by L. T. Kelly
His hands cascaded down my back and took a buttock in each hand, pulling me closer to him. His mouth found mine, his hot tongue thrashing into mine like a dance inside our mouths. He lifted me like I was a feather, my legs finding a home around his waist.
“I love you, too,” he responded breathlessly, as though hours passed after I told him the same.
He laid me on the bed, like I was a queen, precious and fragile. He always treated me that way, as though his sole purpose for living were to keep me safe, to care for me.
His lips travelled over me, his mouth opening to allow his tongue to explore my flesh. His mouth delighted in the taste of me as he lapped me up. His tongue vibrated his pleasure through my heated skin. He continued his assault on my flesh, reaching my apex with admirable speed, opening his mouth wide to take my clit inside. My hips bucked, my hands fisted the bedspread, unable to hold onto the passion that built furiously within my core.
We’d been together seventeen years. He knew what to do to make me come speedily for him. I failed to cling to the fiery liquid inside me any longer. I lay dazed, floating on the orgasm as though it were a cloud. Before I could even respond, his cock filled me, his sea green eyes locked on mine as he moved inside me. My hands flew to his delectable buttocks, pulling him closer, filling me with a quickly dissipating sweet sting of pleasure. His speed built until he was a mere blur above me, pumping and stretching me, feeling his hot release inside me.
We lay there lazily, our engagement cemented with hours of lovemaking after the initial quick release we both desired.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I recalled how happy I’d been that night and how everything pained me with loss now. We become somehow lost in this world with shit going on around us and coming from every angle. The heat from the tears I longed for too many times in my supernatural life seemed so apt. I barely noticed them until they fell on the pillowcase and pooled. Then I couldn’t stop them. The tears became my sweet release.
“I love you,” I whispered, closing my eyes and allowing a sob to tear from my swollen throat.
Twelve
Cry Me a River
“Teagan.” Pearl shook me awake. I turned a little too rapidly, unfamiliar with my restored speedy movements for a moment.
“Oh, are you back to normal, too?”
“Yes, thank goodness. It was lovely being human for a day, but much more than that, I wouldn’t survive.” Pearl giggled and wrinkled her nose.
I had to agree, suffering aches and pains from walking such distances had bothered me, too.
“I didn’t sleep well. I forgot how little I slept when I was alive. The slightest thing woke me up,” Pearl told me wistfully.
“I’m sorry.” A harsh pulse shot through my chest. If I hadn’t gotten her involved in all this business, she would be back home in London where she belonged instead of having to listen to me cry all night.
Pearl patted my leg. “Don’t apologise. It must have felt good. I do miss a good cry.”
I smiled at her. We shared so many similarities. I missed crying, too. I glanced at the clock. Nine thirty in the evening. If all had gone to plan, I would be a married woman by now. I hadn’t even cancelled the damn thing. Wedding guests flocked from all over the world to witness our union. I hoped the extravagance of the reception I organised would soften the blow somewhat.
“Let’s get ready, feed, then head to the club.” Rising from between the covers, I averted my eyes from the mascara-stained, damp pillowcase.
We dressed in haste. I hoped there wouldn’t be too many people wearing evening clothes or we’d stick out like a sore thumb. Both of us had mud speckled over our practical garments from traipsing across muddy fields.
“We should have gone shopping,” Pearl complained, scanning my black jeans and looking back to her reflection in the mirror.
“Too late for hindsight now.” I laughed, heading toward the door. Luckily, we didn’t pass too many people dressed up for a night on the town. Mostly suited people who’d been out for a drink after work.
A man with hair as black as a raven and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean Sea flashed a smile in my direction and winked as we walked by him.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Pearl, vanishing before she questioned me.
The man’s pace slowed as he passed us. He busily looked over his shoulder when I stepped in front of him. I giggled, imagining him looking back to grab another eyeful of me, only to find me gone. I grinned at Pearl over his shoulder, my fangs running out. She started laughing, and the man turned to continue down the street. His eyes flew open as he almost walked straight into me. Before he spoke or made a sound, I thrust him sideways into the alleyway on his left, successfully avoiding humans noticing as I did.
