“No.”
“We’re safe now. There’s no reason I can’t donate.”
He uses his last bit of energy to turn on his side, move his eyes to mine, and set his jaw. “No.”
“Why are you being so—”
“I said never again. I meant it.”
“Last time was by force, and I’m volunteering now. You’ll take just enough to heal, okay?”
“I will not do this. I can wait. No.” He closes his eyes again.
A wave of rage swells within me. “Listen to me, you jerk!” His eyes open. “I’m exhausted. I have been kidnapped, strangled, attacked, I’ve seen you cut open with a sword, killed a few vamps, carried your sorry butt a mile, and done a frightening medical procedure. All of this because of you! And you’re worried about drinking a little of my blood? Get over it!” I shove my wrist to his lips. “Now, bite me, you jackass!”
His eyes soften and study mine. His face falls. “It will hurt.”
“I remember, and I don’t care. Do it.”
I expect more protests, but instead he opens his mouth, fangs exposed. I tense. It really does hurt. I look away as the teeth lower, but gasp in pain when the two huge fangs punch through skin. The blood flows into Oliver’s suckling mouth. If it wasn’t for the pain, it might feel as if he was kissing my wrist with the moving lips and roving tongue. Some find this erotic. I find it painful and disgusting. I whimper.
It takes thirty long, long suckling seconds for me to become lightheaded. The world tilts a little, and I instinctively pull my wrist away. His fingernails dig into my flesh. Everything full tilt boogies. Spots float all around. From experience, I know I have about ten seconds before I pass out. I do the only thing I can think of to get him to stop: I kick him in the crotch.
You fantasize about doing it a dozen times, but the reality is such a letdown. Still, it does do the job. He releases me, and I instantly scoot away, pressing against the two holes with my other hand. Blood spills between my fingers. I grab a towel and wrap it around the wrist. Oliver remains doubled over on his side, my blood dribbling down his chin. He rocks back and forth. My heavy breathing is the only noise.
“I apologize,” he says a few seconds later. Still doubled over, he lifts his head. His eyes are the normal shade, no snake black at all. His color is better with a hint of pink resurfacing. The world does another one eighty. He meets my eyes. “I may have nicked your artery. I need to close the wounds.”
“No. Just give me the glue. I can do it.”
“Trixie, this is not up for debate. Trust me.”
I can always kick him in the nuts again if I need to. And … spinning and spots are bad. I don’t shrink away as he crawls toward me, still in pain as he grimaces every time he moves. He sits next to me. “Me and my bright ideas,” I mutter.
A little smile forms as he takes my arm. “You trust me?”
“You know I do.”
He unwraps the towel. Blood pours from the two holes onto the carpet. Blood. I can’t escape it. Once again my wrist moves to his mouth, but no fangs press in. It’s worse. His tongue licks over the wounds like a cat giving itself a bath. Vamp saliva has a clotting enzyme, so I’ll be healed by tomorrow morning. After three licks, the blood slows. His eyes peer over my wrist to my own for a moment, but I look away. This is just too weird. He licks a few more times before releasing me. I fight the urge to wipe the cooties off. The wounds are still raw, and now itchy, but they’ve stopped bleeding.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
We sit side by side for a minute without speaking. I’m so tired now I don’t think I can get my mouth to move anymore. He is so still, so quiet, if we were outside birds would perch on him. “Did I hurt you?” he asks finally.
“Not too bad,” I find myself saying.
“I apologize for losing control. It was—”
“I know. And I’m sorry for kicking you in the crotch.”
He smiles a genuine smile. “No, you are not.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, trying to stop the oncoming laughs.
He doesn’t have my restraint. He chuckles, which becomes a full on laugh. It’s contagious. I laugh harder than him, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. “Geez, what a night.”
“Oh, yes.”
The laughs die down a moment later, leaving nothing but awkwardness and exhaustion. I sigh. “I think I need to lie down now,” I chuckle for the last time.
