While Viv had no trouble consuming liquids, anything solid (even if it was one hundred and eighty proof) was completely off-limits. Even more, the last thing she needed was a how-to list to beef up her sex appeal. She’d been oozing vampire mojo for over two centuries. She already knew that no man could resist her.
But Garret Sawyer wasn’t a man.
He was a vampire.
Larger than life. Tall, dark and totally immune to her supernatural charms because he had plenty of his own.
Forget being a persuasive, seductive female vampire. From here on out, it was all about being a persuasive, seductive female, period.
A scary thought for a woman who’d been turned before she’d even lost her virginity. A woman who’d been so desperate for survival that she’d never learned how to rely on good, old-fashioned feminine wiles.
No flirting or teasing. No licking her lips and batting her eyelashes. No being overly affectionate one minute and hard-to-get the next.
She’d never played games with men.
She’d never had to.
“The first class is free. What do you say?” Winona asked, arching one silver eyebrow. “You want to join us?”
Viv grabbed a rubber penis and glanced around. “Just tell me where to sit.”
5
THE HALLWAY BENEATH the house was pitch-black, but it didn’t matter. Garret’s gaze sliced through the darkness and fixated on the door knob. Yes, he could see it, all right. He just couldn’t get his fingers around it because it kept moving.
A little to the left…
A little to the right…
There.
Wood creaked, and the door slammed inward.
A single lamp burned on the nightstand and pushed back the shadows. The walls of the massive room seemed to vibrate. The plasma TV mounted on the opposite wall swam in front of him.
He meant to pick his leg up and take a step inside, but damned if his body would cooperate. He slid forward. The rug caught the tip of his boot, and he tripped. His shoulder hit the edge of a thick maple dresser. His head slammed into the mirror. Glass shattered and pain cracked open his skull. He doubled over. His stomach churned and his throat burned and—
Shit.
He shouldn’t have drank so friggin’ much.
No matter how desperate he was to forget.
Images of Viv pushed into his head, and he could see her looming above him. Her long, silky black hair falling down around her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes glittering with pleasure. Moonlight bathed her pale breasts, her nipples red and ripe and so damned tempting. She braced her hands against his chest as she straddled him. Her head fell back, and her eyes closed. She started to move, her body lifting and sliding as her heat slithered down over his cock, and she rode him hard and deep and—
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Garret forced his eyes open and stared through a watery haze. A few blinks, and his vivid memories faded into the polished wood paneling. He gripped the edge of the dresser and hauled himself to his feet. Three steps, and his knee caught the nightstand. Wood crashed. Shafts of light bounced off the walls as the lamp toppled over and rolled across the hardwood floor.
The noise knifed at his throbbing temples. He fell to his knees, floundering for the king-sized bed. Finally his hands made contact with the down comforter, and relief rushed through him. He needed to lie down for a little while.
Sleep.
When he woke up he would realize that it was all just a dream. Viv wasn’t really here in town, and he didn’t still want her so badly he could hardly stand it.
He sprawled on the bed and closed his eyes, determined to shut out the thundering in his head, the pain in his body and her.
Especially her.
But he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that, and so the damnable vision followed him into the blackness. Teasing and taunting and reminding him of just how good they’d been together.
How good they could be again if Garret let his guard down.
But he wouldn’t.
He’d been burned once before, and he wasn’t jumping into the fire again.
No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.
HE FELT LIKE horse shit.
A big, thick pile of the stuff that had been baked a day or two in the hot, sweltering Texas sun.
Garret pushed to a sitting position, his muscles screaming with the effort. He blinked against the fluorescent bulb hanging overhead and willed his eyes to focus.
They watered instead, and he blinked. Once. Twice. He raked a hand over his face and glanced at his watch. It was just a little after six in the evening. The sun wouldn’t set for at least another hour, which explained his exhaustion.
And his pounding head? He had to give the empty whiskey bottle next to him all the credit for that one.
He fell back to the mattress and closed his eyes.
A hangover.
He had a friggin’ hangover.
Not that the concept was foreign to vampires. Just the opposite, in fact. A vampire had heightened senses, which meant that everything—taste, touch, smell, sight, sound—was magnified a thousand times over. If the average human could tie one on with a few beers, a vampire could get rip-roaring drunk on a helluva lot less. He could also pass out quicker from the effects and hurt even more the morning after.
Or, in his case, the night after.
He’d learned that the hard way the night Viv had left him. He’d been so drunk that he’d wandered out into the woods and passed out. The first rays of sunlight were just creeping over the horizon when he’d finally come to, and he’d suffered some serious burns before he’d managed to get his ass up and out of there.
He hadn’t exceeded his two drink limit since.
He pushed his eyelids open again and swept a gaze around the shambles that had once been his bedroom. His dresser lay on its side, clothes spilled out onto the hardwood floor. His nightstand was upended. A lamp lay several feet away near a big screen TV. The bedroom door sat wide open, the rug bunched where he’d stumbled in last night.
