by Michele Hauf
“Whew.”
“What?” She looked to him, but remained completely unaware of what he’d just struggled with.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why didn’t the glass tear through you? Jane?”
“That would have never happened weeks earlier,” she said. “It happened so fast, but…I willed it to avoid me. I invoked my magic, Michael. I did that.”
“How? You mean…from me?”
She nodded and moved to investigate, but he pulled her back to him. She was barefoot. “Let me carry you out of here, and then I’ll sweep it up.” He lifted her into his arms and she embraced and kissed him. “From me? Really?”
“I wasn’t sure if it would happen, so I didn’t say anything. When we make love, you draw out my magic. But you also draw it up, making it accessible to me. For some reason, Michael, you’ve unleashed the magic I’ve not been able to control since birth.”
“So—” if he understood this correctly “—we’re good for each other?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” He strode out from the workroom, avoiding the glass, and didn’t set Jane down until he’d reached the kitchen. “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”
“What do you mean?” She grabbed the champagne and crème de cassis from the fridge. “Wait.” The bottles clunked onto the table, echoing her sudden switch in moods. “You have no problem taking from me, but now that you’ve learned I’m taking from you as well—?”
“I admit it. It’s just…not right.”
“How typical of a man.” She marched away from him, heading out the back door.
And Michael remained, fending off the shudder he felt from the invisible slap Jane had sent his way. He’d felt it. Had it been her magic, or was it something he imagined after feeling her cold remark?
“This is not good.”
There was no way he was going to allow any woman the upper hand.
Chapter 15
T he next morning, Jane joined Ravin at a table in the back of a Panera restaurant. Ravin had already taken the liberty of ordering Jane a slice of pie. It was still steaming when she sat down, though Ravin’s French Silk pie had been reduced to mere crust and a few traces of whipped cream.
“Good to see you again,” Jane said as she sipped the fresh coffee the waitress dropped off for her.
“Drop the small talk, Jane. I just saw you last night. With a vampire.”
“Very perceptive. Oh, that’s right, you have the Sight.”
“Don’t play with me. We’ve been friends too long.”
The waitress stopped to top off Jane’s ice water.
Ravin stretched an arm across the padded bench and tilted a seriously discerning gaze over Jane. “You know, now that we’re sitting here in the daylight, you look good. Much better than you did a week ago. Really good, actually. The country must agree with you, eh? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you look I’ve-been-having-incredible-sex good, but I know you wouldn’t have sex with a vampire.”
Jane lifted a smug smile to her friend. “And how do you know that?”
“Oh, Jane, don’t tell me you’ve been letting that bloodsucker jump you?”
“You make it sound as if I’m a meek woman, who cowers and lets any man do as he wishes with me.”
Ravin sniffed and splayed out her hands. “Does he?” She wore the usual leathers today. Biker gear, Jane supposed. Imposing, is what it was.
“I probably wanted him before he wanted me.”
No reply, just that all-knowing, judgmental eyebrow lift. It held centuries of pain in that simple move, but Jane wasn’t about to let it get to her. Ravin sighed heavily and nodded to the table. “You going to eat your pie?”
Jane blew on the steam. She liked hot pie. “Soon. Go ahead, order another slice.”
Ravin flagged the waitress and got another slice. Two bites obliterated half the slim slice and Ravin showed no signs of slowing down. “So, we’ve both tagged the same source, which is now a very unusable source thanks to his public persona.”
“I wouldn’t use Michael even if he wasn’t famous.”
Ravin stabbed her pie with the fork. A twist mangled the innards. “Jane, you’re in too deep. This is not acceptable. He’s using you for your magic, there’s no other explanation.”
“And what if I’m using him?” Jane lifted her own challenging eyebrow at her friend. “He’s the reason I’m so glowy.”
“No.” Ravin put up a splayed hand. “Don’t even go there, Jane. I don’t want to hear this.”
“Ravin.”
“Jane.”
Jane leaned across the table, scanned the nearby diners and found none interested in their conversation, and then lowered her voice. “It was purely accidental. Neither of us knew about the other, and then when we were already going at it—”
“I said I don’t want details. Mother of—Bloody hell, are you insane? You are sleeping with a nasty longtooth? A bloodsucker!”
“My mother does it every night.”
“That’s different!” Ravin shoved her empty plate and it clanked against Jane’s water glass.
The women checked their periphery. A few diners glanced their way, then guiltily returned to their breakfast plates.
In quieter tones, Ravin hissed, “He’s using you.”
“Is not.”
“Why else would a vampire risk sleeping with the enemy? He’s getting something from you, Jane. Your magic! Don’t you know they can suck it right out from you every time you have sex? They don’t even have to bite, it flows into them somehow. During sex. I don’t even want to think of how it happens.”
“I do know that, and I’ve seen it work. Michael was burned by the sun, and sex healed him.”
“Oh, hell.” Ravin was silent for a moment, gathering steam. “And you don’t find anything at all wrong with that? Of course not! Because you can’t resist. He’s enslaving you, Jane.”
“Ridiculous. I can stop any time I want.”
