Immortal Prey

by Diana Ballew

  The touch of his hands, his mouth upon hers, his words, the uncomplicated moment, it was as though she was floating in a lovely dream.

  His hand traced the small of her back, slowly curving across her waist, a solitary finger trailing up the side of her breast.

  The liquor left her relaxed, her limbs languid, but her rising pulse hammered like a drum inside her chest. “Oh, I do want you, Derek.”

  With a smile no sane woman could possibly resist, Derek slowly rose and moved to the foot of the bed.

  Frowning, she lay on her back and folded her arms behind her head. “Where are you going?”

  “Just lie back,” he said from the foot of the bed.

  Unhurried fingers unlaced her boot, removed it, and massaged her ankle, slowly working his way down to her stockinged foot. She moaned.

  He took his time and did the same for her other foot. While the massage felt divine, all she could think about was slipping into a hot bathtub to scrub away the grimy dust from walking outdoors all day.

  She lifted her neck from the pillow. “This feels so wonderful, but I’ve been outdoors all day. I’m thinking —”

  Derek looked up and met her gaze. “You’re thinking you would love a nice hot bath.”

  That was exactly what she had been thinking. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she said, her body melting under the intensity of his heated stare.

  He moved to her side, lowered down, and kissed her so deeply, passionately, she couldn’t breathe, much less think clearly. “Derek,” she whispered, sliding her lips from his.

  “No trouble, my dear,” he said. “When you’re with me, you may have whatever your heart desires.”

  Candles had been lit, and a glass of brandy sat waiting for her on a small table next to the bathtub. The room had all the latest plumbing fixtures. A toilet, a sink, and the largest enameled cast-iron bathtub she had ever seen. No wonder it had taken so long to fill.

  Derek handed her a fluffy chenille robe and excused himself, leaving her at her leisure.

  On a tray at the head of the tub were body sponges and various shampoos and therapeutic body scrubs. She sipped the brandy and sank into the bath, allowing only her head to poke out of the water.

  Who would have guessed? When she awoke this morning, she had no idea, never an inkling, the day would lead to another intimate night with Derek.

  The last time she had been in his house, she had slipped out after they had made love, leaving him alone without so much as a goodbye. But unlike that night, her father would be home tonight and waiting for her arrival. With luck, Frederick would not come calling.

  Erin frowned. But then there would be Maggie to deal with. The servant’s bedroom faced the rear of the house, but the woman could hear anything and everything. Maggie had never asked her why she had returned home so late the night of the costume party, and Erin hoped it would stay that way.

  She lifted her foot from the steamy bathwater, rotating her ankle, watching the water bead off her pale skin. She dipped the sponge in the water, soaking it, and squished it against her chest and neck. She sat up and inhaled the varied selection of soaps and shampoos, but the European rose-scented soap Derek had suggested tempted her the most.

  The knock at the door startled her. She dropped the sponge in the water and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” Derek asked.

  What was it about Derek? Sure, he was devilishly handsome and incredibly wealthy, but there was something extra, something she couldn’t put her finger on, something that pulled her in deeper whenever he gazed into her eyes or spoke with that voice laced with warmed honey, making her feel as though she were the only woman in the world that existed.

  Dare I?

  She cleared her throat. “I would love it if you would … wash my hair.” The moment she uttered those words, she recoiled with embarrassment.

  She stared at the brass doorknob. Oh God. Oh God.

  Derek entered wearing a silken robe with a gaze so sinful it gave her warm skin goose- bumps.

  “Well, hello,” he said, accentuating the word “hello” so that it sounded terribly, terribly naughty. A smoldering cigarette hung lazily between two fingers.

  Erin managed a smile and swished under the water, leaving only her head and neck exposed. Small waves sloshed over the sides of the tub.

  He slid a chair across the floor and sat at the head of the tub, behind her. He extinguished the cigarette in an ashtray. “So, what will it be?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your shampoo of choice?”

