The Truth about Vampires

by Theresa Meyers

  His thumb slid over her entire mouth in a rasping arc. “Shh.”

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she whispered against his thumb.

  His mouth grazed a path along her check, nibbling, tasting her. “You talk too much.”

  Chapter 3

  kristin narrowed her eyes. “Well, better all talk and no action, than no talk and no ac—”

  His mouth crushed down, hot and firm, on hers. A perfect fit. The sizzling sensation that started at her mouth traveled through her veins to every cell in her body. Her mind went fuzzy around the edges as her world centered on his touch.

  He crowded her back against the wall, pressing her body between the cold concrete and the heat of his hard body. She was aware of moving her hands to his broad back, pulling him closer. She knew she should be peppering him with questions, but as soon as the thought appeared it vanished again, wiped away by the shiver he elicited from her body.

  His clever hands caressed her. She shuddered as his thumb brushed the edge of her breast, making both of them ache and tighten. Her short skirt slid dangerously high as she wound her leg around his, as she rode the cresting wave of heat spiraling upward inside her.

  Breathing hard, she surfaced to drag in a gulp of air. “I don’t—”

  “Talking again.” The words shaped against her lips then his tongue darted into her mouth, stroking as he deepened their kiss, bringing with it the slick heat she craved. The thump of the music from the club throbbed through the wall at her back, and the delicious aromas filtered into the deserted hallway from the nearby kitchen, reminding her of exactly where she was. For an instant she realized a club employee might appear at any moment around the stacks of flattened cardboard boxes and shipping crates.

  He pulled back, just long enough for her to breathe, his dark gaze locking onto hers. “No one will disturb us.” Had he read her mind? She shuddered as one hand cupped her butt, pulling her hard against his erection.

  There was no mistaking the hard press of his arousal against her stomach, or how it pulsed against her. Inside she contracted, melting, needing, and ground her mons against him. She’d had flings before, but not in a very long time, and never like this. I don’t usually do this with guys like you. The words sat useless on the tip of her tongue. Aggressive guys usually got a sharp putdown, but that would require her to be able to think, to breathe, and she wasn’t certain she could do either with the inferno Dmitri was feeding. She gasped. “I don’t—”

  Her words faded into a moan as her head tilted back against the wall and his mouth seared away the rest of the thought. Dmitri’s hot mouth kissed down her collarbone to the swell of her breasts. Boneless and pliant in his hands, she stretched, inching her leg up higher on his hip, hoping, praying, he’d touch the throbbing ache building between her thighs. His hand curved over her bottom, his fingers tracing the crease between her thigh and buttock.

  “Don’t. Stop.” Each word came out a puff of breath. She was more than ready, aching.

  He pulled back suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of her head, his eyes black as he looked at her.

  Exposed to the chill of the air in the hallway, Kristin struggled to bring her mind back into focus. No easy task when her entire body trembled and screamed out for his touch.

  His eyes closed and he turned his face away from her, but it was enough that she got the message loud and clear.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.

  Her heart contracted at the words, shriveling, aching with confusion and doubt. “Regrets so soon. Wow, that’s a record. Usually that doesn’t come until the next morning.” She could see that he was far from overwhelmed with lust for her. His breathing was nearly imperceptible, his pulse so rock steady, she couldn’t even detect it. Her pulse and breathing were rapid and uneven as she tried to pull herself back together. For a brief moment it had all seemed so right, so utterly perfect. She’d never questioned that he might not feel the same way.

  Boy, did I read that wrong. She knew she wasn’t a whiz when it came to men. She’d been one of the boys so long that the minute one showed her attention like she was a girl, she usually jumped in with both feet. Well, she had both times they seemed sincere. Not only out for a good time. Dmitri was just so intense she’d mistaken it for something more.

