The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.” I stood up and tried to brush the dirt and leaves from my torn stockings, which just smeared the blood around worse. My hands were covered in it. In fact, there was enough blood that if he’d been human I’d have worried about him bleeding to death. But he wasn’t. Which meant that I’d just pissed him off. Of course, I couldn’t tell my rescuers that. After all, vampires don’t exist.

  Yeah, right.

  The police came, and there was an ambulance. It took hours to deal with all of the official crap. Other than bone-deep bruising on my shoulders, I didn’t have any injuries, but the doctors were worried that I was going into shock. So I had to call my boss. His irritation at my being off duty for the rest of the night was only slightly mollified by the fact I’d gotten Mrs Ross. Knowing my luck, he’d dock me for the extra hours. Between the statements for the police and the emergency room rigmarole, it was 3 a.m. by the time I climbed out of the cab that dropped me off at my apartment door.

  My eyes burned with exhaustion, my clothes and keys had been impounded for evidence, and I was out the cab fare home. If a particularly kindly ER nurse hadn’t loaned me a spare set of scrubs, I don’t know what I would have done. As it was, the thin cotton did nothing to cut the chill breeze blowing. I shuddered, shivering as I scrounged the last of the change from the bottom of my purse to come up with enough to pay the cabbie. No tip. But there you go.

  A blast of cold wind plastered the thin green cotton of the borrowed scrubs against my skin. Swearing, I hurried across the short stretch of gravel that led to the back door of my apartment building.

  Twitchy with nerves, I kept looking over my shoulder, my fingers trembling as I tried to punch in the access code for the door.

  “What’s happened to you?”

  I screamed, not a full-throated shriek, but one of those sort of half-screams you give off when you’re startled. I knew that voice. It was Daniel.

  “Easy, easy.” He started to reach for me, to pat my shoulder, but I flinched away in fear and pain.

  “Karen, what happened?” He stood utterly still, perfect body outlined in the harsh shadows cast by the stark white light of the security bulb overhead. He sniffed, and a shudder ran through him. Even his eyes reacted, pupils expanding, moving more like the slitted eyes of a cat than a human.

  “You smell of blood, and it isn’t yours.”

  Another, longer, sniff, and he stepped closer, invading my personal space, but there was no threat to the motion. Nor was there any of the heat and sexual tension I’d come to expect.

  He stepped back, his expression horrified. “Dear God, Karen. What have you done?”

  I was shivering from the combination of cold and shock. My teeth weren’t quite chattering, but that would probably be next.

  “Let’s get you inside.”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” I reached around his bulk to try to enter the numbers onto the keypad again, but he made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. He placed a hand gently on my arm. I felt a rush of warmth, and I was suddenly standing in the middle of my living room.

  “Lie down on the couch under the blankets. I’ll run you a bath. You need to keep warm.”

  I didn’t even bother converting the futon into the bed position, just curled up on it as it was. I wrapped myself up in the quilt my sister had made for me (as well as in every other blanket that I owned) and still I was shivering. Daniel moved with brisk efficiency, but none of his usual smooth elegance. He started a hot bath running before crossing the few steps into the kitchen to set a kettle on to boil.

  I watched him because I couldn’t not. Whenever he was near me, he had my full attention. He was so damned beautiful. His skin was the colour of caramel, smooth and creamy. The hair a mass of soft dark curls. Saying it was dark brown didn’t do it justice. Every strand seemed a separate shade of brown, some with glossy highlights, others so dark they were almost black. Every time I looked at his hair I had a wild urge to run my fingers through it.

  Tonight he was wearing new jeans in that deep shade of indigo that seems to fade after the first few washings. The collar of his navy silk shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his throat and giving just a glimpse of his smoothly muscled chest. I saw the pulse jumping in his throat and realized something completely unexpected.

  “You’re afraid.”

  He stopped, turning to face me. The movement was . . . odd, inhuman.

  “You smell of blood and of Alexander. You haven’t been bitten. I’d know if you had. Which means that you have somehow managed to hurt one of the most powerful of my kind. He won’t let that stand. He can’t. Yes, I’m afraid. And so should you be.”

