by Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Vickie Taylor
When the clerk, a short man with a freckled, egg-shaped, shaved head, turned away to run the card, Liam muttered, "You got a credit card?"
"You know all those 'Cardholder for ten years,' 'Cardholder for twenty years' ads?" she whispered back.
"Don't even tell me."
"Well, I've had one for a long time."
He snickered and, when the clerk came back, said, "Can we get a window facing west?"
The clerk blinked. "Oh, sure."
"Got to take care of my skin," Liam said, totally straight-faced. Sophie almost laughed; Liam looked like a farmer, which was to say he was deeply tanned, with wrinkles around his eyes and hands like leather blocks. He was the SPF association's nightmare.
"Oh, really," Sophie said, rolling her eyes a minute later when they were in the elevator.
"Well, didn't think it was too good to tell him the truth."
"Hotel employees have heard it all. He likely wouldn't have batted an eye."
Liam grunted and glanced down at the key card, which looked almost tiny in his large, capable hand. "We'll draw the drapes, should do the trick, yeah?"
"Yes."
"Or you can sleep with your whole self under the covers."
She almost laughed at the mental image of her deeply unconscious self swaddled in covers deep in the middle of a king-sized hotel bed. "I think closing the curtains will be fine." She followed him out of the elevator and down the hall. "But you don't… ah… I needn't… I don't have to sleep in the bed. With you."
He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised. "Well, where the hell you supposed to sleep? The tub?"
"I was only suggesting—you've been so kind—I do not wish to make you ill at ease."
"The clams we had will do that all by themselves."
She couldn't resist a small scold. "Well, Liam, it was a restaurant that specialized in chicken. What were you thinking?"
"That I like clams," he said cheerfully, opening their door. "Tough to get in northern Minnesota."
"There's a reason," she retorted, sidling past him. It was a standard hotel room, clean but not exceptional. She eyed the king-sized bed a little nervously… it had been a long, long time. "Do you wish to have something else? Shall I call room service?"
"Naw, naw. Listen, Sophie…" He sat down on the end of the bed and pulled his boots off, sighing and wiggling his toes in clean white socks. "How come you paid for the room? I mean, why didn't you use your, I dunno, your evil vampire powers and just hypnotize him or whatever?"
"But why? I have money." In fact, quite a bit of it, courtesy of her late great-great-grandfather. Sophie had been lucky enough to sell the vineyard before the blight that took more than half the grapes. But that was a long time ago. She forced herself back to the present, to Liam and the hotel room. "And why get the clerk in trouble? He would have to explain why he let someone stay for free. I don't mind paying."
"Oh. Uh-huh. Well, not that I'm sayin' you should have done it, I was just curious. If I could zap people like you do, I probably wouldn't pay for a damn thing." He paused for a minute, then chuckled. "And I love the way you talk. 'Why get zee clerk in trouble.' Heh. Didja know, when you get nervous, you don't use contractions?"
"Thank you. I did not know that." She cleared her throat, a harsh bark; she never had enough saliva to pull it off. "Ah. I need to go out for a bit. But if you change your mind about room service, please feel free to order whatever you wish. I should return shortly."
"Whoa, whoa." Quick as a flash, he was off the bed and gently grasping her wrist. "Where you off to? What's the matter?"
"I… uh… I need to… well, you've had your meal, and now I must—"
"Oh. Right!" He was silent for a moment, and she started prying his fingers off her arm, careful not to hurt him. She'd been doing this too long to be embarrassed, nor did she want to have a long discussion about it. She was what she was and there was no use talking about it. "Well, shoot, I'm right here. Why not me?"
She stopped in mid-pry, shocked. "Really? You'd do that? But… why in the world?"
"You're a good girl, Sophie," he said gruffly. "I'm not worried. And I don't think you should be wandering around Minneapolis by your lonesome."
"Liam… I don't want to hurt your feelings, because I'm incredibly flattered. You have no idea what a gift you've offered me—"
"I guess I do," he corrected her. "It's my blood, y'know."