  “It’s my fault.” She scraped a shaking hand across her bangs, pushing them aside, along with any thoughts of how incredible he felt. “It was just a kiss. All right? No big deal.” Her skin was still way too warm. Of course it was from embarrassment now, rather than a sizzling case of the hots. But if he could act as if it was no big deal, then so could she. All her life anything a guy could do, she could do better.

  Dmitri locked his gaze with hers. She was dangerous to his carefully balanced world. Everything about her screamed “take me now.” Yet he’d clearly heard her say the words don’t and stop.

  Aroused and frustrated, Dmitri wanted to grab her and shake her. Hard. Then pick up right where they’d left off and sink into her. But he was a man of honor. Any kind of negative verbal response from a woman, no matter how many positive signals her body gave, meant he stopped what he was doing and pulled back.

  Despite her very clear words, the signals she was throwing at him said anything but hands off, adding to his confusion. Hot cinnamon-tinted female arousal saturated the air so heavily he could have sworn he was in a damn bakery—in the oven, with the cinnamon rolls. His ears picked out the rapid, frantic beating of her blood rushing sweet and thick through her veins, and his fangs responded, pushing, begging for release—just like the rest of him.

  Why wasn’t she impacted by the flames that licked and raged through him? Saints! That was just a kiss? Hell. It had taken every ounce of his discipline and control not to take her there in the hallway. He blamed himself. He should know better. Being a vampire with a conscience sucked.

  The very essence of him was programmed to change to suit her most intimate fantasy. Even the scent of a vampire altered to suit their quarry. They were the ultimate predator, perfectly designed to lure their victim. At least he’d mastered enough control over the centuries to keep his fangs at bay, no matter how aroused he was. As long as they stayed retracted, the venom couldn’t flow.

  He took a deep breath, more to calm his mind than fill his void, useless lungs. He’d practiced long and hard over the centuries to appear to the untrained human eye as though he were breathing, but sometimes, like now, he had to consciously think about it.

  “I think it would be best if you went home now.” The words stuck like bits of dirt and gravel in his throat. He forced his hands down to his sides and took a step away from her. Away from temptation. Her heat, her scent, the very rush of her pulse, were an insanely addictive drug he could barely resist.

  The cool facade that dropped over her beautiful face hit him like a physical blow.

  “Does the offer still stand to tell me about vampires?” She stepped around the shattered remains of her drink.

  “Back to business, are we?”

  She leveled her gaze at him, and her knuckles went white in the hand where she held her small clutch purse so tightly. “Yes.”

  “Of course the offer still stands.”

  “Then how about tomorrow night?”

  “What would you like to do then?” “An interview. With you. Here at the club.” “Agreed.” He nodded. “Let me show you back inside.”

  She bit her lower lip and the rosy stain the pressure caused nearly drove him to his knees with blood lust.

  “Do you have a back exit I could use instead?”

  Rather than reply, he turned on his heel and led her down the hall. “Would you like me to walk you to your car or call a cab for you?”

  She waved away his concern. “I should be fine.” Clearly she had no sense of self-preservation. First taunting a vampire, then venturing out into the dark alley alone. Either she was supremely confident or very naive. He opened the door, the odors of
rancid meat and wet pavement from the dark alley wafting into the hallway on the night air.

  She shivered, then glanced up at him. “See you tomorrow.”

  He stood there in the open door and watched her sweetly curved derriere outlined sinfully in red leather until she was safely out of the alley. How women in this day and age got away with dressing like that in public still astounded him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the view.

  And if Miss Reed thought the earliest she’d see him would be the next day she was sadly mistaken. When he’d found her in the company of Mayor McCallum, Dr. Chung, Balor and Paulson using an assumed name he’d wanted to rip the bouncer’s throat out first, then theirs. Thankfully, he could tell by scent alone none of them had touched or drunk from her. None of them had marked her as his own.

  If she were insistent on pursuing her investigation of the Bloodless Murders, he was going to have to keep a closer watch on her. Starting tonight.

