Samson's Lovely Mortal

by Tina Folsom

  Samson knew it was madness to pursue the human woman, but he was desperate. He needed sex, and he needed it soon, otherwise he’d turn into a dangerous beast whose moods could no longer be controlled. He would become a liability not only to himself but also to those around him. He had worked too hard in the last two centuries to let all his achievements go to pot because of sexual frustration.

  Less than half an hour after he’d left his home, he reached his shrink’s office and stormed in. Time was of the essence. He’d never felt this kind of urgency before.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Dr. Drake raised an eyebrow. “What’s so important that you couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

  “Something’s happened.”

  He looked at him and the shrink’s eyes flickered. “Oh. Tell me who she is and what she did.”

  “That’s just it. I have no idea.” Samson let himself fall into the coffin, stretching out his full length on the soft cushion.

  His doctor stared at him in disbelief. Samson had never in all his sessions used the coffin and always insisted on sitting in the chair. Or paced impatiently about the room.

  As Samson recalled the incident with Delilah blow by blow, Drake listened intently, taking in every word. At the same time he observed his patient’s demeanor, breathing, and movements.

  “What does it mean?” Samson asked eagerly.

  “Interesting. And you said the stripper left you cold after that woman aroused you?”

  “Like I said. As if I’d stepped into a freezer.”

  “Interesting.” He steepled his fingers in front of his face with his elbows resting on his armrests. “In our session last week you mentioned something about missing something. Can you elaborate on that?”

  “Now?” Samson shot him an exasperated look.

  “I think it’s important in relation to this event.”

  Samson huffed. “Fine. I just—I can’t really put my finger on it. There was this void, no matter what I did, how much I achieved. It always felt as if I wasn’t complete, as if an important part of me was missing.”

  “In what way?”

  “Emotionally.” Samson let out a sigh. “There was this yearning for something that would finally complete me. I believed that the blood-bond would have filled that emptiness. It had to.”

  “The blood-bond with Ilona? I doubt it.”

  “What makes you say that, doc?”

  “A blood-bond is but a formal culmination of what’s already there. The bond already exists. The ritual only formalizes it. The ritual can’t complete you, if you haven’t already found this completion in your mate.”

  “I don’t get it. The ritual creates the bond. That’s what I’ve been taught.”

  Drake shook his head. “A common misconception amongst our kind.”

  “I didn’t feel the bond with Ilona, not like you describe it. I thought it would be obvious later, after the ritual.”

  “Trust me; you’re not the only one who believes it. But if you didn’t feel the connection to her before, then you weren’t meant to blood-bond with her. It’s not something you can force. In any case, I now understand better why you reacted the way you did when things fell apart with Ilona. It all makes sense now.”

  Drake got up and walked to the coffin.

  “Comfortable?”

  Samson’s head jerked around, and suddenly he realized where he was. He instantly jumped up, putting distance between him and the offending coffin. “What the…?” He was losing it, definitely losing it. Not only did he not understand Drake’s cryptic explanation, nothing in his life made sense right now.

  “Uh huh.”

  “What? Damn it, what?” Samson needed an answer. What was he paying the quack for?

  “I think I know what might have happened. By being confronted with a vulnerable human, you’ve allowed yourself to become vulnerable again and stripped away your layer of protection. And as soon as you were with the vampire female, that wall went right back up, and your dick went down.”

  “Thanks for the colorful illustration. I suppose you’re charging me for this insight?” As if he needed a mental picture of his limp dick.

  “Hmh, a mortal. I mean, it could work. It’s entirely possible. Many of our kind have sex with humans. Of course, it would be dangerous—for her, at least, but if you were careful … Well, yes, it could work.”

  Dumbfounded, Samson looked at him. What was the quack waffling about? Was he talking to himself? “Damn it, doc, what the fuck do I do now?”

  “Listen, and just once do what I suggest. Just once. Find that woman again and have sex with her. Get it out of your system. I promise you: once you’ve had her, your body will remember what it was like and go back to normal. Trust me on this.”

  “But she’s a mortal. Don’t you understand?” The good doctor couldn’t have forgotten this small detail that easily.

  “I fully understand the implications, trust me. I understand the danger she’ll be in.”

  “I’m not so sure you do. If I lose control, I could seriously maim her, possibly kill her. In the heat of passion, caution is my least concern. There’s no telling what I’ll do. Bite her? Suck her dry? Kill her?” The very thought was revolting. “After such a long abstinence, how can I be sure I can control my body?”

  “What is she to you? Nothing, just a mortal, a human. Take what you need from her, and get on with your life. You need to have sex with her as soon as possible; otherwise, this window of opportunity might close again. Don’t you see? It’s like she was sent to you to help you. Do it, and stop worrying about the consequences. Heck, she might even enjoy it, considering your reputation …” Drake had the audacity to chuckle.

  Samson nodded. Maybe he could do that. He knew what he was capable of in bed. He’d always lived up to his reputation. He would be careful, try to be gentle so she would enjoy it. He’d have to make sure of it. That was the least he could do, give her a night of ultimate pleasure, a nice memory. And if his doctor thought it was that simple, maybe it was. For once he had to agree with his shrink. Damn, he wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless, and now he had the doctor’s order to do so.

