Her eyes widened as she picked up the card. She took a picture of it with her phone and sent it to her friends. Texts poured in congratulating her. One of her friends, Tatum, wanted her to come pick her up so she could help her use the card. A pang of guilt tugged at her for wanting to use the card, but it disappeared because it was what he wanted. He would spend the money on her himself if he was here. He’d do anything for her.
The way her relationship with Eamon had blossomed still surprised her. Only a few months had passed, but it was like they had been together for years. It felt natural to be with him, like they were meant to be together. Just being with him left her with a sense of contentment. They didn’t have to do anything or go anywhere. Some of their best times involved laying on the sofa together reading or listening to music or talking. She didn’t even mind when he worked while she was at his house.
Without warning, Amelie experienced an inexplicable wave of loneliness for him. She wanted to feel his hands on her body or hear his voice. It felt like a need. A day or two without him now seemed like an eternity. She paced, hugging herself. After a few seconds, she went back upstairs to his closet and put on one of his shirts. She could smell his after-shave faintly on it and she took a deep breath, imagining Eamon was here with her. It was a silly substitution, but it somehow eased her longing.
She tied the shirttails in a knot and went to roll up the sleeves, stopping when she saw his monogram, EDR, on the left cuff. She touched the monogram affectionately and wished it was him before she rolled the sleeve up.
Amelie texted her friend Tatum. She’d take her up on the shopping offer at the International Plaza after all. Amelie would milk this distraction from her loneliness for as long as she could.
* * *
Amelie and Tatum picked up their orders from the Starbucks counter and sat down.
“We’re definitely eating at Too Jay’s, right?” Tatum asked. The curvy blond pointed at her watch. “It’s this fat girl’s lunch time.”
“Yeah, but first I want to go to the bookstore. And you’re not fat, okay? I don’t know why you say that.” Amelie scowled at her friend.
Tatum was what some men described as thick. She had the same defined curves that Amelie had, but her hips and butt were rounder. It was a constant source of self-deprecation for Tatum and Amelie hated hearing it.
“Whatever. Just make sure lunch is on the agenda.” She took a drink of her coffee and leaned back in her chair. “Before we go any further, tell, tell, tell, Ami. What’s going on with Eamon?”
Amelie blinked. “I told you, we’re dating. Well, dating seriously now.” And I love him, she added silently.
“Yeah, I know. I hardly ever see you. He seems to monopolize your time.” Tatum’s phone rang, but she silenced it and then looked back at Amelie.
“We spend a lot of time together. What’s wrong with that?” Amelie frowned at Tatum. “Man, Tate, before I started seeing Eamon, you complained about me being alone.”
Tatum shrugged. “I’ve never seen you so into someone before. Even back at UF.” She hesitated for a moment. “Isn’t he kind of old?”
Amelie took a long drink of her cappuccino, swallowing her rising irritation. “Nope.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Ami. I’m glad you’re happy or whatever, just be careful.”
“Be careful of what?” Amelie asked. She placed her cup on the table and glared at her friend.
Two well-dressed, dark-haired men walked by. Their gazes lingered on the two women before they continued on their way. Tatum smiled at one and clucked her tongue. “Damn. Nothing like a hot Cuban guy to get your heart pumping.”
Amelie gave the guys a second look and shook her head, unable to see Tatum’s attraction to them. They were nothing like Eamon. They didn’t have his perfect posture or broad shoulders. And they didn’t have his presence. They were ordinary. “Back to what you were saying.”
“Oh, yeah. Beware of rich, old guys. You know. They have issues usually.” She took the lid off her cup and finished the coffee.
“You know this how?” Amelie rubbed the shirtsleeve where his monogram was hidden. “And stop calling him old.”
Tatum stopped nibbling the edge of the cup. “I just do. I’ve had experience.”
The worldly, superior look Tatum gave her gnawed at her. “No offense, Tate, but you’re a fucking caterer, not a therapist or relationship guru.”
