From the Dark

by Michele Hauf

  She knew the legend Michael had referred to. Vampires had once been able to take a witch’s magic into them during the act of making love, a magic that would increase their strength. They had also once been able to drink witch’s blood, which gave them the same abilities the witch had. Witch magic. Those vampires who had earned—or rather, stolen—the magic were called bewitched; and they were revered by their own kind for it.

  But the vampires greed to gain more and more power through the stolen magic prompted the Protection, and witch blood became poisonous to vampires. They could still give their magic during sex, but what vampire would risk that?

  To this day, only a handful of the ancient bewitched vampires survived. Or so Jane had been told. There was no evidence to be found of the ancients.

  That Jane’s parents had coexisted peacefully had never given her a fear of the vampire. The only thing she truly feared was if Michael could not control the blood hunger.

  She’d take that chance. Because she wanted him.

  Glass doors closed off the double-wide shower. Michael’s body slid up behind hers. She hadn’t even heard him enter the bathroom but his presence did not frighten her. Strong hands skated down her slick forearms. Yet dry, his hair tickled over her shoulder. He kissed the crown of her head.

  “Thank you,” Jane murmured. “It was so silly, but they scared me.”

  “Attracted to your magic?”

  “I think so.”

  His hand swept around the curve of her hip, gliding up her stomach and cupped her breast. Possessed, she, and happy for it. “Like me,” he murmured against her ear. “I am attracted to you.”

  She wanted him to hold her so closely, where one ended and the other began became a blur. He kissed the side of her neck. The hard lines of his body eased against her shoulders, her hips, and her thighs. The length of his erection rested at the juncture of her thigh and hip, not demanding, but simply there. A man who wanted. A man who needed. A man she wanted to heal.

  “How does it work?” he asked. “The sex magic.”

  “Not sure.”

  “There’s not a spell you need to speak?”

  “It wouldn’t work if I tried. I said I couldn’t control it, Michael.”

  “Well, then, we’ll have to work at this until we see results.”

  He tilted up her chin and she opened her mouth over his. They kissed for lost moments in the hot rain. Water splat their faces and slickened their kisses.

  He whispered in her ear, “Turn around. Hold the bar.”

  Jane clasped the steel towel bar.

  “You know,” he said. He followed the slender curve of her waist, gliding across her stomach. “A vampire usually requires permission to enter private property.”

  “Yes.” A silly quirk that never ceased to startle her when her father had attempted to enter a friend’s home without permission. It was one bane against the vampire she couldn’t figure out, and yet, though she suspected he was teasing, she admired the suggestion.

  Jane leaned back and whispered, “Enter vampire, freely, and of your own will.”

  No further words were spoken. No directions needed. Michael’s fingers slid along her torso. Jane moved to his silent directions, pressing against him and inviting one who should be her natural enemy to take her as he pleased.

  With a groan and a firm, controlling clasp against her belly, Michael slid inside her. She moaned at the delicious pleasure of being completely filled. At first he moved slowly, but soon he picked up the tempo and the wanting beat of their need became too much to bear. Jane gasped as she climaxed. And with her, her vampire lover thrust back his head and cried out in release. The swoon captured them both. This music needed no accompaniment.

  Dropping his head onto her shoulder, Michael breathed against her neck. “So good. Jane, it worked.”

  “Are you sure? The burns, have they healed?”

  “No, not that. We made love. Without…”

  “Oh.” Without him biting her.

  Turning, she reached down and slicked her hand across his semi-hard erection. A gasping exhale shivered over her lips. “Let’s not think about it. If we don’t speak of it, we won’t summon it.”

  “Round two?”

  She touched the top of his brow, careful not to violate the angry burn. “Let’s do it.”

  “Face to face this time.”

  He reached up and flipped off the shower. Lifting her up, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and he carried her out into the bedroom. Soaking wet, they landed on the bed in a tumble of limbs.

  “Sweet Jane,” he moaned as he entered her again. “This is where I belong.”

  Chapter 11

  M ichael woke hours later. It was evening. He never slept long when it wasn’t in total darkness.

  Jane lay on her stomach, gorgeously naked, her pinky finger twined within his hair. She smelled earthy and like sex, salt and dreams. Much as he wanted to linger, to wrap his body about her sweetness and fall into oblivion, there were pressing matters he couldn’t ignore.

  Sliding carefully off the bed, so as not to wake her, he collected his clothes, which were scattered over the bedroom floor.

  Zipping up his pants, he then ducked into the bathroom and flipped on the light. He peered into the mirror, and lifted the hair away from his forehead.

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  The burn was gone. As if it had never been there in the first place, and but for the memory of the pain, he’d guess it hadn’t been. A twist of his waist revealed the back of his shoulder to him. No burns there either.

  “She really does have magic within her.”

  He touched his skin. Felt right. Like it had never been damaged. A flex of his biceps, and he wondered if he didn’t feel stronger. Maybe the muscles were tighter? Like he’d just had a good workout, and yet, he had never in his life worked out.

  “I want more,” he decided. “If one time with her does this for me, I’ll take all the magic I can get.”