As soon as his handsome face became shrouded with darkness, I drove my fangs into his neck. I chose him based purely on his looks. The first time since Bartholomew and I had started seeing each other that I’d done that. Tonight, I craved the warmth of a strong masculine body against me, his expression as he admired me had been enough evidence he found me attractive. As I drew his hot blood from the pulsating vein on his neck, his erection pressed against my belly. I didn’t attempt to prevent the pooling in my panties. The guy was hot, but drinking from him would be as far as this could go. I flashed away, knowing I left him hard as hell and confused in the alley. I caught up with Pearl, who wandered on ahead of me.
“Enjoy yourself?” she asked. She smiled as she spoke.
“It was light relief. It must have been years since I’d done that. I used to love it.”
“Mmmm, yes. I know exactly what you mean. I’m the same. Nothing quite like feeding off someone who’s clearly attracted to you. The experience is even better between the sheets.” She waggled her brows suggestively.
I grimaced. It wasn’t that I hadn’t experienced that. On the contrary. I used to do it all the time. Nothing came close to playing with your prey, heating them up and luring them in, devouring them physically and biting at the point of climax. The way their vein pulsated beneath your fangs and gushed into your mouth… Delicious.
“What’s the matter?” Pearl linked her arm through mine.
I shook my head. “You’ll think I’m paranoid, stupid or even both, but each time Bartholomew is with me and he’s just fed, I’m convinced he’s made love with the victim. You must be aware Victoria and him didn’t participate in an exclusive relationship for that reason.” I raised a brow and looked at her face to gauge her reaction.
“Most vampires are not monogamous. Simultaneous feeding and climaxing is too much of a thrill to miss. I’d go as far as to say I don’t know anyone who limits themselves to one lover.”
“You do,” I rushed to correct her. “Two, in fact. Alex and Ryan. Also, I’m almost one hundred per cent sure Rose doesn’t cheat on Geo, either.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of words.”
“What is?”
“Cheat.”
“You fuck someone else, it’s cheating, is it not?”
“Back there, with the handsome man in the alleyway, did it turn you on?”
I sighed, knowing where she was going with it. The worst thing about her question was I still thought long and often about Marc. Guilt tugged away at me each time. At times, I questioned whether my mistrust of Bartholomew enabled me to feel better about my frequent trips down memory lane rather than any concrete evidence he played around behind my back.
“Yes, but I didn’t act upon it.” I rolled my eyes, as though unaffected by her insinuations, but my insides stung.
“People’s ideas about what cheating is are very different.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s working,” I told her as we reached the entrance to the club.
“Not at all. I just wanted you to think about things from a different prospective.”
Ever the voice of reason, she had made me think about it.
I peered up at the flashi
ng strobe lights coming from the round windows on the third floor. “You start from the bottom and work your way up,” I suggested, eager to finally know what the fuck was going on. “I’ll start from the top. We’ll hopefully meet in the middle. You have your phone with you?”
Pearl nodded, her throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I detest noisy crowds.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. If Alex had gotten up off his backside, you wouldn’t have to go in there.” I blinked at my phone screen. I tried to call him before we headed to the club, but it had rung out, indicating he most likely hadn’t been on a flight. Of course, he could have arrived in Dublin and followed his own agenda instead of coming to my rescue. I wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d choose to help me over locating and rescuing Rose from her predicament.
“You don’t have to go in,” I told Pearl. Her lips bunched up as she considered the building again.
She smiled at me out of the blue. “The club probably isn’t all that busy yet.”
We passed the two bouncers at the door and paid our ten-euro entrance fee each. Black-painted stairs stretched out in front of me. Farther down the hall lay a door, which a group of girls in their early twenties stumbled through, releasing an aroma of fresh sweat carried on a bass tune that died down as the glossy, black door swung shut behind the group.
