The Truth about Vampires

by Theresa Meyers

  “They?”

  “Your king or leaders, or whatever.” He secretly smiled. She was as brilliant as she was beautiful. “Perceptive of you.” “Comes with the territory.” “Our clan laird, Roman, has decreed that you may share enough to help mortals understand us. The council is concerned that if you release information about the reivers it will cause unnecessary panic. It is an internal matter, and we vampires would prefer not to air our bloody linens to the public.”

  He waited for her reaction to the edict. As strong as she was, and being a modern woman, she’d doubtless have a healthy opinion on the matter.

  She twisted in his arms, putting her back against him, the sweet curve of her derriere pressing against him in a way that made the blood lust more intense. “But what about the reivers’ connection to the Bloodless Murders? Don’t you think that we humans have a right to know?”

  He wrapped his hands over her shoulders. “We will handle it and they will be brought to justice within our world.”

  Kristin turned slightly, her gaze not nearly so loving as it had been a moment before. “So they want it to remain an unsolved mystery to us.” Irritation rolled off her in heated, swirling waves.

  “As I said, perceptive.”

  She crossed her arms. “God, politics suck. Even in the vampire world.” She pulled away and chafed her arms with her hands. While he could easily withstand the cold, she was still merely a mortal. He needed to get her back indoors.

  Saints, he was a fool. It was one thing to protect this mortal as part of his sacred trejan oath, but it was a completely different thing to do so out of personal desire. Only once had he felt this way toward a woman before. But then he’d paid the ultimate price for his fixation.

  The image of Larissa’s dark beauty flared in his mind. In his zeal to lead the hunt by the church to destroy vampires, he’d been captured. She’d trapped him, seduced him, then changed him. Despite the fierce desire she’d raised in him, he’d tried to escape as soon as he’d realized what she intended. But it had been to no avail. In the end he’d been changed into the very thing he’d spent his young life fervently hunting.

  But Kristin was so unlike Larissa, in every way but one. She tempted him to ignore his duty. Seduced him with thoughts that he could resist the natural order of things to capture a measure of heaven to hold in his own hands. But unlike Larissa she was mortal, not vampire.

  He reached out to grasp her small fragile hand in his. The heat of her skin seared his. “It is for the best. Mortals will be worried enough when they discover vampires are real.”

  She looked up at the moon and sighed. He tried to probe her mind to understand what she was thinking, but found himself blocked. “So am I supposed to go back to your place tonight,” she asked, “or can I go home?”

  “You may go home, if I go with you.”

  She glanced at him and raised one sleek brow. “They put you up to that, didn’t they?”

  “My laird has nothing to do with it. I want you to be protected. When this is out, people will resort to their most base instinct—fear. You’re far too removed from the times when superstition and fear ruled the world. It’s an ugly thing, I assure you.”

  She glanced down at her feet. “Let’s hope you’re wrong.”

  “We can hope, but we cannot risk.”

  Kristin bit her lip. “Your couch is nice and all, but I think I’d rather sleep in my own bed tonight. And I still have work to do before that.”

  It was a damn lie and she knew it. More than anything she wanted to curl up in a bed naked beside him. Her body was still vibrating from the sensations he’d brought out in her when he’d sunk his fangs into her.

  “Not alone.” He tucked her gently against his chest and rested his chin against the top of her head. “You are too valuable to me now. I can trust no other to watch you as I would.”

  In a swirl of white mist, the dark water and night sky disappeared and Kristin found herself back in her own apartment. Even though it was pitch-black, she recognized the sweet vanilla scent of the votive candle on her end table, and the faint fragrance of freshly laundered clothes she hadn’t put away yet still sitting in the basket by the counter. The tension that had coiled in the pit of her stomach started to unravel.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the lights?” she asked.

  “Give me a moment.” She heard the shush of something against the fabric of his jacket. “Go ahead.”

