by Molly Harper
“Your sudden bout of cockeyed optimism is annoying. Besides, say we survive the day undetected, then what?” I asked. “We find a phone, call Iris, and beg her for bus fare?”
“We’ll find a way,” he assured me, lifting my face to meet his gaze. “I promise you. We’ll find a way to get home without getting you into trouble. Come on, woman! Where’s the girl who showed up at my door three nights ago? The girl who called me a piece of work and reminded me I had no way of getting home except for her car? She would scoff at this little travel … hiccup. Sleeping in a root cellar with a vampire. It’s child’s play. I would think it would appeal to your perverse sense of adventure.”
“You’re right. I should make the best of—hey! What do you mean, perverse?”
Collin began rooting around for materials that we could fashion into a bed. I secured the door with an ax handle, then started searching through the pantry contents.
“This feels really wrong,” I told him as he shaped a pile of empty feedsacks into a makeshift bed. “As if we’re haunting this poor man’s basement.”
I cracked the wax seal of one of the jars and carefully picked out a few slices of fruit from the fragrant liquid with my fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“In the name of not starving, I am appropriating this jar of spiced peaches. Consider it the sweet course after the tomato entrée. My concerns about thievery decrease in proportion to my concerns about low blood sugar and dry heaves. Also, this stuff is fricking delicious.”
He was watching me scooping the delicious, pulpy fruit from the jar and sucking the juice from my fingers. I cringed, knowing that this must be sending his OCD into overdrive.
“Sorry. I’m being rude. What about your blood?” I asked. “It went down with the ship, so to speak. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I should be all right for a few more hours.”
“And then we’re going to have to find some willing donor?” I asked. “Or some synthetic?”
“Unless you’re offering.”
Now, normally, I would consider it pretty damn rude to devour half a jar of spiced fruit in front of a starving man without offering him a meal. But I was still a little sore about the events of the evening. And I’d never served as a vampire meal before. So I was going to have to sleep on it.
I stripped out of my wet jacket and did my best to comb through my damp hair with my fingers. I checked my watch. We had at least another hour before sunrise, but it was good that we were settling in for the night. Day. Whatever. When I looked up, Collin was stepping out of his pressed gray trousers.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-hissed, careful not to make too much noise and wake up our host upstairs. He folded the trousers carefully, the light of the camping lamp reflecting off his pale skin. His extremely pinchable butt was beautifully draped by black boxer briefs. I shielded my eyes with my hand, as if the sight were offensive.
“I usually sleep naked.”
“Every time you get out of the cubby, you’re wearing a suit. Nice try.”
He smirked. “It was worth a shot.”
“Keep the boxers on,” I warned him. “If your next line is that you want to share body heat, I’m not above smacking you while you sleep.” Against the sliver of lamplight, I saw his lips quirk.
“Why did you have to choose tonight to develop a sense of humor?” I grumbled as I lay down on the feedsack bed. It was surprisingly comfortable, a little like sleeping on a giant buckwheat pillow. Collin settled in beside me, on his side, smiling at me.
I turned away from him, content to let him stare at my back.
“Good night, Miranda,” he said, touching my shoulder gently.
“Good night,” I mumbled, snuggling deeper into the feedsack as he clicked the lamp switch.
In the dark, I listened to the house settling over us and finally processed the fact that I was utterly and completely fucked. My stomach felt as if it was turning inside out. I didn’t love Jason anymore, but I was entitled to a few tears. I was humiliated and sick, thinking of all of the lies I’d believed, all of the concessions I’d made. I’d let too much of myself go to please Jason. If anything, my time on the road had shown me how much more comfortable I was in my own skin when I was my unkempt, uncouth self.
I was confused, but it was the good kind of confused. Yes, I was a mess, out here on my own. But at least I was having fun—or what passed for fun when I wasn’t murdering innocent vehicles. I didn’t want normal. I didn’t want predictable. I didn’t want the life Jason and I were going to build together. How stupid was it that I’d made so much effort to create a life that I didn’t want?
