I'm the Vampire, That's Why

by Michele Bardsley

  I thought I knew what lust felt like. But the emotion whipping through me attested that anything I'd felt before this moment was just a shadow of longing, a desert shimmer of yearning. White-hot fire consumed me until I was only craven desperation. Primitive and animalistic.

  Our mouths parted and met again and again.

  "Just a little taste," he murmured.

  "Yes," I agreed, though I didn't know to what. I would've gladly handed him the keys to my car, the deed to my house, the secret location of my Godiva stash. Anything he wanted as long he promised to stay right here and make me feel this way forever.

  His lips left mine and I cried out in distress. He scorched a line down my throat. Yes. That's what he should do. Bite me. I went dizzy, my fingers digging into his shoulders. My fangs extended in anticipation though I had no intention of taking his blood.

  Did I?

  Do you see why we must bind? I wore the chains for you, céadsearc, because I almost mated with you that first night… I have not taken from you because I burn for you… I wanted you to have a choice. Every day that I am near you… every day that I share your thoughts… it becomes more difficult to resist you.

  I heard his words. I detected the urgent tone, too. But I didn't care. Patrick was my world. My whole, beautiful world.

  His fangs sank into my neck. I felt pressure, not pain. His snarl vibrated against my skin as he drank. I clung to him, unable to stand, and felt the floor tilt under my feet.

  My eyes closed as he tightened his grip. It was almost as if he wanted to join with me. Almost as if we were two halves that needed to be a whole. I tried to laugh away the insanity of that thought, but I couldn't. I had never felt this way. Not ever. This was not lust. Or love. Whatever bound Patrick and me was far greater than any emotion that could be named.

  I should've been scared out of my wits.

  Instead, I felt pre-orgasmic. My whole body tingled as if he'd spent hours touching and kissing my entire being into a sensual frenzy. An ache throbbed between my thighs and I moaned.

  Patrick knew that I teetered on release. He pushed up my nightie and slid his hand into my panties. He pinched my clit between his thumb and finger and sent a command into my mind: Come for me.

  I did.

  You know how you read in romance novels that a woman saw fireworks? Or stars? I'd never had that kind of orgasm. I figured that kind of delightful explosion was reserved for fictional heroines with perfect complexions and no cellulite on their thighs.

  I was wrong.

  Pleasure detonated from my core and flowed over me as thick and rich as the sweetest nectar. (I haven't had nectar, but it's a damned fine word to use here.)

  Colors blasted behind my eyes. I rose up to the stars, basking in their heat and light and eternal beauty, until I floated back to Earth.

  Patrick still had me clutched in his arms. He was trembling, his mouth against the spot where his fangs had pierced me. "Do you see?" he asked hoarsely. "Do you understand now?"

  "Yes," I murmured. "Yes."

  "Your scent drives me wild," he said. He licked my earlobe. "I smell your sex. Your need. If we were mates, I would kneel before you and worship you as a goddess. I would pierce your flesh and drink from you in a way no other ever has or ever will." His gaze was fierce silver… a warlord's armor glinting in the morning before battle. "I would taste you until your essence filled my mouth and your screams of pleasure filled my ears."

  Okay, I admit it. His words were working some good mojo. I was getting wet again and he knew it. If my heart still had the ability to hammer, it would've driven right out of my chest. My fingernails dug into my thighs, a desperate attempt to keep from accepting those wicked promises.

  "I have a present for you," he murmured. He held out his hand and a black holster appeared. Inside the loops on each side rested the Ruadan swords.

  "Oh Patrick!" I was damned near giddy as he belted the holster around my nightgown.

  "How does it fit?"

  I did a hip wiggle. The leather stayed put. The swords tapped against my thighs. I walked toward the bathtub, then I turned quickly, whipping out the swords. They didn't snag. They felt good in my hands, like they belonged there. "This rocks!"

  "Wear the swords when you go out. And practice!" Patrick chuckled, but his eyes were still filled with the need for the one thing I wasn't ready to give him. "I must go, love. Before I do something… permanent."

  In the blink of an eye he shifted to silver mist and before I could manage a response, he dissolved into nothingness.