I grabbed Pearl’s shoulders as the girls passed us and headed up the stairs. “If at any point it gets to be too much, just leave, okay?”
She nodded with wide eyes and hunched shoulders.
I took the stairs two at a time, creasing my brow when a man in his late sixties studied my face a little too closely as I passed. Not only had it smacked me as strange that a man in these advanced years frequented a place like this, it had been the way he looked at me with a flicker of recognition. I ignored it. I had one goal. To find Bartholomew.
I reached the third floor, and the club stopped. There had definitely been four floors from the outside. I was sure. I stalked to the bar and leaned against it with the intention of ordering a drink and to ask where the stairs leading to the fourth floor were. Crowds bobbed like tumultuous waves on the dance floor opposite the bar. The air held the aroma of different perfumes and aftershaves intermingled with alcohol and perspiration.
A short, stout barmaid approached me, blinking slowly. Her mouth hung open as she stared, not dissimilar to the man I passed on the stairs.
“Red wine, please,” I yelled so she could hear me over the vibrating beat of the techno music. I knew the wine would taste crappy from here, but I could do with something to take the edge off.
I cleared my throat when the woman remained on the spot, unmoving and glaring like a deranged zombie considering an attempt to eat my brain. Eventually, having had no response, I feigned a cough, which appeared to pull her out of her trance.
She returned a few minutes later with my drink and waved a hand around dismissively when I tried to exchange the glass of wine with a ten-euro note.
“On the house. The proprietor has asked to meet with you in her quarters,” she told me, her gaze flitting around the bar as she spoke.
My mind spun. “Is that so?”
The woman nodded eagerly.
“Why would your boss want to see me?” I asked, my stomach flipping.
“You’ll see. Come this way.” The woman jerked up a slice of the bar top until it leaned against the wall and pulled the bottom half open, beckoning me through the gap. My body tensed as I followed her, not feeling as though I had much choice in the matter. Besides, I came here for information, and it appeared as though people here knew who I was without me even having to speak a word.
We stepped behind the bustling bar, into a glass wash area. The tiny space smelt damp, and racks of dirty glasses were lined up, ready to go into the noisy, stainless-steel machine.
“Up there.” She jabbed her finger toward a carpeted staircase at the back of the room.
I swallowed hard, the door at the top was closed. My jaw clenched, uncertain of what I may find behind it.
“Go on.” The woman flapped her hand, failing to offer me any reassurance.
I gingerly took the first step, preparing my body to fight back if I needed to. It had to be a witch, or witches behind that door. If they attacked, I’d have to move fast. I would be hemmed in. The only way out would be back out of the door I was about to enter. As my foot pressed on the twelfth step, I mentally prepared myself for any given situation. I glanced around. The woman had remained at the foot of the stairs like a mother would monitor her child going forth to a destination to ensure they arrived safely. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open so it bounced back on the hinges.
The space was huge. Brickwork had been painted white, except for the back wall, where the original terracotta-coloured bricks were left untouched. Glossy black kitchen units and a stainless-steel sink, along with appliances, were fixed at the very end of the room. Strip lighting dangled halfway down into the space of the room, omitting a low, yellow hue. Directly in front of me was a living area with sofas arranged around an oak coffee table. Back farther, a matching dining table had been positioned with eight chairs around it.
A guttural sob snatched my attention away from the tasteful, soft furnishings. A rotund, middle-aged woman with dishevelled, red-brown hair lay slumped on an oversized beanbag to the right of the door, crying. I moved to ask who she was and why she lay there crying, but movement at the back of the room caused my head to turn.
A woman with a sleek, blonde bob sashayed through the room. Beside her, an enormous, black creature moved with the same finesse. I would be forgiven for thinking the yellow-eyed beast was a panther, but on closer inspection, I was relieved to find it was a cat, albeit an enormous one.
