by Kallysten
"Did you like that one?” he asked.
Claire turned her face toward him and thought about it for a few seconds before deciding that she did. She picked up the glass to peer into it forlornly.
"It burned like fire,” she said with a nod that made her a little dizzy again. In front of her, a helpful hand was filling the glass again.
"It burned,” the vampire repeated in a murmur sweet as sin. “I bet you will too, when I'm inside you. I bet you have fire running through you right now, just waiting to be let out for someone special."
Dark eyes, darker than this vampire's, flashed through her mind at these words. Something stirred inside Claire, lust, want and need all mixed together. She squeezed her thighs tight.
"Someone special, yes."
The hand withdrew, and she thought about protesting but words were suddenly hard to come by. She picked up the glass of fire, thinking it might help, but another hand gently pried the glass away from her. She turned toward the thief, and found herself facing dark eyes that seemed displeased, though she couldn't understand why.
"Still playing with fire, Claire? And here I thought you had learned better."
* * * *
When, upon entering the club on Diane's arm, Matthew's eyes fell on Claire sitting at the bar, he thought he was hallucinating. Surely, after thinking about her too much, he had to be bound to see her everywhere he looked. But then Diane's step faltered, and her grip on his arm tightened briefly.
"He's after more than her blood."
He glanced at Diane, then back at the bar and at the man sitting next to Claire to whom he hadn't paid any attention until now. “How do you know?"
Even as he asked the question, he knew that she was right. The way he refilled Claire's glass and leaned in to whisper in her ear couldn't possibly be good.
"I've heard him brag about his feats. If you've still not given up on being her guardian angel, now is the time to prove it."
The hint of derision was clear behind her words, but Matthew did not let that fool him. She could have kept quiet about what she knew, and demanded that Matthew accompany her to the dance floor. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and they separated, Diane gliding toward the staircase while he walked to the bar.
Getting rid of the other vampire was a simple matter, one that involved blunt threats and the barest hint of physical force. In a club full of humans who were ready for a bite and more, the vampire would have been an idiot to insist on a confrontation; when he walked away, his eyes were already sweeping the room and looking for other prey.
Matthew sat next to Claire at the bar and sighed at how pronounced the scent of alcohol was around her. At least, he managed to take her last glass away before she could finish it.
"Still playing with fire, Claire?” he sighed. “And here I thought you had learned better."
Confusion and shame played on her features for a moment. She tried to say something, but her murmurs remained incoherent.
"Let's get you home, then, sweetheart."
He helped her stand, and kept an arm around her waist as he guided her toward the exit. Finding a cab turned out to be easier than helping Claire inside it, and the driver was shaking his head when Matthew gave him Claire's address.
With her head resting against Matthew's shoulder, she babbled during the entire ride, still making little sense. But a few words here and there started shedding some light on her state of mind. Jonas, lonely and cold seemed particularly recurrent.
Once they arrived at her home, Matthew steered her up the driveway and toward the front door with more patience than he felt capable of at that moment. The keys were easy to find in her purse, and soon the entrance door yielded in front of him. He could not step in, however, not unless he received a verbal invitation to do so.
"Invite me in, Claire,” he asked, gently at first then more forcefully when she didn't reply right away.
She looked at him, then, swaggering slightly despite his arm firmly holding her waist, and frowned.
"Nuh uh. You're a vampire. No ‘nviting bad vampires in. Mom said."
"Yes, your mother was a smart woman,” he agreed, gritting his teeth. “Now invite me in so I can help you."
"But..."
He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts, sweetie. I'm not a bad vampire, am I? I saved you from the bad vampire, remember?"
It took her three tries to capture his finger between hers and push it away from her mouth.
"He was bad?"
Matthew wanted to sigh again at the way her eyes widened in surprise. He could only hope that it was the alcohol blurring her mind, and that she was not truly so naïve.
"He was. But I'm not. Can I enter your house?"
Indecision warred on her face for a few more moments, then she nodded—and instantly grimaced at the motion. “Yes. Not feeling good. But don't tell mom, ‘K?"
Matthew barely managed a smile. Claire's mother had been dead for close to ten years. “I promise, I won't tell."
The barrier of thin air that had been stopping him disappeared, and he helped Claire past the threshold. “There we go. Careful now. That's a good girl."
She moaned as he briefly let go of her to close the door again behind them.
"I don't feel good,” she complained again.
"No, I bet you don't."
She apparently had enough sense left to stumble up the stairs to the bedroom and its adjoining bathroom by herself. Matthew grimaced at the painful retching noises he could hear as he followed. When he entered the room and turned on the light, she was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, her body contorted so that her cheek was resting against the porcelain of the tub on her right. Her eyes were closed, and if not for the little moans that escaped her lips he might have thought she were asleep.
He had never had much tolerance for humans who went beyond their limits; as far as he was concerned, they were fools who deserved their fate if they ended up dead by the end of the night. But to see her like this made him feel bad for her. If he had been there to intervene earlier, she might not have ended up in such a state.