I was baffled by possibilities, the right and wrong of them. I was excited about the choices ahead of me. And it felt as if no matter what I did, it would be better than going back to Jason.
Still, listening to the mating call of the Not So Platonic Friends had singed my pride.
And I was going to be fired. Again. There was no way Iris would forgive this. Even if Collin had been driving, Iris couldn’t keep someone on if she’d lost an entire car on her first assignment. It set a bad precedent. But I liked the job. That was the bitch of it. I liked the challenge of getting from point A to point B. I liked the daily race to meet my mileage goal, even if I missed it. I liked being able to stop and take pictures of whatever caught my eye, just for the hell of it.
I’d finally found something I truly enjoyed, and I was going to be fired before I really got started. At least at the other jobs, I’d had a few months before my spectacular failures.
Warm tears dripped down my cheeks. I held my breath, willing the oxygen to slip quietly in and out of my nose so Collin wouldn’t hear me sniffle. As angry as I was, I knew that he couldn’t grasp what he’d done in the name of helping me. He was sincere in his apology, and he felt bad—as much as he was capable of feeling guilty. I didn’t want to make him feel worse.
I pressed my hands into my eyes, my shoulders shaking with the effort to stay quiet. Two cool hands slid around my wrists, pulling them away from my face. Collin wrapped his arm around me, pulling me to his chest. I pressed my face into the curve of his neck, feeling my tears form a seal between my skin and his. He rubbed his hands over my back, fingertips dancing along my spine as I cried it out. Soft shushing noises were the only sound in the dark little room.
In the dark, I traced my fingers over the proud line of his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones. He bent to kiss me, cool lips sliding against my warmth. He tasted clean, of mint and spice. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I was falling through the black space of the room, and Collin was the only thing holding me to reality.
This was a mistake, a huge mistake. I was using sex with someone else to get back at Jason or get over him or just get him out of my system. I doubted that Collin would mind being used. He might be fond of me in the moment, but I wasn’t a blip on his screen. He would leave his indestructible silver case in the Hollow and go home—most likely on a train—and forget all about me. I would be left with nothing again.
But when he shifted my hips so that my thighs rested on either side of his, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. He unbuttoned my shirt, pushing it back from my shoulders, and whispered kisses down the length of my collarbone. I rose to my knees, wrapping my arms around his neck as I ground down on the growing bulge in his lap.
He nibbled down to the swell of my breasts, tracing the top of each mound with his canines while I unbuttoned his shirt. He pushed me back on the improvised mattress and crouched over me, his eyes shining unnaturally even in the low light. The key hanging from his neck swayed against my chest with a solid plink. He seemed to be considering me, as if I was a particularly delectable dessert and he couldn’t decide where to dive in first. He dragged his tongue along my bare ankle, up my shin to my kneecap. When he reached my Smurf panties, he pressed his open mouth to the damp cotton.
He moved up, taking one taut nipple into his mouth, smiling against my flesh. I
tossed my head back, arching into him as I threaded my fingers through his hair. He settled between my thighs, dragging his lips across my throat, and his hand slipped under my waistband. He slid two fingers inside me, plunging in, twisting up to nudge at that mysterious, pleasurable spot.
My Smurf panties joined the pile of clothes on the floor. I cried out and bucked my hips as he plunged again. His hips surged forward and spread my thighs farther apart. I wrapped my free leg over his hip as he entered me in one swift stroke. I yelped at the pleasant stretching sensation. The noise seemed to bounce off the rough wooden ceiling and echo throughout the house.
“Shh.” He chuckled, pointing over our heads. I bit down on his shoulder, and he nuzzled his face against my neck.
Collin kissed me as he moved again, thrusting gently at first, then building, as I angled my hips in time with his. He tipped his forehead to mine and slid home again. I gasped. Lifting my ass off the bed, he drove into me. His fangs slid out as he threw his head back and moaned. My breasts bounced with every heave of his body over mine. His hand slipped over my collarbone, up my throat, and over my lips. I pulled his fingers into my mouth, sucking the tips as he moved in and out, up and down.
