First Blood

by Susan Sizemore

  Still poised over her, Alistair leaned down and kissed her, his tongue teasing hers. His taste was different, tangier, and Sasha realized that it was because of what he had been doing, to her, and she was shocked and aroused all at the same time. What he had done had been so sexy that she spread her legs even farther for him, her body aching anew, her breasts brushing his bare chest and enflaming her desire.

  When Alistair pushed into her, she snapped her head back and closed her eyes, overwhelmed that it felt good, so very, very good. There was no discomfort, no feeling of pressure, no shame, only beautiful, glorious pleasure as their bodies blended.

  ALISTAIR bit his lip and fought for control as he watched surprise cross Sasha’s face, followed by pleasure. It was beautiful to see her arousal, her desire, to know that he was giving her something no man ever had, that he was helping her to heal and enjoy sexual experiences.

  Not to mention that it just felt so fucking good to be inside her tight body, her hot warmth pulsing around his cock.

  When her eyes went wide and she stopped breathing as another orgasm swept over her, Alistair gave up. Thrusting harder as her muscles contracted around him, he went over the edge with her, and allowed himself a tight moan of triumph.

  Damn, but she was amazing, and he was in so much trouble.

  At the moment he didn’t care.

  And he still didn’t care when several heartbeats later he withdrew and pulled her up alongside of him, and she came willingly, snuggling up against his chest.

  “Why don’t you stay for a while?” Alistair asked when his breathing and heart rate had returned to normal, trying to sound casual, knowing he probably didn’t.

  “In New Orleans?”

  Sasha’s arms were wrapped around him, which he chose to take as a sign of trust and her high comfort level with him. “Yes, in New Orleans. With me. You’re safe here.”

  She just chewed her lip and didn’t respond.

  Alistair knew that he had to let her leave if she wanted to, but he really didn’t like the idea. So he was prepared to lay it all on the line. “I like you a lot, Sasha. I want to be with you, see where we can take this.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose. “Don’t leave. Please.”

  When she blinked hard, he realized she was struggling to control tears, and her emotions. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  She swallowed hard. “I would like to stay.”

  “But?” He heard it hanging there, unspoken, and he hated it.

  Sasha turned and blinked at him. “But what?”

  “But why can’t you stay?”

  “I can. I just said I would like to.”

  Alistair gripped her harder, not sure he was actually processing this right. “You mean you’re actually intending to stay?”

  “Yes. Don’t you want me to?”

  “Yes.” He grinned. “But I thought you’d tell me to forget it.”

  She didn’t smile back. “I am trying, Alistair. I want to try to have a new life, but you have to understand that my life hasn’t been normal.”

  “Babe, I’m a four-hundred-year-old vampire. My life hasn’t been normal either. We’ll just take it one night at a time and enjoy getting to know each other, enjoy the chemistry and the caring between us. Is that cool with you?”

  Now she released her bottom lip from the torture of her teeth and gave him a long, searching look. “That’s very, very cool.”

  Alistair kissed her luscious mouth and erased any remaining distance between them. “Just a warning . . . I’m going to fall in love with you, you know. It’s already happening.”

  “Maybe you can stop it,” she said, her fingers playing in his hair, the corner of her mouth tilting up.

  “Nope. I can’t. It’s definitely going to happen.” He knew it and he liked it.

  “I can’t stop it either. If every day is like tonight, I am going to fall in love with you as well.”

  “What was tonight like?” So he could repeat it for eternity.

  “It was safe, honest, sensual . . . it was us being friends, partners.”

  “Perfect description.” And he had an erection just thinking about how awesome it was that she had come into his life. “Now have I mentioned vampire endurance?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He nudged her. “What do you think? Can I show you some more things?”

  “I think I would definitely like that.”

  EIGHT

  SASHA CRAWLED OUT OF BED AND STOOD FOR A minute, looking down at Alistair. He was a very cute, sexy man, and he liked her. He really, really liked her. And she believed that sentiment was genuine.

  It awed and amazed her that they had stumbled into each other’s lives and how wonderful it felt to be with him, how easy their connection was.

  Falling in love wasn’t going to be hard. Maybe not wise, but definitely easy.

  Moving quietly, not wanting to wake him up, she dug around in his dresser and closet until she found sweatpants, a T-shirt, and socks and pulled them on. As a fledgling, she needed to feed more often than Alistair, and she had woken up after all of their exhausting pleasure with her stomach burning from hunger. She knew there was no blood left in the refrigerator, but there was plenty down in the bar. She would just slip down and grab some bags to restock the apartment.

  Not sure if Bernie, the mortal day bartender, knew what they were, but she would just try to be casual about it. A glance at the clock on Alistair’s nightstand showed it was nine P.M., so hopefully Bernie would be long gone anyway. She and Alistair had both slept through the entire day after wearing each other out. Sasha smiled at the memory, her body deliciously sore.

  She found her shoes in the living room and glanced down at herself in amusement. It was a ridiculous outfit, the pants huge on her, the T-shirt bulky and faded, the shoes so low her thick white socks were showing. It was horrible, appalling, and it was completely and totally liberating, representing her right to choices. Bad fashion was hers if she wanted it.

