by Martha Woods
He hasn’t even kissed me – I don’t know why my mind is going there already. I just want to be in his arms somehow, to have them tightly surround me to chase away the bad dreams that have become my reality. I somehow feel safe around Damon, safer than I have ever felt with any other human being. He’s a good guy. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.
We finish the meal, and he asks if I want to go for a walk. This time, he takes up my hand and intertwines our fingers as we begin to walk down the strip.
“I hope this is okay,” he says.
“Y-yeah it’s okay. It feels natural,” I say.
“I know.” I can see his cheeks reddening a bit as he looks away from me.
“Oh, did I manage to make Damon blush?” I tease.
He suddenly twirls me around so I’m standing very close to him. His hand moves to take up to my chin and he lifts it to meet his lips. Damon has to bend down slightly to reach me and then his soft lips are pressing against mine. I feel no scrub of a beard; he must have shaved just before coming out with me. My heart flutters in my chest as he turns my head to the side to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds its way inside my mouth, and I open to him, letting our tongues intertwine to release the pent-up desires we (or at least I) have felt since we met at that crime scene. What could be more perfect than someone else who works the night shift? Tommy and I always had trouble meeting up with our schedules. Maybe that was one of the reasons I cut and run when I did. But Damon, Damon seems to be making time for me. For this moment. For this sudden kiss of pure desire that has me melting against him.
He breaks the kiss with some reluctance, and I meet his green gaze. His hand touches my cheek, moving along my jawline and over my lips.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the night I met you,” he whispers.
“Was it worth the wait?” I whisper back.
“Yes,” he says, and he kisses me again, drawing me closer to his body. I forget all about walking or standing or breathing and let myself fall into him. My hands wrap around his neck, and he draws me in with his strong arms around my waist, careful of my holstered gun, to deepen our second kiss. It is everything I wanted in the first but more.
“We should go,” he says pulling his face inches from mine.
“We should, we’re drawing a crowd,” I say. People are walking around trying to hide their stares from us. Apparently, public displays of affection are frowned upon in front of sushi establishments.
He draws me to his truck with some urgency, unlocking my door and picking me up from the waist to put me in the high cab. I laugh at the way his face is flushed; there is a smear of my lipstick across his lips. He looks like a teenager who just kissed the girl of his dreams. Damon closes the door and opens his own, turning to kiss me again once he is inside the truck.
“Are we going too fast?” he asks.
“I don’t know, where are we going?” I ask.
“I’m not sure, should we talk about it? I want you, Amy, but we can wait. We can hold on,” he says.
“We can see when we get to my apartment,” I say as my heart does a little flip. He grabs my hand and kisses it, then we’re off. The average time for the first sexual encounter is usually by the second or third date. But I could die tomorrow or even tonight, murdered by a maniac shaman. I might as well live my life as much as I can.
Damon makes those morbid feelings disappear. He doesn’t exactly fly down the road but he is defiantly pushing it, at least ten miles over the speed limit. He waves at the cops still posted outside the compound. My detail. I’d nearly forgotten them. There must have been more of them outside the sushi restaurant as well. I can’t think too hard about it because Damon is squeezing my hand.
We get out of the truck and barely make it into the elevator before he is pinning me against the wall, his lips soft but firm against mine. There is some sort of primal savagery to his kiss, a craving so deep it is crawling underneath my skin. I want to rip that shirt off him and see what is underneath. This is not how I was expecting the night to go, but I’m excited about it.
The elevator opens, and he leads me towards my apartment, planting kisses on my neck as I fumble to open the front door. He nibbles my ear and runs his tongue around the edge of it, making me gasp with delight. Bella lets out a bark when she sees the two of us, but I shoo her off as Damon picks me up by the waist. My legs wrap around him, and he carries me like that to the couch with our lips locked together. I keep having to remind myself to breathe, I’m finding myself totally drunk on him. He lays me on the couch, pulling back from me to caress my face.
