One Bite with a Stranger

by Christine Warren

Reggie stiffened. “I’m moving out of my apartment?”

  He turned her around and tilted her head back to wash the soap out of her hair. “You have agreed to marry me. That means we will live together.”

  She jerked her head up and glared at him. “But you’re just assuming I’ll be the one to move. I just got through yelling like a fishwife at a bunch of people who were making assumptions about me, Dmitri. Don’t get me started again. I told you before, just because I’m submissive in bed doesn’t mean that—”

  Dmitri chuckled and picked up a bar of soap. “I am not trying to run your life, katyonak. You may sheath your claws. But your apartment is too small for both of us. My house is much larger and more private. It is also owned and not rented, so it is much safer for both of us. I was being logical, not dictatorial.”

  Reggie eyed him warily, but couldn’t really argue with his reasoning. “I guess you’re right. But you’d better be careful with that, Misha. I’m not going to become some plaything. I’m going to be your wife. That means an equal partner.”

  He slid his soapy hands up over her breasts and squeezed. “I am always careful with you, dushka,” he purred even as he slid one hand down to cup her between her thighs. “And I do not think of you as a thing, even though I very much enjoy playing with you.”

  He slipped his fingers inside her, and she laughed around her moan. “Misha, you can’t always end our discussions with sex.”

  “Then do not bore me with discussion when I am hungry for you.” He twisted his hand and rubbed his thumb over her clit. “We will make each other happy, milaya. What else is there to discuss?”

  It took every ounce of her strength and determination to articulate anything beyond a plea for more sex, but Reggie managed it. Barely.

  “What about my job?” she demanded, grabbing his wrist in both hands to hold it still. “How am I supposed to go to work if I’m going to be sleeping all day long?”

  Misha sighed and withdrew his fingers, reaching for the soap again and lathering her legs. “You could manage it if you wanted, with a lot of effort,” he grumbled. “But there is no need for you to work if you do not wish it. As you guessed this evening, I am disgustingly wealthy. I can well afford to keep you for eternity.”

  Her eyes narrowed warningly. “Misha, you’re not thinking of telling me I can’t work, are you? Because—”

  “Regina! I said it before. The only thing I will forbid you to do is to leave me. Other than that, you may do as you please. I want to make you happy. As happy as you make me. Whatever you want, I will give to you. Wherever you wish to go, I will take you. If you wish to work, you may. If you wish not to work, you may. You may do anything you want.” He paused. “Except sleep with another man. Or touch another man. Just to be safe, you should probably not look at any other man.”

  Reggie laughed and threw her arms around him, hugging him close while the very last of her fears washed down the drain. She peppered his face with kisses, feeling a sense of exaltation fill her to overflowing. She wanted to dance and sing and laugh and cry and yell for joy. But most of all, she just wanted Misha.

  “You never need to worry about that, my darling, jealous, vampiric Misha.” She hugged him tight and pulled herself up his chest, wrapping her legs around his hips and kissing him passionately. “You are the only man I want. The only man I will ever want. Why should I ever need anything else when I have you?”

  He smiled at her, the small, wicked grin she had grown to love. “You do have me, dushka. You will always have me.”

  “And you have me, Misha. Forever.”

  “Forever,” he echoed and lowered his mouth to hers. They kissed until the water threatened to turn cold and they had both turned very hot indeed. Misha switched off the water without dislodging Reggie from her position around his waist and carried her back to the bedroom.

  He tumbled her down onto the tousled sheets and kissed her again, his hunger making his intent more than clear. At his urging, Reggie loosened her grip around his waist so he could slide down her body and take a taut nipple between his lips. She smiled up at the ceiling and hummed her pleasure.

  “You know,” she murmured, running her fingers through his thick hair, “if I’m going to be around for a few more centuries than I expected, I’m sure there are some things you’ll need to teach me. After all, I’ve never been a vampire before.”

  Dmitri grunted and moved to her other breast. Reggie grinned and pulled his face up to hers for a long, deep kiss. When they were both breathless and needy and desperate to come together, she pushed him onto his back and slithered down the mattress to lick his nipples and tease his navel with her tongue.

  “Just as an example, I’m sure there are nuances to drinking blood I’ve never considered before,” she purred, gazing at him from beneath her lashes and smiling wickedly. “For instance, I’m sure it’s easiest to drink from someplace that has a strong…pulse.”

  She closed her hand around his penis and squeezed. “If I’m going to feed on blood from now on, I should probably know the best ways to sate my appetites.”

  Her tongue caressed the length of him, and he shuddered. She smiled and slid farther down the bed until she was eye level with his rampant erection.

  “Misha?”

  “Yes, milaya?”

  “I think I’m hungry right now,” she whispered, tasting him like a midnight snack.

  “I will always provide for you.” Dmitri buried his hands in her hair and guided her mouth to him. “If you hunger, dushka, you should drink.”