  The phrasing struck me, as it sometimes did: “So should you be,” not “You should be, too.” How old was Daniel? I had no idea. He’d never say, just smile and change the subject.

  “What do I do?”

  The kettle began to whistle, and he moved into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging in the cabinets for a mug, heard him rip open one of the little metal packets of instant cocoa I drink. A few clinks of the spoon against china, and he reappeared, mug in hand. “Drink this, and tell me what happened.”

  I did as he said. It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to it really, and I’d had lots of practice repeating the story to the police and the doctors.

  He didn’t interrupt. He just perched on the edge of my wooden rocking chair, sitting unnaturally still, barely seeming even to breathe until I finished. The stillness was odd, foreign. It wasn’t like him. Normally he was animated, more alive than most of the people I know. Not tonight.

  I was the one who got up and shambled into the kitchen to refill my cup, then into the bathroom to turn off the taps and strip for my bath. Daniel just sat. “Why me?” I muttered. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but he answered.

  “Because you were clever. It caught his attention. Alexander always says ‘You are who you eat.’“ He paused, his voice gaining a hint of dry sarcasm. “Of course, it didn’t help that you parked in the farthest, most deserted part of the lot.”

  “There were people. It was well lit.”

  He let out a soft snort, but didn’t argue.

  I didn’t hear him go - not that I would. But I’d been in the tub just long enough for the water to start to cool when he appeared in the bathroom doorway. In his hand he held what looked like a necklace of three charms strung on a black satin ribbon.

  The warmth of the cocoa and the bath had helped. I felt better - good enough that I risked something I’d never done before.

  I’d always been cautious around Daniel: kept my distance, carefully avoided looking him in the eye and never, ever, coming close enough to touch. It had become a game between us. We’d tease, play up the sexual tension, but we never stepped over the line. He’d moved slowly, allowing the friendship to develop. It had occurred to me more than once that he wanted -needed — that more than sex, more than blood.

  I rose slowly and stepped out of the tub. I watched with satisfaction as his eyes followed the water that trailed down every curve of my body. His eyes darkened until they were almost black, and a bulge began to show beneath the tight denim of his jeans.

  “Hunters are always alone.”

  “Always?” I put a teasing note in my voice and stepped up to him. Only a fraction of an inch separated us. Such a tiny distance. I could smell the hint of soap on his skin, feel actual heat radiating from his body.

  “Karen . . .”

  “Shush.” I reached up and placed a finger against his lips. “We’ve known each other for months. If you were going to bite me, you would’ve done it by now.”

  “You don’t know that.” His whisper was as rough as the stubble that decorated his cheeks.

  “Yes, I do.”

  He held his body stiff, motionless. He didn’t move forwards, but he didn’t resist as I moved my hand against his chest for balance and went up on tiptoe to kiss him.

  It started as a gentle to
uch of the lips, my body barely brushing his. It didn’t stay that way. He had me in his arms so suddenly it was startling, his hands sliding down my body until they reached my thighs. He grabbed me then, lifting me from the ground, pulling me tight against him, so that the rough denim ground against the most intimate parts of me as his tongue plunged into my mouth.

  I whimpered, my hands tearing at the cloth of his shirt. I wanted, needed, to feel the warmth of his skin; needed to touch him, to have him touch me.

  He groaned, pulling back from the kiss, but not putting me down or letting me go. Burying his face in my throat he spoke in a whisper that was hoarse with need. “We can’t do this.”

  “Yes, we can.”

  I felt him gathering himself together, preparing to pull back. I couldn’t stand it. Pride went out the window in the face of pure need. “Daniel, please.”

  “You don’t understand.” He lifted his face and for the first time ever, I looked him straight in the eye.

  “I don’t care. I want you. Want this.” I ground my body against his hardness.

  He blinked, and I was caught in the magic of his gaze, a swirl of gold and copper, bronze and the rich brown of dark chocolate. I heard myself gasp, felt myself being carried into the living room.