  She reached over and flipped on a table lamp. Dmitri wore dark sunglasses. “Light bothers you that much?”

  “I won’t burn up, but I don’t need a migraine.”

  “Whatever works for you. Would you like something to drink?”

  Stupid question, Sunshine. He’s likely had his limit. “Sorry, just automatic.”

  His firm lips tilted into a subtle smirk. “I could always try the other side if you’re offering.”

  Instantly her hand went up to her neck, covering the twin marks that tingled there. A full body shiver rippled from head to toe and she had to force herself from stepping over to him. Wow. She wondered if vampires injected some kind of addictive substance, similar to caffeine or nicotine, into the body as they fed. Perhaps that would explain why she was so drawn to him that she’d willingly offer herself up again. Kristin resisted the pulsing urge deep down in her gut to go to him.

  “As tempting as that offer might be—” and God, was it “—I’d better get to work.”

  She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and glanced at the time. It was 1:00 a.m. “I have enough time to get this written before the morning deadline.” She needed something, anything to keep her focus off the sexy-as-hell vampire sitting a few feet away. Dmitri exuded pure sex without the slightest effort. His sex appeal came as naturally to him as breathing to a human.

  Kristin grabbed the remote off the counter and tossed it to him. “Make yourself at home.” He settled onto her couch. It never seemed too small before, but then it was meant for two, possibly three, normal-size people, not a guy the size of a bodybuilder on superhuman steroids.

  “You sure you don’t want to watch a late-night movie with me?” he asked casually as he flipped on the television.

  Seriously? Hell, yeah. She wanted to curl herself up next to him, wrap herself up in his body, forget about the article and never leave. But that wasn’t going to save her bacon with Hollander. This article would.

  By 4:00 a.m. she felt as drained as Balor had been, metaphorically speaking, of course.

  It had taken everything she had in her to put the story together piece by piece in a way that showcased both the humanity and the supernatural potential that the Cascade Clan possessed. Just as Dmitri had said, she’d left out the reivers attacking Balor. That could come later, when she had more concrete facts to go on.

  She glanced at the vampire stretched out on her couch and wondered just how much deeper this was going to get. She sent the story in by email and reached her hands high over her head, working the knots out of her shoulders. “All done.”

  “For now.”

  Already he seemed to know her better than any boyfriend she’d ever had. She gave him a lazy grin. “A journalist’s work is never done.”

  “You should go to sleep.”

  For a moment she toyed with the idea of inviting him to sleep in the bed with her, but she quickly discarded it. Things were moving too fast as it was. “You know it’s not polite to tell a woman she looks tired.”

  “I meant no offense.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t get bent about it. I was only teasing you. And you’re right anyway. I am dead tired.” Kristin bit her lip, wishing she could drag the words back.

  Dmitri smiled and it stole her breath away. “Don’t worry about offending me. It’s practically impossible.”

  “Sure, you say that now, but wait until I use my dad’s favorite cold cure of a whole clove of garlic minced into tomato juice. Then see if you talk to me.”

  “Garlic is a Hollywood
fabrication, as are stakes and death by sunlight.”

  “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t be serving garlic bread at Sangria if it had been a problem.”

  “The only things that really can hurt a vampire are dead man’s blood, which acts like a temporary poison, and silver or orichalcum, which burn on contact and are unbreakable to a vampire. And explosives. Those tend to be deadly.”

  “Orichalcum?”

  “A metal they haven’t made since Plato’s time.” Dmitri glanced out the window. Faint streaks of daylight were beginning to brighten the edge of the early-morning sky, throwing his carved profile into a mixture of shadow and light, a duality just like the vampire himself.

  “As much as I would like to stay with you, I need to return to the clan. I’ve other duties to attend to.”

  Disappointment carved out a small space within her chest. Kristin chided herself. Why on earth had she thought he’d stay past daybreak?

