“You bastard!” she screamed as she threw open the door and jumped from the cabin, fists flying. He barely flinched as she rained blows to his chest. “You can’t keep me here. My … I’m expected somewhere.”
He caught her hands as she raised them for the next assault, holding them against his chest. “Then give me the medallion and I’ll arrange to have the engine replaced.”
What choice did she have? Her mother needed her. Needed the money for her next treatment. She had to find a way out of this place, fast.
“Stay!” she ordered with a pointed finger before she marched up the three steps to her home and unlocked the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
But, as she entered the weather-beaten home, she turned, held up her right arm, flexed her fist and slapped her bicep in an undignified salute. “You can kiss my ass, blood sucker. I’ll figure out a way to escape, and when I do, I’ll stake you where the sun don’t shine.”
She slammed the door, turned so her back rested against the fiberglass, and let her despair, and the weight of her body drag her down. When her bottom hit the floor, she cupped her face with her hands and sobbed. “What now?”
Chapter Four
Christoff leaned against the brick exterior wall of his temporary home and waited. He checked his watch for the third time in an hour and growled. What was she doing? Surely it wouldn’t take an hour to find the medallion? His position gave him a beautiful view of the beach, but he rarely took pleasure in the picturesque scene other than to gauge how long before he’d be forced back into the cottage with its block-out blinds. The tinge of pink on the horizon warned him, you’re almost out of time.
Damn that gypsy. He considered pounding on her door. Demanding she obey his commands. He shook his head. As if she’d pay attention to his threats. This woman had a mind of her own. She’d do as she liked without a care for anyone but herself. While he waited impatiently outside the locked door, she was probably formulating a plan to escape. Well, let her try. She couldn’t get far without her van and, even with a twelve-hour head start, he’d easily catch up. Besides, he loved a good chase, the perk of his job. Hunting down and punishing the guilty his only pleasure since his death.
With a shrug and a muttered curse, he took one last look at the closed door of the van and entered his temporary home, slamming the door behind him. The blinds were already closed, the room as dark as he had left it. Susie had argued that he might take pleasure in the view from his balcony, but the manicured gardens held no appeal. His only use for foliage was as camouflage. Neither did he have any use for the king-size bed which had remained untouched since he’d arrived in Azure Waters. He neither needed nor desired sleep and hadn’t since the day the vampire took away his life and that of his young wife.
He’d given up blaming himself for her death, knowing now the will and strength of a vampire to be more formidable than that of a mortal. Ingrid’s fate had been sealed from the moment the vampire arrived in their small coastal chiefdom in Denmark in 1066. The memory of his wife had begun to fade. He could barely recall her features. They’d only been married a few months when her life had been taken and he’d only known her a week before the wedding. He sprawled across the couch, his arm over his eyes as he tried to remember his young wife.
A flicker of a memory surfaced. A comely, heart shaped face with cornflower blue eyes and straw-colored hair woven into long braids. Her slender body concealed by a shapeless shift drawn at the waist by a linen apron. He imagined her soft moans of pleasure as she lay quietly beneath him and the gentleness in her speech. But the image blurred then changed into the face of the gypsy, her olive skin and dark hair in complete contrast to that of his wife. As was the color of her eyes. Eyes as dark as pitch. He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to shake the images from his mind. As if he could. Since she stood defiantly before him in Susie’s living room, almost naked in her flimsy excuse for undergarments, he’d struggled to think of anything else. Had Susie not intervened, he’d planned to search every square inch of her body. Not for the medallion, no, the trinket was the furthest thing from his mind as he reached for her. Her arousal called to him, dared him, urged him to slip his fingers inside the damp crotch of her panties and stroke her swollen clit. Even now, his fingers itched to drive inside her, his thumb longed to massage her arousal, his eyes to watch her face contort with pleasure while she came against the palm of his hand. He imagined the weight of her breasts in his hands as he squeezed the DD orbs until she begged for mercy.
Enough.
