The girl flushed when she saw him. Her boyfriend pulled her closer. Ben ran his hand along Candyce's arm. Little tingles ran all the way to her feet.
She barely noticed the elevator ride. They got off on the eighth floor, and she pushed past Ben as he unlocked the door. By the time he closed it, she had pulled off her clothes and was waiting for him on the king-sized bed.
He took off his overcoat and scarf. He crouched over the bed, caressing her neck, her breasts. "I had forgotten how beautiful you were," he said.
Each touch made her body explode with little bursts of pleasure.
He cupped a breast. "It's bigger," he said, and kissed it. "The baby?"
Baby? She had forgotten about the baby. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her stomach. Then he stood, and peeled off his clothes. His body was leaner. He sprawled across her, entering her swiftly. An orgasm rippled through her. She had never had one before. It left her breathless.
He smiled, then plunged deeper and at the same time sank his teeth in her neck.
She had a moment of panic, but it eased and she lost all thought. Her body was nerve endings only, and all she wanted was him. She touched him everywhere, having orgasm after orgasm as he suckled at her neck. She moved and he remained completely still, until suddenly he bit harder, his body curled and convulsed.
He lay on top of her and she wondered how she had ever feared him. He hadn't hurt her. He made her feel alive. She wanted to feel that way again.
But he pulled away. "No," he said. "We can't hurt the baby."
Baby? "Who cares about the baby?" she said, reaching for him. "We're going to get rid of it anyway."
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him. She was melting. If only he would touch her breasts, her hips, her mouth again—
"No," he said. His voice was firm. "We are not going to get rid of him. You're coming with me, tomorrow."
"All right." She leaned against him. She didn't care as long as he made her feel alive. She tilted her head, so that he could sink his teeth into her neck. "Again?" she whispered. "The baby's too small to get hurt."
This time, when he sank his teeth into her neck, her entire body alighted in flames.
Chapter Fourteen
Cammie had been traveling for the better part of the day. She had had a two-hour layover in O'Hare, and another two hours to walk around Denver's new airport. Still, nothing had prepared her for the airport in Eugene, Oregon. At first Cammie thought they were emergency-landing near a warehouse. The man beside her, who was flying in from New York City on business, called it a Tonka Toy airport. She couldn't agree more.
The building was a deep forest green. When the plane landed, Cammie waited until almost everyone had disembarked before struggling with the overhead baggage. The flight attendant said good-bye to her, and the pilot smiled at her. She smiled back hesitantly. She wasn't used to getting such attention from service personnel.
The walkway into the building was short. Ahead, she could hear laughter and growing conversation. The air felt dry and cool, despite the hot temperatures the national papers had reported for the area. She walked through the steel doors into the gate.
For the first time in her life, she had arrived at an airport with no one waiting for her. Still, she scanned the faces crowded around the counter, glancing hopefully at each person who deplaned. Most of them were white, some were dressed in late ’60s[C&F85] garb, and all but the man from New York wore casual clothing. Despite her jeans, Cammie felt just as out of place.
She didn't know anyone in this crowd of friendly people. People who greeted each other while they waited for family or friends. People who teased across the crowded area. The entire group would erupt in laughter at the smallest thing, and cooed in delight as a small girl launched herself at the man in front of Cammie, wrapping herself around his legs and nearly tripping him. He scooped her up in one arm—the practiced parent—and went to hug his wife.
Cammie felt a pang. No one had ever held her like that.
She adjusted her shoulder bag and followed the crowd. The waiting area narrowed into a hallway with two shops and an open bar. The green carpet looked and smelled new. People were talking and laughing ahead of her, and she tried to tune them out. As they rounded a corner, she stopped. A photographic mural dominated one wall: people—she assumed they were all locals until she recognized Garrison Keillor's face—flying. Some, like the tiny baby boy near the end, had wings. Others merely had their arms outspread, their travel bags balanced on their backs. It was cute, and reinforced the sense of warmth she had felt since she got off the plane.
The mural turned into windows above the escalators, but another mural on the left-hand wall—this one obviously hand-painted—depicted Northwest scenes. Below was another restaurant, and beyond it, the rent-a-car companies. They were right next to the single baggage claim track. The track wasn't running yet. She would pick up her car while she waited for her oversized suitcases to emerge.
The woman behind the car company counter moved like an athlete. Her face had a shiny fresh-scrubbed look, and she pulled her long hair back. She smiled when she saw Cammie. "Help you?" she asked.
All day, Cammie had not seen an airport person smile with such sincerity. Perhaps it was the lack of traffic here, and thus the lack of pressure. "I have a reservation for a mid-sized car," she said.
As they went through the procedure, the woman talked with Cammie about options and saving money—not in a salesman sort of way, but as one friend to another. She explained how to get to the car, then handed Cammie a map. "Anywhere you need to go?"
"I want to stay in a nice hotel downtown," Cammie said.
"Downtown?" the woman asked, a small frown between her eyebrows. "Or on campus?"
"Downtown," Cammie said.