  Writing about her experience as a donor must have scrambled her brain. Come on, you had to practically beg him to feed off you, she reminded herself. And the intense push and pull she sensed between them was probably just all those vampire pheromones or whatever it was that made vampires ultimately attractive to their donor of the moment.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl, remember?”

  He phased a cell phone into his hand, then grasped her hand and slipped it into her palm. “If you need anything, or see anything unusual, call me.”

  “You mean, anything more unusual than vampires.” She smiled. He didn’t.

  He leveled his no-nonsense gaze at her. “This phone will bypass the security system and reach me directly.”

  “Got it.” She lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick friendly kiss to his cheek, trying to put some distance between him and her heart. “Thanks, Dmitri.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  He stepped back from her, his eyes turning that mysterious dark shade she’d come to associate with him holding something back. “Don’t thank me just yet. You’re in more danger now than ever.”

  “But that’s not your faul—” Before she could finish her sentence he dissolved into a swirl of dark smoke and was gone.

  She yanked a pillow off the couch, flopped down onto the cushions and hugged it close. As she’d been writing the article, she’d started a mental list of pros and cons about being attracted to a vampire.

  “Reason six why a vampire would make a terrible boyfriend—he can just zap out of the room whenever the mood takes him.”

  She dropped her head back against the couch and groaned. How could the most erotic night of her life have left her back at square one? Alone. Again.

  Across the room her cell phone started doing a happy dance as it vibrated across the counter. Who in the hell needed to talk to her at five-thirty in the morning?

  She glanced at the phone and saw it was Hollander. It figured.

  “What are you doing up so early?” she said with a little asperity. If he wanted a proper greeting, he could have waited until she’d actually had some sleep.

  “I couldn’t sleep. I was waiting for your article.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve done it! This is going to be huge. Just wait until Associated Press gets an eyeful of it. I’ve ordered a double print for the next edition. If this hits the way I think it will, it could pull in a ton of new subscribers.”

  That was good news. Great news, in fact. Her job was secure, her editor happy. But that didn’t make her limbs less heavy or her eyes less gritty. It was one thing to be a night owl. It was another to be teetering on the edge of becoming nocturnal because you were hanging out with a vampire. She yawned.

  “So does that mean I can have today off?”

  “Sure. Sleep in, eat chocolate, do whatever it is you do on your day off.”

  “Usually I research for another article.”

  “I like how you think.”

  Kristin sighed, slightly irritated with the admission. Exactly when had work become all there was to her life? “Are you going to send a photographer to the club tonight?”

  “Yes. You’ll meet him there?” “Yep.”

  With plans for the night already in place, she tossed the phone back onto the counter and staggered to bed.

  Somehow she managed to sleep most of the day away, until her ringtone woke her. “Hello?”

  “I’m outside Sangria, but I’m not going in until you get here.” It was Harry, the photographer from the paper.

  “Damn. Sorry. Be there in ten minutes.”

  In a whirlwind, she dressed, shoved her hair into a messy topknot with a few wispy bits, grabbed her stuff and headed out the door.

  She trudged up the street to where she’d parked her car. Her breath stuck hard in her throat. All across her white Honda Accord in what she hoped was only dripping red spray paint were the words FANG BAIT.

  Swiping her finger across one of the wet letters on the windshield, she tested the substance between her fingertips, then gave it a sniff test. The chemical fumes confirmed it was paint. Just paint. Thank God. How could someone have known it was her car? Hell, how did they know where she lived? The article hadn’t even come out yet. Her phone buzzed in her hand, making her jump.

  “Good evening, Kristin. Did you find my love note?”

  She struggled to place the voice. Oh, no. Billy Idol vamp, from the club. What had the girl called him? Vane.

  “Did you do this to my car?”

  He laughed and it chilled her to the bone. “That’s nothing compared to what we’re going to do to you.”

  “Yeah, I saw your handiwork on Balor.”