  Kristin drove home a little too fast, determined to write up her story while tonight’s experience was still fresh in her memory. As soon as she walked in the door of her apartment she pushed the button on the microrecorder she’d hidden in her purse, rewinding it to the conversation in the tasting room.

  There was something odd about those four men. Clearly something was going down with the CDC that had to do with contamination of some kind. And from the presence of Paulson and Dr. Chung, she’d bet her position at the paper that it had to do with the medical community.

  And had her eyes been playing tricks on her? It looked like blood in the mayor’s glass. It had even smelled like it. And the mayor looked awfully good for having stage-four cancer following a triple bypass two years ago.

  She shimmied out of her silky top, leather skirt and heels and into a soft, much-washed dark blue Mariners T-shirt three sizes too big that she’d gotten as a Christmas present from her dad several years ago. As she organized her quotes and massaged her aching feet, the first lines of the article started to trickle through her brain. She planted herself in front of her laptop. Her fingers flew, moving fast to keep up with her mind. She connected the pieces so they followed along in a logical path, plugging in quotes to make the assertions seem viable.

  Two hours later, she scanned the story, looking for holes, looking for anything Hollander might shoot down. Everything seemed in order, but a funny, niggling sensation still tickled at the back of her neck.

  If she hadn’t spent the last two hours up to her eyeballs writing, she’d have sworn someone was watching her. Of course, every time she’d taken a sip of her diet cola and glanced around, she was still the same as she’d been for years. All alone.

  She saved the file, both to the hard drive and her flash drive, then sent a copy to Hollander’s email box. By the evening news tomorrow, the story of the mayor’s fascination with vampirism and the willing donors at the club would be in black and white and read all over. So would the club’s connection to the victims of the Bloodless Murders.

  Satisfied she’d done the best she could, Kristin stretched, scraped her hair into a sloppy ponytail, brushed her teeth and fell into bed. Four hours’ sleep was going to barely keep her alive tomorrow.

  From the corner of the room, Dmitri waited until her breathing evened out before he moved. He’d had the ridiculous urge to pull the covers up over her, but knew it would be best if she didn’t know he’d been watching over her shoulder all evening as she typed.

  The intensity he’d seen in her had made a little bit of pride well up in him. He’d suspected her silly, bumbling persona was just a ruse. Her eyes had been too keen, her questions too sharp for him to believe she was a nitwit.

  Her apartment confirmed his suspicions. No matter what games she played, or part she portrayed, or the sexy hint of cinnamon and vanilla that cloaked her skin, she was a serious person with a no-nonsense manner at the heart of things. Her utilitarian apartment didn’t sport lacy frilly things or girlish fripperies.

  The furniture was solid, the counters and tabletops clear of clutter, and the colors limited to blue and white. Instead of paintings or pictures, she had decorated the walls with newspapers enclosed in glass frames. He peered at the papers, recognizing an issue from the sinking of the Titanic, another from World War II and one from some small local paper.

  The only picture he could find was on the night table by her alarm clock. It was of a clearly younger Kristin with an older man who had the same stubborn tilt to his chin she did.

  He toyed with the idea of entering her dreams to see precisely what was running through her head. Without the intense concentration that blocked him before, it might be possible. He kneeled on the floor beside her bed, closed his eyes and reached into her mind.

  Oddly enough she was still replaying the evening, especially their kiss in the hallway. Dmitri smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d seemed.

  It was no difficult matter to twist the dream, making her clothing vanish and their actions go far beyond a mere kiss, to a full-fledged mating complete with him lapping at the blood coursing from a thin red line in her skin that caused her to orgasm over and over again.

  She thrashed in the bed in front of him, her breathing fast, her nipples puckered and hard beneath the T-shirt. For an instant there was a flash of guilt. Dmitri shoved it away. Early training in the church still managed to suffuse his base reactions. But that time was passed. There was nothing wrong with her enjoying the sensations he could offer her. And nothing wrong with him enjoying them too.

