Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires

by Adrian Phoenix

  It’s Shane.

  “Can we talk?” His expression is inscrutable in the low light, but his voice is dead serious.

  “Hello, Shane,” Jolene says. “Shirt thief.”

  He turns to her. “Leave us alone.”

  She shrinks back like he’s radioactive. He walks toward the kitchen. I steel myself and follow him.

  Out of the frying pan and into the crematorium.

  12

  What’d I Say

  “Thanks for the rescue.” I beam up at Shane, which must look ridiculous with the undead makeup in the kitchen’s fluorescent lights. “What do you think of the party?”

  “Congratulations.” He holds up a headstone-tipped cocktail stirrer. “You’ve turned us into a farce.”

  “The decorations were Stuart’s idea. At least I kept him from calling it a ‘spooktacular’ celebration.”

  He points to the kitchen door. “No one out there cares about the music. They only care about blood punch, and blood beer, and blood salsa.”

  “I know the party trimmings are dorky, but they’re a means to an end—namely, saving your asses from unemployment.”

  “If you change us, there’ll be nothing left to save.”

  “How am I changing you?”

  Shane glances at Jorge the chef, who doubles as a dishwasher since the Smoking Pig doesn’t do much edible business. He ignores us as he bastes buffalo wings—or “bat wings,” as we’re calling them tonight—and bobs his head to the blaring kitchen radio.

  Shane turns and heads for Stuart’s office at the back of the kitchen. I follow him, though I should get back to work. But if I could convince Shane to play, that would be worth a lot more than a few peddled bumper stickers.

  As soon as I enter the office, he turns on me. “Do you know how many taboos you violated by asking for stories of how we got made?”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  He groans and rubs his forehead, where deep vertical creases have appeared. “That story, Ciara, is one of the few things that truly belong to us. A vampire only shares it with someone he trusts. Rattling it off in public cheapens everything we are.”

  “Spencer didn’t do it, and maybe the others won’t either.”

  “That’s not the point.” He brushes past me and shuts the office door. “Just asking was an insult.”

  “I’m sorry.” A flush of shame creeps up my neck, which pisses me off. “I didn’t know.”

  “That’s the problem. You met us what, three weeks ago? And you think you can understand us and expose our secrets.”

  “They’re not secrets if no one believes them. They’re fairy tales.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” He moves toward me, slapping aside the hanging ribbon of a black balloon. Suddenly he stops. “What’s that smell?” He wrinkles his nose in my direction. “Did you fall into a vat of chemicals?”

  I bring a lock of hair to my nose. “I touched up my highlights. You know, because I’m a big shallow phony.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You don’t have to. Look, I know I have a lot to learn about you guys. But while I’m ramping up on the subject, Skywave is planning to put you out of work. Maybe you can find another job to keep yourself from fading. But what about your friends?”

  “I don’t want them boiled down to a bag of cliches.”

  Suppressing a sigh of frustration, I turn away to regroup. The office chair is full of papers now, so I sit on the edge of the desk.

  Perhaps a softer approach is in order. “Shane, I understand you want to be free of commercialism. You want to be pure. I admire you for it. But outside of monasteries, this is how the world works.”

  “I know, but we should be better than that.” He frowns. “We used to be better than that.”

  “Until I ruined everything.”

  “You didn’t—” Shane lets out a harsh sigh. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Making it personal, so I can’t attack the campaign without attacking you. Which I would never do.”

  “Why not? This was all my idea. Except the ‘Bite Me, I’m O-Positive’ buttons. That was Franklin.”

  “I don’t want this campaign to come between us.”

  A high-pitched “Us?” pops out before I can stop myself from sounding like an eighth grader. “There’s an ‘us’?”

  “I’d like there to be.” He looks at me—really looks at me—for the first time tonight. His gaze drops to my thigh, sparking a flame at the base of my spine. He clears his throat. “How’s your leg now?”

  I wait for him to look me in the eye again before saying, “It’s better.”

