Jean-Claude was standing at the window when I opened the bedroom door. He had opened the drapes, and was leaning against the window's edge staring out into the darkness. He turned when the door opened, though I knew he'd heard me before that.
"Ma petite, you look lovely."
"It's the only robe I own," I said.
"Of course," he said. His face had that amused mask on it again; this time I would have liked to know what he was thinking. His midnight blue eyes were very intense; they didn't match the nonchalant expression. Maybe I didn't want to know what he was thinking.
"Where are Larry and Jason?"
"They have come and gone," he said.
"Gone?"
"Jason had a sudden craving, and Larry drove him in the Jeep."
I just looked at him. "There is such a thing as room service."
"It is the wee hours of the morning, ma petite. The room service menu is somewhat limited. Jason has donated blood twice to me tonight; he needed protein." Jean-Claude smiled. "It was either take-out, or he could eat Larry. I thought you'd prefer take-out."
"Very funny. You shouldn't have sent them alone."
"We are safe from Serephina tonight, ma petite, and as long as they stay in town, safe from Xavier."
"How can you be so sure?" I crossed my arms over my stomach.
He leaned his back against the window and looked at me. "Your Monsieur Kirkland handled himself well tonight. I think you worry unnecessarily about him."
"One night of heroics doesn't keep you safe," I said.
"It will be dawn soon, ma petite; even Xavier cannot bear the light of day. All the vampires will be seeking shelter. They will have no time to chase our young men."
I stared at him, trying to read past his pleasant face. "I wish I was as sure as you seem to be."
He smiled then, and pushed away from the wall. He slid out of his jacket and let it fall to the rose-colored carpet.
"What are you doing?"
"Undressing."
I jerked a thumb at the bedroom, "Undress in there."
He began unbuttoning his shirt.
"In the other room, right now," I said.
He pulled the white shirt out of his pants, working the last few buttons as he walked towards me. The flesh of his chest and stomach had more color than the shirt. He was pumped up and human-looking on blood, part of it mine. The dried bloodstains that had soaked through the shirt marred the pale perfection of his body.
I expected him to try to kiss me, or something, but he walked past me. The back of the shirt was brownish with dried blood. He peeled it off his skin with a sound like tearing. He dropped the shirt on the carpet and walked into the bedroom.
I stood there staring after him. There had been white scars on his back. At least I thought that's what they were. Hard to tell through all the blood. He left the bedroom door open, and in a few minutes I heard water running in the bathtub.
I sat down in one of the straight-back chairs. I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to do. Water ran for a long time, then silence, then sloshing water. He was in the tub. He hadn't closed the bathroom door first. Great.
"Ma petite," he called.
I sat there for a minute, unwilling to move.
"Ma petite, I know you are there. I can hear you breathing."
I walked to the edge of the bedroom door, very careful not to look inside. I leaned my back against the wall and crossed my arms. "What do you want?"
"There seem to be no clean towels."
"What am I supposed to do about it?"
"Could you call down to housekeeping and have some sent up?"
"I guess so."
"Thank you, ma petite."
I stomped over to the phone, pissed. He'd known there were no clean towels before he got into the tub. Hell, I'd known there were no clean towels, but I'd been so busy listening to him splash around in the water I hadn't thought of it.
I was as mad at me as I was at him. He was always a tormenting son of a bitch. I was supposed to watch myself around him better than this. I was in a hotel room that looked like a freaking bridal suite with Jean-Claude all naked and soapy in the next room. After what I'd seen with Jason, there shouldn't have been this much sexual tension in the air, but there was. Maybe it was habit, or maybe Larry was right. I just didn't believe that Jean-Claude was a rotting corpse.
I called for more towels.
They would be happy to bring some up. No one bitched about the time. No one questioned. You can always tell how much you're paying for a room by how little they complain.
A maid brought me four big, soft towels. I looked at her for a full minute, hesitating. I could have her take the towels into Jean-Claude.
She said, "Ma'am?"
I took the towels, said thanks, and closed the door. I just couldn't let a strange woman see that I had a naked vampire in my tub. I wasn't even sure the vampire part was what made it embarrassing. Good girls do not end up with naked male anything in their bathtubs at four something in the morning. Maybe I wasn't a good girl. Maybe I never had been.
I hesitated at the bedroom door. The room was dark. The only light came from the bathroom, spilling in an oblong across the carpet.
I crushed the towels to my chest, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. I could see the bathtub from here, but mercifully not all of it. I had a glimpse of white porcelain and a mound of white bubbles. Just seeing the bubble bath made the muscles in my shoulders relax a little. Bubbles can hide a multitude of sins.
I stopped at the bathroom door.
Jean-Claude lay back against the edge of the tub. His black hair was wet and had obviously been cleaned. Strands of it clung to his bare shoulders. His arms lay propped on the edge of the bathtub, his head resting against the dark tile of the wall. One pale hand was suspended in midair as if reaching for something, but the hand was utterly limp. His eyes were closed, making black half-moons against his pale cheeks. Beads of water clung to his face and what I could see of his body. He looked almost asleep.