She nodded and continued. "But I just don't think it's appropriate… We live in the same town, but we don't really know each other. And you'll feel… when… if… I feed on you, it will be very… sexual. And I would never want to push you… in that way. My friend Ed—"
"—was a lucky man, that's what I think." He took her in his arms, carefully, as if she might crack like a china dish. "And the only way you could hurt me is if you sent me away and picked some stranger." Then he kissed her.
She clung to his shoulders and opened her mouth for him, glorying in the feel of his arms around her, his tongue exploring her. He smelled wonderful, like cotton sheets just out of the dryer (with a faint clam underhint). His hands moved restlessly over her back and she pulled his T-shirt up and stroked his hard stomach.
"As for the sex part… shoot, I've wanted you for years. I wanted you before I even knew what wanting really was."
She nearly swooned onto the bed… he was just darling! He looked like a hard-working eighteenth-century farmer, and he had the soul of a Renaissance poet. "It's been a long time," she whispered, marveling at the feel of his smooth skin. She had to be almost twice his age, though she didn't look it. Did he mind?
Did she?
"Yeah, I figure… Ed's been gone awhile…"
"Not with Ed. Ed and I were friends, nothing more." She smiled shakily. "We shared blood and friendship and that's all. It's been a long time."
"Well, I hear you on that one." He had pulled her cardigan off, unzipped the back of her simple summer dress, then stepped back as her clothes fell to the floor. "Oh, cripes, Sophie. I thought about this a million times, and you're about a zillion times prettier than I could have ever thought up on my own."
She reached behind and unsnapped her bra (even the undead liked support), and her small breasts bounced free. He sucked in a breath and then bent to her, kissing her neck and her cleavage, his tongue darting out to caress a nipple.
"A long time," she repeated, and ripped his shirt over his head so hard she almost threw him to the floor. "Oh! I beg your pardon."
He laughed and tackled her, bringing her to the bed, and they wrestled for a moment, their clothes the casualties.
She crept down the length of his sweetly muscled body, inhaling his musk, stroked his throbbing length for a moment and, when he groaned beneath her busy fingers, carefully sucked him into her mouth.
His hands fisted in her hair, tumbling it loose from the clips, and she pulled him into her throat with no trouble at all, pleasantly surprised to find that sex really was like riding a bicycle. But her growing hunger could not be denied much longer—any longer—so finally she pulled back, licked his thigh, then sank her fangs into his femoral artery. Salty sweetness flooded her mouth and she nearly rolled to the floor with the goodness of it, the Tightness of it.
He groaned again, his hands still restless in her hair, and she fed, immediately contented. She could feel his penis, hot against her cheek, almost jerking as she took her pleasure from him, as he took pleasure in return.
Once she had enough—it never took much, thank goodness the movies were wrong about that, among other things—she could politely return to the festivities, so she sat up and straddled him.
"Oh, Jesus," he said, and she flinched. "Oh, shit!"
She laughed.
"Don't worry about it." He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands. Sophie wriggled with delight as Liam stroked her dark nipples with his thumbs. She positioned herself more carefully and between one moment and the next, he was sliding inside her, filling her as she had w
anted to be filled for too many years. His eyes, that vivid blue she had always admired, slipped closed.
Liam groaned again and shifted his hands to her hips, helping her find a rhythm they both liked. She bent forward and bit him at the neck; she couldn't help it. He shivered and moved against her faster and she met his thrusts with her own urgency. Oh, glory, it was wonderful to be with someone again, to have that connection, to feed, to be fucked. Liam was giving her everything she had longed for, all at once. It was almost too much; for a moment she was nearly delirious with happiness. Then she realized she had mistaken her orgasm for delirium.
She pulled away from his neck, almost laughing, and said aloud, "These things happen. Did you… ?"
"I'm gonna die now," he announced, answering her question. "That pretty much killed me."
"You look pretty lively to me," she teased. She started to climb off him but he tightened his grip in wordless denial, so she merely shifted and lay beside him.
"Have I mentioned I'm so damned glad you didn't go out tonight?"
"Well, no. I am, too."