  He swallows. “All better?”

  I shift on the desk, keeping my legs crossed but now at the ankle instead of the knee. “All better.”

  The office seems to shrink as Shane takes another step toward me. “In spite of the spectacle, I was looking forward to seeing you tonight.” He moves close enough to touch, his smile turning ironic in the green light from the banker’s lamp. “But this makeup, it’s not you.”

  “I look more like a clown than a vampire, don’t I? Just say it.”

  He leans in and inhales, his face close to mine. “It covers your scent.”

  Plus it itches like a poison ivy facial. I tilt up my chin. “Then take it off.”

  He peels off his short-sleeved T-shirt, the brown one he’s wearing over a white T-shirt with long, frayed sleeves.

  “Let’s start with this.” He wipes the shirt across my lips, slowly. I close my eyes. He wipes again.

  “Is it working?”

  “No,” he whispers. “Too dry.”

  His mouth brushes mine, just the barest edge. His tongue flicks over my upper lip, tasting, moistening. A little moan escapes my throat. He does the same to my lower lip. My ankles uncross.

  He pulls away a few inches and draws the shirt across my mouth. “There. Red is better.” He leans in to kiss me again.

  “We really should get out to the bar.” This definitely no longer counts as a work-related activity. “I told Franklin I’d be right back.”

  “We can leave if you want.” His thumb grazes my shoulder, then slips under the thin black strap of my top. My skin comes alive, every nerve begging for another touch.

  “Then again, I’ve been working all day.” I slide my arms around his neck. “I think there’s some OSHA rule that says I get a break every eight hours.”

  “Wouldn’t want to get David in trouble with the feds.” His eyes turn serious again as they stare into mine. “I know you’re not what you seem. You’ve probably got a hundred different layers under there.” His fingertips glide across my makeup-caked cheek, then into my hair. “I want to peel them all back until I find the real Ciara.” He insinuates his body between my thighs. “I want to get inside you.”

  The heat of his skin radiates against me, so much warmer than the last time I held him. I need to feel it within me.

  I lock my legs around his. He gives a low growl and brings his mouth to mine.

  The velvet shock of his tongue makes my back arch. I pull him tight against me with all my limbs, though it feels like it can’t be close enough. As our kiss deepens and our bodies strain against each other, I hear only the rasp of our breaths, the creak of my leather skirt, and the roar of my own blood.

  “Lock the door,” I manage to gasp.

  “Uh-uh.” He scrapes his human teeth over my neck. “I want you to feel safe from me.”

  I get it: he bites, I scream, him and all his friends— dusted. “Then hurry.”

  His hand slides under my skirt. He breathes hard when he discovers I’m already ready for him. With one arm he lifts me off the desk while the other hand slips under the string of my thong and pulls it down.

  As I reach for the button of his jeans, I’m slammed with the thought that thwarts. “Do you have any condoms?”

  “We don’t need them. I can’t carry disease or get you pregnant.” He wipes the side of his
face, which is smeared with my makeup. “Remember, I’m dead.”

  He smiles like it’s a joke, but a chill rips through me. My mind suddenly returns to rational-thought mode.

  “Wait.” I put a hand between us. “Won’t that be kind of messy? I have to work the rest of the night.”

  “Don’t worry. When I have an orgasm, I feel the sensations, but I don’t, you know, produce anything.” He goes to kiss me again, but I plant my palm against his chest.

  “When you say,’I don’t produce anything’—”

  “Not me personally.” He takes my hand and shifts it lower. “Vampires.”

  My mouth goes suddenly sour, and my stomach twists into a knot, the kind only sailors and Eagle Scouts can untie.

  I’m about to fuck a vampire.

  A vampire’s about to fuck me.

  Uh-uh.

  This is Shane, my brain reminds my body. He’s a good guy. More human than half the men you’ve bonked. Now de-quease yourself and unbutton his pants.

  My gut wrenches again.

  “What’s wrong?” Shane says.