  I marched out into the woods with the twins and Mr.-Get-The-Last-Word-In-And-Melt-Into-Thin-Air trailing behind me.

  Patrick closed the distance between us; it was wide enough in this section of woods to walk side by side. His expression was bland, but I figured he was still feeling pissy. I know he didn't want me to jump into the binding. But I glimpsed his hunger for me, his need that went beyond anything else anyone had ever shown me. Was that love? Obsession? Infatuation?

  I didn't know how to feel.

  I found myself in the same mire of emotions I'd felt since I got Turned—overwhelmed, scared, worried… and interwoven into the mix… horny. I wanted to lick and touch and kiss Patrick. I wanted to slide over him and take him and bring him to the edge. I wanted to be naked with him. I wanted to find his favorite spots and show him mine. Where were his sensitive areas? Behind the knee? Yeah, that's where I should flick my tongue, maybe a nip up his thigh, I'd love to coast down between his legs, wrap my lips around his big—

  Jessica. God in heaven, stop.

  I grinned. What's wrong? Getting too hot for you?

  You have a skill in torture that rivals a Spanish inquisitor's. You know that I will not break our connection again. Even if that means being tormented by your impure thoughts.

  If having sex with you didn't mean a hundred years of marriage, I would happily spend the night with you.

  There are ways to pleasure each other without consummation. But to taste you, to know you… it isn't enough, love. If you cannot bring yourself to commit to the binding, we cannot bed together.

  Fine. Leave me alone, okay? You can stay out of my head since you're a foot away from me. I want to see if I connect with Lorćan.

  As you wish.

  I blinked. Did he know that phrase was from The Princess Bride? Nah.

  I watched the twins scope out the area in a strange, precise tandem that was almost militaristic. It didn't take much to figure out that their senses were more attuned to sounds and sights and smells. Vampires had extraordinary sensory skills, but the way Drake and Darrius behaved made me believe that they were in sync with nature. Drake and Darrius found an old walking path and stayed about three feet ahead of me. Patrick trailed behind, alert, his footsteps eerily silent. Me, I stomped forward with all the skill and grace of a lumbering bear. Nothing for it but to see if Lorćan would pick up the mental phone.

  Hey, Lorćan! Nobody wants to kill you anymore. We know there's another lycanthrope. Just c'mon out so we can experiment on you and find a cure for the disease.

  You sure know how to tempt a man. Or a beast, a droll voice whispered through my mind.

  Lorćan! Hoo-wee!

  Don't get excited, Jessica. I'm not revealing my location to you. It's not safe for me to be near anyone.

  Oh shut up. This isn't about you, it's about me. I have to show up your tight-assed brother.

  Laughter echoed in my head. I see why he likes you.

  Yeah, he really enjoys how prim and proper I am. Why can I talk to you? You didn't Turn me.

  No. I murdered you.

  Don't worry. I'm over it.

  Another chuckle rippled. Then I felt the ache of his regret, the cold horror of what he'd done. Shit. I was losing him. He was going to hang up on me.

  Look, we gotta find a cure. You're the key. Whatever they did to you stopped the disease.

  And turned me into Cousin It. I don't think most vampires would appreciate the s
ide effects.

  We can't fix the problem or you unless you meet with us. C'mon, Lor. I won't let anyone hurt you.

  My hero. Okay, bean-shithe, I will meet with you and Patrick, but no others. No one can know about it. Agreed?

  Damn straight I agree. When and where?

  The hour before dawn at Putt 'Er There.

  We'll be there. And Lor?

  Yes?

  A girl really hates to be stood up.

  His amusement swirled in my mind, then he was gone. I stopped walking and looked at Patrick. "It's time to go home."

  "You talked to him?"

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't hear a whisper. I've always been able to connect with him."

  "Maybe it has something to do with the physical changes he's gone through," I said, putting my hand on Patrick's arm. I hated that he was so distressed about his brother. "Maybe it's messed up his brainwaves or something. His channels got flipped."

  Something close to humor glittered in Patrick's gaze as he looked at me. "You mean he tuned into you?"

  "Yeah. The weird woman network. He's entered my own personal episode of The Twilight Zone. Lucky him."

  Patrick brushed his knuckles along my jaw. "No, céadsearc, lucky me."