I put my hand on his bare shoulder in an attempt to rise. I make it halfway before my knees buckle, and I fall into Oliver’s awaiting arms. Oops. He gazes down at me, and I look up at him, our eyes locking. With his arms around my back, the tips of his fingers touching the edge of my breast, and the other supporting my bare legs, I suddenly feel like I am—wet, half naked, with adrenaline coursing through me. Because I am. Goosebumps erupt like Pompeii all over. The butterflies I normally get have multiplied and spread to every inch of my body. His ruby red lips hover mere inches from mine. Neither of us moves, not even our eyes as this glorious thing passes between us.
I know this is the days’ events at work, I know it. I know we’ve been through a lot, faced our share of death in a short period of time, and what I’m feeling is just a product of that. Everyone gets this way. Irie and Wolfe hooked up right after she fought off a rogue witch. If I do anything, I’ll hate myself tomorrow. But …
Not tearing my eyes from his, I reach up to his lower lip, slowly wiping the blood with my finger. His grip tightens on my body. It feels so good, our skin touching. The more touching, the more every part of me turns deliciously warm like hot fudge. He’s so handsome, the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Like a dark angel. Those lips, those eyes—God, everything about him does something to me. I could look at him for eternity, and the lust would never wane. He risked his life to save mine tonight. Damn it, I want him. More than I’ve wanted a man before. To hell with it. “We’re always finding ourselves in hotel rooms alone together,” I say quietly, “with me half naked. And I always end up in your arms. Always.”
His eyes jut from side to side as if trying to read my mind like a book. I don’t think he likes the material. His eyes become almost sad for a moment before they leave mine. “And you always fall asleep. You are exhausted, my dear. As am I.”
Wait. Am I getting the brush off from a priapismic dead guy?
He stands up with me still in his arms. He flinches in pain, but manages to get us both back to the bed, laying me on top before pulling the covers out. “Get under the covers, my dear,” he says. When I do, I’m surprised he doesn’t pat my head like a good girl. “I am going to clean myself up a bit. Try to sleep.”
Without another word, he switches off the lights and retreats into the bathroom, leaving me alone in the dark. Water from the sink runs in the next room. Any warm feelings evaporate. I scoff. Um, what the heck just happened? I practically throw myself at him, and he does nothing. Okay, so he’s still weak, but nothing? I don’t get it. I want him, he wants me … grr! You’ve got to be kidding me. Well, that’s it. He missed his chance. I’m not giving him another one. Not ever.
He’s in the bathroom about ten minutes and as each one passes, I grow angrier and angrier. How can he not want me? He flirts with me all the time. Nonstop. And he knows it annoys me. If he doesn’t want to sleep with me, then why do it at all? I’m not crazy. I know I have limited experience with men, but any fool could tell he’s into me. I feel it. And yes, I know, it would be a mistake. But what a mistake. He’s had hundreds of years of experience. Is it my thighs? He saw my thighs and was grossed out. I know I’m not gorgeous like Marianna, but I’m not a psycho either. That should earn me some points. Who am I kidding? He’s a man. Good and evil doesn’t matter, just dress size. I was just sport for him. What—
The bathroom door opens and I close my eyes tight, pretending to sleep. I hear him check the curtains and turn off the bathroom light. I squeeze them tighter when he sits on the bed. The top cover rustles as he
lies down next to me. What a gentleman, leaving a piece of hard cotton between our bodies. I turn on my side with my back to him.
“I know you are awake,” he says. “Your breathing is not yet shallow.”
Crud. “I was just about to fall asleep, thank you very much. You woke me. But since you’re up, why don’t you call downstairs and get yourself a cot. The bed’s mine.”
“You would throw an injured man out of a comfortable bed?”
I flip over to face him. It’s dark, so I can only make out the outline of his face and bare chest. He lies on his stomach, so once again our faces just mere inches apart. My skin lights up again, damn it. “If he was you? Yes. Now get out of my bed.”
“Do you not trust me enough to know I will not molest you in your sleep? Or is it the opposite?”