Springing to his feet, he adjusted the crotch of his jeans and cursed himself. For centuries, he’d prided himself on his self-control. He’d worked hard to establish a reputation for being unemotional, driven, a loner. Other vampires feared him, and he’d earned the name Enforcer for good reason. He took pride in his work, never deviating from his plan until evil had been punished. Until now. How was this gypsy, this witch able to break through his defenses? Had she placed a spell on him? Through clenched teeth, he growled a warning.
“You will give me that medallion, wench, and remove the spell you’ve cast over me or I will end your sorry life.”
****
For the longest time, she sat with her back to the door, staring at the wall safe. The vampire had made himself clear. He wanted the medallion and would stop at nothing to get it. Her instinct told her to give him the damned thing and skedaddle, but she was no fool. If he wanted the trinket so badly and was willing to go to great lengths to get it, it must be very valuable. She’d be crazy to part with it. How could she even contemplate giving away what might be her salvation? Her heart fluttered, and a strange sensation shook her body. It took a little while to recognize the feeling. It had been so long since she’d experienced it. Hope.
If this coveted prize was worth as much as Christoff had led her to believe, it may well be her ticket to a better life. A life where she wasn’t forced to use her body as the means to an end. Where she could buy a small home somewhere, maybe find a nice guy and settle down. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. With enough money, she could find a cure for her mother and still have all those things. If, she could lose the vampire.
No use sitting around fretting. She sprang to her feet and hurried to the wall safe where she retrieved the bag of gold trinkets and poured the contents onto the kitchen table. The charm wasn’t difficult to find amongst the others. It gave off a golden, almost ethereal light which she hadn’t noticed before. Holding her hand over the object, she gasped as heat radiated through her palm. Her thoughts wandered back to the night she first spotted the item and how it had burned her skin. She pulled her hand back and sat on the bench seat, staring at the unusual design. Strange. More like a gang tattoo than a pendant motif, the angry face of a wolf glared at her from the center of the amulet. Its bared teeth threatening from inside the first circle of pattern. The geometric design surrounding the wolf appeared to be an optical illusion. Was it an M or a W? Perhaps a W for wolf? In the outside circle, the looping ribbon seemed out of place. Evangeline screwed up her nose. Art had never been her forte, but shouldn’t the geometric design have been continued? Wouldn’t that have been more aesthetically pleasing? With a shrug, she continued to study the curious locket. Was that a full moon behind the wolf’s head?
The longer she gazed at the piece, the more her fingers itched to open it or at least trace the design with the tips of her fingers. Something about the deeply etched engraving intrigued her, tempted her. Why had the artist carved so deeply into the metal? She leaned her elbows onto the table, her face inches away from the object, but far enough to prevent a facial burn. Both sides of the locket were sealed with no sign of an opening clasp. Why commission a locket that can’t be opened? She took a butter knife from the cutlery basket on the table and flipped the piece over. Nothing. No design, no name, no artist’s signature. Nada. As she turned it around with the knife, the thickness of the piece caught her attention, making the double catch
es even more peculiar as it indicated something inside. Something that required half an inch of metal to contain it. What could it be? Diamonds? A priceless coin? The knife dropped from her hand. A rush of adrenaline shook her body as her mouth curled into a smile. By hell or high water, she’d open this thing and claim the prize.
****
Christoff punched numbers into his cell phone as he watched the taxi pull away.
“Palmer, I need a favor.”
Powerless to follow, his only course of action was to enlist the help of his colleague. The gypsy hadn’t packed a bag. Possibly she’d only left to purchase food, but he couldn’t take that chance. She may have the medallion with her. He had to know if his suspicion was correct. After giving the private investigator the cab license plate number, he resigned himself to a long wait.
