"Are you thinking of your children?"
"Yes," I lied. I had been thinking of myself, of my pain, of my inability to let go of the past. Oh hell. I had thirty-six years of a past. I glanced at Patrick, who studied the teddy with an interest that sent daggers of heat shooting through me. He had a much longer past. How much did he remember? How much could he forget?
"How old are you?"
"I was born in the year 1869, in what archaeologists now refer to as B.C.E., which means 'Before Common Era.'"
"So… you're old."
"I was born almost two thousand years before Jesus Christ walked the earth." He grinned. "So, yes, I'm old."
I did the math and stared at him in shock. "You're telling me that you're almost four thousand years old."
He nodded.
"Wow. You look good for your age." Well, hell, I would never have to be worried about being the December to his May. He had a good four millennia on me, now, didn't he? I chuckled. Patrick looked at me oddly and I realized he didn't know the reason for my laughter. I shrugged, offering a smile instead of an explanation.
"Bryan and Jenny believe that you have a very contagious flu bug. We let them see you on the cameras and that seemed to satisfy them. They had a lot of questions about the RV, my men, and the sudden security system. For dinner, Stan found some frozen pizza in the freezer and made one cheese and one supreme. I read two chapters of Harry Potter to Jenny. And your clann were tucked into bed by ten p.m."
As Patrick reported on the day's activities, his gaze lingered too long on my breasts, which were barely covered by the teddy's flimsy lace.
"Clann?"
"Children." Patrick smiled.
"Huh. Well, sounds like you have everything under control." I sounded sullen even to my own ears.
"You don't sound pleased."
"That's because a mother wants to feel needed while invoking her right to bitch about how unappreciated she is."
"I see." His tone indicated his confusion. You would think that a man with centuries and centuries to study the human condition would figure out a few things about women. Just one or two really important ones. Hmph. Too much to ask from an immortal, was it?
I felt useless and helpless and very much alone. Last night, things happened so fast. The events had been so surreal that I hadn't really believed I'd been attacked and brought back from death. But here I was again, drinking blood, getting visited by Patrick, the hunky vamp, and contemplating a very long life that had no meaning. A life where I would outlive my children.
Pain riveted me to the bed and the sheets twisted in my agitated grip. No, no, no. Patrick and his crew had disturbed the natural order of the parent-child relationship by saving me. I hated the idea of Bryan and Jenny struggling in a world without their parents, but I couldn't fathom a world without them in it.
"Put it away, a thaisce," said Patrick. "If you try to figure out everything at once, you'll go mad."
I took his advice. I'd think about the vampire mom thing later. I would figure something out. I always did. Patrick rolled closer to me and stroked my hair. His kindness gave me the courage to finally ask the question I'd dreaded. "Why didn't you tell me you were the Lorćan?"
Patrick looked startled. He lifted up, leaned on one elbow, and frowned at me. "The Lorćan?"
"Isn't that the name of the creature that hurt me… and probably others, given that Dr. Michaels called me the first victim?"
"It's his name," he admitted softly, "but it's not a variety of monster, love. Lorćan is a Gaelic name given to sons. It means 'little fierce one.'"
"Half of it is right." I glanced at Patrick. "He had eyes just like yours."
"He's me brother, darlin'." His silver eyes glinted. "Me twin brother."
Brother? Brother! I had almost wrenched off the neck of Patrick's twin. I didn't know how to feel about that. What if I had known without a doubt that the thing wasn't Patrick? Fear and repulsion skittered through me on tiny rat claws. I would've killed it. Him. I would've killed Lorćan to protect my children and myself. Was that the mother in me? Or the vampire?
Patrick seemed to be waiting for my reaction. I didn't know what to say or do so I went with, "That's why he had an Irish accent."
He was on me so fast I didn't see him move, not even with my improved vision. Before I knew it, I was underneath him, his hands clenching my shoulders, his face an inch from mine. "He spoke to you?"
Fear thumped inside my still heart. My stomach roiled at the fierceness of Patrick's gaze. His grip was painful. "I… he… damn, Patrick, you're scaring the crap out of me."