  Jane woke to the scent of beauty. A breeze tickled her bare legs and stomach. She sniffed and something moved across her upper lip. Clawing her fingers into the bed sheets, she dug into something soft, yet moist.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. Yellow rose petals covered the sheets, and they were scattered all over her body.

  Turning over, she slid her hand across the empty half of the bed. Petals scattered and tickled across her neck.

  She stretched her limbs, wishing she could slumber in the petals all day like a lazy sun-drenched cat. But she caught sight of Michael, sitting on the marble counter by the window.

  “You’ve been busy,” she murmured. Grasping a handful of petals, she held them high and let them flutter to her stomach.

  “You like them?”

  “Do you intend to overwhelm me with flowers on a daily basis?”

  He crossed the room and slid sinuously onto the bed beside her. A sexy panther stalking his prey. “Got a problem with that?”

  “Not at all.” She turned into him and kissed his lower lip. Toothpaste. How wonderfully normal to smell toothpaste on her vampire lover. “What time is it?”

  “Evening. We took up the whole afternoon having sex. One, two…”

  She gripped his wrist and shook the rose petals from his fingers. “You like to count things?”

  He chuckled and ended it with a kiss to her nose. “I’ve always been a counter. Do you know it took me a good hour to spread these around you? Last count tallied two hundred sixty-two petals.”

  His eyes strayed to the sheets. “Oh, hell, I can’t look at them. I need a distraction.”

  “Oh mon Dieu, it worked!” She stroked his forehead and smoothed that finger down the side of his face.

  Michael playfully snapped at her, but then sucked her finger into his mouth. “Sex magic,” he said. “I could get used to it.”

  “I can’t believe it. My…magic?”

  “Even if you can’t control it, it’s obviously in there, somewhere. I don’t
know how it works, but it did and I’m not complaining.”

  “Wow. So if we continued to…”

  “Have sex?”

  “Yes. You would get stronger? Maybe become…?”

  “Very powerful? Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound? Shall we try again?”

  “Michael, I’m not sure. But you did avoid biting me. Do you think that was magic, as well?”

  “Jane, let’s not try to figure it out. Can’t you accept that it happened?”

  “Of course. Yes.” She kissed him. He smiled so widely, it was truly the first time she’d seen him so elated. Gone was her broody, testy vampire, to be replaced with an eager, hungry man. It was great that he felt he’d benefited from their intimate contact. “But what do I get out of the deal?”

  He slid her hand down to his crotch, and waggled his brows.

  “You think so, eh big boy?”

  A kiss to the crown of each of her breasts seduced her away from her need to have answers. Threading her fingers into his hair, Jane pulled him closer, making sure his mouth landed on her nipple. “Oh, that’s good. I like it when you do that, so…oh, lightly.”

  “You get me, how’s that for a deal?” he said.

  “It’s not magic, but I won’t complain.”

  Michael trickled a few petals over her breasts. “But we can’t become complacent. I’ve been thinking, and it may have just been a fluke.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, if we make love again—and we will—and I start to vamp out on you, I want you to run when I tell you to run. Deal?”

  “I think I understand the importance of running. Deal. I’d hate to see the results of one drop of my blood touching this gorgeous body of yours. Oh, you smell so good.”

  “So if you’ve never seen it happen, how can you really know?” he wondered from the rise of her breast. “Your father teach you all this stuff about vampires?”

  “I did grow up with him. I’ve never known anything else, so it is all quite natural to me.”

  “Did he ever try to drink your blood?”

  “Never! He’s quite civilized. A vampire need only take blood once a week or so. Older ones can go for more than a month.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “No.” She sighed and plucked a rose petal and toggled it between two fingers. “That is sane.”

  “You’re saying I’m a freak?”

  “That has already been proven.” With a smile, she kissed his forehead and nestled onto his shoulder to lie next to him. “You know, European vampires are more civilized than American ones.”

  “Says the French chick.”

  “I’m serious. The tribes they form here in America are ruthless.”

  “I’ve been pretty lucky to avoid the tribes. I fool a lot of my kind, being in front of the spotlight.”

  “Good for you. Here in the States I’ve noticed your kind tend to gather forces and, well, they’re much like the street gangs. And once the tribes get you in their clutches, you’re theirs.”

  She pushed onto her elbows and tickled him under the chin with a petal. “And then you’ve got the vigilantes.”

  “Vigilante vamps?”

  “Vigilante witches. I’ve a friend who stalks the tribes. It is her profession. You need a vampire taken out, you go to her. She’s killed too many to count. So you wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.”

  “Duly warned.”

  She stroked her fingers along the plumpness of his lower lip. The tip of his tongue dashed out, and she poked it back.

  “Michael, I’m glad you avoid the tribes. You are an individual. You like to stand before a crowd and drink in the adulation. And I adore you for that. You’ll never be the sort to answer to orders or to skulk about with vengeance in his eyes.”

  “You think so? I suppose I’m not much for skulking.”

  “It requires avoiding the spotlight.”

  “You’re right. Not for me. So you think there’s hope for this blood addict?”

  “They say the best way to get over a habit is to replace it with another.”

