  He knew it.

  She knew it.

  And it was high time everyone else knew, as well.

  14

  DON’T LOOK.

  Meg told herself that for the countless time since Dillon Cash had walked into The Roundup and turned what should have been the most exciting night of her life—Tilly was here, cloistered at a table in the far corner with a group from the Skull Creek Gazette and Colt Grainger was practically drooling all over her—into an agonizing exercise in self-control.

  Don’t even think about looking.

  She ignored the urge to turn toward the bar and the man who’d been warming the stool for the last half hour, tightened her hold on Colt’s neck, stared up into his eyes and kept swaying. And smiling.

  The trouble was, she didn’t have to look to know that Dillon was headed straight for her. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, a black shadow that pushed up from the barstool, bisected the dance floor and closed the distance between them. Even more, she could feel him.

  Her skin prickled and heat skittered up and down her spine. It was all she could do not to turn when she he stepped up behind her.

  “We need to talk,” his deep voice slid into her ears, pushing aside the music and laughter and the frantic beat of her heart.

  She stiffened against the urge to turn, wrap her arms around his neck and see if he tasted half as delicious as she remembered. But she was with Colt, she reminded herself, twining her fingers around the man’s neck and giving him an apologetic smile. “I’m really busy,” she told Dillon.

  But Dillon wasn’t giving up so easily. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “I’m on a date.”

  “I can see that.” He sounded none too pleased and a traitorous slither of hope went through her. Ridiculous because regardless of what he had to say, she knew what her answer would be—a great big no. No more lessons. No more sex.

  She wasn’t blowing a friendship over a few hours of mindless pleasure.

  Even phenomenal mindless pleasure.

  She wasn’t losing Dillon, too.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “And miss my favorite song?” She gave Colt another Sorry about this smile. “I love George Strait.”

  “This is Tim McGraw.”

  “Close enough.”

  “Look, buddy. The lady doesn’t want to talk to you,” Colt cut in. “So get lost.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “This is my…” Colt stared past her and his words faded, along with his expression. A strange light glimmered in his eyes and then they became empty. It was as if he’d spaced out. His hands loosened on her waist and fell away.

  “Colt?” She stared into his blank expression. “Are you okay?”

  “He’s fine. Let’s go.”

  “No.” She snapped her fingers in front of Colt and waved a hand. Nothing. “Colt?”

  “I mean it, Meg. You’ve got five seconds to move.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’m carrying you out of here.”

  Before she could draw her next breath, Dillon caught her arm and whirled her around. “Time’s up.” He hooked her knees and folded her over his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye she found herself dangling upside down.

  Meg squealed and dozens of curious stares swiveled their way.

  But Dillon didn’t care. He strode toward the nearest Exit. He hit the bar on the door, carried her out behind the building to the gravel lot where the employees parked and dropped her to her feet.

  She blinked away a sudden rush of dizziness as he pulled off his cowboy hat and ran a frustrated hand through his dark blond hair.

  Where she’d avoided taking a good look at him inside, she couldn’t help but look now.

  He wore a black T-shirt, faded jeans and a look that said he was royally pissed. Tension rolled off his body and his jaw clenched. A muscle ticked wildly near his left cheek. His eyes glittered dark green, so dark that they seemed almost black in the dim lighting.

  Almost purple.

  She blinked and the color faded.

  Obviously a trick of the light or her own frantic mind. She was dizzy, not to mention pretty well pissed herself.

  Planting her hands on her hips, she glared. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  He set the hat back on his head and inched closer, making her crane her neck to look at him. “You wanted a man to make the first move. Well I just made it.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about.”

  His voice lowered a notch. “Wasn’t it? You wanted a man to act on his feelings, to take the lead, to be so insane with lust that he can’t keep his hands off you. Well, here you go.”

  Excitement bolted through her, followed by a rush of doubt because no way—no way in hell—was Dillon Cash really and truly coming on to her.

  Sure, she looked really hot in a new outfit she’d picked up at the boutique, but she had a closet full of hot clothes and they’d never made a difference.

  Deep down, she knew she was a fake. A fraud. The entire town knew it and he was no exception. She wasn’t sexy enough for him to make the first move.

  Not in the past few days when they’d been smack-dab in the middle of the most provocative lessons. Not last night when she’d stripped off her clothes and dropped to her knees in front of him.

  And not now while they were standing in the middle of a parking lot, the air stagnant with the smell of French fries and stale beer from a nearby Dumpster, the stark light from a bare bulb gleaming overhead.

  It was her imagination. Wishful thinking. Desperate hormones.

  She’d gotten a taste of the richest, most decadent sex of her life, and she couldn’t help but want another.