"There is only one nice hotel downtown. The Hilton. But there are some nice places near campus, too, and some near Valley River, our local mall."
"Downtown," Cammie repeated.
The woman took her pen and marked the route on the map, added the text of highway signs and local landmarks. Then she pressed the map, the rental agreement and the key into Cammie's hands. "Enjoy your stay," the woman said.
Cammie smiled. "I will," she said. The friendliness was infectious. In the Midwest,[C&F86] people were a lot more reserved than people appeared to be in this airport.
She had expected an airport like the Dane County airport—several gates and rude attendants who were used to dealing with both students and government officials. The Eugene/Springfield area had the same size population as Madison, and it had a university, yet, judging from the airport, the place felt like a small town.
That might help her.
By the time she was done with the car, her luggage was the only set remaining on the revolving luggage track. She rented a cart and towed her luggage outside. The rental cars were on the left side of the parking lot, only two rows of them—an unusually small number to her eyes. She found hers easily, a late model white Ford sedan. It took a moment to load the car, locate all the essentials (like the lights), and spread her map before her. But soon she was outside the terminal, and following the rent-a-car clerk's instructions to the Eugene Hilton.
The airport was located in an area of fields and farms, much like the Dane County airport had been ten years before. Only the developers seemed to have missed Eugene. Her headlights swept no building newer than the early ’80s[C&F87] and many, in the early part of her drive, needed repair. Little hairs rose on the back of her neck.
Vampire country.
But it couldn't be. Before she left, Cammie had tolerated a long lecture from Sarge on the history of vampires in the West. A few vampires had emigrated to Hollywood before the war, but most were arrested, then killed as Nazi collaborators. The great eastern and northern European immigrations to the United States had centered in the North, East and Midwest. Few made it South, and even fewer to the West [C&F88] itself. Because vampires were rarely mobile, the Center assumed t
hat vampiric activity remained confined to those regions, although no one had done any official studies.
Cammie wasn't sure she believed Sarge, but since she had made the decision to track Ben, she had done some research. Not only did she find a startling lack of vampire-related crime, she found in the Pacific Northwest, lower crime statistics all around. The statistics disturbed rather than pleased her: she always feared under-reporting instead of the good life. The area's reputation for independent people and rugged lifestyles made under-reporting very probable.
The Eugene City Center turn-off was well marked just as the clerk had told her it would be. Cammie followed the trail of lights to a four-lane one-way street in the heart of the city.
Two- and three-story office buildings surrounded her. Only one building rose taller than five stories on the skyline: the hotel itself. Even the city's architecture was small town. Except for the broad one-way street, the roads had a 1950s urban feel—simple cloverleafs and two-lanes ending in stop signs. She felt both comfortable and a little unnerved at the same time. Places with this kind of population should look like cities, not small towns.
She followed the signs that led her around the block to the Hilton's guest registration parking. A large, well-lit overhang protected the area from bad weather. A valet parking attendant met her at the door. She handed him her keys just as a bellhop with a gold cart pulled open the car door. She thanked them both and went inside.
Piano music tinkled in from the bar. A group of men were laughing as they went around her through the double doors. Once the doors closed, she stopped: the prickle was back, tingling down her neck. Something subtle this time—something that her conscious brain couldn't detect. She glanced around the lobby, with the two elevator banks in front of her, the coffee shop on the left, and the registration desk off to her right. The area smelled of pastries and conditioned air and, aside from the staff, she was the only person in view. Perhaps the staff contained a vampire. She frowned, checking her watch. It was eight p.m.—too early to have a vampire hidden in the shift. This crew would have started duty in the daylight.
Cammie adjusted her duffel and made her way to the desk. Her hands were shaking and her nerves were on alert, but she didn't see what was causing the problem. A slender woman, with clear eyes and a clean complexion, checked her into a room on the eighth floor. The bellhop was waiting by the elevator when she got her key. He smiled at her. His face had none of the vampire's distinguishing marks either.
Not that she could always recognize them. Early vampirism never showed in the body. Only with age and time did vampires develop their gauntness, pallid skin, and red eyes. A few young ones would bloat from overindulgence, but often the signs were difficult to detect in the first fifty years.
The thought did not comfort her.
She smiled back.
They got into the old elevator together and it wobbled its way to eight. As the door opened, she took a half a step backward. The air smelled of blood, fresh and rich, mixed with a taint of rot.
"You okay?" the bellhop asked.
She couldn't get off on this floor. She couldn't cross the threshold that divided the elevator and the hallway. Her entire body had gone rigid.
The door started to close, but the bellhop caught it with his left hand. The smacking sound echoed in the enclosed space. "Ma'am?"
What could she do? Reach into her duffel and take out her stake and hammer? Oregon had no eradication laws on the books and even if it had, it would take a concentrated investigation—one she was not qualified for—to certify the vampire to death.
"Do you smell that?" she asked.
The bellhop sniffed, a slight frown creasing his brows. "I don't smell anything ma'am."