“You’re a pig.” I flip over again. “Just shut up and go to sleep, okay? Don’t think about me and don’t touch me, or I swear I’ll throw open the curtains at sunrise.” Damn it! I feel the tears on their way, and I almost draw blood when I bite my lip to stop them. I’m being wishy-washy and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
We’re silent again for a minute, with only my angered breathing filling void.
“Do you not think I long to kiss you?” he asks quietly.
“What?”
I feel him turn on his side with great effort. “Oh, my beautiful Trixie,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Do you not think that it requires every inch of my resolve not to press my mouth against yours? To taste you? To touch you? To be inside you and watch as I bring you to ecstasy?”
I don’t move. I don’t blink. For some reason, I just want to disappear, vanish, so I don’t have to have this conversation while I’m in just a flimsy T-shirt and panties.
“But when it occurs—and I have no doubt it will occur—it will be because you want me. Not because you want to block out the world.”
If I wasn’t already lying down, I’m pretty sure I’d swoon. But instead I say, “Well, don’t hold your breath, buddy. I had a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh, yes it will. And I have nothing but time, my beloved.”
I smile despite myself but quickly drop it. “Whatever.”
“You should try to sleep now. I will keep watch until rescue arrives.”
“Do you think Freddy will find us?”
“No. Not tonight.”
We don’t speak for another minute.
“I killed Marianna.”
He’s silent for a moment and then says, “I know.”
“I didn’t have to. But I did.” I flip over again to see his reaction. Nothing but sadness, for who I don’t know. “She hurt us. She hurt you. I just … I did it. Are you mad at me?”
He pushes back a piece of my hair. “Never.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “I—”
“Shush, my darling,” he says, lifting his free arm to welcome me in. How does he do that? Knowing exactly what I need when I need it? I scoot the few inches between us as he drapes his arm over my shoulders. I scoot closer to him, hugging his arm with mine and resting my forehead against his. My safe haven. He traces circles on my neck, humming a lullaby until I fall asleep a minute later. Better than sex.
_____
What the …?
Light streaming in from the hallway wakes me. My eyes are so blurry even rubbing them barely helps. I look toward the person standing in the light. The person’s fury hits my head like a baseball bat. I sit up, dislodging my body from Oliver’s. Then I make out the figure. Oh, shit. Yes, I think that. It bears repeating. Oh, shit.
I fell asleep on Oliver’s shoulder with my body curled around his while he held me. He’s shirtless, and I may as well be, the one I wear is so thin. This is how he finds us. At this moment, I so wish Freddy had killed me.
“Hi, Will.”
Twelve
Extermination
He cut his vacation short. His first vacation in years, and he cuts it short. Why? Nancy and her big, stupid, stupid mouth. She just had to pick up the damn phone on George’s desk. He was calling to check in, and she answered. It took her all of a minute to blab the whole story. He was on the next flight back.
Nancy and the entire team (minus Carl, since our psychometric never does say much, and Andrew, who stayed home since there are no ghosts around) have taken turns regaling me on what happened next, acting as if it was all my fault. Will arrived home, and before he even set down his bags, he tore into George. What was he thinking? How could he let me go without backup? On and on. It took half an hour to calm him down, and another half hour to convince him not to steal the jet and fly to Dallas. At least now I know why everyone was so stressed and cryptic.
It was horrible. The most gut-wrenching humiliating moment of my life, and that’s saying something; I’ve had some doozies. They arrived at the hotel, flashed badges, got the master key, and rushed upstairs. I’m told Will knocked, but I was so deep in sleep I didn’t hear it. Of course he got the wrong idea. Anyone would, what with us half naked and clinging to one another. Without a word, he walked out. I dislodged myself from the barely awake Oliver and tried to follow. I was so lightheaded all I managed to do was fall back into bed. Irie and Chandler came in next. Now, the whole team knows. Such is my life: I do nothing wrong and I’m still punished.