  He took his time, licking the water from every part of me, using teeth and tongue to tease as his hands explored. His shirt was gone. I writhed against him, shouting myself hoarse.

  When we were done, he collapsed beside me, both of us sated and spent, the weight of his body pinning me to the futon mattress.

  “When we can move, you need to put on the charm I made you. It’ll make you harder to find and more difficult for Alexander to connect us. It’ll let me know if you’re in trouble.”

  “Harder to find?” I shifted my weight, rolling towards him, the fingers of my right hand tracing delicately over his sleekly muscled chest and six-pack abs.

  “Alexander will be looking for you. He’s going to want to kill you, as slowly and painfully as he can. I’m not going to let him.”

  “Can you stop him?”

  “I have to.”

  Two

  I rolled over and slapped my hand in the general direction of the alarm clock, hoping to hit the snooze button. The movement sent a wave of pain shooting through my shoulder and down my arm. The pain was a far more effective wake-up call than the buzzing of the clock. I gasped, my eyes going wide.

  It took a second for my mind to click into gear, to remember last night. It hadn’t been a dream. I had the bruises, and the charm necklace, to prove it. But Daniel was gone, and I had things to do before I went into work this evening.

  I was sore and stiff, both from my injuries and from my amazing night with Daniel, so I set the shower massage on high, and turned the temperature up as hot as I could stand. By the time I had spent a few minutes under the spray, I was able to raise my arms above my head. Not without pain, mind you. The bruises were too deep for that. But at least I had full range of motion and was able to brush my teeth without screaming in agony.

  I dressed simply: black jeans and a loose polo shirt. The bra straps hurt against the bruises, but I’m too busty to feel completely comfortable braless, so I wore it anyway. Dark socks and running shoes completed my outfit.

  When I was dressed, I called in to the office. If anyone hadn’t shown up there might be work available, and since I’d lost half of my shift to the hospital visit, I could use the money.

  “Anderson Investigations and Process Service. This is Amber, may I help you?”

  “Hey Amber, it’s me.”

  “Karen! Ohmigod. Are you all right? I heard you were mugged and had to go to the ER last night.”

  “I’m a little banged up, but I’ll be OK.” Maybe. I hoped. Assuming Daniel and I could handle Alexander.

  “Oh thank God. Well, look, there’s nothing for you here until you come on shift, so take it easy and rest up. Good job on the Ross service by the way. The boss is pleased.”

  “Thanks.” Glad he was pleased, but too bad there was no extra work. Oh well.

  “See you when you come on shift.”

  “Right.”

  I hung up the phone feeling a little depressed. I needed to take my mind off of things, distract myself. So I flipped on the television and hooked up the game console. In minutes my mind was off in la-la land, chasing through dangerous mazes collecting weapons and killing aliens.

  The more the day wore on, the more tense I became. I’d gotten lucky yesterday. Alexander had been expecting an easy kill and had been careless. Next time he’d be prepared.

  I knew that Daniel wanted me to let him take care of it. Fine. I mean, let’s face it, the “creatures of the night” have all sorts of advantages over the rest of us. First, nobody believes they exist; if I asked anyone but Daniel for help, they’d lock me up in the loony bin and throw away the key. Then they have that whole hypnotic-stare, super-strength, gotta-stake-me-and-cut-off-my-head-to-kill-me thing going.

  Could I drive a stake through somebody’s chest to save my own life?

  Probably. But it wouldn’t be easy. It takes a lot of strength, both of body and will to do that sort of thing.

  Cut off the head?

  Ewww. Um . . . maybe. But how do you explain it to the police after? “Gee, officer. I’m pretty sure the victim was a vampire ...” Not so much. See previous comment re rubber room with padded walls.

  But I’m not the type to just let the man take care of things. I’m not. So I needed to be prepared. I just wasn’t sure how. Last night I hadn’t taken the time to ask Daniel which of the myths about vampires were true and which were, well, myth. We hadn’t spent much time talking.

  Not that I regretted any of the not talking. That had been spectacularly wonderful, wonderfully spectacular, and I wanted more just as soon as I could get it, thank you very much. In fact, it had lived up to every single fantasy I’d had about him since our first meeting. But now I had a problem on my hands and I needed to figure out what to do about it.