  “I just remembered—I need to—I should get back to work.” I push past him and move for the door, hoping I make it to the bathroom in time. I’ll come back for my underwear.

  My foot catches on Regina’s backpack. Ah, subject change to the rescue.

  I pick up the bag and flash him a weak smile. “Hey, Regina brought some of your music. Maybe you can play after all?”

  “Why are you so nervous now?” He takes a step toward me. The memory of his blood-drenched mouth flashes in my mind.

  “Nothing!” I back away fast, bruising my spine against the doorknob. “I mean, I’m having—I think I’m coming down with the flu.” That and a severe case of being an asshole.

  His eyes widen, and hurt creeps in around the edges. “You’re scared of me again.”

  “No, of course not.” My voice pitches up, a sure sign of deception. What good is honesty when I can’t lie to save his feelings? “Shane ...”

  “You are scared.” His brows lower into a scowl. “You’re looking at me like I’m a monster.”

  “It’s not you, I swear. It’s me.”

  “Damn right it is.” He snatches the backpack from my hand, which luckily lets go before he can tear my arm off. “I’m not a monster. I’ve never hurt anyone. That’s more than I can say for you.”

  My throat tightens. “What?”

  “Your con artist days aren’t exactly in the distant past, are they? David told me you were arrested for swindling just a few months ago.”

  A flush of heat runs up the back of my neck. “He did?”

  “He said the guy—what do you call it—”

  “The mark.”

  “Yeah, the mark was too embarrassed to press charges.” He steps forward again, well inside my personal space.

  “They usually are.” I put my hands up. “Stop looming so I can explain.”

  “So you can lie?”

  “No!” If he’s so quick to suspect me, maybe he doesn’t deserve an explanation. “First of all, I wasn’t arrested, I was brought in for questioning. Second of all, it’s not true you’ve never hurt anyone. You hurt me.”

  “I said I was sorry. Is that ever going to be enough?”

  “Not when you judge me like you’re some kind of saint. You drink blood. The way I see it, better an empty wallet than an empty vein.”

  His voice lowers to a rumble. “My donors give me what I need of their own free will.”

  “You tell yourself that, that your donors are happy to do it, that they’re not hypnotized by the magic in your eyes, the way my victims were fooled by pretty promises.”

  “I do what I do to survive.”

  “So did I. But a part of me loved it, the way you love having the power of life and death.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t compare us.”

  “The one person I don’t lie to is myself. I know what I was, and I know how far I have to go to be something better. That’s why I took this job.”

  “So we’re your little redemption project?”

  “Maybe.” His sarcasm inspires my own. “Or maybe I just need to pay the rent. Who can know with me? Like you said, I have so many layers.” I smear the makeup on my cheeks. “What would you find if you peeled them all away? Maybe nothing at all.”

  “Don’t say that.” He drops the backpack and pulls my hands from my face. “There’s something more than nothing there.”

  My stomach flops like a hooked fish. I break his knife-sharp gaze to keep from puking.

  He releases my hands. “Let me know when you figure out what it is.”

  Before I can summon a reply, he’s gone, out the restaurant’s back door.

  A half-jar of cold cream later, my skin is makeup free. I stare at my reflection in Lori’s compact, but the mirror’s too small to see more than half of my face. I hold it at arm’s length for perspective, but the reflection shakes and blurs.

  I slap the lid shut on the disquieting metaphor and stuff it back in the bag.

  13

  I Forgot to Remember to Forget

  By the time I drag myself out to the bar, Spencer has left the stage and Jim is playing the Beatles’ “Helter Skelter.” The crowd has switched from bopping to writhing. I’d join in if my body didn’t feel so heavy and dull.

  Lori approaches with a tray of empty glasses. “What’s wrong? What happened to your makeup?”

  I rub my eyes, which feel puffy, and give her the condensed version of what just occurred, leaving out the part where I’m a criminal.

  She gives my elbow a squeeze. “I don’t get it. You told me to stay away from them. You said they were dangerous.”