“You’re so lovely, Amy,” he says. He’s leaning down to give me another kiss when something jerks him off me and throws him across my living room.
I let out a scream.
Chapter 7
Damon hits my kitchen wall, but it doesn’t seem to faze him because he’s on his feet again. He draws out a long silver knife – I have no idea where he was hiding that – and crouches down. There is no fear in his eyes; they look set to murder.
“Stay there, Amy,” he says.
“What is he doing here?” I hear a voice behind me say. I look back and see Vincent standing on the balcony.
Damon is moving towards the vampire, not with inhuman speed, but he’s definitely faster than I thought he would be. He pulls a cross out from around his neck and Vincent hisses, drawing back. Bella is up, jumping in between the two, and yelps as Vincent trips over her. Damon is on top of him before I can blink and he’s moving to slice at the vampire’s neck. But he only manages to draw a small, thin line of blood before Vincent throws him off into, one of my side tables, knocking it over and shattering a lamp.
“Stop it!” I yell. Both Vincent and Damon immediately freeze.
“Vincent, you have no right to be in my apartment,” I say, facing the vampire and drawing my gun.
“I think you already know your gun will do little to harm me,” Vincent says.
“But we know I’m a much better shot,” Damon says, rising up from the crumble of my broken lamp and table and raising his own gun. His hands are steady, too steady. I’ve seen plenty of cops handle their weapons and I know instantly, he’s a professional.
Vincent hisses again, showing his fangs, and I step between the two of them. I can’t let Damon kill Vincent. This is the one creature who can potentially stop Elric, if what he told me is true. But Damon is breathing hard and looking very trigger happy right now.
“Move, Amy,” he says.
“Not in the mood to have blood stains all over my apartment,” I say, my voice short and tight. Come on, Amy. Deescalate the situation. I try to keep my voice even. “My table is already broken, so you can calm down on the destruction of property. And this is sort of the only person I know who might be able to protect me,” I add, motioning to Vincent.
“Vampires don’t protect anyone,” Damon says. There is a sharpness, a coldness to his voice I have not heard before, and I don’t like it.
“And hunters are doing a poor job of keeping things in check,” Vincent hisses.
Hunter? I look at Damon, the knife in his left hand, the gun held unwavering in his right, the cross around his neck. He seems steady on his feet, and he knows exactly what Vincent is. No wonder I felt so safe with him. Apparently, his nighttime security job is hunting the undead. I want to ask him more, but I also want to kick him in the shins for not telling me. I’m not a fan of secrets.
“Vincent is here because apparently I’m the next victim,” I say. This is my apartment. This conversation will be on my terms.
That causes Damon to lower his gun. The two men eye each other. I note Damon’s cross again and decide it’s about time I go out to get one. Who knows if it’ll work against Elric, but better safe than sorry, right? Besides, Vincent can’t be the only vampire in LA, and I doubt all of them are as opposed to killing.
“How does he know that?” Damon asks.
“Because I’m hunting Elric down. He’s powerful, dangerous
, and he threatens to expose us all. We’ve been playing this game for centuries now. He finds a town, scares them, almost lets our secret out, then vanishes. He’s not the easiest to find, and you hunters have been failing terribly,” Vincent says.
“We haven’t been failing,” Damon growls.
“No more fighting,” I tell them. My shock is wearing off and now I’m mostly just irritated. “You two need to calm down, drink a cup of tea, and talk to each other like adults. Vincent, you sit in the kitchen, Damon sits on the couch,” I bark out the orders.
Both men stand there and stare at me. After all, I was screaming a moment ago, but I’m not a damsel in distress, I’m not interested in their apparent feud, and I’m tired of their games.
“I said sit. It’s my life on the line here, and I’m sick of secrets,” I say.
Damon takes a seat on the couch but keeps his gun at the ready on his lap. Vincent sits on one of my bar stools and leans back against the wall, looking appealing and dangerous all at the same time.