He closed his eyes, probably searching for patience, and after a moment or two, he opened his peepers. He looked less intense, thank God, and his grasp on my shoulders relaxed. He tucked me into a more comfortable position, which included fitting his semierect penis between my thighs. My breasts were flattened against his chest; my nipples, rasped by the teddy's shimmery material, peaked into hard buds. Patrick's growl let me know that he noticed the reaction. The cock between my thighs hardened, pushing against some really sensitive bits that hadn't been touched by male flesh in a while. I swallowed my moan.
"Tell me about Lorćan. What did he say to you?"
"He apologized," I whispered. His gaze reminded me of silver fire, leaping and crackling with restrained emotion. Was it anger? Did ol' Stan tell Patrick I almost beheaded the beast brother? Or was that desire sparking there? I relaxed against the bed, soaking in the feel of his skin against mine. I didn't care that he wasn't warm, that I couldn't feel his breath on my neck as he bent to nuzzle my collarbone.
There's something wonderful and safe about a strong man with his arms wrapped around a woman. And erotic. It had been a very long time since I'd felt a man above me, dominating my body in a gentle way, taking what I offered, asking for what I wanted.
Patrick lifted his head. "No," he muttered more to himself than to me. He pushed up on his forearms, his fists clenched near my shoulders. "Tell me the exact words."
"Sorry. Very sorry. Please… And he was crying when he said it."
Patrick rolled off me, the intimate mood vanishing under his sudden all-business movements. He muttered some words under his breath and to my astonishment, clothes appeared on his body. Wearing a black T-shirt, faded denim jeans, and a stylish pair of sneakers, he looked cuter than a vampire should.
"Holy shit. Can I do that?"
Patrick looked at me over his shoulder. "In time. There's much for you to learn, love. Until then, you'll have to do things the old-fashioned way."
"Poop."
He smiled, revealing a glistening set of fangs. Whoa. "I must feed," he said. "I will meet you later."
"Hey!"
He was gone before I finished shouting the word. Who or what did he plan to nosh on? A horrifying thought struck. Were my kids in danger? I dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. I may have only been dead for two days and I may not know much about Patrick, but sipping from innocents didn't seem his style. Plus, he'd probably guessed that I'd stake his ass if he so much as wiggled a fang in their direction.
I got dressed in a crop top, jean shorts, and flip-flops, which was the necessary uniform of a woman battling Oklahoma summers. I brushed my hair and pulled it into a ponytail. The myth about vampires not seeing their own images in mirrors was a bunch of hooey. I could see my image just fine and, if I say so myself: Wow oh wow! My brunette hair sparkled like burnished copper; my dishwater-brown eyes seemed dark and mysterious; my lips looked as full as a ripe plum. My skin had cleared up of blotches, pimple scars, and sunspots. The laugh lines around my eyes and lips had disappeared, too. Forget cosmetics, honey. I no longer needed CoverGirl.
I pulled down my shorts and marveled at the lack of pooch. My stomach was as flat and smooth as a twenty-year-old's. I peeked inside my top. Still a B cup, damn it. The stretch marks on my abdomen and breasts—the badges of honor for any mother—were gone. Maybe I should feel a little sad about having those ph
ysical reminders erased. But, hell, I had a woman's vanity, too.
My butt felt higher, my breasts perkier, and merciful heaven, my thighs thinner. My body was now a pearlescent white, as fine as silk, and as taut as a supermodel's starved frame.
Huh. Guess being undead had a few perks.
I visited Jenny's room first. She slept deeply and I wondered if her unparalleled rest was due to vampire influence or drugs. Before I realized what I was doing, I was somehow in her mind, in her body, and knew, right away, she had not been tampered with. She shifted restlessly, and I soothed the ripples in her mind, crooning a silent, tender lullaby that she responded to with a sweet, girlish sigh. I knew, without a doubt, that Jenny was healthy. I smelled her, and noticed the baby powder and lavender scent she emitted.
"Mine," I whispered and placed my hand upon her bare neck. Something electric and powerful leapt from my palm to her skin and when I drew away my hand, I saw the faint impression of a honeysuckle flower on her nape. It faded quickly and made me wonder if I had imagined it.