  Cursing the flush rising to her cheeks, she said, “Oh, yes, of course.” She fingered through the tray in search of the one she had chosen. “This one. Rose, the one you suggested. It’s wonderful.” She reached behind with the bar and frowned. “I’m not exactly sure, but I think the scent reminds me of my childhood.”

  Silence filled the steamy bathroom. “Rose it is,” he whispered in a throaty voice. He held his hand past her shoulder, and she handed him the bar.

  Emboldened by the sultry tone of his voice, she dipped under the water, wetting her hair, and sat up. He gently gathered her ebony rope of wet hair, formed it into a ball behind her head, and rubbed the bar into the thick mass. Firm fingertips massaged her scalp while his thumbs kneaded the nape of her neck. She rose up a smidge, letting her arms dangle over the sides of the tall tub, and she caught sight of him twisting to peek at her breasts just below the waterline.

  His hands moved slowly across the rounded pile of soap bubbles on top of her head, down her nape, his thumbs rubbing out the tight knots along her neck. He gathered suds and massaged her shoulders; his hands trailing down the front of her chest, gently brushing each pert nipple.

  He stopped, and she heard the scraping of the chair legs across the floor.

  He returned with a ceramic pitcher, dipped it into the water near her waist, and sat back in the chair. “You tell me if this doesn’t feel wonderful.”

  Slowly, he poured the heated water through her hair, combing out tangles with his fingers. More water, more combing, more warm water running over her shoulders, her arms. Had she died and gone to heaven?

  He stood and untied his robe, letting it drop in a sleek pile on the floor. Her heart stopped dead in her chest, and she had to keep from gasping out loud. Before her, Derek stood in all his handsome, naked glory and then some.

  “Oh, um, do you want to come in?” She sloshed the water over the rim as she quickly moved to a higher sitting position.

  A single eyebrow rose. “There is room for two. Do you mind?”

  “I … ” Of course she didn’t mind, but he didn’t bother to wait for her answer. He stepped into the tub, his long legs slipping alongside hers, occupying the opposite end.

  He sank low, slipping under the water to wet his hair. She watched as he rose out of the water like the mighty Greek god Poseidon, raking his hands through the wet mass of dark blond hair. She couldn’t help but stare at the beads of bath oil slicking his lean, muscled torso and the mass of damp curls on his chest.

  His gaze narrowed to indigo slits, and he beckoned her with a single finger. “Come here.”

  She turned, looking over her shoulders behind her as if he were calling someone else. She turned back, and smiled, and whispered, “Who me?”

  “Most definitely you. Come here.” He reached under her arms and swirled her around so that her back pressed against his broad chest and her bottom sat between his sprawled legs.

  Derek’s unique masculine blend of bayberry and earth mingled with the rose-scented water, stimulating her senses. She glanced down, captivated by the way her long hair twirled like wet ribbons around his firm manhood, seducing him with the promise of more.

  A lone finger traced the line of her jaw, trailing down, stopping at the warm, beating pulse point on her neck. His breath hitched deep within in his throat, and a soft moan escaped his lips. He pulled he
r hair to one side and kissed the back of her neck, her earlobe, trailing his lips across her neck.

  Her heated pulse pounded so fiercely she was sure she’d combust. Closing her eyes, she resisted the desperate urge to shudder as his teeth grazed her neck.

  Her heart raced, beating wildly inside her chest, leaving her breathless, as hazy images flashed like shooting stars darting behind her eyelids. I’m happy, deliciously happy. A warm room, stone walls, a hearth with a bright fire, blue eyes gazing into mine, large, fanged teeth!

  Gasping, she opened her eyes wide and shoved Derek’s head away from her neck.

  He groaned. “What —”

  “I have to go. I must leave, now.”

  He grabbed her arm, an expression of concern etched on his face. “You what? What’s wrong?”

  Despite the hot bathwater, icy panic raced through her body. “Derek. I’m sorry, but I … ” She rubbed her temples and took a deep breath. “I just have to go. That’s all.”