He winks at me as I walk by. I flush red, and he laughs. Damn men, damn face. I wish then I weren't such an open book about how I’m feeling. I ignore him as best I can and go to my kettle to make everyone some chamomile tea so this party can calm the fuck down. Not that I think it will work for vampires, but it is worth a shot. If nothing else, he’ll be too busy drinking the tea to run his mouth. Okay, I’m more than a little irritated.
The two men sit in silence glaring at each other. I bring them each a cup of tea and take a seat beside Damon on the couch. I can feel him wanting to put an arm around me, but his urge to grab his gun at a moment’s notice is too strong.
“Have you been the one giving her nightmares?” He eyes Vincent accusingly. “We need to get you a cross, Amy.”
“I didn’t give her the nightmares. I can’t get into her mind, it’s what intrigued me about her to begin with, and what is putting her on the way to the grave,” Vincent retorts. So much for not running his mouth.
“Shouldn’t you be out hunting Elric if you’re so concerned?” Damon asks.
“I am waiting for him to come here,” Vincent says.
I almost spit out my tea. For one thing, it is still too hot to sip, for another, I am now apparently being used as bait – without my consent. I stand up and point to the balcony, anger bubbling under the surface and threatening the calm I’m trying to build in this apartment.
“Get out,” I tell Vincent.
“I could always turn you. Then at least you would have a chance,” Vincent says, meeting my gaze.
Damon stands up beside me and I’m glad for the backup; he has the gun in his hand again, but I put my hand on top of it and force him to lower the weapon. He does so grudgingly, and I march up to Vincent.
“No. I’m not vampire bait, and I won’t be turned into whatever the hell you are,” I say.
He sighs. “A pity, you would make a good one. It’s rare to find a human worthy of becoming one of us.”
“You mean becoming monsters that feed off of humans,” Damon says.
“Becoming a superior species. Humans do a fantastic job of destroying the planet. Vampires are here to prey on those who no longer have other predators to keep them in check.” He hesitates. “But not all of us have the heart to kill.”
“Like you?” I ask quietly. I see Vincent go still again and he turns his gaze to me. I can’t read his expression. He lets out another sigh that I think is only for dramatic effect. I’m assuming vampires don’t actually need to breathe.
“Yes, like me. I’m not one for killing mortals. Or forming attachments to them,” he adds, still holding my gaze. I’m forced to look away, not because he’s trying to control me with his mind, but because the intensity behind his eyes is unnerving me,
“We both want Amy safe,” Damon says.
“Yes,” Vincent replies.
“Then perhaps we can work an alliance. If it’s okay with Amy, we can lure Elric out. Do you think you’re strong enough to kill a werewolf?” Damon says.
“There are hunters among the vampires as well. I’m more than capable of killing Elric.”
It makes me wonder just who Vincent was before he became a vampire. Looking at him now, he looks comfortable, but not completely at ease with himself. As if that ego of his and the way he talks down to me and Damon is just a ploy. I want to give him a hug, but I can’t explain where that emotion is coming from. I try to shake it. What’s wrong with me? I’m not exactly the nurturing type. But still, I want to go to him, comfort him. Instead, I go back to sipping my tea.
“So. I’m bait, huh? How are you planning to make that work?”
“Allow you to do your job as a forensic investigator and follow you,” Vincent says.
“Can’t do that. I’m on leave until the murders stop,” I mutter. Damn Rick and his overprotective fatherly instincts. What would he say or do if he found out I’d agreed to lure the murderer out?
“I’m protecting you for now,” Vincent says through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure how long I can continue doing it.”
“I’ll keep her safe,” Damon says.
“How about I keep myself safe?”
“Then let me turn you,” Vincent offers again.
“If you bring that up again, I am seriously kicking you out of my home. No, we just wait until he comes here,” I say. “It’s that easy, right? We can pop some popcorn and watch a movie.” I can’t believe what I’m saying. An hour ago I was on a date with a sexy, sweet guy with an incredible talent for kissing. Now I’m discussing the minutia of a plan to offer myself up as bate for a serial killer shaman werewolf, and I’m somehow casual enough about it to suggest popcorn?