His knee came up through the mound of bubbles, a surprising glimpse of bare wet skin. He turned his head and opened his eyes. The midnight blue of his eyes seemed darker. Maybe it was the way the water made his hair seem heavier, blacker.
I took a shallow breath and said, "Here are the towels."
"Could you place them here, please?" He gestured with that one half-suspended hand.
"Here" was the closed top of the toilet, which was close enough to the tub for grabbing. "I'll, put them on the edge of the sink."
"I'll drip water all over the floor getting them from there," he said. His voice was neutral, no vampiric tricks, almost no tone at all.
He was right, and I was being silly. He wouldn't grab me and ravish me. If that'd been the plan, he could have done that years ago.
I placed the towels on the stool, eyes studiously anywhere but the tub.
"You must have questions about tonight," he said.
I glanced at him. The water on his naked torso caught the light like quicksilver. Suds clung to his chest, just under one nipple. I had a horrible urge to brush off the bubbles. I stepped back until I was standing by the far wall.
"It's not like you to offer answers," I said.
"I am feeling generous tonight." His voice had that quality that voices get when they are edging towards sleep.
"If you weren't naked in a tub of bubble bath, would you be offering to answer questions?"
He smiled then, a quick, familiar expression. "Perhaps not, but if I must answer your ravenous curiosity, isn't it more fun this way?"
"Fun for whom?"
"Both of us, if you would only admit it."
That got a smile from me, and I didn't want to smile. I didn't want to be enjoying watching him all soapy and wet. I wanted to be afraid of him, and I was, but I also wanted him. Wanted to run my hands down his wet flesh, wanted to touch what lay under those bubbles. I didn't want intercourse. I couldn't imagine that with him, but I wanted
to do a little exploring. I hated that. He was a corpse; surely what I'd seen tonight convinced me of that.
"You're frowning, ma petite; why?"
"I asked you if the two rotting vampires were illusion, you said no. I asked if your form was real, you said yes. Both forms are real, you said."
"That is true," he said.
"Are you a rotting corpse?"
He settled lower in the warm, soapy water, drawing his arms into it, until only his head showed above the surface of the water. "That is not one of my forms."
"That isn't an answer."
He raised a pale hand from the water, a handful of bubbles cupped like a snowball. "There are different vampiric abilities, ma petite; you know that."
"What's that have to do with it?"
He raised his other hand and began to play with the bubbles, trailing them from hand to hand. "Janos and his two female companions are a different type of vampire than I am. Than most of us are. They are much rarer. If you ever see me as a rotted corpse, I will be well and truly dead. They can rot and reform, and it makes them much harder to kill. The only true surety is fire."
"Volunteering an awful lot of information, aren't you?"
He lowered his hands in the water, washing the soap away. He sat up a little straighter; suds clung to his body. "Perhaps I am afraid you will think that what happened with Jason would happen with us."
"We will never test that theory," I said.
"You sound so sure of that," he said. "Your lust perfumes the air, and yet you truly believe that we will never make love. How can you want me almost as much as I want you, yet be sure we will never know each other's bodies?"
I wasn't sure I had an answer for that one. I slid down the wall and sat with my knees drawn up to my chest. The pocket with the gun in it clunked against the wall. I moved the gun to a better position and said, "We just won't, Jean-Claude, not ever. I just can't." A part of me regretted that, but only part.
"Why, ma petite?"
"Sex is about trust. I'd have to trust someone implicitly to have sex with them. I don't trust you."
He stared at me with his blue, blue eyes, looking all scrumptious and wet. "You mean that, don't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do."
"I do not understand you, ma petite. I try, but still I do not."
"You're pretty much a riddle to me, too. If that's any comfort."
"It isn't. If you were a woman who had casual lusts, we would have been in bed long ago." He sighed and sat up even straighter in the water so it hit him just above the waist. "Of course, if you were a woman of casual appetites, I don't think I would love you."
"You enjoy the chase, the challenge," I said.
"True, but it is more than that with you, if only you would believe me." He leaned forward, drawing his knees to his naked chest, rounding his shoulders to hug himself. White scars dribbled down his back from his shoulders to vanish into the water, not a lot of them, but enough.
"What made the scars on your back? Unless it was a holy item, you should have been able to heal them."
He laid his cheek on his knees so he could look at me. He looked younger, more human, vulnerable suddenly. "Not if the injury occurred before I died."
"Who whipped you?"
"I was the whipping boy for an aristocrat's son."
I stared at him. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Is that why Janos chose whips tonight, to remind you where you came from?"
"Yes."
"You weren't born into the aristocracy?"
"I was born in a house with a dirt floor, ma petite."
I looked at him. "Yeah, right."
He raised his head. "If I was going to make something up, ma petite, it would be more romantic, more entertaining than being a French peasant."
"So you were a servant in the castle?"