Shaking his head at the excuses he was making for her, he picked up a washcloth on the towel rack and soaked it in cold water before crouching next to Claire. She didn't move when he ran the cool cloth over her face, but she did mumble a thank you as he pulled back and, with a gentle hand on her arm, helped her stand.
"Why don't you rinse your mouth, sweetie? And then we'll put you to bed."
His fingers slid to her back and stayed there as she swayed in front of the sink. Her hand was trembling when she made for the glass on the side, and Matthew reached around her to grab it for her. He filled it with water and only then did he let her take it from him. She seemed a little steadier after she had washed her mouth, although she remained where she was when she had put the glass back down. He could see her eyes in the mirror, looking straight at where his reflection ought to have been, searching. She couldn't see him but he shook his head, wondering if it was only now dawning on her what he was exactly.
"Come on, now."
She easily obeyed the slight pressure on her back and turned toward him, eyes bright and a little unsure. Her lips parted, so plump and delicious looking...
It would have been easy to kiss her now. Just as easy to do far, far more than kiss her. Her mind had cleared up a little, but she was still far from sober, and he knew it wouldn't have taken much to convince her. He had done it often enough in the past, done almost the same thing the vampire he had ‘saved’ her from would have done without his intervention. He had never needed to get his prey drunk, but that didn't change much in the grand scheme of things. The difference tonight was, those women had never meant a thing to him. They were humans. Food, warmth and sex in one single package, nothing more. Claire, on the other hand, had never been about those things, and never would be. Not for him, not with who she was and whose eyes Matthew could see when he looked in hers.
"Come on,” he repe
ated softly, and led her out of the bathroom and to her bed. Trying not to let what he was doing get to him, he helped her out of her business clothes, pausing for a minute once she stood in nothing but her underwear in front of him. The red lace was lovely and showcased her curves beautifully, making it hard for him not to reach out and cup her encased breast, or the full curves of her ass.
"Do you always dress like this, sweetie?"
Wavering a little, Claire blinked, then frowned, as though she wasn't understanding his question. He shushed her when she started speaking and drew the comforter to the side, opening the bed for her.
"Lie down,” he suggested, gesturing to the bed. “Get some sleep. It'll be time in the morning to feel sorry for yourself."
She pouted at that, mumbling something unintelligible, and Matthew smiled as he pulled the cover over her.
"Night darling,” he murmured, and even though he should have known better than to show such affection, leaned down to kiss her forehead.
She was asleep in seconds, the calm rhythm of her heart ample proof of that, but Matthew remained where he was for long minutes, simply watching her sleep, listening to her breathe. He never took time to do as much with his nightly conquests; he never cared enough to. But Claire was different, on more than one level. Her features were familiar to him, reminding him of another woman he had once watched sleep, but she was more than a living memory of a long gone past. The more he observed her, talked to her, learned who she was behind the image he had of her, the more he felt attracted to her.
She wasn't the shy little girl he had thought she was. She was a daring woman, who confronted her fears if he was to believe how she had come back to On The Edge the night after he had first approached her.
She wasn't either the levelheaded, responsible person one could expect a financial advisor to be. She made mistakes, sometimes. If she hadn't, he wouldn't have found her drinking to excess in company of a vampire. At the same time, though, he couldn't believe she had chosen to get drunk. Something had to have happened, and he couldn't help wondering what.
Reaching down, he brushed his fingers against her forehead and pushed her hair to the side. She didn't stir. He wished she had awakened and talked to him, made him understand. He wished, because he knew he would leave Haventown soon, that he hadn't needed to understand.
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Chapter Nine
When Claire woke up in the morning, she instantly wished she hadn't. Her pitiful groan, as low as it was, sent tendrils of pain curling around her temples and she closed her eyes again. Her head felt ready to explode, and her stomach threatened to rebel too for a little while before settling down. She brought a clammy hand to her forehead and tried to remember why she felt so bad.
She had been to a dinner with her new co-workers, she remembered that much. She had seen Jonas there, along with his girlfriend. She remembered going to the club afterwards, alone, with the clear intention to drink maybe more than she ought to. She remembered also the lovely man—vampire—who had paid for her drinks and whispered deliciously naughty things to her. He had paid for a lot of drinks while they sat at the bar, now that she thought about it. That would explain the humongous headache. But after that, things were blurry. Had she taken him home? She couldn't imagine being drunk enough to invite a vampire into her house. She briefly opened an eye—yes, it was her house. And anyway, she was still wearing underwear; if she had taken a vamp home, he would probably have...
"Oh shit."
Her eyes opened wide as she remembered. She had taken a vampire home. Matthew. Or rather, he had taken her. And try as she might, she couldn't remember giving him directions or an address. What she did remember, however, with a suddenly blinding clarity, was that he had given the name of her street to the cab driver. He had known where she lived.
The idea, and what it implied, was making her nauseous again. Shivering and a little unsteady, she slipped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. More memories flooded her mind, distracting her from her queasiness enough that she paused at the door. Gentle hands, soothing gestures, quiet words of comfort ... none of these were anything she would have associated with a vampire, and especially not Matthew after he had tried to scare her away from the club. And yet...