“It isn’t that easy. He won’t come if I’m obviously here,” Vincent says.
“Will he come if it’s just me?” Damon says.
Vincent looks him over for a moment and then sneers. Okay, so the hunter and the vampire are not going to get along. As long as they don’t break any more of my furniture, I’m okay with that. I sip my tea and let out a yawn; suddenly I’m feeling exhausted.
“Look, you two decide what you want to do, but I’m going to bed. No killing each other. Even outside of my apartment.” I can’t stifle my next yawn.
“You okay, Amy?” Damon asks. I nod to him, stumbling to my feet. I’m so tired suddenly. I can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s the result of the adrenaline wearing off.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Vincent says defensively.
“We’re both here; she’ll be okay to rest,” Damon says, but he doesn’t sound confident. Whatever he’s thinking, all that is on my mind is a bed. It is so tempting. Not even Damon’s nude body pressed against mine could keep me away from my pillows. All the passion from earlier has drained completely from my system. I just want to sleep and sleep deeply. I don’t even care if there are nightmares. I have two men willing to wake me up from them.
I’m suddenly okay with being safe, being taken care of, as long as I get some rest. A part of me is aware this isn’t the way I should be thinking, but everything is so fuzzy. Bella lets out a whine as she follows me into my bedroom. I feel the men staring at my back. I didn’t tell them goodnight. I didn’t tell them to get out. What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t bother to take my gun from its holster, or to remove any of my clothes. I fall into bed and am vaguely aware of my dog climbing up beside me. I can hear Vincent and Damon arguing in what they must think are soft whispers. The pillow feels like a cloud, the blanket will keep me safe from harm. I’ve never known chamomile tea to work so fast on me. I feel myself fall into my subconscious – I just hope there is something to catch me before I hit rock bottom.
Chapter 8
The girls are struggling to keep their faces on. I watch their almost skeletal hands move to maintain the flesh that is slinking off. There are splatters of dead skin on the floor around them, like shriveled up, still bleeding jerky. They surround me as I sit in a cross-legged inside a circ
le, somewhere outdoors. There is grass beneath my feet, and I’m dressed like I was when I fell asleep. Asleep. This is just a dream. It hits me, and I jump up to look around at the girls. My stomach turns. They have maggot tears coming from their eyes. They are more gruesome than any crime scene I have ever seen. I can tell they were all once beautiful, but that was a long time ago.
“He kills again,” says one of the girls. I recognize her from somewhere…the news report at the pizza place. Jane, I remember suddenly. Her name was Jane. “You have hurry and stop him,” she says. “Come,” she says, taking my hand. I pull away. I don’t want to touch her hand, it is like touching ice, and I can feel the bones beneath her decaying skin. The hand wraps around my side, and I can’t shake it free. She guides me forward.
The other corpse girls begin to follow behind her, behind me, as I am led from my spot on the grass. The ground changes underneath us, and suddenly we are walking down a street, towards an entrance to an alleyway. I can smell a trash can that needs to be dumped out. It’s nothing compared to the stench of these dead girls. I should feel afraid of them, but they’re all so pitiful with their moans and pleas for help. How can I turn away and run? They didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask to die. They didn’t ask to be torn apart, but the wounds are there regardless, their bodies torn open, their clothes in tatters, fabric and skin and innards ruined by decay. Something isn’t right. These murders were recent. Bodies don’t decay this quickly. But this is just a dream. Just a dream.
We come to an alleyway where I hear a girl screaming. She’s screaming help, she’s screaming fire, she’s pleading for whatever is on top of her to stop. The thing is in shadow, or it’s made of shadow; I can’t get a clear look at it. I try to take a step forward, but it is as if a barricade is in front of me; something is holding me back. It isn’t the girls. They have all taken up a high pitched wailing noise that makes all my hairs stand on end. They can’t pass the barrier either.