He pulled me up, into his lap, grinding our hips together as he guided me over him. He ran the tip of his nose down the length of my cheek, his lips skimming after. Light pressure pinched at my jawline, and fingers slipped around the nape of my neck, securing my head in place as he tilted it back. His tongue worked teasing little circles along my skin.
His lips closed over my jugular, and there was the barest hint of pressure … and then … bliss. He drew against the wound, the blood seeming to flow up directly from between my thighs, through my chest, and into his mouth.
I shuddered and stilled, unable to process all of the sensations needling at my brain. He rocked his hips, sending his rigid length against my warmth. My breath caught, and I snagged my fingers through his hair, pressing his face against my neck.
Over his shoulder, I could see the faintest outline of light around the edges of the cellar door. Collin’s movements were more languid, gentle, as the rhythm continued—draw, rock, draw, rock—until I was riding him slow and firm as he licked the twin puncture wounds at my throat. I felt the first flutters of orgasm and cried out with the force of it. Collin pulled me to him with bone-crushing force as he followed me, crashing back against the rough burlap bags.
Collin rearranged us carefully, settling me against his chest, kissed me one last time on the forehead, and promptly passed out.
PWNED IN THE PAWN SHOP
10
I woke up with a vampire snuggled around my waist.
That was a new entry in the “Bizarre Miranda Experiences” annals.
I squinted up at the still-sealed cellar door and saw that the scant light around the edge had gone pink. The sun would be setting soon.
I scooted off the bed, no small feat with Collin’s arms wrapped around my middle. It was a “coyote ugly” situation, except that my partner was quite attractive but technically dead. After tugging and pulling for nearly ten minutes, I finally managed to pry myself loose and rolled off the feedsacks and onto my face. I slid into my creased, soiled jeans and shirt, wincing as I made my way up the cellar stairs.
Clearly, the next time I had sex with a vampire, I was going to need to stretch first.
Outside, I heard a truck engine gunning. I removed the ax handle and lifted the cellar door just a fraction. Peeking out, I saw the farmer’s truck ambling down the gravel driveway.
The neat little yard was bathed in dusky twilight. I eyed the little champagne-colored sedan enviously, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take it. Particularly with those cheerful little garden gnomes glaring at me from the neglected flower beds. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a thief. And even if I’d only been guessing the night before, and the good farmer’s wife had run off with the mailman, I wouldn’t be able to stand the idea that I’d taken a reminder from the man who owned this house.
In the picture I’d formed in my head, they’d been happy together. They’d lived a long life filled with happy holidays, grandchildren, and long chatty breakfasts, and now the farmer was patiently biding his time until he could see her again.
When I got home, I’d have to remove The Notebook from my Netflix queue. Clearly, the repeat viewings were messing with my head.
I looked back at Collin’s sleeping form. I was cautiously optimistic about what had happened the night before. I enjoyed Collin. I enjoyed spending time with him. And he seemed amused, if not intrigued, by my ability to sow destruction wherever I went. Maybe he would be interested in pursuing some sort of relationship when this was all over. Was I in love with him? Not yet. But I wanted more than a “friends with benefits” arrangement.
I wanted to know that if I came home at the end of a long day, I could call him and laugh with him over my latest misadventure. I wanted to tell someone how I really felt, not just the things my family and friends wanted to hear but my real fears and desires … things I’d already shared with him after knowing him for only three days.
For the first time in my life, I wanted someone I could really share my life with. I hadn’t had that with Jason. I couldn’t let him see what I was really like, the hair that took two hours to straighten, the clothes I’d ruined with darkroom chemicals, the gecko tattoo that I’d let my freshman roommate give me on a dare. But Collin would probably find those stories funny as hell.
I plucked at the chain around my neck and suddenly knew how we were going to get home.