Shaking her head—and regretting it instantly—she stepped to the sink and ran cold water over her hands before splashing her face. It didn't help the headache in the slightest, but it chased away the last remnants of sleep fogging up her mind.
Coffee had never seemed so appealing before. She could practically smell it already. Maybe it would calm her stomach and allow her to think. There was a lot she needed to understand, the least of which was why Matthew alternated being nice to her and trying to scare her off.
With a yawn and a wordless thank you to the universe that it was Saturday and she didn't have to go anywhere, she picked up her robe on the back of the bathroom door. Coffee first, then a shower, then a long day of nothing else, she decided on her way out of her bedroom.
She froze halfway down the staircase, her hand clenching on the railing.
Even after remembering that Matthew had taken her home and that she had invited him in, Claire had not imagined for a minute that he would still be there. To discover him sitting in her living room, shirtless, a fat picture album open on his knees shocked her so much that for long seconds, she remained unable to move or say a word. He turned to look at her and stood, leaving the album on the coffee table.
"You're up,” he said coolly. “How do you feel?"
Claire blinked, and took a step back, almost tripping over her feet, when he moved toward the staircase.
"You must have one hell of a hangover,” he continued on the same tone. “I made coffee, do you want some?"
Claire shook her head, not to refuse his offer but because she couldn't believe that he was in her house and acting as though he were at home. At a loss for anything to say, she shrieked and scurried back into her bedroom before slamming the door shut.
* * * *
Matthew had thought about leaving before Claire woke up. He had even almost done so twice, but each time, he had gone to check on Claire's sleep and given up on the idea of leaving. He wanted to make sure she was all right in the morning, and he wanted to give her a piece of his mind about how foolish she had been to return to the bar and accept drinks from a stranger.
It occurred to him, at one point, that he hadn't been so disapproving when he had first approached her at the bar, before deciding to scare her away. He shrugged away the uncomfortable notion that it was in part his fault that she had let a vampire buy her drinks and flirt with her again. Surely, he had set a dangerous precedent there. He was sure, however, that she wouldn't repeat the same mistake once she realized in how much danger she had been the previous night. Matthew would make sure that she did understand.
He explored the house, looking for a guest room he might use, but the only approximation he found held no bed, the entire space filled instead by exercise equipment. He wondered briefly whether it was Claire's or something her boyfriend had left behind, but did not investigate. If there was no bed, the sofa would do. He took off his shoes, socks and shirt and lay down, pulling the heavy quilt that was draped over the back of the sofa over him more by habit than because he needed the illusion of warmth it might provide. Predictably, his feet stuck over the edge of the sofa, but there wasn't much to be done about it and he closed his eyes to find sleep.
Sleep, however, remained elusive. All of his senses were screaming at him that he was in an unfamiliar place, with someone who might not appreciate finding him there in the morning and who might have learned from a past lover how to use a stake. Instincts older than he was demanded that he find a safe lair to spend the next day in, and it was all he could do not to leave. His discomfort was also heightened by the awareness that it wasn't a stranger's house he was in, but Claire's. She was one of his girls, and he had spent years watching over her. To know she was just up th
e steps wasn't helping him calm down in any way, and the idea that he might have been too late to help her tonight only made things worse.
He abandoned his makeshift bed in the small hours of the morning and made his way to the kitchen. He had not fed that night, and hunger remained a nagging voice at the back of his mind, reminding him that a source of warm delicious blood lay unconscious only a few steps away if he would only go to her. He silenced the voice by brewing a pot of fresh, strong coffee and drinking most of the pot in one sitting. Claire might need some too when she awakened to clear up her head; he brewed another pot.
Realizing he might have hours yet to wait until she was ready to hear his lecture, he wandered around the house as he had earlier, this time with an eye for what he might learn about Claire that he didn't already know.
It was a small house, suitable for a childless couple, and that was what her parents had been when they had moved to Haventown. Matthew had thought that his duty would come to an end with Louise, Claire's mother, and had felt both relief and distress at the thought. After more than a century, being released from chains he had forged for himself would have been a formidable change, and he hadn't known at the time how he would react to it. So when Louise had shown signs of pregnancy, he hadn't been too disappointed.
Claire had lived in this house all her life, save for seven years. She had moved out of town to go to college, and lived in a small apartment when she had come back. When her mother had passed away, her father had left town and Claire had moved back into her childhood home, later bringing in her boyfriend to live with her.
If Matthew had not known all of this, he would never have guessed any of it while walking around. He had never seen the inside of the house while looking over Louise, but he had a feeling that not much had changed, if anything at all. The pictures on the wall showed Claire as a child, with or without her parents, and nothing after she had left for college. The furniture had an older feel to it, and although in good condition, it was definitely dated. The only room that he thought had changed in the past twenty years was the bedroom converted into an amateur gym, but even there, the pale purple walls and violet trims hinted at the young girl's room it had once been. In that room, he also found a few cans of wall paint as well as brushes, a paint roller and painting tape; they all seemed brand new, the price stickers still on them. It looked as though a decorating idea had been abandoned before truly starting.