She made herself sneeze—partly to clean the blood scent from her nostrils and partly for show. "I'm deathly allergic to perfume," she said. "And someone on this floor bathes in it. I'm going to have to go back down and get another room."
The bellhop nodded gravely, as if she had just told him that her grandmother were dying. "Whatever you want, ma'am."
And he was probably thinking that she was crazy to switch rooms so easily.
The elevator took them back down to the lobby, and Cammie switched her room on eight for one on eleven. No faintly rotten odor greeted her here, only the processed air mixed with the slightly damp scent of an older hotel. The bellhop let her into her room, placed her suitcases for her, and eased out almost before she could hand him his tip. She hadn't behaved that oddly—at least by Midwestern standards—but she was beginning to realize that Midwestern standards may not apply here.
The door clicked shut and she collapsed on the flowered spread. The mattress beneath it was firm, just the way she liked it. The room was a standard size, with an oversize dresser and a huge TV complete with remote. Two chairs and a table stood near the curtained window, and she resisted the urge to get up and see what was outside.
She had imagined the smell.
Sarge had said there were no vampires in the Northwest.
But how would Sarge know? Sarge had never been here.
It made sense: the prickling from the moment Cammie had walked in. The scent would have been fainter in the lobby than it was on the floor where the vampire was staying. Or maybe he—or she—was just visiting, staying to service someone before going back to his or her lair.
She had no authority out here. She didn't dare get mixed up in this, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
She wanted to find Ben, reassure herself that he was all right, and then go home—wherever home may be.
Still, the idea of a vampire in the same hotel made her feel eight again, on the edge, restless and powerless at the same time.
She got up, locked the deadbolt, pushed in the security button, and secured the chain. Then she leaned against the door, listening for a moment. Nothing. Even if a vampire were in the next room, he wouldn't know she was there, ripe for the plucking.
Before she realized what she was doing, she reached into her duffel, removed two strands of garlic. She hung them over the curtains, and placed a single bulb on the door. Then she hung the little silver cross earrings that Eliason had given her from the top of the mirror. She put the stake and hammer under her pillow.
There. She was as safe as she had ever been.
Which meant that she wasn't safe at all.
Chapter Fifteen
The sun across his face felt like a pan of boiling water. Ben sat up. His skin was steaming. Wisps of white were actually rising from his pores. The pain was intense and he could barely move. He pulled up a blanket and held it against the light to give himself shade. Each movement made the pain sink into his bones.
He kicked the cow beside him. "Wake up!" He kicked her again. "Wake up, damn you!"
She rolled away from him, and toppled off the side of the bed, taking the covers with her. The pain was back, full and scalding.
She brought her hand to her eyes. He leaned over, and grabbed her wrist.
"Stop that!" His voice was too loud. He would attract attention. But he had to get her to move. "Close the curtains. Hurry, you stupid bitch!"
She scrambled to her feet and pulled the curtains closed. As the sunlight disappeared, the worst of the burning stopped. His skin still steamed, though. He collapsed against the hot sheets, willing the pain to go away. Jesus. He had never experienced anything like that.
It had been as if his body had been on fire.
"Ben?" She picked up the covers. "Are you all right?"
He couldn't deal with her. Of course he wasn't all right. Had she ever seen anyone's skin steam? Cows were so damned stupid.
He rolled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, not flicking on the light, in part because he was afraid of the brightness and he was afraid of what he would see. Something had changed. He had never had such an intense reaction to sunlight. When he had gone to Seattle, he had been able to walk in it.
He had changed.
He turned the sho
wer on cold and stepped inside, almost slipping on the bare tile. He couldn't see in the stall, so he felt for the handicapped bar and held it as the icy water soothed the fire in his skin.
If the cow hadn't been there, he would have died. From his own foolishness. He had been so wrapped up in seducing her that he had forgotten his own safety. Not good. Not good at all.
As his body temperature returned to normal, his wits returned. He had kicked Candyce. He had kicked Candyce and she had fallen out of bed. He leaned forward, bracing his arm on the slick tile wall. She could have lost the baby. Still might, if he had actually hurt her.
He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, drying himself off as he pushed back the curtain.
"You okay, Ben?" Her voice sounded hollow.
As he stepped into the bedroom, he reached beside the bedside table and turned on the light. The brightness made him wince. His skin was bright red and it looked freshly healed. He touched her face. She looked okay—a little scared, maybe, but okay. He had to play this right.
"Oh, man, baby," he said. "Bad dream. I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"
She bit her lower lip. The wariness was back in her eyes. "Surprised me."
"Yeah, me too." He lowered his head and licked her nipple, then cupped the swell of her belly. She didn't move.
"You know I would never hurt you," he said into her breasts. He slid a hand down to her pubic hair and she arched. Good.
"I love you, Ben," she whispered.
"I know," he said, and slipped inside of her. One more time, and she'd be his.
It was over quickly because he had no energy, and then he slept, his teeth still embedded in her neck.
* * *
Hours later, he woke up suckling. She was arching and cooing and rubbing herself all over him. Her skin was the color of wax paper, and through it, he could see her veins pumping as they emptied into him.
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