  I grabbed the spare set of keys from their hook and pulled on my jacket. It would take a little time to ride the bus out to the restaurant and pick up my car, but if I left now, I should still be able to get there before sundown. In fact, if I hurried, I might be able to run a few errands before it got dark and Alexander came a-calling.

  I hurried.

  “What is that smell?” The man changing the tyre was short and bulky, with the beginnings of a gut hanging over the top of his belt. His name was Jack Baker, and I was serving him with a restraining order. He apparently had a habit of beating up on his wife, to which she’d taken exception. I’d serve the papers. It’s what I do. But I’d be careful doing it. Because, while Mr Baker looked innocuous enough, he was plenty dangerous.

  I felt bad for his wife, and hoped she didn’t believe that a simple piece of paper was going to keep him away from her. In my experience, most restraining orders didn’t work. But if you’re lucky - very, very lucky - they might result in the asshole going to jail long enough to give you a head start.

  “Garlic,” I answered him, because I was going to try to keep this friendly. It probably wouldn’t work, but I was going to try. “I’m planning on making spaghetti when I get home.”

  “You cook? You don’t look like the type.” He raised his beady eyes from what he was doing to check me out, his hand clenching and unclenching on the tyre iron.

  “I cook,” I answered. “By the way, my name’s Karen. Karen James. What’s yours?” He was busy tightening the lug nuts, and didn’t look up when he answered me.

  “Jack Baker,” he answered. Grunting, he finished tightening the last lug nut. “But make the cheque out to Baker Towing.”

  “Right.” I dug in my purse, pulling out a stack of papers and setting them, along with my chequebook, onto the hood of the car. I made out the cheque, tearing it out and dropping the book back into the bag. Turning to Mr Baker, I thrust both the cheque and paperwork into his hand.
/>   “What the hell?” He tried to shove the paperwork back at me, but I backed away.

  “Mr Baker, you’ve been served.”

  I climbed into the car, slamming and locking the door before he could react. It was just as well that I did, because when he actually got a glance at the papers I’d handed him, he lost it completely. He swung the tyre iron in a wicked arc, smashing it into the car window, which cracked in a spiderweb pattern. Meanwhile I’d started the vehicle and threw it in gear. I was taking off, gravel spitting from my tyres when the second blow fell with the clang of metal on metal.

  Crap. That had been close. Damn it anyway! My poor car. The clients were definitely getting the bill for this one.

  I drove west, towards the last rays of the setting sun that were nearly blinding me, checking my rearview mirror every few seconds to make sure Mr Baker hadn’t decided to follow. He might. He didn’t seem like the type to let things go. But luck was with me; there was no sign of a tow truck.

  My eyes were on the mirror when Daniel materialized on the seat beside me. I shrieked, and jerked, swerving across two lanes before I got the car back under control.

  “Don’t do that. Cripes! You scared me half to death.”

  “I scared you? What the hell are you doing out of your apartment? Damn it! Don’t you realize how much danger you’re in?” His handsome features twisted into a snarl. “And what is that smell?” He rolled down the window, letting fresh air into the car. I couldn’t say I blamed him. In an enclosed space the smell was a little overpowering.

  “Fresh cloves of garlic.”

  He sighed. “If you’re thinking it will hurt him, it won’t. Although the smell might just drive him off.” He leaned towards the window, breathing deeply. “Tell me you’re not wearing it in a necklace.”

  “No, but I’ve got some in my jacket pockets. The holy water is in a gun on the back seat.”

  He twisted around and peered over the top of the seat. I saw his eyebrows rise at the sight that greeted him. I’d gone to a toy store and bought the top-of-the-line squirt gun. It was made of neon plastic with no less than five tanks of assorted sizes, all of which I’d filled with holy water from the baptismal font at the Catholic cathedral, before having the gun itself blessed, along with a smaller one that was tucked in the inside pocket of my jacket. I was pretty sure the priest thought I was nuts. But he did as I asked.