Right now I’m at mobile command, a huge RV/trailer we fly in for missions. It has everything: medical equipment, a lab, temporary holding cell, and the conference room in which I now sit. We were quickly and quietly ushered out of the hotel in the dark of night and into SUVs. We drove to Love Field, where command waited in an abandoned hanger. Mobile command is kept with our jet and flown in behind us on an old military carrier. Will was in the other car on the way here. He didn’t get out until I was already inside command. The rest of the team came out of the conference room to meet us. Nancy threw her arms around me, and I squeezed tight. Then Dr. Lynette Neill, our physician, examined both Oliver and me.
His wound was already healing, but she stitched up the few places I missed and his arm. Oliver didn’t say a word to me on the ride, or while I watched him get patched up. He joked with Nancy and Andrew but barely glanced at me. Neill gave him a huge thermos of blood and sent him to bed in the holding cell where they set up a spare coffin. I haven’t seen him since.
I was appraised, given pain relievers, a blood transfusion, my own clothes, and then I passed out on the couch in the conference room. I woke about ten hours later. Everyone but Agent Rushmore—a severe FBI agent who is never without a blue pinstripe suit and crew cut, much like the other three agents assigned to us—was gone. No doubt at the hotel doing what we normally do: waiting until something happens. I could have asked Agent Rushmore to take me there, but I still feel like crap and can’t handle the looks and questions, so I start typing up my report.
I gave the CliffsNotes version on the ride to command about what the vamps were driving, where they lived, etc. I can only hope we find the creeps today, take them out, and get the heck out of this state. Then I am never setting foot in Texas ever again.
The front door of the trailer opens and closes as I finish the paragraph, followed by giggling. A moment later Irie and Agent Wolfe, whose first name has never been told to me but I think is Andy, stumble into the conference room, still laughing. They have that “We just had tremendous sex, tee hee” look about them. She’s dressed in simple jeans and black tank top, long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Agent Wolfe is in, surprise surprise, a dark blue suit. His brown hair sticks to his forehead, but it’s endearing on him. Irie smiles and holds up what looks like my suitcase.
“I come bearing gifts from the Dauphine,” she says.
“Have any trouble?” I ask as I shut the laptop.
Irie sits beside me. “Not really. There was this pipsqueak who started yelling, but we shut him up quick. Apparently everyone left in a hurry last night. You sure made a mess. Haven’t seen that much blood in a long time.”
“Got all your stuff. Oliver’s coffin too. They’re taking it back to the other hotel now.” She pauses. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. I feel just peachy; especially now that you’re here to tell me how fabulous I look. You’re a real friend.”
Irie looks at Agent Wolfe. “Told you she didn’t sleep with him.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
“If you had, you’d be in a much better mood.”
“Of course I didn’t sleep with him! We didn’t even kiss! Everyone thinks we did?”
“Pretty much,” Agent Wolfe says.
“Come on, it did look kind of bad. Lying together, limbs entwined, clothing thrown everywhere? As if you wouldn’t think the same thing.”
She’s right. I cover my face with my hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“About what?”
My hands, my stomach, and my intelligence all drop when I hear his voice. He stands in the doorway, handsome face neutral. Normally, when I lay eyes on him, I’m told my face lights up like a firefly, but I doubt it’s doing it now.
Will is a little over six feet tall with a muscular build. I saw him without a shirt once, and I can attest there isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. That delicious body is now encased in black boots, black jeans, and loose azure T-shirt. His chocolate brown hair hangs loose across his forehead just begging for fingers to run through it. A Roman, slightly asymmetrical nose and strong jaw complete the package. He’s not alabaster-statue perfection like Oliver, but I think he’s perfect in his own way. I just wish those green eyes I love would look my way now.
“Nothing,” Irie says. “She’s just embarrassed she had to call us in so soon.”
Will walks in, purposely not looking at me. How I wish I could turn invisible right about now.
“Well, she should have done it the second there was a hint of trouble,” he says, hard as granite. “I doubt she’ll be making the same mistake in the future.”
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