Even with his vast police resources, it might take Palmer hours to locate the woman. Hours that gave her opportunity to leave town. Something deep inside Christoff stirred. What if he never found her. What if he never saw her again? He shook his head. Why should he even care? She meant nothing to him. He tried to convince himself that his only interest was her crimes and the medallion, but the image of her voluptuous body trickled through the carefully contrived walls protecting his sanity. She couldn’t leave. Not before he’d satisfied his primal urges. He’d seen the way she tempted men with her curves. Even as she postured, half-naked in the Palmer residence, her hooded eyes and heady musk had called to him and by god, he’d been tempted. The memory of her pouting lips sent a rush of blood to his cock as he imagined how she’d probably honed her craft. This one was no shrinking violet. She’d cheerfully drop to her knees for a price. He imagined her bow-shaped mouth encircling the tip of his cock, opening wider as she took more of his shaft into her throat. Her tongue licking, sucking the essence from his body as her other hand pumped his ball sack in exquisite rhythm to her mouth. He pictured his hands in her hair, fingers clenching close to the scalp, holding her, guiding her as he groaned his approval of her technique. He threw his head back, closing his eyes as the room began to spin. Close. So close.
He saw vibrant colors, felt his muscles tighten, heard … heavy metal music?
“What!” he screamed into the cell phone as he extracted his hand from down the front of his open trousers and carefully zipped his fly. His cock pulsed angrily against the fabric. Close, but no cigar.
“Hey. You’re the one who asked me to call if I had any information.” Terry Palmer retaliated. “Screw you, Berg. If you don’t want my help, I’ll –”
“I apologize, Palmer. You caught me at an inopportune moment.” Terry’s curse rang in his ears. Screw you. If only the call could have waited a few more minutes. He let out a long sigh, knowing the moment had been lost. “What have you discovered?”
“She didn’t leave town as you suspected. I knew she’d recognize me, so I had one of our new operatives follow her. She’s been in the public library doing some sort of research in the archives and on the internet. As far as I know, she’s still there.”
“She’s very clever,” Christoff reminded his partner, “how experienced is this new private investigator? I don’t want her to know we’re stalking her.”
“Stalking? You may stalk. We shadow.”
“Whatever. Will she suspect?”
“Well, he’s new to private investigation. He used to be a beat cop, but wanted a career change and I was able to convince David to give him a chance.”
Christoff rolled his eyes. “Your friend had better not screw up. I want this woman.”
For a moment, Palmer remained silent. Christoff immediately realized the implication.
“It’s not what you think.”
Laughter bubbled down the receiver. “Oh, not what I think? I think it’s exactly what I think. Your Freudian slip just incriminated you, Lurch.”
“I neither understand nor appreciate the Lurch reference. Nor do I agree with your insinuation.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt, grateful that his sign of weakness went unwitnessed.
“Argue all you like,” Terry teased, “You want this woman. You want her bad.”
“Just keep me informed.” Christoff pressed the “call-end” button, closing his eyes as his mouth tightened into a grimace. How could he let this happen? This woman had clawed her way into his thoughts, clouded his judgement and fired his blood. Somehow, he’d make her pay for her transgressions, after he’d satisfied his needs.
****
Evangeline dropped the pile of books onto the table and sneezed. The research section of the library seemed relatively unused and rarely dusted. Some areas had fine cobwebs strung from top to bottom. Fortunately, spiders didn’t bother her.
“Bless you,” whispered a handsome young man sitting to her left. She smiled her thank you and quickly ducked her head down to avoid the stern glare of the elderly woman beside him. Hag. To her right, she noticed an older man, around forty, dressed in a wrinkled suit that smelled of moth balls. He sat close to her. Too close. As if the camphor smell was not bad enough, his body odor and the menthol of his cigarettes turned her stomach. She used her bottom to maneuver her chair further left, making a screeching noise that echoed throughout the library. The older woman shushed her. She rewarded the woman with a middle finger salute and a sarcastic smile. The younger man blushed and stared down at his computer as the side of his mouth curled into a smile. Cute. Turning back to her pile of reading, she wondered what it would be like to be with a cute guy. A nice guy. She’d had her fill of sleazy old men gawking at her boobs while jerking themselves off. Look but don’t touch. She’d been able to keep them under control. Mostly. Occasionally, she’d have to pull out her trusty Swiss army knife and lay down the law to some overzealous customer. So far, she’d been lucky. Besides the rare boob or crotch grab she’d managed to restrain even the most ‘insistent’ clients. Not that she was untouched. She’d had her fair share of boyfriends. Lost her virginity at sixteen to a twenty-five-year-old drifter who seduced her in the woods behind her mother’s caravan. Since then, she’d been a ‘bad boy’ magnet. They wanted her for her body, she wanted them for…? Why did she always fall for the tough guys? Protection? Security? No matter. When her mother’s condition deteriorated, her priorities changed.