  ***

  Delilah sank into the warm tub and wished she’d bought bubble bath. She was in the mood for a long, hot soak, and bubbles would have been perfect. Her body ached from the tension. She tried not to think of the thug who’d grabbed her, but instead concentrated on her unlikely rescuer.

  She hadn’t really been able to savor his kiss since she’d been too preoccupied with fighting him off. Too late. She’d already screwed it up. With her luck, he would be finding a much more willing participant in the stripper who had obviously been hired for that purpose. Men could be such pigs.

  If she hadn’t been such a prude, maybe he would have sent his friends and the stripper packing and … Oh, what was she thinking?

  Dreamer. Hopeless romantic.

  Gorgeous men like him didn’t exactly fall for boring little auditors like her. And besides, she was a little too starved for some affection. Okay, maybe a lot. So maybe she hadn’t dated a lot lately, okay, maybe not even a little. God, who was she kidding? She hadn’t been with a man in over a year, and even before that she had barely dated.

  Why would some man like he even be interested in her? He probably had all kinds of women swooning over him. He looked like the perfect eligible bachelor. Yes, she had noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding band. And he was obviously well off. Living in an old Victorian in Nob Hill with a private chauffeur and limousine to boot just reeked of money, old money. Even as a non-San Franciscan she knew that Nob Hill was a very expensive area.

  She’d noticed the elegance of the home with its rich furnishings, the old paintings on the walls, the expensive crystal he had served her brandy in. The bathroom she had changed her clothes in had shown the same elegant style. It appeared he had either bought the house in excellent condition or painstakingly restored every period detail
of it.

  But the money didn’t even figure into her attraction for him. The man oozed sex appeal from every pore of his body. And she would love to lick it off him, every single drop of it.

  Great!

  Now she wouldn’t be able to sleep all night. She’d be thinking of Prince Charming. Prince Charming who had kissed her because he thought she was a stripper. Would he even have tried if he’d known she was only some little auditor?

  Work. She’d completely forgotten about it. She wanted to look at the files she had remotely sent to her virtual server without John noticing. Reluctantly, Delilah stepped out of the bathtub and dried off. A few hours of computer work would probably make her tired after all so she could get some sleep before she was due back at the office in the morning.

  While her laptop booted up, she peeked in the refrigerator. Except for the leftovers of last night’s dinner, it was empty. She popped the carton into the microwave for a couple of minutes.

  Delilah logged into her virtual file server and pulled down the files. Long rows and columns of transactions stared at her. This could take a while. She dug into the leftover pasta, eating it straight out of the container.

  Three hours later she was beat. Her eyes were hurting, and even rubbing them every two minutes didn’t make them stay open any longer. Time for bed.

  But her well-deserved rest wouldn’t come.

  She tossed.

  She turned.

  She lay on her side, her back, her stomach.

  No use. Sleep wasn’t meant to be. A sound startled her. In the dark she couldn’t see anything. But she felt a heavy weight on her body, pressing her into the mattress. Hands touching her. Lips kissing. A hot tongue licking her neck. Not unpleasant, but unknown.

  A body pinning her down, strong thighs imprisoning her. A hand sweeping her hair clear of her neck. A mouth kissing her neck. Until suddenly …

  No!

  Sharp razor-like teeth latched onto her neck and pierced her skin. Warm liquid ran down her neck. But the sensation wasn’t painful. It was … pleasurable!

  Then a loud repetitive sound.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm. It rudely woke her. She jerked up. It was day. Her hand went to her neck where she had sensed the bite, but her skin was smooth, perfect like always. No wound. No blood. Just another bad dream.

  At least she had slept, if not much. Probably only three or four hours in all.

  A look at the clock told her she had to get herself over to the office, and pronto. She had finally found several transactions in the files she’d reviewed overnight that didn’t make sense. She wanted to confirm her assumptions by accessing the original paper documentation in the office. She had a hunch that she was onto something.

  After a rushed shower, Delilah dressed quickly and glanced at the clothes she had come back in. Samson’s clothes. At least she had a reason to see him again. Okay, it was called an excuse. She could bring the clothes back to him. Maybe he would invite her in. She would try to stop by tonight after work and hope he was home. Home alone.

  A look out the window told her it was still drizzling; she would be better off taking her umbrella to work today. While she searched for it in the hallway closet, she heard a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Gregory, from downstairs. Delivery for you.”

  She liked the fact the building had a concierge service. It made her feel safer, especially after the attack the night before.

  Delilah opened the door and couldn’t even see Gregory’s face behind the two-dozen red roses he carried.

  “Good morning, Miss Sheridan.” The strong scent almost overwhelmed her. They were beautiful and as dark red as blood.

  “Wow! Are you sure they’re for me?” She knew nobody here. Besides, it wasn’t her birthday or Valentine’s Day or anything special like that.

  “Yes; the gentleman who brought them gave me your name. And this.” He handed her a hanger with clothes wrapped in plastic. Her clothes.

  Samson. How had he gotten her clothes cleaned and dried so fast? Was Samson downstairs? Her heart fluttered excitedly and her hands suddenly felt clammy.

