by Michele Hauf
This man was home, her heart and her safety. But it seemed they’d been playing the teenager seeks a boyfriend against her father’s wishes act for far too many decades. Would he never grant her the freedom her wild soul craved?
Was that it? Always she had run back to her father’s arms after a disastrous relationship. When would she finally break free?
“You mustn’t sacrifice your life for a fleeting love affair, Jane.”
“Wh-what happens if I don’t perform the ritual?”
“Instead of aging gracefully, all those stolen years will swoop in to destroy you.”
“That’s—Are you sure? It sounds so wildly remarkable. Like something from a fiction novel.”
“Oh? As we vampires have been relegated to the pages? So much for your charmed life, dearest one.”
Sniffing back a tear, Jane surprised herself with such sudden emotion. It wasn’t because her father had admonished her. And though a hug from her mother would feel right, she didn’t need that affection this instant.
In truth, she knew the tears were because she didn’t want to lose him.
Neither did she wish to consider her own swift death. Though she’d been granted far longer on this earth than any mortal should have, she’d grown to accept it, and wasn’t prepared to consider it suddenly ending.
“Jane.” Her father pressed his cheek beside hers. The comfort of his hug didn’t do it this time.
Just set me free. Let my rebellions put me where they will.
And yet, all she had ever done was to rebel. For a hundred years. Was it time to straighten up? To respect her father’s demands?
“Do not leave this world, precious one,” Baptiste whispered in her ear. “Take your life, Jane. Take it!”
Chapter 19
M ichael waited as the software reloaded onto the iPod. Jesse had shipped it overnight express. The FedEx truck had just delivered it.
Jane had sequestered herself in a hot tub last night, immediately after her father had left. And she had risen hours earlier and went straight to the studio, without peeking in on him. He’d give her space. Wait for her to come to him. At least, for a few impatient hours. After that, all bets were off.
He missed the woman, and the feeling was surmounted by the fact that she was right there, so close, yet so untouchable. She pulsed inside him. And yet, no amount of flowers, scattered, bouqueted, or climbing the walls could cure what bothered her soul.
And what hurt her, hurt him. It was almost as if he could feel her sorrow. The monster didn’t like it, and the man desperately wanted to change it, to shake the pain away from her soul.
The software loaded successfully, and he began to search the videos. The first title was merely a string of As. Not one of his entries. He clicked it. Again the face flashed before him for no more than two seconds.
Pale long hair obscured half the female face. Her mouth opened, as if she were speaking, but even with the earbuds, there was no sound. A flicker of hand brushed across her hair and—Video static.
His heartbeat stalled in his chest, Michael clasped his shirt. “It can’t be. It looks so much like her.”
Who could know this image would disturb him? How?
There was no clue attached to the short video clip, not even an icon with a brief description. Once more he played the ten-second flash. And once more he sucked in his breath at the sight of her.
He scanned through the other files, the podcasts, photos and songs—all there. Nothing new. The addresses. Wait—he hadn’t put that entry there. Banks. Sylvan Banks.
The name Jane said the kid from the club gave her. The same kid from the graveyard? Was he really a reporter? Looked young, but that didn’t mean a thing. He had admitted to having a camera in his car.
Michael read the details of the entry. It was an address in Clear Rapids, a suburb just south of North Lake. No phone number or email listed. Above the address it read To find me:
“Well.”
Someone was playing a game, hoping to lure him.
Thing is, did that someone realize they might hook a vampire? And if they did, would it be safe for Michael?
Jane snapped a piece of ivory glass and held the shape of a skull before her for inspection, while her thoughts drifted forward a few days.
She didn’t want to perform the ritual.
And she did.
Performed once every century, it ensured her immortality. Only trouble was, a source was required. Source meaning, a vampire. And after all was chanted, promised and sacrificed, there usually wasn’t much vampire left to argue. The dark ones had a different word for their unfortunate compatriots chosen to be a source—ash.
If you ever need a thing, I’m there.
A promise from Ravin Crosse, issued decades ago after Jane had first met her. After watching vampires slaughter her parents, when but a child in eighteenth-century Bulgaria, that girl had no sympathy for any bloodsucker.
The trouble? Getting a source was impossible if the witch couldn’t find a vampire. Jane was a little surprised. Ravin had claimed to have the Sight, and she’d seen the evidence of that boon. So where were all the vamps?
She laid the skull next to the swatch of emerald glass that formed a grass blade. Was it selfish to extend one’s life by means of a spell, trickery and magic?
“Yes, it is selfish,” she muttered. But it was all that she knew.
She had been born into this world from two otherworldly beings. Not a moment of her life had been spent not knowing all things were possible. The world was populated—albeit secretly, and sometimes not so very secretly—by many who were inhuman or immortal, and those that were close to human, but not.
Werewolves loped across the lands. They could be found in every country, forest and territory. Vampires, yes they stalked the shadows, surviving under the radar, and because of the ridiculous acceptance mortals wore as a mask.