With a swipe of her hand, she took the top layer of dust off the cover of the first book. Wolves: The meaning behind the symbol. She flipped to the contents page, hoping to find a reference that sounded promising. No such luck. None of the ambiguous headings offered instantaneous answers. Her shoulders slumped as she realized she’d be forced to read, or at least flick through, every page of the humungous book. All three thousand, two-hundred and fifty of them. She leaned her left elbow on the table, cupped her chin in her hand and began to search.
****
“She’s still in the library?” Christoff checked his watch. “It’s been nine hours since she left.”
“I guess she hasn’t found what she’s looking for.” Terry answered. “Should I call off surveillance?”
“Give me half an hour.” Christoff told him as he collected his car keys from the foyer table. “Tell him to not let her out of his sight until I get there.”
As he rushed from the house, he paused for a moment to study the old campervan parked a few feet from the cottage. Every inch the stereotypical gypsy caravan, he couldn’t help but admire her skill. If he hadn’t already checked the registration and known that the van was only ten years old, he’d have believed it to be an heirloom. He’d lived in Romania for a time, back in the day. He’d also dealt with gypsies before and punished those who dabbled in the dark arts. Most made their living from the desperate, the gullible. Fortune tellers, crystal ball readers, frauds. Some sold charms and potions, others, their bodies. These things did not concern him. The clients got what they paid for. Peace of mind, confidence, pleasures of the flesh.
A shiver trickled down his spine, but he ignored it as he pressed the ignition of his car. There would be tim
e for pleasure later. For now, he would have to focus all his attention on finding the woman and forcing her to hand over the medallion.
****
A loud grumble drew the annoyed attention of the old hag who, once again, made her presence known with a shush.
Evangeline ignored the woman, but found it harder to ignore her rumbling stomach. She’d left her home in a hurry to get to the library. The money in her pockets barely covered the cab fare. Fortunately, the male driver accepted a flash of cleavage in place of a tip. She checked the list she’d composed from her internet research. One more book from the archives and she could call it a night. She stole a quick glance at the young man working diligently beside her. His casual, neat clothes suggested a decent job, probably a nice, inexpensive car. His hair was cut short but stylish and he smelled a hell of a lot better than moth ball man, who seemed to have disappeared. Yep. One more book and she’d convince cutie-pie to buy her a burger and drive her home.
The fluorescent light in the archive section had dimmed since her last visit. Evangeline noticed the bulb flickering in sporadic shudders and hurried to find what she wanted before the light died altogether. No such luck. As the room plunged into darkness, she felt a hand clamp around her nose and mouth. Strong hands delved into the pockets of her dress, searching, tearing at the material in a desperate rush to find something. Money? She struggled against the attack, biting the fingers of the hand that covered her mouth when the offender’s other hand dug inside the cup of her bra. He grunted, tugged his fingers from between her teeth and pushed her to the floor. She screamed as she crawled towards the light of the main room, hoping someone would come to her aid before he found her in the darkness. A hand grabbed her by the ankle. She kicked out, her heel connecting with bone. A shin? The blow hit her right cheek, instantly closing her eye. Momentarily dazed, she found herself being dragged back into the shadows, defenseless, confused, terrified.
And Now You're Mine Page 4