  Reggie parted her smiling lips and took him into her mouth.

  Then she drank.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at

  CHRISTINE WARREN’S

  next pulse-pounding Others novel

  You’re So Vein

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  St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  The heels of her black gina boots clicked on the pavement with the sharp rap of gunfire, which suited Ava Markham’s mood just fine. Frankly, she felt as if she’d just fought the Battle of Bunker Hill single-handedly. And without ever letting the enemy know they’d been engaged.

  Why she continued to attend these events, Ava could hardly fathom. Certainly it had nothing to do with enjoyment. She’d stopped looking forward to the girls’ nights years ago, and she knew perfectly well that she made all the rest of the attendees as uncomfortable as they made her, but Ava wasn’t the kind of woman who gave in. So every other Friday evening, as regular as the army, she gathered up a bottle or three of good wine, stopped at the cheese shop down the block from her office, then carried herself, her provisions, and her very forced smile to a party that offered her approximately as much pleasure as an IRS audit.

  Of course, she’d be a fool if she didn’t acknowledge that periodontal surgery likely held more appeal for the other guests then her awkward presence. Everyone always welcomed her with open arms, but she could see that behind their smiles, her friends clenched their teeth whenever she made an appearance. That could very well have been one of the reasons why she continued to appear. Ava appreciated nothing so much as the sheer perversity of her own character. Knowing herself to be unwanted was the surest way on earth to make sure she planted herself in the middle of the action.

  You should have let me call you a cab.

  The errant thought, coming out of thin air as it did, made the hairs on the back of Ava’s neck stand at stiff attention below the elegant twist of her chignon. Immediately and reflexively, she tensed and forced her mind to go blank. She had rules about things like this, and she made very sure that everyone around her knew about them.

  As expected, her cell phone rang less than a moment later.

  “I’m serious. It’s too late for you to be walking home alone.”

  Ava pressed the slim, silver phone to her ear and kept walking. “No, actually it’s merely too late for unexpected visitors to barge in without so much as knocking. I told you I don’t like it when you get in my head like th
at.” Reggie would make far more use of her telepathic gift if Ava let her.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s what you get for making me worry.”

  “While I appreciate your concern, Regina, I neither needed nor wanted a taxi. I’m a big girl, more than able to take care of myself.”

  On the other end of the line, the woman Ava loved—and hated—like a sister sighed. “I don’t dispute that, but it’s two in the morning, Av, and even on the Upper East Side that is not an hour when women should be walking alone.”

  “Why not? You’ve done it. Repeatedly.”

  “That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

  Silence.

  Regina sighed again. “Look, just tell me where you are, and I’ll come meet you. If you won’t take a cab, at least let me walk you home.”

  The image of standing around like an idiot, waiting to be escorted home by a woman at least six inches shorter and two inches softer than herself, struck Ava as ridiculous. No matter how fast or strong the other woman might be.

  The Other woman. Vampire to be exact.

  “No, I’ll be fine,” Ava dismissed, shoving her errant thought back into the abyss where it belonged. “Go back to your guests and tell everyone I said goodnight.”

  “They’ll be disappointed that you had to leave relatively early.”

  “Don’t lie, Regina. It can cause wrinkles.”

  She disconnected before Regina could answer. It would only have been another lie, and Ava didn’t need anyone to pretend with her. She could handle the truth; in fact, she preferred it, and she thought she’d done a pretty damned good job of dealing with it over the last few years. Like she’d told Regina, Ava Markham was a big girl.

  Having grown up in Manhattan, Ava knew the city like the rooms of her apartment—well enough to navigate blind, deaf, and wearing three-inch heels. The time of day, or night, wasn’t going to give her any trouble. She always kept her eyes and ears open, her pace brisk, and her attitude confident. Attackers would take a look at her and move on to easier prey. But just in case any particularly stupid muggers decided to try for her, she had self-defense training, lungs like an opera soprano, and a can of pepper spray. She’d be fine.

  Her heels beat a steady tempo on the pavement as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cardinal-red trench coat and attempted to walk off her discomfort. Her oversized, black Spade bag bumped her elbow with just enough force to maintain her current level of irritation. Now if only she could decide at whom that irritation was directed.

  Some of it had to rest on her own shoulders, of course. It was her monumental stubbornness that kept her running face-first into the same brick wall over and over while expecting a different result. That was the definition of insanity, wasn’t it? Or had the guidelines been revised since the news broke that people who thought they were werewolves hadn’t necessarily gone off their meds?

  Ava gritted her teeth and glared at the empty sidewalk ahead of her. Displacement, she admitted, but healthier than confronting what she really wanted to glare at. She hadn’t worked this hard for this long to retain her friendships—strained though they might be—just to throw that away by punching out one of their husbands. And that was without considering the fact that committing suicide by vampire, werewolf, or demon—Oh, my!—had never been a personal goal of hers. In the interests of her health and social life, Ava had perfected the ability to pretend that everything was fine and that the good old days remained brand spanking new.