He glanced up at the open beams of the ceiling. He’d left the rafters exposed when he’d bought the ranch house and converted the basement into a “safe” space—the perfect place for a vampire to sleep while the rest of the world went about their daily business. He’d wanted the rooms to seem larger and less cramped.
He hated being cooped up. Smothered. Cursed.
He stared at the door situated directly across the hall. The basement consisted of two rooms separated by a main hallway that led upstairs to the kitchen.
Newly made vampire, Dillon Cash, had been living in the opposite room while Garret had helped him learn the ropes of being undead. Meanwhile, Meg Sweeney, Dillon’s best friend and now his girlfriend, had been helping him learn the ins and outs of great sex.
The great sex had quickly morphed into a bona fide relationship. Dillon and Meg were now living together at her place, and Garret was once again on his own in the sprawling ranch house with its state-of-the-art security system.
Garret’s spread sat on over one hundred and twenty acres. The two-story rock house, as well as the barn and bunk station, had surveillance cameras around the entire perimeter.
But while the cameras could warn him of intruders, they couldn’t do anything when it came to sunlight, and so he made sure to stay below ground until the sun set.
He smiled. Most of the old myths people believed about vampires didn’t hold true. They didn’t turn into bats or sleep in coffins. They weren’t the least bit bothered by crucifixes or holy water. But sunlight…Talk about frying to a crisp.
A thought struck, and panic bolted through him.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed and pushed to his feet. The floor tilted for a long second before finally settling down. He picked his way through the bedroom and out into the hallway. He stumbled up the basement steps and sure enough, the door at the top stood wide open.
Because he’d been too shit-faced to remember
to close it.
A shaft of light spilled down into the corridor and brought him to an abrupt halt.
He stared at the sliver of fading daylight and couldn’t help but remember the long days in the saddle when he’d been just a man.
Before he’d gone off to fight for Texas independence, he’d helped on his family’s horse farm. He’d set a horse for hours on end back then, rounding up wild broncs and breaking them. He could still see the stretch of empty plain in front of him, feel the sun beating down on the top of his head, the warmth surrounding him.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out. His fingertips brushed the light and pain wrenched through him. A sharp hiss vibrated his vocal chords.
The smell of burned flesh filled his nostrils as he stared down at his seared fingertips. A wave of regret washed through him.
Regret for the warmth he’d lost.
The life.
The love.
He forced the last notion aside. He hadn’t loved Viv. He hadn’t, and so there was no use regretting what he’d never had. As for his life…He missed it, all right. He missed the sun and his mama’s homemade cornbread and freedom.
He retraced his steps back down into the basement and spent the next half hour cleaning up the mess he’d made. By the time he’d finished and taken a shower, dusk had settled around the house.
Only shadows crowded the staircase as he made his way upstairs and into the kitchen.
Unlike the rest of the ancient ranch house with its stone fireplace and authentic hardwood floors, the kitchen had been completely redone. Black granite countertops ran along the perimeter. There were new appliances and hand-carved oak cabinets. It was a chef’s dream and a constant reminder of the man he’d once been.
The man he wanted to be again.
Grasping the stainless-steel handle of the refrigerator, he hauled open the door and retrieved a plastic bag of blood from one of the shelves. He nuked the bag to warm it up and cut the coldness, and then poured himself a glass. The first drop hit his tongue and sent a shiver through him. Warmth slid down his throat and spiraled in his gut, but it didn’t ease the clenching inside of him.
If anything, it made it worse.
While the bagged stuff provided sustenance, it didn’t give him the same satisfaction as sinking his fangs into a sweet, warm neck. Feeling the pulse against his tongue. Tasting the life that pumped through someone else’s veins.
It was pure ecstasy, and at the same time, the worst kind of pain because it only made him want more.
That’s why he refrained from biting as much as possible. Because it increased the craving as much as it satisfied it.
His hands trembled as he poured another glass and pulled out his cell.
“You sound like shit,” Jake McCann said when Garret asked if he was at the shop yet.
Jake was his best friend and business partner. He was also a vampire, thanks to Garret.
It had been the anniversary of Garret’s turning and he’d instinctively returned to the place of his death to relive those last few moments when his humanity had slipped away and the hunger—the damnable hunger—had seized control. Like any other vampire experiencing the turning, he’d been out of control. Jake had crossed his path, and Garret had attacked him. And then he’d tried to right his wrong by giving Jake back the life that had been stolen from him.
Or rather, a new life.
One born and bred in darkness.
He’d doomed Jake to the same fate, just as Jake had doomed Dillon. Jake hadn’t been the one to attack the young man. No, Garret had done that during the most recent anniversary of his turning. In yet another thirsty craze, he’d attacked Dillon and inadvertently left him on Death’s doorstep. Luckily, Jake had been on hand to turn Dillon before he completely bled out.
“What the hell happened to you?” Jake asked.
“Two bottles of Jack.”
“Only two?”
“I lost count after two.” Before Jake could push for more information, Garret rushed on, “Did you finish the design on the Harwell bike?” Ethan Harwell was CEO of a multi-million dollar oil company who’d commissioned a specialty chopper that incorporated his company’s theme and logo.