  He stroked her mouth with his thumb. “You are a feisty bit of copper and sunshine. Are you suggesting my new addiction is to become a sex magic addict?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I am there.”

  He kissed her, brushing her lips with his before opening her mouth and running his tongue along her teeth. Not often did he French kiss her, and when he did, it was brief. Jane figured he considered it too dangerous to introduce his teeth into the mix. They were both much safer to keep them tucked away.

  “So you’ve seen your father…you know? Do the deed.”

  “Never.” She tapped his lower lip, nestling a finger into the slight indent in the middle. “Though there was one occasion he came home with blood on his lips. I was very curious because I knew that’s what he did to survive, but had never before seen such bold proof of it. Mother yelled at him. It’s my uncle who didn’t take caution that I wouldn’t be exposed to the darker stuff. Well, I’ve told you, he bit me once.”

  “You did? I don’t remember.” Michael propped up onto his elbows. “Jane, if you’ve been bitten by a vampire, that should mean—”

  “The circumstances were very different. Uncle Damien is immune to witch’s blood.”

  “How? If he can be, maybe I can be…”

  “It’s a long story. I just—should you taste my blood, it could mean a painful death to you. I don’t want to risk it, Michael.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You suppose? Michael.” She bracketed his jaw. “Repeat after me. Witch’s blood. Death cocktail.”

  “I know, but you’re not—”

  “My mother’s blood runs through my veins. And she is a witch. Now enough. I’ll never let you bite me. So don’t even consider it.”

  “I’m not, but Jane.” He sighed and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. “You need to understand something about me. You and I, if there’s to be a you and me…It’s all about the blood, you know that. If I can’t drink from you—”

  “I’m not like all the other women.” She sat up and turned. Rose petals stuck to her arms. “You don’t need my blood, Michael. You just think you do.”

  “Jane.” He clasped her hand and drew her to sit beside him. The shimmer toyed at her chilly response to his mood. “I know I do. This is my truth, so please hear it.” As his fingers tickled up her bare arm, she felt she could never be mad at him for a thing. Most especially for something they could, neither of them, completely understand.

  “If I never know the taste of your blood,” Michael said, “you’ll never be a part of me.”

  “My father has not tasted my blood. We are very close.”

  “It’s a sex thing, Jane. Don’t even try to convince me you can’t understand that.”

  She understood. Without the blood the sex wasn’t the same. And without sex, the blood meant nothing. And with blood, well, that was Michael’s entire world. Didn’t she want to be a part of that world?

  Yes, you do. So why are you tossing up a wall now?

  Because the unknowing wouldn’t allow her to relax. And because she had come to this town with a very specific purpose—complete the ritual.

  Would Ravin secure a source in time? And even then, if she and Michael got beyond the ritual and thought about having a life together, what kind of weird couple would they make?

  Truth was, Michael could never drink her blood. And without that? He may never feel a true connection to her.

  She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. Not sure what to tell him, she closed her eyes and decided the moment didn’t need words. It felt too good to hold this man, and know he had awakened something inside her.

  Something wonderful.

  “You coming to the concert tonight?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Chapter 12

  I f asked to select a soundtrack for her life, Jane would invariably choose sile
nce. After ten steps onto the crowded main floor of the club her serene white light had been plundered. Aggression and sexual desire flooded her with invisible pokes to her psyche. The want and need bulging into every corner of the room swiftly assaulted her.

  A strobe flittered manically from the edge of the stage, where a cavalcade of fans had taken to pounding on the shoulder-high stage. The entire room looked black, including floors, walls and ceilings, though it was actually a deep purple.

  Remarkably, she made it to the balcony physically unscathed. Just when she thought a body would nudge into her, or out and out shove her, an arm or shoulder would merely skim her lightly. Sometimes the untouchable magic served a boon.

  A knowing nod from a bouncer gestured her toward an empty table—the bands’ table.

  A table of over-makeuped, hair-sprayed women with Kleenex-sized shirts and artificial breasts giggled as Jane passed by and slid into the booth seat that formed a half curve and overlooked the dance floor and stage below.

  “Jane?” A man in a gray suit with red pinstripes rushed over and offered a hand while sipping at what looked like a martini overflowing with olives. “Michael’s girl?”

  “Er, yes.” Having it confirmed by a stranger made it more real. Yes, Michael’s girl, and happy to be so, if not a little befuddled by the sensory assault.

  “Phil Sloane,” he offered. “The band’s manager.”

  She shook his hand and had to shout as the announcer onstage let out a bellow to rouse the masses. “Is this where I’m supposed to be?”

  The man made a hand motion from his eyes and toward the stage. “Right in Michael’s eyesight. You got it! I’m working the room, but will return in a bit. What can I get you to drink?”

  “White wine, please.”

  “No beer?” He smirked. “Where did Michael find you? I’ll be right back!”

  He hadn’t exactly found her, she thought as she watched Phil sashay—yes, sashay—toward the upper-level bar. They had collided in a remarkable meeting of needs.

  But whose need would get fulfilled? She could certainly help Michael. She’d been amazed to see the burns completely healed on his forehead and shoulder. All because of sex?