In Bryan's room, I sat on the edge of his bed and lifted the blanket. He, too, slept deeply, wearing only a baggy pair of gym shorts. I checked him for vampire and narcotic influences, too. He smelled like German Chocolate Cake. I could almost taste the gooey caramel coconut frosting. I sensed nothing awry with my son and felt a surge of relief that he, too, was healthy. Being an immortal with powers had some advantages for a mother. I placed my hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Mine." The same jolt I had experienced with Jenny occurred again and when I lifted my hand, there was the fading impression of the honeysuckle blossom on my son's skin.
"Mom?" Bry blinked awake, staring at me through sleepy eyes. "You feeling better?"
My throat knotted. How would I ever explain to my babies that I was dead, but still walking around? I brushed a lock of hair from Bry's forehead and said, "Sleep." To my shock, he slumped against his pillow and started snoring.
Instant knowledge of health and the power to ensure obedience? Being a vamp mom might not be so bad. After kissing his brow, I shut the door to the Pit and headed downstairs.
July in Oklahoma sucked (har har). Walking into the summer night from an air-conditioned house was like walking into a tepid lake. The evening brought some relief from the aching heat, but the humidity was unrelenting.
The RV's middle door opened and Dr. Michaels, no, Stan, gestured me inside. I found myself in a room that had ceiling-to-floor consoles on either side. Two men manned the electronic doohickeys and neither gave me a glance. Well, so much for smooth skin and flat stomachs. Stan led me into the same room in which he'd interviewed me the night before. I looked up and saw that the hole I'd made had been patched.
"How are you feeling, Mrs. Matthews?"
Irritated. Scared. Dead. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
He looked at me, fiddling with the ever-present PDA in his hands, and shook his head.
"Thank you for keeping my kids safe and taking care of them."
"You're welcome." He seemed pleased by my gratitude. Hmmm. Maybe vampires didn't often express appreciation. "Patrick told me that Lorćan spoke to you."
"Yeah. You said something last night about the Taint. Did it make him into that slobbering beast?"
"No. The cure we attempted had an unexpected side effect."
"What was the cure?"
Stan considered me, as if trying to decide whether or not I deserved an answer. I resorted to crossing my arms and using the Look, which almost never failed to quell my children's pestering.
"The problem with the Taint is that once it's inside the bloodstream, it stays… latched. It doesn't matter if the diseased vampire drinks from clean sources after exposure, either," he said. "The Taint has been around for as long as there have been vampires, but it's recently become an epidemic."
"Nature's way of controlling the vampire population?" I asked.
"We think this strain was introduced on purpose."
"You mean like a biochemical attack? Who would do that? And why?"
He shrugged. Either he didn't know the answers to the questions or he didn't want to tell me.
"Lor fasted for a week—only a very old vampire can survive without sustenance for that long. We were trying to rid his system of the infected blood. Then we injected him with multiple rounds of lycanthrope—uh, werewolf—blood. We hoped that doing so would be able to kill off the Taint."
"Did it?"
"We're not sure. He awoke from his rest as you saw him, Mrs. Matthews. And he was starved. It seems the transfusion made him… well, ravenous, much more so than we expected. He also seems to have more strength, which is saying a lot since vampires are already ten times stronger than most humans."
"But why are you guys here'? In Broken Heart?"
"Ah. That reminds me." He tapped on the PDA and frowned. "The meeting starts in fifteen minutes."
"What meeting?"
He pried his gaze away from the PDA. "Patrick didn't tell you?"
"He said that he needed to feed. Where does he get his blood?"
"From donors, of course."
Disgust roiled in my gut along with a very unfamiliar, weird desire. I felt my top gums split, then my incisors elongated. Holy crap. Had that happened before? Well, duh. I'd punctured and sucked on Patrick's thigh twice, but this was the first time I'd been aware of my fangs. "Please tell me," I said, talking carefully around my new incisors, "that by 'donors,' you mean there is a blood bank somewhere."
Stan stared at my teeth, and then his eyes lifted to mine. "Vampires need live, circulating blood. Humans are, for the most part, a vampire's main food source."