  “I believe there’s a card with the flowers.” Gregory sat the vase with the flowers on the side table in the foyer before he left.

  “Thank you.”

  After she shut the door and hung her clothes in the wardrobe, she looked for the card. Why would he send her two-dozen red roses?

  The card was handwritten in neat old-fashioned letters.

  My sincerest apologies for last night. Will you do me the honor and join me for the theater tonight? May I pick you up at 7pm? Samson Woodford. P.S. My assistant Oliver is waiting downstairs for your response.

  The butterflies in her stomach started to dance. She had to sit down. He was asking her out.

  On a date.

  A date!

  What should she do first? Go downstairs and talk to his assistant, or finish getting ready for work? Oh God, she was flustered. The butterflies in her stomach were dancing. They would do so all day, she was sure.

  A young man was patiently waiting in the lobby of the building.

  “Miss Sheridan?”

  “Are you Mr. Woodford’s assistant? Oliver?” He was dressed in a dark formal business suit, just like Samson’s driver the night before.

  “Yes, Ma’am. He has asked me to wait for your response.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Please tell Mr. Woodford I’d be delighted to join him tonight.”

  “He will be happy to hear that.”

  She nodded at him and went to the double doors to make her way to work.

  “Uh, Miss Sheridan?”

  She turned, curious to see what else he wanted. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Woodford has also asked me to offer to drive you wherever you might need to go.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m just going to work. It’s not far. Thank you.”

  “Please allow me. The limousine is right outside.”

  He gallantly opened the door for her and led her to the car. Why was Samson spoiling her like that? Or was she dreaming again? This couldn’t possibly be real.

  Delilah gave Oliver the address of the office and settled in for a smooth ride. The noise of the city didn’t penetrate the car. It was almost like a little safe haven. What luxury. Somewhere, sometime she would have to pay for this luxury—in a cosmic kind of way. Nothing was free. Not in her world.

  ***

  Even though it was already daylight outside, Samson was still up. He was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep yet. He had to know if Delilah would accept his invitation to the theater.

  After getting back from Dr. Drake’s office, he’d spent the rest of the night reviewing reports from the different branches of his company, Scanguards.

  When he’d been turned into a vampire at the start of the nineteenth century, he’d realized very quickly that even a vampire needed money to live. On a whim, he’d started hiring himself out to protect travelers at night. It turned out security was a profitable enterprise. It also meant there was always a large supply of lowlifes and criminals from which he could feed, while protecting a wealthy traveler or an expensive shipment.

  Later, he’d turned his one-man enterprise into a company and hired other likeminded vampires. As a vampire, he finally achieved the success which had eluded him as a human. It was ironic that, as a vampire, he was able to protect the very lives so many of his fellow vampires wanted to destroy. It was Samson’s way of preserving his humanity.

  Now his nationwide firm provided security guards and bodyguards to corporations, celebrities, foreign dignitaries, and other individuals. While he’d kept the company’s headquarters in New York, he’d decided to withdraw to San Francisco to live a quieter and more normal life. As normal as life could be for a vampire.

  Many of his employees were fellow vampires, mostly working as night guards or bodyguards. He’d groomed several human managers who became the daytime face of Scanguards
and dealt with the public. Very few of his human employees knew, or had ever seen, Samson. And Samson wouldn’t recognize many of his human employees if he met them on the street. He liked it that way.

  He kept out of the day-to-day running of the business, but liked to keep up to date by reviewing all important reports from the various branches. He would only intervene if things started sliding. There were always little problems somewhere, but he trusted his managers to take care of the small stuff. He wasn’t a micro manager.

  Ricky, Amaury, and Thomas all worked for him. Ricky was in charge of vampire recruitment, Amaury dealt with real estate, and Thomas was chief of IT. Their friendship didn’t get in the way of work—well, most of the time at least. Milo had started hanging out with them since he and Thomas had become an item almost nine months earlier.

  The blackout shades in Samson’s lavishly decorated bedroom were drawn as he sat on his four-poster bed and flipped through the reports, every few seconds glancing at his cell phone. He’d sent his assistant Oliver off to Delilah’s apartment over half an hour ago and had still not received a text message back.

  Oliver was human and acted as his eyes and ears during the day. He was one of the very few humans who knew Samson was a vampire. Samson had saved Oliver from a life of crime, and his prodigy repaid him with loyalty and dedication.

  Carl, who was a vampire, was his driver, butler and personal assistant at night. Samson’s personal employees earned more than many managers in large companies did. It wasn’t that he was extraordinarily generous, but he knew human and vampire natures very well. If staff were paid extremely well and treated even better, they were loyal. And loyalty was paramount to him.

  What took Oliver so long? Was Delilah not up yet? He looked at the antique clock on the mantle. It was past eight o’clock, and he was getting extremely tired. As a vampire he was able to stay up during daytime, but at a somewhat diminished capacity. His senses weren’t as sharp, and his energy level was lower than normal. Of course he couldn’t go outside, because the rays of the sun would burn him to ash. But he could move about the house as long as no direct sunlight touched him.