As for faeries and trolls, and others of the Folk, Jane had crossed paths with a few in her travels. Faeries were as varied and particular as the human race. She’d once dated one, but had decided his attraction to her would never grow stronger than his desire for absinthe. Elves, well, they were a regal breed and rarely associated on mortal grounds.
Not to say this earth was composed entirely of mortal ground. So many more places were of the other realms, most often bastardized and stolen for mortal use over the centuries. That is how they became myth. Because the mortals stopped seeing them.
Walking that line of non-sight and daring suited Jane perfectly. For all purposes she was merely mortal. Yet immortal.
Unless, she choose to not go through with the ritual.
What if your life ends suddenly? Pouf, you are gone?
And yet, to live, for Michael, may be the first unselfish act she had ever considered.
Why had she allowed herself to care about a man who should have been nothing more than a tool to her?
“Jane?”
Approaching slowly, Michael padded across the floor, barefoot. Skinny, faded jeans wrapped his powerful limbs, and the shirt, decorated with skulls, seemed a little tight. Had his clothes shrunk?
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Not sure. Did that shirt shrink?”
He stretched his arm, bending the tight fabric at the elbow. “I wore this the other night and it was fine. It’s weird, but I think I’m…growing.”
She smirked. “You don’t realize it’s the magic, do you?”
“Magic is making my clothes smaller?”
“You’re growing stronger, Michael. Gaining muscle and, probably soon, will be popping those seams.”
He slapped a hand over his chest and did a knee bend that did indeed tear at the seams. “Guess I’ll have to pick up some clothes when I’m in town.”
“You leaving now?”
“Yes, there’s…something I need to do.”
“Could you stop by a hardware store and get me some copper striping? I’ve run out.”
“Sure. So
um…everything all right with you?”
She sensed where he wanted to go with that question. Since her father had left for the city, Jane had been avoiding Michael. How to look him in the eye knowing what needed to be done?
“Everything is going to be fine, Michael. I’ve been trying to catch up since the window broke. Sorry, if you feel like I’ve been avoiding you.”
“You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with your father?”
“Not at all.” Truth, or as close to truth as she was willing to give. “We just see each other so rarely lately. For as long as I’ve lived, you’d think I’d get over my homesickness.”
“I understand. You’ve been around longer than I have. That’s right, you said 1881. You know…” He trailed a tickling finger along her arm. “I like dating an older woman. The guys in the band will get a kick out of this.”
“Are we dating? Does one date when they share the same house? I thought we were…”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She moved a piece of glass on the table, which slid her arm from his touch. “Just lovers, I suppose.”
“Like that? Just lovers. Like…just cheese. Or just grass.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s with you, Jane? I know something is bothering you. Is it me? Don’t you like me?”
“I adore you, Michael.”
“Then why so cool today?”
“I’m not being cold, am I?” Yes, you are! “I, we…well, what are we exactly?”
“Lovers.” He kissed her. “Friends.” Another kiss. “Family, of a sort. We’re both part of the world of darkness.”
“I’m not one of the dark. I quite enjoy the light.”
“I see. So it’s fine to take a vampire as a lover, but you’ll never love him, or consider him proper boyfriend material. Heaven forbid he should drool blood on you, or vamp out and actually bite you.”
“I don’t do boyfriends, Michael. Never have.” Well, there had been that one, regrettable time…
“In over a hundred years, you’ve never had a boyfriend?”
“Think about it. It’s not very practical for a woman who will live forever to get attached to one man for any length of time. As I continue to thrive and experience the world, never changing, those around me grow old and die.”
“You’ve never had a true love?”
She shook her head, but looked away from his delving gaze. Some lies were necessary, if only to keep back the regret and tears. “What is true love, really? Just an ideal. Nothing solid.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Jane.” He swept an arm around her waist and diverted her attention into his eyes. There, she saw honesty, and a hunger for truth. “Don’t you want to take a chance on me?”
The truth rushed up unbidden. “Yes, I—I actually do. But don’t push it, please. I need to take every day one step at a time. I…I prefer my lovers uncomplicated.” Now that was a lie. “Can you understand that?”
“I’m about as complicated as they come.”
“No kidding.” And more interesting for it. “Don’t give me that sexy look. Save it for your fans.”
“Fine. Truth?”
“All right. Truth. You want to know how I feel about you?” Could she speak her true feelings for him? It was a bold challenge. But like this whole mistake, it was a challenge thrown down, and must be taken. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m—”
“—always serious,” he finished for her, with a knowing grin.
“What about you?”
“That’s easy. I fell in love the moment I saw you standing in the bedroom holding that deadly box cutter. Your eyes were wild and alive. Your hair, it was angry with me. Every part of you tempts the monster, Jane, and every other part calms it. What did I do to deserve you?”
Not a thing. There was no fate, or deserving involved. “We both got lucky, I guess.”
“I don’t believe in luck. I’ve seen too much to believe in it.”
“So you’ve seen it all? Please.” She pushed from his embrace and paced around to the end of the worktable. “It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been around,” she said over her shoulder. “Or what you’ve seen. It’s all in what you believe.”