“But he can’t. You’ve become his supplicant. The more sex he gets from you, the more magic he takes, and the more magic he gains, the more his body craves it. Don’t you see? Your magic is like a drug to him. And the only result will be one hell of a powerful vampire, and you will be his idiot slave.”
“I’m getting something from him, too!”
“Oh?” Ravin sat back and lifted her fork. She’d lost interest in food, instead stabbing the wedge of crust with the tines. “What? Are you waiting for the right time, then wham, make him bite you and he’s ash? That’s a good plan, you know. I’ve lured a few vamps to their death by offering up my neck. But never sex, Jane. You don’t do vampires. Got it?”
“I’m not like you, Ravin. I don’t hate vampires. My father is one!”
“Right. Well, then. Go ahead, ransom your freedom to a bloody longtooth. Let him have his way with you. Let’s hope he sticks around long enough for the ritual—”
“I would never dream to use Michael for the ritual.”
Ravin tilted a brow and the sigh that followed needed no interpretation. “You’re in trouble, Jane. I think I need to pay you a visit and put some fear into that vampire. If not a stake.”
“Absolutely not. I know what I’m doing.” She sat back and stared at her pie, and then realized something odd, but actually very wonderful. “See?” She pointed to the steaming slice of apple pie. “It’s still hot.”
“So?”
“We’ve been here for half an hour. It should be cold by now. Don’t you understand, Ravin? I think Michael is drawing up my magic. The stuff I’ve never been able to tap into my entire life. I’ve even controlled it right now. I wanted a hot slice, and look.”
“That’s…not right. But maybe. I don’t know why that should work, but—It’s probably just wishcraft.”
“An integral part of a witch’s magic. Don’t rule it out, Ravin. If having sex with Michael will draw up my magic to a point where I can begin to use and control it, well, that would be amazing.”
“And in the meantime you’re creating a superpowerful vampire who, while he may be increasing your magic, is draining as much from you for his own use.”
“It’s not like he can become one of the bewitched. He’d need to drink my blood for that.”
“Is that impossible?”
Jane shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m not going to take the chance on Michael.”
“What if I found two sources for you? One for the ritual, the other, to snack on your blood? That way, you’d know for sure.”
“You’d help me so I can know for sure whether or not Michael can take my blood?”
Ravin slumped back on the bench. “You’re right. Stupid idea. I don’t know what I was thinking. You know I actually don’t care now if he is a public figure. If I see him again, Jane, I’m staking the bastard.”
“You do, and we are no longer friends.”
Ravin drew up tall on the bench, her eyes leveling with Jane’s. Dark and without a glint, that was the stare she likely used to face down the enemy before obliterating them.
But Jane was serious, too. She would suffer no witch should she harm Michael.
“He’s already begun to enslave you,” Ravin said. “You just can’t see it. You think it’s love, but it’s subservience. I’m not going to let that happen to a good friend.”
“A good friend who sees vampires in a very different light than you, remember that, Ravin.”
Struck by the truth, Ravin settled her defensive posture and dropped her shoulders.
“How is your father these days? What would he think if he knew his daughter was doing a vamp?”
“I haven’t spoken to him for months. And he wouldn’t care.”
“Oh, no? I don’t know Baptiste Rénan personally, but from what you’ve told me, he wouldn’t be too keen on his daughter’s enslavement.”
“I am not—” Jane checked her voice and lowered it “—a slave. I’m taking as much as he is getting.” She shoved her plate to the center of the table and began to rifle through her purse for change. “I’m not hungry anymore. I should be getting back.”
“Because you’re compelled to return to him?”
“Ravin, please trust that I can take care of myself.”
“And what about that source you need in less than a week? Can you take care of that yourself?”
“No. For that, I still need your help. I wouldn’t know where to begin the search for another vampire.”
“You could start by looking between your sheets.”
“Please, Ravin?”
The petite powerhouse swung out of the booth. She tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and shoved her hands into her back pockets.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Jane. But in case you don’t, I’ve got your back.” With that, she turned and marched out.
And Jane, sighing into the steam rising from her pie, wondered if maybe she was falling a little too quickly for Michael.
She sat on the couch before the imposing fieldstone hearth that smelled like winter fires and promised cozy warmth. The couch and a chair were the only furniture in the room, and both were covered over with thick white canvas. Michael imagined the dust must have flown when she’d first sat down, for he could smell the musty dryness and feel the motes creep down his throat.
He smiled again. Entering Jane’s aura was all it took. It was her magic, he knew that now, because he’d become attuned to that certain tingle. It lived inside him, thanks to making love to her.
In a well-executed move he gripped the back of the couch and leaped to sit next to Jane. He landed close, so that their shoulders connected, and he felt the tug of her skirt as she shifted her leg to free her foot from beneath his thigh.
“What’s up?” he asked. “You’re not working?”
“Taking a break. Thinking.”
She placed her palm on his thigh. Not a sexual touch, more like she was concentrating, trying to test for, well, he didn’t know. For a long while she held there, then suddenly jerked her hand away.
“The shimmer,” she whispered, and smiled a little. “Tell me about yourself, Michael. How long have you been a vampire?”