"So, okay," he sighed, stroking her shoulders. "I guess this is where we do the pillow-talk, but I'm so friggin' tired…"
"It's been a long night," she told him. "For both of us. Go to sleep."
"You first," he yawned, but she didn't, of course, and finally he quit fighting it and she watched him sleep. For a long time.
7
"DO you think you should check with Jerry?"
"Huh?" He scraped off another inch of shaving cream and met her eyes in the mirror. "How come? Hey, you've got a reflection!"
"Of course I do," she said impatiently. "Did you make arrangements for your pets before we left?"
"Yeah, I dropped the Gladiator off with Tommy… kid's crazy for dogs and his mom said it was okay. Him and Rusher can eat garbage together."
"I hope you're talking about Gladiator and Rusher," she said, smirking. She stretched up and kissed him between the shoulder blades. He shivered, then scraped off more shaving cream.
"You keep that up," he said, "you'll have your hands full."
"Perish the thought." She kissed him again, to tease, then asked, "What about the cats?"
"The cats?"
Odd. He was a smart man, but he seemed to have trouble following the conversation this evening. "Yes, Liam, your cats."
"Right. They're, uh, not really… I mean, they show up, and I feed them…" He caught her expression in the mirror. "I'll just double-check with Jerry," he added hurriedly, then wiped his face with the towel. She followed him into the other room and watched as he dialed a phone number.
"It's much cheaper to use my cell phone," she commented.
"Eh, you got the bucks."
"Just because I have it, doesn't mean I wish to waste it."
"Cripes, are all vampires such nags?"
She almost laughed, but managed to keep looking stern.
"Yeah, Jerry? It's me, Liam… yeah, listen, you mind keeping an eye on my place for a couple days? Yeah, the cats pretty much take care of themselves… they keep the mice population down in the barn so you don't gotta worry about feeding them, and there's fresh water over by the pump, but just… uh… check in on 'em every day or so? You mind? Yeah, I'll be back—what? No, Sophie and me didn't run off together. I mean, we did, but we'll be back… right?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "We'll be back? Yeah, she's nodding… uh-huh. None of your damn business, and thanks for watching the cats." He hung up. "There, can I finish shaving now?"
"Yes, please," she said, still trying not to laugh. Embarrass was a small town; she could just imagine the storm of gossip that had arisen when she and Liam had disappeared together.
He muttered something as he passed her, but even her attuned vampire hearing didn't catch it. It sounded like, "Women." Such things, it seemed, transcended age.
"I just don't think—"
"I'm goin'."
"But I'm not sure you realize—"
"Goin'."
"But it isn't necessary for you to—"
"Sophie."
"But—"
"Sophie."
She slumped back against the seat and sighed, something she didn't often do. He was impossible. Implacable. Men! She'd forgotten how oddly protective they could get after a little hip-bumping.
The last thing she needed was to bring a sheep to the library; Marjorie was a little touchy on subjects like that. The head librarian was so old, and so infinitely crafty, most people were drooling idiots in comparison. Especially most humans, who had only a fraction of her life span and knowledge. Subsequently, the old vampire didn't suffer fools lightly. Liam wasn't a fool, but compared to Marjorie…
Well, this was for the greater good, and the thought of restraining Liam—knocking him out, somehow, like they did in the movies?—did not sit well with her. She would just have to…
Her truck door swung open and Liam stuck his head in. "You coming?"
"Yes," she replied through gritted teeth. "In fact, would you kindly follow me."
"No problem," he said, cheerful now that he saw he was getting his way. He pointedly ignored all her glares and sulks and followed her into the building, which looked like an abandoned warehouse.
Inside, of course, was a different story.
"Huh," Liam said, looking around. "Looks a lot smaller from the outside."
"Good evening, Sophie," Marjorie said, standing right beside the main desk, looking (as she always did) as if she had been waiting just for them.
"Marjorie," she replied, and they kissed on both cheeks. She didn't bother introducing Liam; Marjorie wouldn't have cared. "I'm not here to relax and read, I'm afraid. I need to meet with the queen tonight. Can you arrange it?"