"I was their only son's constant companion. When he had clothes made, so did I. His tutor was my tutor. His riding instructor, mine. I learned swordplay and dancing and the proper way to eat at table. And when he was bad I was punished, because he was their only child, their only heir to an old family name. People speak of child abuse now." He leaned back in the tub, cuddling down into the warm water. "They complain of spanking. They have no idea what true abuse is. When I was a boy, parents thought nothing of taking a horse whip to a misbehaving child, or beating them bloody. Even the aristocrats beat their children. It was normal.
"But he was the only heir, the only child. So they paid money to my parents and took me. The lady of the manor chose me because I was fair of face. When the vampire who made me sought me out, she said my beauty called to her."
"Wait a minute."
He turned his head to give me the full weight of those dark blue eyes. I worked hard at not looking away.
"This gorgeous body and face is all vampire illusion, right? I mean, no one's this beautiful."
"I told you once that it was not my power that made you see me as you do, not most of the time at any rate."
"Serephina said you were a catamite for any vampire that would have you. What did she mean?"
"Vampires kill for food, but they bring others over for many reasons. Some for money, wealth, even title, love, but I was brought over for lust. When I was young and weak, they passed me around among them. One would grow tired of me, but there was always another."
I stared at him, horrified. "You're right. If you were going to make up a story, this wouldn't be it."
"The truth is so often disappointing, or ugly; don't you find that, ma petite?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Serephina was old. I thought vampires weren't supposed to age."
"Whatever age we die at is the age we remain."
"Did you know Serephina when you were young?"
"Yes."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"How could you let her touch you?"
"I was given to her as a gift by a master that makes even her new and improved powers seem weak. I had very little choice." He stared at me. "She knows what you want. Your greatest need, your most treasured wish, and she'll make it come true, or seem to. What did she offer you, ma petite? What could she offer you that nearly won you tonight?"
I looked away then; I didn't want to meet his eyes. "What did she offer you all those years ago?"
"Power."
I looked up at that. "Power?"
He nodded. "Power to escape them all."
"But you had to have the ability to be a master vampire inside you from the beginning. No one can give that to you," I said.
He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. "I know that now, but then I thought only she could save me from an eternity of..." His words trailed off and he submerged, leaving only a few black locks floating on the top of the water. He sat up with a loud breath of air, blinking the water from his eyes. The water had clumped his thick, dark eyelashes. He ran his hands through his wet hair, and it trailed over his shoulders.
"Your hair wasn't this long when we first met."
"You seem to prefer longer hair on your men."
"If you're dead, how can your hair grow?"
"That is a question for you to answer," he said. He ran his hands through his hair again, squeezing the ends out. He reached out a hand for a towel.
I scrambled to my feet. "I'll leave you to get dressed."
"Have Jason and Larry returned?" he asked.
"No."
"Then I won't be getting dressed." He stood, drawing the towel towards him. I had a glimpse of one side of his pale naked body, water streaming from it. The towel moved into view just in time. I fled.
30
I huddled in the straight-back chair farthest from the bedroom. But I was staring at the doorway. Shit. I wanted to run from the room, but why? It wasn't Jean-Claude I didn't trust. It was me. Fuck.
I touched the gun in my robe pocket. It was smooth and hard and reassuring, but it wouldn't help me now. Violence I understood;
sex gave me more problems.
I honestly didn't want to sleep with him, but part of me was hoping for another glimpse of naked flesh. A long line of naked thigh, perhaps. Or maybe... I put the palms of my hands over my eyes, as if I could get the image out of my head by just pressing.
"Ma petite?" His voice sounded closer than the bathroom.
I didn't want to look, as if, just as Grandma Blake had said, I'd be struck blind. I felt him standing in front of me. Felt the movement of air. I lowered my hands a millimeter at a time. He was kneeling in front of me, one of the thick white towels wrapped around his waist.
I lowered my hands to my lap. Beads of water still clung to his skin. He'd combed his hair, but it was wet, slicked back, leaving his face plainer, more unadorned than normal. His eyes seemed bluer without his hair to frame them.
He put a hand on each chair arm and raised himself up. His lips brushed mine in a soft, nearly chaste kiss. He moved back from me, letting go of the chair.
I could taste my heart in my throat, and it wasn't fear.
Jean-Claude touched my hands, lifted them up. He placed my hands on his bare shoulders. The skin was warm, smooth, wet. He held my wrists in his hands, lightly, very lightly. I could have pulled away at any time. He ran my hands down his slick body.
I pulled my hands free. He said nothing, did nothing. He stayed kneeling, looking at me. Waiting. I could see the pulse in his neck jumping against the skin, and I wanted to touch it.
I slid my hands across his shoulders and lowered my face to his. He started to move into me for a kiss, but I slid my hand along his jaw and turned his head away. I touched lips to his neck and slid my mouth down his skin, until I could taste his pulse beating against my tongue. He tasted of perfumed soap, water, and clean skin.
I slid from the chair to the floor, kneeling in front of him. He was taller now, but not too tall. I licked water off his chest, and let myself do something I'd wanted to do for months. I ran my tongue over his nipple, and he shuddered against me.
I licked water off the center of his chest and ran my hands along his waist up the damp curve of his back.
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