He stared at the side of her face. Impossibly smooth skin. Soft, delicious mouth that tasted better than cherries. Tilting her head with a touch, he kissed the corner of her mouth. She didn’t react, but he didn’t need her to reciprocate. He liked to explore her. It was easier to control his needs when around her now. He knew it was because of the sex magic.
“I was changed in the sixties. I’ve been a vamp for almost fifty years. Not long in the greater scheme of things, I know.”
He stretched out a leg, crossing it over hers, imposing himself on her careful containment. “My blood master was a cruel bitch.”
“A woman?”
“Yes, a woman. First she seduced me, then, when she grew tired of me, she decided to reveal her vampire nature, and proceeded to transform me. And then she left. That very same night.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. I believe it went something like—Michael, I love you. Chomp. See ya later, big boy. Just like that. No card, no letters. I haven’t seen her since.”
“Do you regret it?”
“What I am? Not at all. I am what I am, and I’m a damn good vampire. Not many could take the stage like I do and still keep the secret. But I do regret the manner in which it was done. It all happened so fast. I had no time to take it in, and then she was gone.”
“You were in love with her?”
A vision of Isabelle LaPierre walked before Michael’s memory. Everything about her so pale, so utterly delicate and priceless. He’d followed her home that first night he’d seen her alone at the movie theater. It had been a thriller about a thief who had stolen a jewel. Isabelle had stolen his heart.
“Of course I was in love with her. We were together six months before she revealed she was a vampire. I had absolutely no clue, can you believe that?”
“She must have fed before she was with you.”
Jane’s droll recital of things she thought she knew wasn’t necessary. She couldn’t know his past. That was for him to own.
“Do you still pine for her?”
“No.” Spoken quickly. Because, well—no, he didn’t pine. But he did often wonder. “She is my past now. I’m not sure she even lives. And since, I’ve never had a girlfriend. Life is much easier without commitment.”
“And when you struggle with the blood sex thing so much.”
“Yes. There are days I don’t think I could have a relationship if I tried. And yet…” He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips to press. “Look what we’re doing. I’ve had sex without biting. That’s nothing less than amazing, Jane.”
He leaned in and cupped her head, pressing his nose to her cheek. “I want more of you. I want you now, I want you later, I want you all day, everyday, surrounding me and cleaving to me.”
“Do you—” he felt a tremble in her arm as she slid it from his grasp and along her thigh “—want to enslave me?”
“No.” He closed his eyes and kissed her hard. Where had that come from?
Did he want to enslave her? Was it possible to do so without knowing it? He knew that he was drawn to her magic again and again, like a drug. Like adrenaline. Sex magic had been effective in steering him from that addiction.
“Maybe. I don’t want you to be subservient to me, Jane. I would never want that. But, I do want you to be mine.”
“At the risk of your death?”
“Yes, even at such a risk. So long as we’re agreed on the plan. I say run, you do so. I think we can make this work.”
“I don’t want to run for ever, Michael. I want you to control the hunger. I think you can.”
“Impossible to promise it can be that way every time. Sex without blood…isn’t right.”
“So the sex we’ve had hasn’t been right?”
“It’s been great. Just…” He sighed. There was something mi
ssing. But when weighing the option of orgasm to death, there wasn’t much of a choice, was there?
Sucking in air, Michael struggled with the situation. To have another know about his dark addiction, and to be so casual about it, felt surreal. Like the spotlight had been shifted from outside of him, to inside, deep in his chest where he once felt the loneliest.
When he’d stood on stage the other night, for the first time, he had not felt alone. For he knew Jane was there, in the shadows, and in his heartbeats.
“I’ve already explained I need a blood exchange to bond with you completely. But I know that can never be, so I accept that.”
“Really?” She snuggled against him.
Michael stroked her hair. “Really.”
But it was a lie. He wanted more from Jane. Because even though she was a part of him, racing through his veins on a steady beat, they would always be a background harmony. Never a melody.
Isabelle’s pulse was still a part of him. He had merely to think of her and that slow, sultry movement glided through his veins. He hadn’t thought of her for a long time. And the only way to be completely rid of her was to replace her blood pulse with another’s.
“Didn’t you say that it was your birthday soon?”
“Yes.” He stirred from the rhythm of Isabelle’s memory. “A few days.”
“Do you want to celebrate?”
“Sure. You like parties?”
“Do you?”
“I can do a private one. Just the two of us. A little wine, some dancing, music.”
“The radio reception out here sucks, and with my iPod gone, I’m afraid we’re out of luck.”
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jane stood and rushed out to the garage. “I know I stuck it in my pocket the night of the concert. I think it must have slipped out on the drive home.”
She opened the door to the Mini and started sorting about. “Here it is!” She turned to present Michael with the iPod.
“Where’d you find this? Was it in the car the whole time?”
“No.” She closed the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms under her breasts. “Some kid gave it to me last night at the club. He said he found it, and I assumed it was the reporter from the graveyard. Sylvan Banks, that was the name he gave me. He said something cryptic like ‘Michael will know the truth soon enough.’”