Marjorie wrinkled her brow. She was a tallish woman with excellent posture and black hair streaked with gray. Her dark eyes were cold, though, and any resemblance to someone's youngish grandmother was strictly imaginary. "I don't keep her appointments, I'm afraid. But I can give you directions to her house."
"You mean just… go there?"
Marjorie shrugged apologetically. "It's how things are done now."
"Since Nostro was killed?"
"Yes. The new queen is somewhat… relaxed in her rules."
"Well, there's nothing for it," Sophie said, nibbling on her lower lip. "I must speak with her. It can't wait another night."
"Of course. You're in luck, too," she added, nodding in Liam's direction. "She's fond of sheep. She has a couple of them herself."
"Uh…"
"Excuse me," Liam said. "I was having a little trouble with that one. What's a mouton?"
Startled, Sophie realized she and Marjorie had been speaking in French the entire time. "Liam, I apologize. When Marjorie greeted us in French I just slipped into it—"
"That's okay. I was gettin' most of it. All those For Dummies books and tapes are really good," he added.
Sophie blinked. "You studied French on your own?" Of course he did, she realized. The high school didn't offer it. Only Spanish.
"Well… yeah. Because you… I mean, nobody in town knows anything about you, except that you're French. And I thought, you know, if I knew your language, we could maybe…" He shrugged. "I dunno."
Overcome, Sophie was for a moment unable to speak. She merely gaped at him like a fish while Marjorie shifted her weight impatiently. Finally, she turned to the older woman and managed, "We'll take that map, thank you."
"I've got it right here for you."
Wordlessly, Sophie took the piece of paper. As Marjorie always looked as though she was waiting for whoever came to see her, she also always had exactly what that person needed. The older vampires were all used to it.
"Thank you for coming by," the librarian was saying. "And thank you for bringing your sheep. He smells divine."
"I ain't a sheep," Liam said flatly. His midwestern drawl, usually pleasant and unassuming, had hardened. "I'm a man. Her man."
Marjorie smirked, but Sophi
e was suddenly ashamed. Equally suddenly, she didn't care for the smile on Marjorie's face. "Of course, Liam. I—I—" She had no clue what to say. Should she apologize? But Marjorie had been the one who had given offense. Although she herself had referred to Liam as a sheep, in her mind. Should she—
"Really, that's charming," Marjorie said. Her smirk had widened until she looked like a gray-haired jack-o'-lantern. "If you get tired of this one, Sophie darling, I do hope—"
"You want to step outside and talk about it some more?" he interrupted.
"Liam!" Sophie nearly shrieked.
"What? I'm a feminist. 'Sides, she's probably got six hundred years on me."
"Eight hundred," Marjorie said dryly.
"Anyways, I'm an equal opportunity ass-kicker. Nobody talks to me that way. I might be a nobody from some small town, but I'm not… you know. A nobody."
Sophie fought the urge to bury her face in her hands.
Meanwhile, Marjorie's brow wrinkled as she digested that, and then she smiled, quite naturally. "I don't want to step outside with you. And I apologize if I offended you. I'm just used to things being… a certain way."
"Yes, well, just a simple misunderstanding, we must be going now," Sophie said, almost babbled, seizing Liam's arm so hard he winced. "Thank you for the information."
"You're so welcome." She shook Liam's hand. "So nice to meet you. Please stop by anytime. The library is not restricted to the undead." She said this with such total sincerity, Sophie almost believed her.
"Yeah, well. Guess I got a little hot under the collar."
"Yes, you did." Marjorie's eyes were veiled, and a smoky gray. "It was quite… interesting. As I said. Stop by anytime."
"Say, anybody ever tell you, you're kind of cute? I—ow!"
"Good-bye," Sophie called, and practically dragged him out by the hair.
8
SOPHIE was still crabbing away at him while they were going up the sidewalk. The gist of it was "Never pick fights with vampires," like any fool didn't know that. But there was a big difference between keeping your head down and letting someone pull it off and hand it to you. Maybe French people didn't get that.