  She pulled from his grasp, stepped out of the tub, and snatched a towel. Her heart hammered against her chest, her mind racing with fleeting, disturbing images as she fled from the bathroom.

  Derek marched into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Erin, what the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing,” she lied, her voice quivering. “I … I just have to go.”

  “You didn’t have to go ten minutes ago.” He reached out to her. “Come on, let’s —”

  “No!” She jerked away from his grasp. “I can’t think clearly around you, Derek. I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know what I’m doing here with you.”

  In a flash, he was standing directly in front of her gripping her shoulders, hard, his eyes boring into hers. “Oh, but indeed you do know, Erin, you just need —”

  “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, twisting from his embrace, “I don’t know anything anymore. Don’t you understand?”

  Judging by the injured look in Derek’s eyes, clearly he did not understand. And why should he? Even she couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Every inch of her body craved Derek, wanted him, needed him, and yet, pinpricks of warning now crawled across her skin.

  She rushed toward the bedroom armoire for her clothes. Suddenly, her wet feet slid out from underneath her, sending her crashing to the hard floor.

  The last thing she remembered before everything went dark was Derek lurching for her, shouting, “Ersule!”

  Chapter Eleven

  New York

  “She was beautiful, Gregore. Positively beautiful,” I said, trying to keep still in my seat on the train back to Baltimore.

  “I believe you,” he returned, though not as enthusiastically as I had hoped.

  Poor Gregore. He tolerated my nonstop chatter, listening with the patience of a saint, but I suspected he had mixed feelings about my ordeal. And why shouldn’t he?

  By coming into contact with Ersule as the reborn child Erin, I had wandered into a hornet’s nest of mixed emotions, coloring my rational thoughts. But I was sure he could be persuaded to relocate to New York after our short conversation earlier.

  The night before, Gregore had wandered the quiet back streets of New York. Strolling past an alleyway, he heard music, lyrical melodies, reminiscent of our old days in Germany and France. Curious, he walked down the shadowy passageway, noting the music was coming from the basement of a large brick building. Dim light from a single small window illuminated the cobbled alley. Bending low to peer inside, he had felt a tap on his shoulder.

  Turning toward Gregore I said, “We didn’t have time earlier. Tell me more about last night. I want to hear about this man Dominic you mentioned.”

  Gregore’s gaze snapped to mine, his face brightening. “Dominic.” He tucked the magazine into the seat pocket, his gaze darting about, examining the seating arrangements of our fellow passengers.

  He leaned in and whispered, “When I felt a firm tap on my shoulder, I was startled and spun around. Standing before me was a man.” A smile spread across Gregore’s face. “And not just an ordinary man, mind you.”

  I smiled. Gregore had an animated quality about him, gesturing with his hands, his expressive brown eyes gleaming.

  “The handsome man had brilliant white teeth that glowed in the night and skin as pale as the dead.” Gregore’s gaze narrowed. “He said that a private party was going on inside the building, and I could attend as his escort.”

  “And did you?” I asked, though I had already heard this part of the story earlier.

  “Well, of course I did. And Derek, you wouldn’t believe how many of our kind are in New York. The Others, as they’re called there, well, they’ve evolved — for the better — and they’re unlike the vicious groups in the old days when we had to defend our territory.”

  I was intrigued. While I knew our kind resided in the United States, I dared not cross paths with them for fear of drawing attention.

  “Do go on,” I said.

  “There were dozens upon dozens of patrons in the cool basement establishment. Every variety you can imagine — they’re there. A bar, music, dancing, but most of all, the Others talked openly. I don’t know how Dominic knew I was a Were, but he did. He told me his kind had been there for centuries and had evolved within the confines of the city. He said we, too, could sharpen the same ‘skills’. They’ve developed protections we could only have imagined in our wildest dreams.”

  “And did you believe him? Did you sense any danger with this Other?”