  “Shane’s different.” I take the tray from her and move over to the bar, where we start unloading it. “But if I could unmeet him somehow, make all this unhappen, I would.” Lori raises her eyebrows. “Or maybe not,” I admit.

  “He does feel different. And even the rest of them, they seem decent—except Regina.” Lori sends a darting glance over her shoulder. “She keeps looking at me.”

  “She’s just messing with your head. Best not to show fear.”

  “Right.” Lori wipes the tray with a damp cloth. “No fear.”

  Regina pokes her head between us. “Hi.”

  Lori squeaks and knocks her tray into the row of dirty glasses. With one hand, Regina grabs them before they fall.

  “Careful now,” she purrs to Lori.

  “Um, thanks.” Lori keeps her face turned from the vampire. “Gotta go.” She scurries off.

  “What happened to your makeup?” Regina asks me, then sniffs my shoulder. “Ah, yes, Shane likes his humans to have a more natural look.” She tweaks my hair. “Someday he’ll tell you to stop highlighting. He’ll say it’s the smell of the dye he hates.”

  “Get away from me.”

  She clicks her tongue. “Testy for someone who just got laid, aren’t we?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but we didn’t.”

  Her eyes go wide in mock surprise. “Well, that explains why you smell so horny.”

  “Fuck off.” I tell her, unfortunately just as the music fades. Half the crowd casts curious glances at us.

  “Ladies.” David appears on my other side. “What happened to your makeup?” he asks me.

  I rub my eye again. “It itched.”

  “You have an itch all right,” Regina mutters.

  David stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and looks around with pride. “Great party. Frank is schmoozing clients, so Ciara, we need you to peddle the paraphernalia.”

  Relieved at the distraction, I stride over to the WVMP table, grab a size small T-shirt, and yank it over my head. The soft black cotton covers the top half of my Let’s-Play-Vampire getup. My too-bare skin sighs with relief.

  Work: the all-American cure for heartache.

  I shill and hawk for two hours, until all the merchandise is sold except two broken button
s and one extra extra extra large T-shirt. I consider bestowing this latter item on Jolene, but she and her sidekick seem to have vanished.

  I find David and Franklin near the bar and hold out the cash pouch. Franklin snatches it.

  “You robbed me, you little witch,” he says with a touch of admiration.

  “Huh?”

  “That trick you showed me earlier, the one you screwed up. You used ten of our dollars to demonstrate and never gave it back.”

  I put a hand to my mouth. “My God, you’re right.” I slip him a ten-dollar bill. “Thanks for keeping me honest.”

  David pulls out a bar stool. “Sit. Take the rest of the night off.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly.” I climb onto the stool, and my tired feet shriek with joy. “On second thought, buy me a drink.”

  David sits to my right, signaling to Stuart, who plops a red beer in front of each of us. I reach for it, but my belly says no.

  Franklin spies another client by the hors d’oeuvres table and shifts into his sales waltz without sparing us a glance.

  David takes a long sip of beer, then sighs with satisfaction. “So how are you?”

  “You mean, how am I after finding out you told Shane I was arrested?”

  He blinks. “I never said you were arrested. I said they questioned you.”

  “Why did you say anything at all?”

  “Because you both need eyes wide open going into this relationship.”

  “What we need is for you and Regina to mind your own businesses.”

  “It is my business when two of my employees are involved with each other. And believe me, you do not want to fall in love with a vampire.”

  “Who said anything about love?” I realize what he just implied. “Wait—are you speaking from experience?”

  He glances away and doesn’t answer.

  “Not Regina, I hope.”

  David scoffs. “I value my life, if not my sanity.”

  He suddenly looks past me, then touches my arm. I turn toward the front door.

  The crowd hushes in the middle of the Grateful Dead tune flowing from the speakers. All eyes stare in the same direction. Their stupor is caused by the fact that Monroe Jefferson is, by my best estimate, the most stunning man ever to walk the earth.