  She’s quite beautiful.

  Dmitri tensed at Roman’s intrusion and glanced behind him. What are you doing here, my laird?

  Roman, his shoulder propped up against the doorjamb, gave a smile, his elongated fangs tipping over his bottom lip. Going out for dinner. What about you? She seems a tasty enough treat.

  She’s a reporter that came to the club twice today. I’ve been watching her write up a story about blood fixations, the mayor and our club.

  And was the article flattering?

  Not really. Interesting in a juvenile manner. She really hasn’t accepted that vampires exist.

  Roman leaned forward to inspect a sleeping Kristin more closely, hunger flaring in his eyes. Perhaps I ought to educate her.

  In a blink Dmitri was in front of him, a hand firmly on Roman’s chest. Leave this one to me. She’s part of the assignment you and the council authorized. I’ll see that she’s dealt with and watched. This is my duty.

  Roman’s tongue flicked over one of his fangs. Do as you must, brother. I trust you’ll enjoy this assignment. As for me, I believe I’ll dine at the club tonight.

  In an instant he’d left the same way he’d come in, by the sliding glass door on her second-story balcony. Dmitri shifted his gaze from the billowing white curtains to Kristin.

  The smooth pale arc of her cheek made the fan of brown lashes seem darker. She looked far too innocent, her flaxen hair bundled into a girlish ponytail, but her article would be like a match to a bonfire.

  Of course there was no way he could let her print the piece as it was. There was too much that she’d noticed about the mayor and the rest of that quartet and she’d obviously gotten a lot of people in the club to talk easily with her about what they did and why they were there.

  He couldn’t pull the story out of her editor’s email. But he could write an article himself, casting aspersions on her reporting, and convince her editor with a little mind manipulation to run it side by side with hers.

  She was going to be irate. He’d have to remember to have the fire extinguisher handy for his meeting tomorrow night. Considering what he now knew about Kristin’s true nature, sparks were likely to fly and cause a full-out conflagration once she realized what he’d done.

  Satisfied that she was safe until the morning light, Dmitri gave her one last lingering glance before he let himself out onto the balcony. He carefully shut and locked the sliding glass door behind him from the outside with a flick of
his mind. Then he stepped up to the railing and jumped into the night.

  Chapter 4

  Kristin strode into the newsroom, snagging a chocolate-glazed doughnut with sprinkles on the way to Hollander’s office. Turning in a knockout story put an extra bounce in her step.

  Sometimes hitting a home run with a story was better than sex. Okay, she decided, wiping sprinkles off her lips and going in for another chocolaty bite, perhaps better than average sex.

  After the kiss in the hallway last night, she was certain that nothing Dmitri Dionotte did would fall in the average category. It would be extraordinary, supernova fantastic. That was if he was still even interested in her.

  Good Lord! She was thinking about having sex with a virtual stranger. There was just something about him that drew her like a meteorite going down in flames into the gravitational pull of a planet. Of course, there was always the possibility she wouldn’t survive something that white-hot.

  She took another gooey bite of her doughnut and hit the cream filling inside.

  After last night she doubted she’d have the chance to find out. One minute he couldn’t get enough, and the next he was pushing her away as if she’d said or done something unforgivable. She preferred her life to be simple. Dmitri was anything but simple. He was dark and complex, and she suspected, far too experienced for her tastes. Better to focus on today’s win than last night’s loss.

  She rapped at the open door. Hollander’s bald head caught the light as he looked up. Annoyance for the interruption switched to approval when he saw her hovering at the door. With what he thought passed for a smile, he beckoned her inside. He rose, opening his arms wide. “There she is. My star reporter.”

  A little shimmer of satisfaction and pride blossomed in Kristin’s chest as she approached his desk. She glanced at a towering pile of file folders and days-old newspapers nestled in the only other chair and decided against moving it just to sit for a moment. Instead, she rested her hip up against Hollander’s desk.