  When I entered the house, I heard the delightful sounds of Bryan and Jenny fighting over the TV's remote control. For a second, it was so normal, so like my old life, I felt as if time had shifted backward and dumped me on my ass. Then Patrick's fingertips grazed my elbow and I jolted into the present moment.

  "I'll meet you upstairs," he said. Then he actually walked up the carpeted stairwell like a normal person instead of turning into mist or a bat.

  I can't turn into a bat.

  So you say.

  I knew Patrick was ducking out of a familial moment. There was a wall between him and my children, one that he erected. I understood why. That kind of pain… well, I guess "time heals all wounds" just wasn't the case for a father who'd lost his children.

  But there was no me without Bryan and Jenny. And Patrick's reluctance to even sit in the same room with us all meant… what? Could Patrick be a dad again?

  Brigid glided from the living room into the foyer. "Are you well?" she asked.

  "I'm peaches and cream," I said. "Those two been at it long?"

  "No." She laughed and the sound was the peal of church bells on Sunday morning. "Any luck finding Lor?"

  "Uh… sorta."

  Her green eyes sparked with curiosity, but I knew she wouldn't nag me about the vague reply.

  I cleared my throat and met her gaze. "Thank you, Brigid. I know I was dead. I mean, for real, and you saved me. And I know you're a special kind of… uh, person."

  "I am not a vampire, you mean," said Brigid. "And you wonder what I am."

  "Yeah."

  "I am sidhe," she said proudly. "And Padraig is my grandson."

  "What? You're his… what?"

  "Grandmother," said Brigid, amused at my reaction. "You read the story, did you not? The one Lor left for you?"

  "He put the book on the coffee table?"

  She nodded. "Lor likes to write down the legends, prophecies, myths, and other stories. He has hundreds of those volumes… and that doesn't include what he's managed to type into a computer."

  My mouth dropped open. "You're the Brigid from the legend?"

  The screeches of my still arguing children rose in urgency and tone. Brigid smiled her enigmatic smile and rested her palm against my cheek. "You must not give up on him, Jessica. He didn't give up on you. If there is anyone to thank for your life… it is Padraig."

  "I know that." I sounded sullen. I rubbed a hand over my face as if I could wipe away my glowering. "God, I'm so bitchy. I owe a number of people for saving my butt. I won't forget."

  "Good." As she sparkled out of sight, she waved her hand in farewell.

  Chapter 15

  I headed into the living room and witnessed a remote-control tug-of-war between my kids. Bryan managed to yank it out of Jenny's grasp. She put her hands on her hips and stomped her bare foot.

  "Just because you're older, doesn't mean you can boss me around," wailed Jenny. "I'm going to tell Mom that you're being a butthead."

  "I'm not watching the Bratz movie," retorted Bryan. "You've seen it like, a billion times, and it's stupid. You're stupid."

  "I'm not stupid. I get A's. You get F-minuses plus infinity."

  "Shut up."

  "You shut up."

  "Make me."

  "Oh make yourself! Give me that remote, Bryan!"

  My son, an expert in torturing his younger sibling, held up the remote and invited his sister to "go on and take it."

  "How about I take it?"

  "Mom!" they chorused.

  "Bryan's being a jerkazoid rex," announced Jenny. "We watched The Matrix and now it's my turn to pick a movie."

  "She wants to watch some dumb Bratz movie. I hate Bratz."

  I silently agreed with him. I wasn't fond of those apple-cheeked, pillow-lipped, bug-eyed dolls, but I respected Jenny's right to like them. Okay. Respect was probably the wrong word. I tolerated her obsession with the creepy plastic fashionistas.

  Jenny jumped like a frenzied Chihuahua as she tried to grab the remote from the hand of her smirking brother.

  "How many televisions do we have in this house?" I asked. Who-gets-the-remote-control was an old, ongoing argument. It didn't seem to matter that Jenny and Bryan both had TVs with digital cable in their bedrooms; they were forever battling for territory and privileges in the living room.

  "I know, Mom. We have four TVs," said Bryan. "But we wanted to sit on the new couch."

  "The new couch?"