  She knew it.

  At the same time, there was no denying the fierce gleam in his eyes or the fact that he’d physically picked her up in the middle of a crowded honky tonk, in front of God and half the town, or the fact that he was staring down at her now, his eyes blazing with jealousy and a hunger that kicked her in the chest and sent the air whooshing from her lungs.

  She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. “What exactly are you trying to say?”


  “This.” And then his mouth swooped down and captured hers.

  Meg’s heart beat double-time, the sound thundering in her ears, drowning out her conscience and every reason why this couldn’t be happening. Even more, why it shouldn’t—they were friends and she could fall for him too easily. He would inevitably break her heart because he wasn’t the least bit interested in anything more than sex, and she would wind up alone and broken.

  Again.

  She slid her arms around his neck, stopped thinking altogether and just felt. The purposeful slant of his lips. The tantalizing dance of his tongue. The strong splay of his hands at the base of her spine. The muscular wall of his chest crushing her breasts. The hardness of his thighs pressed flush against hers.

  Yum.

  The kiss was hot and wet and mesmerizing, and much too brief.

  The last thought struck as she felt every muscle in his body go rigid. She opened her eyes just as he tore his mouth from hers. His head jerked around, his gaze fierce and searching and—

  Nuh, uh.

  She blinked once, twice, but his gaze didn’t cool. Rather, his eyes gleamed like hot twin coals. Bright and intense and bloodred.

  Her heart pounded, echoing in her head, drowning out the whoosh of cars from the nearby interstate, the crack of pool balls from inside, the crunch of gravel from behind a nearby Buick.

  Her mind stalled on the thought and her gaze swiveled in time to see a shadow scramble away from the car.

  A growl vibrated the air and her attention shifted back to Dillon in time to see his lips draw back. His fangs glittered as he whirled—

  No.

  Shock hit her like a thunderbolt and she clamped her eyes shut. The air rushed from her lungs and every muscle in her body froze.

  Wait a second, wait a second.

  She’d either had too much to drink or not enough, because there was no way she’d just seen…that he actually had…that he was actually a…. No.

  Denial rushed through her, followed by a wave of panic when she opened her eyes to see Dillon, fangs still bared, eyes flashing. He took one step toward the Buick and collapsed.

  Her gaze shifted to the small dart that protruded between his shoulder blades. Her heart hit the brakes and skidded to a stop. Fear rushed through her, cold and biting, dousing the anxiety and disbelief, and galvanizing her into action.

  Not fear for herself that told her to get the hell out of there while she still could. No, she felt fear for him, spurring her to drop to her knees and reach out to him.

  Because vampire or not, Dillon Cash was still her friend.

  And he’d just been shot.

  MEG CALLED JAKE MCCANN instead of the paramedics.

  While she wanted to believe that her mind had been playing tricks on her, deep in her heart, she knew that what she’d seen had been all too real.

  Something had happened to Dillon two months ago. Something that went beyond a little Internet research on sex appeal. He’d really and truly changed. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

  A vampire.

  As much as she wanted to dismiss the insane notion, she couldn’t.

  Because it didn’t just stir a rush of seemingly impossible questions. Instead it answered the biggest one of all—namely, how Dillon Cash had gone from geek to god virtually overnight.

  One day he’d been the most clueless computer nerd in town and the next he’d morphed into Mr. Sex Appeal. He’d turned his back on Meg, pulled away from his family and embraced a new set of friends—the owners of the town’s one and only custom motorcycle shop.

  Jake McCann and Garret Sawyer had moved to Skull Creek around the time Dillon had changed. The men hadn’t been friends of a friend or cousins of a cousin. They’d simply shown up one day, leased and renovated a local gas station, and Skull Creek Choppers had been born. While they kept up the pretense of being run-of-the-mill entrepreneurs—they sponsored a local little league team and paid their monthly dues to the local chamber of commerce—they didn’t blend in with the other townspeople. No Sunday picnics at the park, no frequenting the one and only grocery store in town, no occasional lunches at the local diner. Rather, they kept to themselves and burned the midnight oil at their shop.

  They were strangers for the most part. Tall, dark, hunky strangers who shared the same telltale tattoos on their biceps.

  If Meg had had any doubts that Jake McCann had something to do with Dillon’s transformation, they disappeared when he arrived in record time, picked up Dillon as if he weighed little to nothing, loaded him in the back seat of a black SUV, motioned Meg in after him and headed in the opposite direction of the nearest hospital.

  She lifted her gaze from the man whose head she cradled in her lap and caught Jake’s stare in the rearview mirror. His eyes gleamed bright and knowing and the words were out before she could stop them. “You’re a vampire, too, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  He didn’t have to.