“Fine.” Embracing her from behind, and tugging the cutting tool from her fingers, he clasped her hands within his wide strong grip. “I believe in us, Jane. Don’t be afraid of it. Whatever you should ask of me, I will give to you. No matter what.”
Tucking her head down, Jane kissed his hand and closed her eyes. Whatever she should ask? He couldn’t begin to imagine the dreaded favor a witch could ask of a vampire.
Michael drove the Mini to Maple Street. Tipping his sunglasses from his forehead onto his nose, he then surveyed the area.
After the burn he’d gotten a few days ago out in the back yard, he didn’t want to tempt fate again, so he tugged up his shirt to cover his face and ears. A new shirt; he’d stopped at a strip mall on the way. He’d gone from a large to an extra large—simply by having sex with Jane.
Nice. And he was pretty sure everything had increased in size, not just the muscles on his arms and legs.
He strode swiftly up the sidewalk, his boot chains clanking until he reached the safety of the shadows before the house.
Old newspapers littered the stoop of the small green stucco house. Michael scanned the front of the property. The windows were darkened with sunscreen plastic and shades were pulled over that. Shrubs were overgrown and the grass was badly in need of a mow.
After five rings of the doorbell, Michael decided to walk around the side of the house to look for a back entrance. Clinging to the shadows he stalked through the grass.
The screen door rattled and sprang free from the doorframe as if it had been sealed there with paint for centuries. Michael whipped back around to the front steps.
Someone studied him from the shadows of the interior. Michael couldn’t make out features but he did smell something chemical ooze out from inside.
“Wondering when you would stop by,” the person inside said. “Enter, vampire, freely and of your own will.”
Smirking at the theatrics—and yet his heart pounded at the very gall of the invitation—this kid knew—Michael pushed in the screen and gripped the guy’s shoulders. He pinned him to the wall behind the door and slammed him so roughly he heard bones clack.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You found me,” the reporter offered, calm enough for a man restrained. “Sylvan Banks. You must have found the address and tracked me down. Get your facts straight, will ya?”
“I will get you straight if you don’t watch your mouth. What’s your deal? I’ve never done anything to you. I don’t even know you.” He gave another shove. Banks. He was the one from the graveyard. And he wasn’t a kid, but he did still have the acne and gawky build. “Why’d you steal my iPod?”
“Didn’t steal it. Found it in the graveyard.”
“You tampered with it.”
“Wanted you to find me. And now you have, vampire. Let me go.”
“The vampire is a myth.” Michael slammed him hard, then released him and strode into the dank shadows of a living room.
But a tatty couch and glass-topped coffee table sat before an old television that looked something out of a Leave It to Beaver rerun. The air in the place was not right. Musty. It didn’t feel lived in. “Who the hell are you?”
“I was hired to verify your condition and bring you to my mistress.”
“Verify my—” Anger curdled in Michael’s gut like a virus. He had to remain calm. Jane’s soft touch was too far away to still the wanting rage.
“Who hired you, and why lure me through some idiot kid? What do you want? Money? You know, after all the roadies, managers and lawyers have been paid, there ain’t a lot left to be divided between the five band members.”
“I’ve been given enough money that I don’t need to ask for any from you. But
you’re right, Michael, there is a purpose to my madness.”
“It’s Mr. Lynsay to you.”
Banks scrubbed a palm over his tousled hair. “I don’t give a shit who or what you are. But my mistress does.”
“Mistress?” What kind of nutty fantasy was he playing in? “Give me a name.”
“You will know her when you see her.”
“Her?”
Banks tapped a finger against his thin lips, but his eyes couldn’t hide the smile he sought to cover.
“Step back, you’re starting to piss me off. And if you touch me—” Michael inhaled, the move drawing him taller, and stretching back his shoulders. “Don’t get me riled, that wouldn’t be a smart move.”
Anger remained at bay—barely. Michael wouldn’t vamp out on this man. It wasn’t worth the energy. He’d controlled the monster before, with Jane, he could do it now, without her.
“Of course, because the vampire is a wild, unpredictable beast.” Banks snarled and made a ridiculous clawing motion to illustrate his accusation. “I know that. I’ve dealt with you bastards before.” He flicked his finger behind the neck of his shirt and a glint of metal popped out.
Michael flinched at sight of the small gold cross.
“Figured a guy like you would have been baptized.” Banks patted the cross, content it served a purpose without having to wield it. “Like I said, my mistress is the one who wants you, not me. Let me introduce you to her, then maybe I can get the bloodsucking bitch off my back.”
Fitting his open palm against the idiot’s neck, Michael shoved him into the wall and easily lifted his body inches from the floor. Yes, his fangs were down. And yes, the cross burned.
“I’m not about to trust you farther than I can toss you. What’s her name?”
“Isabelle LaPierre” came a voice from the next room.
Michael dropped the reporter. The burn on his hand smoked. His entire body went rigid at that voice.
The voice of his blood master. The woman for whom he’d waited decades.
Chapter 20
Y es, decades. He had always opened the door to a knock, expectant, hopeful that she had returned. She was never there. He’d answered the phone, listening for her voice. No such luck.