by Tamsin Baker
He pauses on the top step and I realize he can’t go any further without my say-so. My heart speeds up at what I’m about to do. It goes against everything at my core, but the nearest building is my beekeeping shed where I store all my equipment, and that’s one very wide field away from where we’re standing. He won’t make it that far in daylight. Not with these injuries. “Fine. You may enter my home.”
I cannot believe I’m about to let an actual vampire cross my threshold, but if I leave him out here, exposed to the sun, he’ll be dead in a couple of hours, wound or no wound. Last night was truly agonizing. Someone—or something—passed into death not far from here, and I have no wish to inflict that experience on anyone.
“Do you have a name?” Might as well find out who I’m about to lay out on the couch in my cozy little sitting room.
“Luc Durand.”
“French?”
“Originally. Many years ago. Before you were born.” He emits a faint chuckle. “Probably before your grandparents were born, too.”
“Hmm.” Possibly the human ones. Not so sure he could make that same claim about the relatives on my mother’s side. My banshee blood probably gives me as much longevity as a vamp, if not more. A full fae is immortal. “Right. We can have a history lesson later. Let’s get you lying down then, Lukey.”
“Luc.” The sharp edge in his correction is clear testament to his dislike of the nickname. This time I let my grin escape.
“Okie dokie, Lukey.”
His answering growl briefly widens my grin, but then he collapses onto the settee and I busy myself jumping away. Despite logic telling me I’d already be dead if he really wanted to harm me, on some subconscious level I must be still wary. I use the excuse of needing to close the blinds to keep my distance. Without the morning sunlight streaming in, the room darkens, as much as it can during the day, and he lets out a sigh of what sounds like pure relief. “And yours?”
“Huh?”
“Your name. It is?”
For some reason I’m reluctant. A vague memory surfaces, of a beautiful dark-haired woman leaning over my crib and briefly stroking my cheek. “Names hold great power, Aleachiarsiwella, particularly for the fair folk. Share yours sparingly, wee child. There are many who would seek to destroy that which they do not understand, and a banshee’s voice, even more than our blood, is coveted by many who do not truly understand. In the human realm, you will be known as Aleah and your voice shall be merely a shadow of itself.”
Is that an actual memory, or is it just my mind inventing a mother who stayed around long enough to care, even for a short time? I scowl, but Luc continues to wait patiently. There’s nothing more disconcerting than trying to outstare a vampire. Their ability to remain unmoving while staring back at you without blinking or breathing is more than most people can take. Vampires are masters at the waiting game.
After a minute I give in. Sort of. “Aleah.”
“Pretty.”
“Uh huh.” And easier to say than the real one.
“Almost as pretty as your long, dark hair.”
I ignore the belly flutter his compliment re-ignites. “Okay, Luc.” This time I avoid the silly nickname. “What do you need? Anything to…um…” I trail off awkwardly. I nearly said drink, but the only suitable drink in this place right now would be me. And my two cats, but they’re already out for their morning ablutions somewhere, and I’m damn sure not letting them back inside while this visitor is in residence.
“I fed recently, Aleah, so you’re not at risk. Despite the delectable scent of your blood.” My heart jolts, but his eyelids are starting to droop. “I won’t need…that…for at least a couple of days. Just, sleep. Out of the sun, my body will heal itself, eventually.” He releases an enormous yawn and for the first time I catch sight of his fangs. They’re sheathed, but even so, the pointy white ends transform him instantly from handsome man to sexy predator. He yawns again. “I just need to sleep.”
Without any further warning, he immediately drops into a state completely and utterly immobile. He looks dead. Pale, unmoving and not breathing. Of course, I know he’s not dead, not exactly. He’s undead. The distinction makes quite a difference when you’re a banshee. It’s still alarming to observe the phenomenon as closely as this.
I’m tempted to creep up and have an even more thorough look, but vamps are tricky and you never know when one will decide you’re their next dinner. Especially after his comment about the scent of my blood.