  For a split second, reality struck and the incredulity of what she’d just said hit her.

  A bona fide, Bella Lugosi, Dark Shadows, Anne Rice, blood-sucking vampire.

  Her brain railed against the notion, but then her memory stirred and she saw Dillon looming over her, his mouth hinting at the sexiest grin she’d ever seen, his eyes a bright, vivid blue. She remembered his pissed off look in the parking lot and the deep purple hue of his gaze.

  A dozen other images rushed at her, pounding out the truth and fortifying it until it stared her in the face like a brick wall. Dillon showing up after sunset. Dillon appearing on her balcony. Dillon standing in front of her on the ledge at Cooter’s Ridge. Dillon teasing and taunting and stirring her more than any other man in her past.

  He’d done all of those things because he was more than a man.

  “I know it’s a little hard to believe,” Jake said as if reading her thoughts. “I can’t read them if you don’t want me to,” he added, sending a jolt of realization through Meg. “It’s like closing the blind on a window. Nikki does it all the time.”

  Because Nikki knew the truth. And accepted it.

  “She didn’t at first. She didn’t want to believe any more than you do. At the same time, she couldn’t deny what was right in front of her.” His gaze caught and held hers in the mirror. His eyes blazed as bright as the sun on a hot Texas day before cooling to a deep, fathomless blue. “Any more than you can.”

  “Maybe I’m hallucinating,” she blurted, grasping for some plausible explanation.

  “Does he feel like a hallucination?”

  Her gaze dropped to the man stretched out on the seat next to her. She reached out, touching the tattoo that encircled one massive bicep. Warm skin met her fingertips as she traced the intricate pattern. Slowly. Carefully. Before easing to his chest. His heart beat a steady rhythm against her palm, answering one question but stirring a dozen more.

  “We’re susceptible to sunlight and garlic, a stake through the heart—the usual. We can’t eat anything, but we can drink as much as we like. Though I don’t usually advise it because we’re very sensitive. We feel everything more strongly, more deeply than most, which makes us really cheap drunks. We have a reflection just like anyone else. We—”

  “Could you just stop?” she blurted, her mind going into overload. Her temples throbbed and her forehead ached. It was all too much to grasp. “Please.”

  This was not happening. Not the bloodred eyes or the fangs or Dillon so limp and lifeless in her arms.

  None of it.

  Nada.

  Zip.

  It was all a bad dream brought on by too much stress and way too many Twinkies. Soon she would open her eyes, the sun would be shining and Dillon would be awake, his green eyes twinkling, his mouth crooked into a sexy grin.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake’s voice pushed past the frantic thoughts and she glanced up again. Her gaze locked with his and she saw the same flickering light she’d seen in Dillon’s gaze so many times. “He
isn’t dead. Despite what most people believe, vampires are living and breathing creatures just like humans. We are humans.” His gaze clouded. “Or we once were. Dillon is as alive as the next guy. More so now thanks to the blood flowing through his veins. My blood.” An anguished light touched his gaze, dispelling yet another myth—that vampires were cold, ruthless creatures. “I had no choice. It was either turn him or let him die and I couldn’t do that. He helped Nikki. He saved her. I had to return the favor.”

  As far out as it all seemed, her gut kept insisting otherwise and the words seemed to come despite her better judgment. “What exactly happened?”

  “I…” He shook his head. “It’s not my place to tell you.” He shifted his attention back to the road. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as if he’d already said more than he meant to.

  The rest would have to come from Dillon once he woke up.

  If he woke up.

  She forced aside the thought and the dozens of unanswered questions that raced through her mind. Resting her palm over the steady thud of his heart, she did the only thing she could think of at that moment—she prayed.

  15

  “DRINK.”

  The deep, familiar voice pushed into Dillon’s head and peeled back the layers of darkness that smothered him.

  He forced his eyes open. His head throbbed and the light hurt, seeming as if the drummer for Linkin’ Park was playing a fast, furious solo in his skull. Pain gripped him like a vise, clamping tighter, building the pressure and urging him back toward oblivion.

  The peace.

  “Don’t pass out on me now, buddy.” A hand slid under Dillon’s aching head and the hard edge of a glass pressed against his bone-dry lips.

  The first few drops of intoxicating blood touched his tongue and his gut twisted. Then hunger took control. Where he hadn’t been able to move a muscle just a moment ago, an instinct as primal as it was dangerous took over and he reached out. His mouth opened. His hands grasped the glass and he held on, gulping at the contents, eager for the life sliding down his throat.

  “Easy, buddy. You’ll make yourself sick drinking the bottled stuff so fast.”