After clicking on the camping lamp I searched the shelves for breakfast. As delicious as they were, I didn’t think I could handle another jar of spiced peaches. I selected what looked like a jar of apple-pie filling and popped the top, carefully sliding the contents into my mouth. It was ambrosial, especially when paired with the lovely domestic distilled water. I ate half the jar while I tried to make out the rest of the dimly lit room. It seemed to be used strictly for feed storage and storm supplies. The only boxes I could make out stood in the corner. I took up the camping lamp and edged closer to them. In neat block print, the box was labeled, “MAEVIS, CLOTHES, GOODWILL.”
I glanced down at my wrinkled, stained clothes and wondered whether Maevis would begrudge me a fresh outfit. With my luck, stealing a dead woman’s clothes would result in a hell of a haunting. But I balanced that against the thought of wearing these jeans another day and decided that I was willing to risk it. I opened the box to find an array of church dresses, housecoats, khaki pants, and mom jeans. There was a beautiful bottle-green double-knit suit in my size, but the idea of taking what was probably Maevis’s best dress in her prime shamed me. I picked a more casual red-and-white check dress with a wide, pointed white collar. It was the sort of dress I could see Maevis wearing to a Sunday picnic. Unfortunately, I had to wear my boots with it, which ruined the effect.
I reached the bottom of the box and had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. The farmer was also donating some vacation clothes to Goodwill. I cast an evil glance my vampire’s way. From the looks of them, they’d fit Collin perfectly.
“Come on,” I called from the farmer’s front door. “We have to get moving before he comes back!”
Collin’s muffled voice came floating up from the cellar. “I look ridiculous.”
“I look like Lucille Ball’s manly cousin,” I yelled back. “It can’t be that bad.”
I opened up the little mailbox labeled “McGregor” near the door. Despite the fact that it was the only cash I had on hand, I left my last remaining twenty-dollar bill inside, where Mr. McGregor was sure to find it. It eased my conscience a bit for helping ourselves to his food and clothes.
Collin emerged in an orange and blue Hawaiian shirt, his long swimmer’s legs sticking out of blue plaid Bermuda shorts. I ruthlessly pinched my lips together to keep my braying laugh from escaping. He looked like a pale, pissed-off tourist. “Do you have any idea what happe
ned to my clothes while I was sleeping?”
Currently, his pants were at the bottom of the burn barrel near the garage. And the scarecrow had received a brand-new hand-tailored shirt. “I couldn’t find them when I woke up,” I said, my eyes as wide and innocent as a baby seal’s. “Maybe a barn cat took them?”
“A barn cat?” he repeated, raising his eyebrow. “A barn cat that managed to get through the barred cellar door, take my clothes—my clothes only, mind you—and then escape unnoticed while we slept?”
“A very strong, very selective barn cat,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “We’re just lucky I found these clothes in the Goodwill box.”
“Hmph.” He sniffed. “A vindictive little kitten who is still angry about an obliterated car, more like.”
I grabbed his hand and led him down the gravel drive toward the highway. “Don’t be silly. What sort of kitten has a car?”
The walk into town was long and arduous, but the sky was clear and the moon full. Collin told me stories about his marches with the king’s army, trekking through what the British soldiers saw as the ends of the earth. We made good time, with Collin carrying me on his back for the last two miles. He was worried about me being too tired and insisted that it was payment for drinking my blood the night before without express permission.
“We haven’t talked about the events of last night, by the way,” he said, tickling my knees a bit while he adjusted my weight over his back.
“I don’t think I’m ready to,” I admitted. “I’m not saying I regret it, because I absolutely don’t. But I’d like to wait until we’ve finished this before we tackle something as heavy as the Talk.”
“Why do I get the feeling that, in your head, that’s ‘Talk’ with a capital T?”
“Because you’re psychic,” I said, grinning cheekily. “And a discussion involving words like ‘feelings’ and ‘commitment’ deserves a capitalized title.” He shuddered beneath my hands. “I felt that.”