"You mean I have to kill others to survive?"
"No, no. Donors are not killed. It only takes a pint to satisfy most vampires."
Yet Lorćan had drained me and God knew who else to alleviate his thirst. Had he done so because he was starved or because he was a vampire-lycan? All this thinking and talking about blood was making me kinda hungry.
"You're human." I knew because Stan smelled like a ham-and-cheese sandwich slathered in mustard with a dill pickle on the side. I heard the blood frantically pumping through his heart as he picked up on my sudden interest in his neck.
"Didn't you feed?" His voice squeaked on the last word.
I nodded. "For some reason, though, I feel… peckish."
Stan flinched. He stood up and leapt for the door. Then he realized it had no handle and he yelled, "Ernie, open the damned door!"
"I'm not going to eat you," I said, even though I felt like gnawing, just a little, on his neck. I knew exactly where to place my new fangs, too, and how much pressure it would require to pierce his flesh and sip from him. "But, you know, if you're willing to donate a pint…"
"Ernie!"
Chapter 4
"Why is Stan avoiding you?" asked Patrick, his hand slinking up my back to massage my neck. We were standing in the high school gym, near the end of the retractable seats on the left side. To my surprise, several townspeople and vampires milled around the basketball court, while others sat on the bleachers and chatted.
"I told him I was feeling peckish and he freaked out." Just thinking about drinking blood forced my creepy teeth to emerge.
Patrick stared at me. "You didn't take enough sustenance from me?"
I shrugged. I had felt replete this morning, er, evening until the incident with Stan. "Can't I have anything else?" I asked. "How am I going to live without chocolate?"
"Your body will reject regular food, including sweets," he said, dashing all my dreams of indulging in a champagne truffle. "You don't need them, love."
"Oh yeah? Well, here's some news, pal. Women cannot live without chocolate. Just try to get us through PMS without it."
A corner of his mouth quirked and he dipped his head near mine. "You don't have to worry about PMS. You will never have another period. Or menopause."
I had to admit, on some levels, this vampire thing was okay dokay. "I'll still
miss chocolate."
"I will try to think of ways to keep your mind off it." Patrick nibbled my ear, his tongue darting out to caress the lobe. A different need shivered through me. I had no idea why we were so lovey-dovey after two days of knowing each other. I suspected my willingness to be fondled by Patrick had to do with drinking his blood. The man was almost 4,000 years old and I bet that meant his blood packed some wallop. And there was the mysterious fede ring to consider. Patrick seemed to believe that my ownership of it made me his soul mate.
"I'm not a sexual slave, am I?" I asked in half-jest.
Patrick pulled me into his embrace and placed a soft kiss on my lips. "Not yet."
Sure, I realized genuine desire threaded through the arrogant words, but just hearing the purr of possession in Patrick's voice was like getting a bucketful of cold water dumped on me. I wriggled out of his grip and stood back, crossing my arms and giving him the stink-eye. "I don't belong to you."
He seemed more amused than angered by my rebellion. One long, pale finger stroked my cheek. Then he whispered, "Not yet."
"Why, you son of a—"
"All right, everyone, please take a seat. We're about to begin the meeting," yelled Stan, probably for the humans, because I could hear him like he was shouting in my ear. Patrick guided me to the front row and I sat down, still miffed at his high-handed behavior. Two rows of six metal foldout chairs were in front of the lectern where Stan stood, fiddling with his stupid electronic gadget. Behind him, there were eight chairs. Seven were occupied. One by Patrick and five by men who looked like they'd stepped out of the Mr. Romance issue of Romantic Times BOOKClub. All were tall and handsome with the same athletic grace I'd noticed about Patrick. All were dressed casually, but T-shirts and jeans couldn't hide the caged-panther energy they gave out. The seventh chair was filled by a tiny brunette who would make Kate Moss look fat. She looked drawn on paper she was so white, and impatient to boot, evidenced by the tapping of her itty bitty shoe on the floor.
Still in a snit, I looked at the person next to me and nearly swallowed my tongue. "Linda? Linda Beauchamp? What in the Sam Hill are you doing here?"
I'm the Vampire, That's Why Page 3