  The idea of living among progressive “Others,” all while I was close to Ersule, made my heart soar with possibility.

  Gregore pondered the question. “I believed him. Think back. Remember how we used to speak, how our language has changed, evolved, with the passage of time? How we’ve learned to blend within society to the best of our abilities? But we are far from perfect. Surely, it must be possible to learn how to adapt further — for our protection.”

  “And you sense no concealed motives from this Other you speak of? Dominic, is it?”

  “Yes, his name is Dominic. I sensed nothing like that with him.”

  I had to agree with the philosophy. In our mortal body we were vulnerable and always at the mercy of our unpredictable inner beasts. Perhaps in New York, with the help of the Others and their protections, we, too, could find the safety and security we desperately craved.

  “I truly believe New York has more to offer us than Baltimore,” said Gregore, “but … ”

  “But?” I asked.

  “But are you strong enough to make the move to New York with Ersule so close?”

  I was so excited I could barely breathe. Having been in New York and seen for myself what the glorious city had to offer, the idea of moving there actually made sense. Gregore had his love of the arts; our kind could live there among mortals, and I had my own obvious reasons. I inhaled deeply and exhaled in jagged breaths. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

  And that was the truth.

  Later that night, I dreamed I was young lad of thirteen again, returning home with my younger brother, Hamlin, from a long day of hunting. The two of us were laughing as we ran toward home, our bags brimming with rabbit and pheasant. Having the spritely build of a ten-year old, Hamlin bounded forth ahead of me, eager to be the first to inform Mother of our successful hunt.

  When I entered the door, Hamlin stood shaking uncontrollably in his boots, tears streaming down his face, and he had urinated in his trousers. Turning past his distressed gaze, I saw Mother lying on the dirt floor, her body covered in crimson from the waist down. Lying beside her and her blood soaked frock was her lifeless newborn baby boy, having arrived far too early.

  Despite my anguish, I tried to sooth Hamlin, but nothing I said brought the boy comfort. Father had died in battle only two months earlier, sending my brother into hysterics for well over a month, and now Mother.

  I swore at the screams forming deep within my throat, threatening to r
ip my heart to pieces. For Hamlin’s sake, I squelched my pain and despair, and covered the lifeless corpses with quilts.

  After quieting my brother with a warm drink and tucking him into bed, I set out to dig a grave in the meadow to bury Mother and our dead baby brother. When I returned for the bodies, Hamlin was nowhere to be found.

  I had searched for hours, and just as I was about to hunt for him at an abandoned farm, I spotted something floating in the lake. My heart stopped quiet in my chest with dread. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, but I already knew what floated in the murky water ahead.

  Hamlin lay face down. I rolled him over and hugged his motionless body with everything I had, my body shaking uncontrollably. As the amber sun began to set over the water and the threat of darkness crept into my veins, I howled like a beast. My anguish and terror intensified with the lengthening shadows, and my wild screams and mournful cries echoed across the still water.

  How long I held him, I do not know, but it was under a full moon that I buried him next to Mother and the dead infant.

  After the burial, I drank ale. I downed the warm drink until my belly was so full I nearly retched. But no matter how much I drank, the numbness I longed for eluded me. I shed mournful tears, sobbing so hard each heave burned my chest.

  I fled the house and ran into the night, caring not where my leather shoes would take me. I sprinted through forests, up hills, across farms and meadows. I ran until I could go no further and dropped to the ground like a heavy sack of yams.

  When I opened my eyes, light surrounded me. I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on the hazy image above me: A girl with shiny hair, black as a raven’s wing, stood above me, smiling, in a field of grain under the scorching midday sun.

  * * * *

  ONCE we arrived in New York, Gregore was eager to show me the alley establishment known as “The Blue Moon Lounge.” Ever since he had told me of the place, I couldn’t wait to see it for myself.

  He gestured toward a dark alley. “It’s down here.”

  The soft resonance of a mournful violin filled the damp, desolate passageway, beckoning me.