  And so was love. A normal life.

  When she got downstairs, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the bar, hoping it wouldn’t be crowded. Raven was back behind the counter, and she smiled over at her. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hi. I just wanted a drink.”

  “Sure, grab whatever. Is Alistair coming down tonight?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Okay.” Raven pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her black denim miniskirt. “Excuse me, I need to make a call.”

  “Sure.” Sasha bent over and rooted around in the refrigerator. The bar wasn’t busy yet, though there was a heavy smell of fried foods lingering, like someone had just ordered mozzarella sticks or tater tots. It didn’t do good things for her desperate hunger and she was feeling nauseous and a little dizzy.

  When she stood up, a generous splash of blood poured into a glass, she blinked when she saw who was standing in front of her on the other side of the bar. “Ivan?”

  “Hi, Sasha,” he said, voice quiet, expression contrite, eyes filled with regret.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked tightly, gripping her glass. His betrayal still hurt, and it always would. She had loved him as her dearest friend, and he had sacrificed her for his own pleasure.

  “I came to say I’m sorry . . .” Ivan ran his hand through his hair and scratched in a burst of nervous energy.

  It wasn’t much in the way of an apology, but it was something. Knowing he was contrite was balm to her wounded feelings, and she opened her mouth to tell him that she forgave him, but never wanted to see him again.

  The arms grabbing her from behind before she could speak caught her completely off guard and she dropped her glass of blood. The crash as it hit the floor was loud and fracturing, liquid splashing all over her pants and feet as she instinctively jerked forward to break the grip on her.

  But Raven was stronger than she was, especially since Sasha hadn’t fed, and she struggled to free he
rself in vain, looking to Ivan for help that she knew he would never deliver. He was too weak, too far gone.

  Which was apparent when he shrugged. “I really am sorry, Sasha . . . I don’t want to do this to you, but I don’t have a choice. You understand, don’t you? You know we’re friends, that I’ve always cared about you, but that I had to do this. I had to.”

  “Go to hell,” she told him, truly meaning it. Any affection she had ever felt for him was gone, because he was no longer the person she had known.

  “I’ll take her now, Raven, thank you so much.” A blonde had breezed into the back of the bar wearing a business skirt and jacket in an offensive teal color. Obviously bad fashion was this woman’s right, too.

  Obviously it was Cassandra, the woman Alistair had married. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but Sasha could see the coldness on her face. In Sasha’s initial kidnapping, she had never met Cassandra, and she could have done without the honor now, or ever. But she refused to show any emotion. She even stopped struggling with Raven. Cassandra couldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing her frustration, her disappointment in Ivan.

  Standing straight and proud, Sasha stared at Cassandra as she approached the bar. The blonde came to a sudden halt right in front of her, and her eyes went wide. “You slept with Alistair, didn’t you?”

  Sasha didn’t answer and Cassandra’s eyes filled with tears. “That bastard. I can smell him all over you.”

  Tempted to sniff herself, somehow pleased at the idea of having his scent on her, Sasha still didn’t say a word.

  “I should kill you,” she said, voice laced with jealousy, fury. “Right here. In his bar.”

  Sasha didn’t flinch. “Try it. You might succeed, but I will take you down with me.” She was tired of the threats, tired of the politics, tired of the fear. She had the beginnings of a new life poised in her hands, and she would be damned if she would let a blonde in a bad suit take that away from her.

  They stared each other down, and Cassandra looked away first.

  “Raven, let her go. This was a mistake, it was all a mistake.” Cassandra swiped at her moist eyes, clearly agitated by her emotions. “And to think that I loved him . . . it’s all so damn stupid.”

  A different woman might have taken the moment to rub it in Cassandra’s face that she had lost Alistair, but Sasha felt no urge to do so. She would not stoop to this woman’s level, and she would never let go of her understanding of what was wrong and right. Taking pleasure in another’s pain was something Sasha would never comprehend, and she had suffered too much herself to wish the same on anyone else.

  Raven let her go and despite her moral high ground, Sasha did take a certain satisfaction in turning to her and saying, “You’re fired.”

  “You don’t own this bar!”

  “Do you think the owner will allow you to work here after you were ready to turn his girlfriend over to a slayer broker?”

  Raven scowled and pulled her purse out of the cubby under the counter. “Fine.”

  Cassandra was already leaving, her high heels pounding an angry rhythm on the floor. Ivan was still standing there and Sasha just looked at him, not bothering to hide her disdain. “You need to leave.”

  But instead of complying, he leaned toward her and said, “Sasha, bite me. Take my blood.”

  She recoiled. God, he was serious. He had an excited gleam in his eye and he was sticking his neck out toward her, his head tilted.

  “No,” she said, disgusted.

  “Please. It’s my way of apologizing . . . I can belong to you, now that you’re a vampire. We always did get along well. This will only make that better.” Ivan moved down the counter and behind the bar to stand beside her.

  He was going to touch her and she felt panic crawling up her throat. It wasn’t logical since she was stronger than him and he didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t a threat. But the thought of what he did want was paralyzing in its repulsiveness.