“I’m putting the final specs on the oil well shaped spokes tonight. Late tonight. It’s Saturday night.”
“And?”
“Saturday night is date night. I promised Nikki I would take her out.” Nikki was Jake’s girlfriend and the best hairdresser in town. She was also human, and Jake meant for her to stay that way. He refused to turn her. Not while there was still hope of reclaiming his own humanity.
Hope that hinged on Garret.
Since he had sired Jake and Jake had sired Dillon, finding and destroying the vamp who’d sired Garret would start a domino effect that would free all three of them.
“We’re meeting Meg and Dillon over in Karnes County for the rodeo. After the bull riding, we’ll head back to the shop and catch up.”
“Since when do you like bull riding?”
“Since forever.” Jake had been a real cowboy back in the day. He could ride and rope almost as well as Garret. “Why don’t you come with us?” Jake added.
“I’ve got a meeting with someone about some free PR for the shop.”
“You work too much, bro.”
“Yeah, well, somebody has to while the rest of you are goofing off.”
“It’s called having fun. You should try it sometime.”
“Trust me. I have plenty of fun.”
“You mean plenty of one-night stands.”
“Same thing.” At least, it had been. A long, long time ago when he’d first turned.
But after one hundred and eighty years and too many women to count, he didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as he used to. He wanted more than sex. He wanted an actual relationship. He wanted someone to love. Someone to love him.
“He needs a real date,” came Nikki’s voice in the background.
“I don’t need a date.”
“I don’t know, buddy.” Since settling down with Nikki, Jake had done a complete one-eighty when it came to women and relationships. Ditto for Dillon since he’d landed Meg. While Garret knew that a real relationship could exist between a vampire and a woman, he knew his buddies were the exception rather than the rule. Dillon and Jake had gotten lucky, and Garret had never been long on luck.
“A date might lighten you up,” Jake continued. “Take the edge off. You sound really tense.”
“I’m fine.”
“Nikki’s got this friend—”
“Later.” Garret hit the Off button. He was over one hundred and eighty years old, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t date.
Dating implied liking and liking implied a relationship, and a relationship implied a mutual give and take between two individuals. Other than fantastic sex, Garret had nothing to offer a woman.
Not until he managed to find and destroy the vampire who’d made him.
He chugged the rest of his blood, grabbed his Stetson and headed outside to the barn.
For so long he’d run from the past, from the man he’d been. He’d dressed differently—all bad-ass biker with his leather and bandanas and chains. He’d avoided small towns and clung to the cities, desperate to trade the rolling pastureland for miles and miles of concrete. He’d even refused to sit a horse.
But seeing Jake so determined to break the curse, to have a real future with his human girlfriend, Nikki Braxton, had reminded Garret of the man he’d been.
A man who’d loved horses and lived in the saddle, one who’d enjoyed the fresh air and freedom. A man who’d fought hard for what he believed in—his family and his land and his right to have both.
Until he’d been turned.
Even then, he’d held tight to the man he’d been. He’d wanted to save himself. He’d fought the damnable hunger for so long, and he’d kept fighting. But eventually, he’d gotten tired. Exhausted. Giving in had been easier.
No more.
>
He was through running. Forgetting.
He still hadn’t climbed back into the saddle yet, but that was just a matter of time. He’d recently purchased several horses, and taming them would take a while.
One in particular—Delilah. She was the toughest of the bunch and the most stubborn.
So was Garret.
He wouldn’t give up on her any more than he would give up on finding the vampire who’d turned him.
He held tight to the thought and spent a half hour pitching hay and pouring oats.
When he finished, he checked the gates, grabbed his chopper keys and headed into town to find out what Viviana Darland really wanted from him.
6
IT WAS TOO SMALL, too cramped, too quiet.
Viv wanted to move, to open the door and crawl out of the stifling closet. The sun had already set, and there was safety in the darkness. Right?
She touched the sticky wetness soaking her chest. The blood wasn’t coming as fast as when Molly had first staked her, but it was still flowing, saturating her shirt and oozing onto the scarred wooden floor of the abandoned cabin.
She tried for a breath of air and a white-hot pain cut through her. Molly had been aiming for her heart, but she’d missed. Barely.
Still, the puncture hurt like a sonofabitch, and she was still bleeding heavily.
With every beat of her heart, more blood gushed from the open wound and made her wonder if—despite the fact that they’d missed her heart—she might die anyway.
Maybe this was it.
Her last few moments in existence.
The past flashed through her mind as she lay there, like images advertising the birth of America on the History channel. The names echoed in her head.
Names she would never forget.
She saw Jimmy, the dying confederate soldier she’d gathered in her arms when she’d found him sprawled on the battlefield. She heard the anguish in his voice as he begged her to save him. She felt the tightening in her chest as she tried to resist.
But he kept begging, and her own heart kept hurting, until she gave in. She leaned over, sank her fangs into his neck and tasted the sweet heat. Pure ecstasy rolled through her body, along with a rush of dizzying energy, followed by a wave of regret.
Love at First Bite Bundle Page 43