“Oh, come on now, Teagan. No need for that.” Her Dublin lilt mixed with a hint of amusement.
Firstly, I wondered what the fuck she was on about before realising I had positioned myself in a defensive stance. How does she know my name? Please let Bartholomew be here.
“I’m sorry about her.” Her gaze passed over the woman in the corner. “I’m afraid you’re visiting at a sad time for her.”
The blonde grew closer. Her clothing matched the long fur of her black cat, and her white-blonde hair swished glossily over her shoulders. Her face seemed so familiar. My brain hunted for where I’d seen her before. I drew in a sharp breath from the stark realisation. I saw her face in the mirror. Her appearance was almost identical to my own. If not for the haircut and her lack of make-up, I could have been staring at myself.
“Fuck. How do you look like me?”
“Pretty, aren’t I?” Her eyes danced with the sort of amusement displayed when you take the upper hand of knowledge over another person. “We look alike because we’re cousins. Distant, of course.”
“But I–” I was about to tell her there were no aunts and uncles, so she’d been woefully mistaken, but she cut me dead.
“Didn’t have any aunts and uncles?” She tipped her head. Her dark blue eyes danced in the dim light, the same shade of dark blue denim mine had been as a human. “You had many. Your mother simply never spoke of them.”
“Why?” My muscles began to loosen and my stomach unknotted. Aside from the crying woman in the corner, the atmosphere came over as friendly and calm. My body responded accordingly.
“The clan never wanted your mother to marry outside of it. She was very powerful when it came to potions. Skills like that are very valuable to a clan. But she chose your father and left. We’ve come a long way since then.”
Her eyes flicked over to the woman. “This is my aunty Michelle. Her husband just passed away. She married outside of the clan. I’d stretch as far as to say he’d been treated better than some of our own blood.” She held her palms up theatrically and swept them to either side of her body. “That acts as proof of how our clan has evolved.”
I shook my head, unable to ascertain why
she told me this, though I couldn’t decide if she were talking to me or thinking out loud. I’d lived for a long time without a blood family. The thought of gaining one now didn’t interest me, especially a witch family with some evident issues.
“Where’s Bartholomew?” She pulled me away from my mission with her tales of family history for long enough.
The woman shrugged. “He’s around here somewhere. I’m Catherine, by the way. Pleased to meet you, Teagan.”
“So he is here?” My stomach flipped at the idea of holding him close to me, breathing in his sweet, fresh scent igniting me. I realised it was way too late for us to follow through with our wedding plans now, but I truly didn’t care. I wanted him back, and I wanted him back now.
Catherine nodded and reached out to take me by the hand. I stepped back, snatching my hand away from hers. “I’m here to find Bartholomew and go.” I glared at Catherine, every fibre of my being screaming at me to leave.
“Seriously, Teagan. Chill out. I want to get to know you.” Back was the grin. “I’m short on family I can respect. I’d hoped we’d get along.”
“You made out like you have plenty of family to choose from.” I glanced around the room. “You don’t seem like you’re doing too badly. What are you, like thirty years old and you own all this?”
“I had to witness my parents’ deaths to get it, and with all this comes the responsibility for the clan. There are some things you don’t want to inherit, and that’s one of them.”
Thank fuck. Her smile had disappeared now.
“How the hell did the clan wind up in Dublin anyway? I thought witches detested the city?”
Catherine’s downturned lips and close inspection of the polished wooden floor suddenly piqued my interest.
“Take a seat.” She waved to the sofa. “I see you have a drink.”
Thirteen
Dancing on My Own
“Of course, you’re right. Witches hate the city. I’m in direct line to your mother’s youngest sister, Bernadette. She reunited with your mother on her deathbed. Your father had already died, and your mother expressed a desire to see her family again. Bernadette was a baby when she left. The clan sent her to care for her. It was then the amulet was passed to Bernadette. Its power and demand from the supernatural world forced her to remain in the city.”