I hadn’t realized he’d clocked that. Clearly, he knows I’m fae, or at least, part fae. He probably doesn’t know what kind, yet, as there are few banshees now left in this realm. My mother is apparently one of the last of her kind, at least according to my aunt. After mating with my father and staying long enough to give birth to me, she said goodbye and simply walked out one day without ever looking back. My dad’s sister, who raised me after Dad passed away, called her a banshee witch and said she was on a mission to create more of her kind. If that’s true, I expect I have several half-siblings by now, somewhere out there in the wider world.
I suppose I should be curious about any so-called fae family. The truth is, since my father’s passing, I’ve tried to embrace my normal “human” half as much as I possibly can in the circumstances. Except for those times when death swoops in and almost destroys me with the agony. Sometimes, out here in the woods on my isolated property, I forget that I’m anything other than human. Or at least I did, until a certain injured vampire rocked up and stared at me with sexy hunger deep within his gaze and my body instantly responded with an answering primal call. It is as if his arrival heralded my awakening from a long hibernation. A physical awakening, and one I neither need, nor want.
After a few minutes of awkwardly standing still in the corner of the room, I realize the stupidity of continuing in this vein. I sidle across to the armchair opposite the couch and take a seat. No way am I leaving him alone to wake up and snoop around or jump out and attack me when I’m least expecting it. But there’s no reason I can’t be comfortable while I’m waiting. It is my own home, after all.
Where did he come from? Why is he here in this quiet, rural part of the world, and how did he get so badly injured that he needed to ask for help? Who exactly was he hunting? Why would a supe go rogue and be threatening this region in particular? There’s nothing in Hatton Grove but honest farm folk and a typical Australian rural community.
A rogue in this area is rare. Two at the same time is almost unheard of, in my admittedly limited experience.
Am I—or my few very human friends and neighbors—in danger, either from this vampire, or the crazed supes he says he’s hunting?
I live out of the city for a reason. Carnivorous creatures tend to congregate near the habitat of their prey, and here in the country, far from crowds, it’s rare to see preternaturals like vamps or shifters, other than those briefly passing through on their way to a larger town or city.
I like my solitary life out here on my small farm acreage. The local township is several miles away and the nearest human family is a mile away, over the hills. I like that the only living things near me are my cats, my beloved bees and the local wildlife inhabiting the nearby forest.
The distance limits exposure to the banshee wail. Being alone is far safer. For me, and for everyone I care about. If there’s an underlying ache of loneliness at living such a secluded life, that ache is nothing compared to the pain of death when it comes calling.
Chapter Two
Luc
The delicious perfume of honey surrounds her. I noticed it briefly when she assisted me into her home, but now she must be leaning directly over me, as the heady scent has intensified ten-fold.
I open my eyes and, sure enough, meet her suddenly startled gaze only a few inches from my own face. Her irises are a delightful shade of hazel that shifts from gray-green to brown and back again, depending on the moment.
It’s hard to pinpoint their color, actually. It changes seemi
ngly at whim, but whatever their truth, her eyes are a perfect match for the cascading dark-brown hair falling in waves across her shoulders and down. My fingers itch to tangle in that glorious hair.
“Oh!” She jumps back quickly, as if afraid I’ll lurch up and have her for dinner. Again, her fingers spasm at her side and this time I wonder if she’ll actually unsheathe that ridiculous wooden stake. How long has she been carrying it around, thinking it provides her with any real safety? The spindly end wouldn’t even make it through my layers of clothing, let alone penetrate my skin or drill deep enough to pierce my heart.
I consider snatching it off her and snapping it in half, but that would be rude. She has shown kindness in providing shelter when that action is clearly against her instinct. Instead, I take a deep breath and suck air into my lungs, not because I need to, but because sometimes it just feels good. It’s a reminder of what it was like to be alive. And at this moment, it provides a way to draw her enticing scent all the way down to the center of my being.