  "Yeah," said Jenny, momentarily distracted from trying to best her brother. "It's way better."

  I had been focused on the kids and the Remote War, but considering the size of the new couch and the obvious rearrangement of the living room to accommodate the piece, it wasn't exactly hard to miss.

  "It's got a chaise," said my daughter primly. One end of the red behemoth was a long rectangle—a suitable space for Cleopatra or a nine-year-old who enjoyed feeling like a princess.

  "What happened to the old one?" asked Bryan.

  "Bigfoot ate it," I said. "Give me the remote, Bry."

  He tossed the remote to me as if it was the football and I was the quarterback. I caught it, but he got the Look for A. throwing it and B. throwing it in the house. He plopped onto the couch, his socked feet stretched out just close enough to Jenny to annoy her.

  "Get your stinky feet away from me!" she cried, crinkling her nose in disgust and scooting into the corner of her chaise as if Bryan's toes had turned into snakes. "Moooom! His feet smell like lima beans."

  Jenny hated lima beans so she equated anything disgusting to the offensive vegetable. And who could blame her? I'd always thought Bryan's feet smelled like lima beans, too.

  "Can you two cool it for a minute?" Nausea crowded my throat as I looked at the couch and thought about why the old one had to be replaced. God. Oh God. I knew that Patrick had made sure the couch soaked with my blood had been taken away and replaced with something better. He had taken care of cleaning the downstairs and getting rid of the evidence of the attack. My babies didn't have to wonder why things were trashed or have to be afraid for me.

  Patrick.

  Who won the remote?

  I did.

  His laugh caressed my mind.

  Um… Patrick? Thank you. I didn't think about what happened to the room… the house… you took care of it. Of my kids. Of me. Thank you.

  A thaisce. I felt his fingers drift down the curve of my cheek. Then he was gone.

  When I blinked back into the moment, both of my kids were staring at me over the top of the couch. "What?"

  "You, like, totally zoned," said Bryan.

  "Is zoning out a vampire thing, Mommy?" asked Jenny.

  "No. But I'll show you something that is a vampire thing." I rose a few feet off t
he carpet and flew over the couch to settle between them. Bryan jerked up his feet as I landed on the fat, soft cushion.

  "That was so cool," said Bryan, his eyes wide. "Can we do that?"

  "No," I said. "And don't you try it, either. Okay, guys. I know you have questions. Our lives have changed big time. And you know… well, I'm a vampire now."

  It was weird to have a second conversation with my kids about my undeadness, although this one was going a lot better than the first one.

  "We understand," said Bryan. "Dr. Stan explained it to everyone when you were sick. You've been sick a lot. Is that normal for vampires?"

  "No. Just for me. Don't worry about it, baby. I'm fine now."

  "Okay." He shrugged. "It's weird to be awake at night and sleep during the day."

  "Having a hard time adjusting?"

  "Naw."

  I looked at Jenny and saw her serious brown gaze on me. "Does it hurt to be a vampire?" she asked.

  "No, honey."

  "Dr. Stan said you had to drink blood," said Bryan.

  "Yeah," said Jenny. "Whose blood do you drink?"

  "Jenny. Ew." I cleared my throat. "Got any questions I want to answer?"

  "Prob'ly not," said Bry. "Who's your donor?"

  Oh shit. Embarrassment forced me to look at the floor. Why did it feel like Bryan had asked "who's your lover"? "What the hell did Stan tell you guys?"

  "You cussed," said Jenny. "You gotta put a quarter in the Cussing Jar."

  I cussed all the time. Jenny, who was industrious as well as persnickety, had taken a Mason jar, colored a pretty label for it, and put it in the kitchen. Every time she or Bry caught me saying a bad word, I put a quarter in it. Needless to say, they'd earned quite a chunk of change from my potty mouth. Yeah, I know. Some mother, right? Well, every mother has a flaw. Or three.

  "All right, squirt. I'll put a quarter in the jar."

  "Keep it up, Mom," said Bryan. "We almost got enough to buy another Xbox game."

  "Har de har."

  "Mommy?"

  I turned to Jenny. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hug them both. But I knew Bryan's hands-off "you're embarrassing me" policy and I was still worried my daughter thought I was a monster.