  The door to the storage room opened and Alistair stepped into the room. “Jenny?” he said carefully, looking at her, at Ivan, assessing the situation. “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine,” she told him, never taking her eyes off of Ivan. “He’s leaving. And Raven is going with him.”

  “Sasha . . .” Ivan pleaded with her. “Please.”

  Whatever had remained of her anger drained away. Sasha sighed. “Go home, Ivan. I can’t help you.”

  Raven grabbed him by the arm. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

  Sasha stood and watched them both walk away, heading to the front of the bar, Ivan shooting her one last needy glance over his shoulder.

  Alistair moved in next to her and put his hand on the small of her back. “What was all that? You okay? And why is Raven leaving?”

  “She tried to turn me over to Cassandra. And that was Ivan, the friend who betrayed me.”

  “What? You should have let me know, I would have knocked him on his ass.” Alistair made a move like he was going to go after Ivan, so Sasha grabbed his arm.

  “No, you don’t need to do that. I’m fine. Cassandra is not going to bother me anymore and neither is Ivan.” She was convinced of that. There had been a humiliation in Cassandra’s eyes, and Sasha was sure if their paths crossed again, it would be purely by accident. Cassandra would never intentionally kill the woman Alistair was sleeping with, because she harbored hope of getting back together with him.

  Sasha knew that would never happen, but she was willing to let Cassandra consider it a possibility if it meant she left them the hell alone.

  Alistair grinned. “What did you do to them?”

  “Nothing. I just told them to leave.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest. “You’re a tough chick, you know that? I love that you can take care of yourself.” He kissed her. “Though I’m hoping that sometimes you’ll let me take care of you, too.”

  Sasha closed her eyes and leaned in to him, basking in the warmth of his affection, the security of his strength. She felt something akin to hope and happiness for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

  “I’d like that, Alistair. I really would.”

  DOUBLE THE BITE

  CHRIS MARIE GREEN

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The events of this novella take place within the scope of the Vampire Babylon (www.vampirebabylon.com) world. If any of you wondered why Ginny and Geneva, the vampire “daughters” of Sorin, never came back Underground, this should answer your questions.

  Happy hunting . . .

  ONE

  New York , 1978

  THE WOMAN MOVED LIKE RED LIGHT EASING OVER a midnight street as she slipped onto the dance floor.

  Ben Tyree watched her from his dark corner, hidden from the slow, throbbing disco music. He was biding his time, having traveled too many miles for answers regarding the death of his older, better brother.

  As a deputy back home, he knew his way around an investigation. But here, the NYPD seemed so wrapped in red tape that Ben had ventured out on his own. The cops were cooperating by sharing what they already knew, yet Ben hadn’t accepted the lack of progress.

  “Severe blood loss,” the young detective who wore glasses, a plaid tie, and an officious attitude had said. “That’s all we really know about the cause of death right now. No clear indication of drug use, no signs of violence or attack like stab or gunshot wounds . . .”

  So Ben had done his own tracking, starting with his brother Nolan’s hotel concierge, a whey-faced man who’d jokingly mentioned Studio 54 to Nolan after he’d asked about city hot spots. The employee had known the obvious family man wouldn’t get in, but Nolan had taken him seriously.

  It didn’t sound like his brother at all, but Ben had still followed up, even though the cops had already covered this ground.

  And his tenacity paid off when he found something they hadn’t.

  While working his way from the back of the club’s waiting mob to the front, Ben
had encountered two women dressed as disciples of the Marquis de Sade by way of the Bee Gees. They’d told him that a woman named “Ginny”—early twenties, dark-haired, looked like Elizabeth Taylor back when she was fresh and young—had been seen with “the dead guy” outside this club the night before last.

  Consequently, Ben hadn’t expected to get in to Studio 54 since it was known for its selectivity, so he’d resigned himself to staking out the crowds gathered around the entrance for this “Ginny.” But a slight guy with wiry hair had been handpicking customers, and Ben somehow caught his eye and was ushered past the velvet ropes as women in feathers and glitter and men in butterfly-collar shirts begged the same admission.

  Now, under the pulsing lights and the synthesizer-driven chug of music, Ben honed in on the woman who just might hold more answers—the lady who really did look like a young Liz Taylor, swaying so gracefully to the music.

  Her short hair curled to just below the ears, a white flower poised in its black curls. Thick lashes surrounded eyes that seemed to flash blue against pale skin. Crimson lipstick shaped a lush mouth.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Then again, neither could the other dancers—male and female—who’d gone still to watch her, enthralled.

  Every one of Ben’s cells hammered downward until they gathered in his gut, stretching, then twisting until they overcame him, tearing him apart with each undulation she made.

  A flame, he thought while she smoothed her hands up her red dress, lifting her face to the catwalks lingering over the floor.

  A lure that shouldn’t be tempting him.

  He tore his gaze away, gathering his guts by reminding himself of why he was here and where he was.

  A Sodom wrapped around Gomorrah. A cavernous former theater from the 1920s that had been turned into a radio/TV stage, then morphed into this pit. A place with bared bodies writhing under a piece of artwork that symbolized debauchery— a man in the moon, complete with a cocaine spoon lifted to its nose.