My cock stirs and I have to concentrate to keep my body in check. It’s been a long time since I felt the rush of desire as keenly as I did when I first caught Aleah’s scent.
“Sorry,” she says in a voice husky with what sounds like embarrassment. “You weren’t breathing. It’s been hours, and I couldn’t tell if you were…well…actually dead.”
“I am.” I sit up and test my arm and shoulder. Much better. Almost completely healed and only a small residue of pain and scarring left over the crush wound where the werewolf’s jaws caught me unexpectedly. I must have slept for longer than I planned. A glance toward the window shows the blind now raised and the gray of early evening already draping the sky. More than a few hours, then. I must have been out for the count for almost the whole day.
“You’re not, though. Dead, I mean.” Her voice is still low, and I realize it’s not embarrassment fueling the huskiness. It must just be the way she speaks. The rasp is rather sexy, but without my refined hearing ability I doubt I could pick up all her words.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you do know I’m a vamp—”
“Of course, I know that.” Acid colors her tone. “But you’re undead, not dead. There’s a difference. I should know.”
The penny drops and curiosity blooms as I realize what kind of fae has invited me into her home. “You’re a banshee.”
One of the rarest and most misunderstood of all the fae. Some say they’re not strictly fae at all. Many are afraid of the banshee cry, which purportedly means death for those who hear it. From all accounts there are very few left in the world today, and those still here are making noises about returning forever to the fae realm. Is Aleah one of those fair folk who eventually plans to forsake the mortal world?
Her arms wrap across her chest. “Half.”
“Ah.” A hybrid. Lucky for her I fed last night, or I’d be all over that delectable neck in a heartbeat. Her heartbeat. Hybrid blood is the most delicious aphrodisiac known to my kind.
No wonder my loins are stirring so vigorously. It’s her blood, calling to mine. Nothing more, nothing less. Pure lust, fueled by the desire to feast on a hybrid human-fae.
My trousers tighten further across my groin. Her gaze drops only briefly but the instant flush of color in her cheeks is telling.
I lean back, letting my thighs drop open a little wider both to ease my own discomfort and add to hers. Do you like what you see, Aleah? Fae are notoriously sexual beings, but little Miss Half-and-half, here, is acting as if she’s never even seen a member of the opposite sex, let alone enjoyed the carnal delights both our species often celebrate.
She turns quickly away, and then back again as if she’s gotten herself under control. The flush in her cheeks is gone, but that glorious pulse at the base of her throat beats faster than it did a minute ago. I eye that beat, enjoying its tempo and imagining the flavor of her blood. Would it taste like honey?
“I’d offer you something to drink, but…” She shrugs and for the first time the hint of a smile that seems entirely genuine graces her lips. Only for a moment, but it’s enough that I want to see it again.
I close my legs. It seems petty, and the moment for teasing is past. “You’ll be safe for another day or so, and by then I’ll be long gone.” My body is back under control and I no longer have the urge to unsheathe my incisors. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I stifle a heartfelt growl at the residual ache in my groin. “I need to report in to my department.” I rise to my feet and reach for her hand, and as quick as my movement is, hers is quicker. Her fist clutches the stake so tightly her knuckles turn white. She wields the poor excuse for a weapon in front of her.
Those beautiful eyes are narrowed and no longer soft and mysterious. “Stay back.”
“I merely wished to thank you for your assistance. You saved my life this morning, Aleah.”
“Oh. Okay.” Slowly, she lowers the weapon and I strike with my kind’s natural speed, seizing her wrist and twisting hard to force her to drop the piece of wood.
A soft shriek starts up but is stifled before it can fully form. I pull her close, wrapping one arm around her waist and raising her imprisoned hand to my mouth. “I meant it, Aleah. This is merely a thank you.” When my lips graze her skin, I taste honey and sunlight, and all things bright and warm. It’s unexpected in a banshee. In fact, everything about Aleah is unexpected. The only one of her kind I’ve come across in the past may have been a dark-haired beauty like this one, but the other was full of bitterness and sorrow and lost regret.