  Too bad the developing ulcer in her stomach put paid to that particular lie. Times hadn’t just changed; they’d undergone a metamorphosis that made Jeff Goldblum’s turn in The Fly look like something out of a beauty pageant. It almost made Ava consider cutting off her electricity and exploring the requirements for conversion to an Old Order Amish church. If it weren’t for the fashion limitations…

  Her cell phone rang again. After a quick glance at the caller ID, Ava shoved it back into her pocket unanswered. This time, Missy was calling, of course. People always thought that not even Ava could be so hard-hearted as to ignore the pleas of sweet, sensible, loving Missy. Her friends believed that if Missy asked Ava to take a cab, so Missy wouldn’t have to worry about her friend’s safety, Ava couldn’t say no.

  It was better to walk. She’d be perfectly safe. She certainly felt safer than she had in the very swank media room of Regina’s townhouse, surrounded by the women she still called her best friends. There had been a time when Ava would have sworn that nothing could come between her and Regina. And Missy and Danice and Corinne. They’d been inseparable, best friends forever, together to the end, one for all and all for one. But that had been before Dmitri had entered the picture. Then Graham. Then Mac and Luc. Before their circle had expanded to include werewolves and witches and even a twenty-four carat, straight out of another dimension, certified Faerie princess. Before Regina had turned.

  Before Ava had realized she was alone, completely alone, in a room full of monsters.

  Swallowing back the fist that tried to lodge in her throat, Ava stepped up her pace and lifted her chin. She still felt a wave of guilt and shame every time she reflexively used the M word. She didn’t want to think about her friends like that. She loved those women like sisters, but she couldn’t deny the truth. They had changed, changed in ways that went beyond marriage and starting new families and growing older and wiser. They had become people that Ava barely recognized sometimes. Some of them had even changed species, and as far as Ava was concerned, you could never trust someone who wasn’t quite human.

  It always came back to that, Ava admitted. That fact was really the root of her problem, the thing she couldn’t get used to, the obstacle she just couldn’t get past. How did you relate to your best girlfriends when you realized that some of those girls were no longer human?

  Ava sure as hell didn’t know. Which was why she’d left when the party was in full swing to walk home alone like the reject from the kickball team. It was an unfamiliar sensation. People just didn’t reject Ava Markham. All her life, she had been the girl everyone wanted to be or be with, the golden child. Born to wealthy parents, raised in luxury, a modeling agent had “discovered” her at the age of thirteen, and by the time she hit eighteen, she had earned more money than most people would see in their lifetime. After her retirement and the years she had spent in Europe being chic and bored, she had opened an agency of her own and signed some of the biggest names in the business. And that had been before her twenty-fifth birthday. Now, at thirty-four, she occupied a coveted spot at the top of the Manhattan food chain of wealth, beauty, and success.

  Was it any wonder then that she felt angry every time she thought about the way things had turned out? The Fantasy Fixes they’d dreamed up all those years ago had been intended to set them up with the men of their dreams—the human men—so that they could live the kind of fantasies that most women spent their whole lives only dreaming about. They were supposed to have hot sex, lose a few clothes and maybe a few inhibitions, not their damned minds.

  Shit.

  “Breathe, girl,” Ava muttered to herself. She had to force her jaw to unclench before she could get the sound out, and then it took another effort of will to draw the crisp night air deep into her lungs without letting it back out in a frustrated scream. If this weren’t a quiet residential neighborhood, she might not have managed it.

  Ava crossed the street and hopped up onto the opposite curb. Anger had lengthened her stride until she was practically jogging, her slim knee-length skirt stretching against her thighs with each step. With her eyes fixed on the shadowed sidewalk in front of her, she saw she still had quite a distance to go before she reached her elegant little row house in Yorkville. Maybe by the time she got there, she’d have walked off some of this resentment

  When her peripheral vision caught a blur of dark movement off to her side, Ava didn’t think anything of it. Manhattan was home, to her and about eight million other people, so people rarely made her look t
wice.

  Unless they leapt at her from the shadows and grabbed her by the throat, dragging her struggling form into the alley with the casual ease of inhuman strength.

  I knew it! her mind crowed even as her instincts drew breath to scream. Can’t trust an Other!

  Which would be cold comfort when the police discovered her body in the alley. Cold and dead.

  But right.

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks Titles

  by Christine Warren

  Walk on the Wild Side

  Howl at the Moon

  The Demon You Know

  She’s No Faerie Princess

  Wolf at the Door

  Anthology

  No Rest for the Witches

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ONE BITE WITH A STRANGER

  Copyright © 2008 by Christine Warren.

  Excerpt from You’re So Vein copyright © 2008 by Christine Warren.

  All rights reserved.

  For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 978-0-312-94793-4

  St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.