  “If you expose us to mortals, his demise will look peaceful in comparison. If you do, we will stop you. This is your last warning.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter 10

  Now she was pissed.

  Kristin snapped her phone shut and shoved it deep down into her pocket. If there was one thing that got her ire up, it was being bullied.

  She wasn’t about to let a little thing like tagging by a particularly nasty vampire stop her from a shot at a Pulitzer. Of course, saying that to herself did little to slow the shaking in her hands. If what she’d seen with Balor was any indication, these vamps weren’t nearly as into maintaining good relations with humans as the vamps in Dmitri’s clan.

  Harry, the photographer assigned to her story, was still waiting for her outside Sangria. Opening her trunk, she took out one of the newspapers she’d been intending to take to the recycling station. Scrunching up several sheets, she strode around to the front of the car. The red paint was still wet, which would make it easier to get off. But it was still going to take work. And time. Which she didn’t have.

  “Bastards. I don’t give a crap what you call yourselves.” She scrubbed at the paint on her windshield, smearing as much as she removed. “You’re nothing but freaking vandals.” Vandals who can kill with a single bite. The thought sent a shudder down her spine. “Bullies.” She tore off several more sheets and mopped up the paint as best she could. At least enough that she could see to drive.

  Cleaning the bodywork would have to wait.

  After stuffing the wet newspaper into a plastic bag she kept in the glove box, Kristin finally got on the road. “I’d better not get a speeding ticket because of you, you freak.” Thankfully it was almost dark. Driving around with FANG BAIT painted in lurid red on her car was sure to illicit attention.

  Every block she drove, the more pissed she got.

  She had the phone Dmitri had given her. One call, and he’d deal with the vandal. And while it was seductive knowing that a man would go to battle for her, Kristin wasn’t the type to run for help. She’d gotten used to proving herself to be as tough, as determined, as any male reporter. Investigative reporting wasn’t for sissies. She could handle a phone threat. She’d just be careful and ultra aware of her surroundings. And perhaps she’d find a way to get ahold of some dea
d man’s blood, like what Dmitri had used on the reiver. Better prepared than sorry, she told herself. And Vane and his buddies seemed like the type to make a girl very sorry.

  Weighed down by all his equipment, Harry was tall, painfully skinny, and decked out in his usual work attire of faded jeans and a graphic T-shirt. He whistled as she pulled up. “Nice paint job,” he gibed, nodding his closely cropped head. “You get that special for tonight?” He snapped a picture of her car and gave her a wide grin as she got out and headed for the front door.

  “Shut up.”

  He snickered as she blew past him and strode inside. The minute she entered, she could feel Dmitri’s gaze following her, heated and intense. He moved in her direction, but even ten feet away she could tell the scent of chocolate he threw off was different tonight, spiked with something spicy and hot and unpredictable, like chilies.

  “Do you smell chocolate, Harry?” she asked as Dmitri closed in.

  The photographer shook his head, sniffing appreciatively. “Nah, but they must cook a killer steak in here.”

  Dmitri took her hand in his, brushing the back with a kiss that she could feel all the way down to her belly button. “I thought you’d finished your article.”

  “My editor wants some pictures. Do you mind if we take just a few shots inside the club before it gets busy?”

  He stared at her a minute longer, as if he was stripping her. Kristin blushed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Hollander just asked me—”

  “I meant about the car.”

  Kristin glanced over her shoulder, then locked her gaze back on his inscrutable face.

  “I don’t remember giving you permission to read my mind.”

  He raised a brow. “Perhaps I don’t have to. We do have security cameras. I’ll find out who did this and take care of it.” His commanding tone resonated inside her, the barely leashed restraint vibrating in the warm air inside the club.

  The place was nearly empty, except for Anastasia at the bar and a few employees moving about to prep for opening. Apparently just past twilight was still too early for many of the regulars. But it was practically perfect for what she needed. Harry could get the shots without needing a photo release from dozens of people.