Perhaps the human aspect of her blood provides hope, where normally such an emotion would not reside?
I flip her hand until it is palm up and only a couple of inches from my lips. Her radial artery pulses fast and strong. Life force. Lifeblood. The rush of adrenalin is instant, causing my fangs to unsheathe as quickly as her wooden stake and the flesh between my legs to harden once again.
So much for remaining in control.
Her intake of breath is sharp. I can’t tell if fear or desire drives her to wriggle within my firm hold, but the action only serves to entice my flesh to full erection.
“Stop moving, little banshee, unless…” Unless you’re ready to sink your sweet body onto my hungry cock and let craving take us beyond thought into another state of being altogether. I don’t need to complete the warning. Her body stills instantly.
There’s an inner war playing out within her changeable eyes. It’s obvious that she craves me in return, and yet the craving clearly horrifies her. Delight and revulsion combat. Which emotion will win out? Her small white teeth—so neat and even and nothing like my pointed fangs—worry at her plump bottom lip as she deliberates. Plump, pink, blood-filled lips. I want to taste those lips.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head, correctly interpreting my thought process. A delicate shiver trembles through her body still pinned against mine. “You promised.”
Forget lips. I want to taste every delicious inch of this creature. The need grows and I can’t help myself. Her wrist is still only an inch from my hungry fangs. I flick out my tongue and lick the radial pulse, enjoying the crazy beat. Heaven. Her scent—indeed, her lifeblood—rushes through that vein in pulsing waves. Only the barest membrane separates my mouth from the ambrosia on tap beneath her skin.
Her life force. Mine.
The pull is almost too powerful to resist. I graze her wrist with the tip of a fang and prepare to breach. A slow, purring growl erupts from my chest in anticipation of the rush. When she hears the sound, she reacts by trying to yank away her hand. “No!” I tighten my hold. “Do. Not. Move.”
Her rapid breath hitches and then stops altogether. Silence reigns as I wrestle against my nature. Hybrid blood to a vampire is like crack to an addict. Impossible to resist. Impossible… Precious seconds tick away, until finally, somehow, I find the strength to twist my head to one side and release us both from our stasis.
Her breathing recommences more unevenly than before, as
if she’s aware of just how close I came to taking her blood. That danger is receding but could re-emerge at any second, and by her wary narrow-eyed look, she knows it, too. “I didn’t promise, actually.” I aim for levity but it is clear that neither of us are quite ready. “To set the record straight, I said I’d try. But I believe it may be safe for you to move now.”
I retract my fangs, giving truth to the words, and let her hand drop. I expect her to jump instantly away from someone she probably sees as a rabid monster. What possessed me? Like most vampires since the Accord, I never take blood without first gaining permission. There are any number of vampire groupies around—even in a rural location like Hatton Grove—who will throw themselves at my kind. The taking of blood is closely connected to the sexual experience. It can heighten the sensation of lovemaking for both giver and taker, and most humans will never experience an orgasm as intense as the one a vampire will deliver for them during sex.
Aleah seems like the antithesis of a vamp groupie. I wait for the inevitable recoil and yet, for some reason, her body remains pressed close against mine. Why?
Tentatively, I raise my hands and grip her loosely around the hips. Still she doesn’t pull away. I become aware of many things all at once. The slightness of her build despite her height, which is extraordinary, seeing she pretty much single-handedly carried me inside early this morning. The bemused look in her eyes that are once again soft and dreamy, their hazel depths encouraging a deep dive within to discover more of her mysterious soul. The enticing warmth of her thighs against mine that offer a silent invitation for so much more.
My erection reforms, the softness of her lower belly juxtaposing beautifully against the firm ridge of my flesh. I may have been able to sheathe my fangs, at least temporarily, but my cock refuses to comply.