“Easy, Ami!” Tatum held her hands up. “I’m only making sure you’re okay. And anyway, I’ve come across my share of rich, old guys in my work. Rich, foreign, old guys at that.”
Amelie took in a deep breath and blew it out. If Tatum called Eamon old one more time, it was going to be a short outing. “For the last time, he’s not old. Can you just let me enjoy this? I love him and he loves me.” Tatum’s eyes widened and Amelie shook her head at her. “Don’t question it or undermine it. For the first time since dad died, I’m happy. I don’t want to have to explain or defend what I’m doing.”
Tatum studied Amelie and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I just worry about you.” She took Amelie’s hand and shook it. “You know I love you.”
“I know you do. I love you too.”
“Now,” Tatum said as she stood up and nodded toward the department store a few yards away. “Neiman Marcus is right there and is just begging for us to wreck it.” She rubbed her stomach. “And then let’s eat.”
* * *
Amelie stood on her porch and struggled to get her backpack off her shoulder, shimmying it down her arm, trying to find her house key. She put down the bags in her hands and dug through the backpack. “Put the stupid key on a ring and this won’t happen,” she muttered.
“Amelie.”
Amelie swung around toward the voice behind her. She recognized her right away from the picture on Eamon’s desk. It was Lauryl.
“I’m guessing that you know who I am.” Lauryl took a step toward Amelie and smiled when Amelie took one away from her. “Find your key and let’s go inside.”
“How did you—”
“Know where to find you?” Lauryl offered. “You’re not hard to find. I followed Eamon.”
Amelie opened the door, picked up her things and looked at Lauryl, who hung back. “Are you coming in?”
Lauryl smiled. “I like to be a good guest and wait to be asked.” She brushed past Amelie and sat down on the sofa.
“Why are you here?”
Lauryl scanned the inside of the bungalow. Her eyes focused on the diploma hanging prominently on the wall. A nerd. No wonder he liked her. “I wanted to talk to you about Eamon.” She crossed her legs and looked at Amelie. The shirt she wore belonged to Eamon. “I’m sure you know that don’t like him very much. I know he’s told you that.”
Amelie fidgeted. “He doesn’t talk about you much.”
“Really?”
“If you don’t like him and you aren’t with him, then why are you here?” Amelie asked.
Her green eyes sparkled. “What do you know about Eamon? I mean, do you really know anything besides the superficial bullshit he tells people.”
Amelie stood up to open the door, but Lauryl was next to her grabbing her arms. “Let go of me,” Amelie pleaded.
“You’re going to listen to me, Amelie. You don’t know anything about Eamon because he hasn’t told you anything.” Lauryl pushed her back into the chair. “I’m going to tell you the truth.” She grabbed Amelie’s hair and yanked her head to the side. A knowing laugh erupted from her when she saw the bruises on Amelie’s neck. “Eamon’s a vampire. Like me and by the looks of it, like you’re going to be.”
“I think maybe you should go,” Amelie whispered.
“He’s a monster. He did this to me without even asking. One night he appeared in my room and did it.”
“I-I-I don’t understand,” she stammered.
Lauryl rolled her eyes. “That’s when he made me a vampire!”
Amelie stared at her blankly.
In a
vicious, smooth movement, Lauryl jerked her up from the chair and dragged Amelie down the hall. “Show me where your room is.”
Amelie pointed to the doorway and Lauryl shoved her through it. Lauryl followed her in. The familiar scent of Eamon smacked into her, throwing her off guard. The memory of Eamon making love to Amelie gnawed at her. A flash of jealousy shot through Lauryl like lightning and she felt the intense tug of the blood bond between Eamon and her. She spied the cheval mirror in the corner and pushed Amelie in front of it.
“This is how Eamon showed me.” Lauryl grabbed Amelie’s shoulders. “Now what do you think?”
Amelie’s jaw dropped. Lauryl was standing behind her, but there was no reflection. “No way. There is just no way,” she mumbled as she put her hand on the mirror face. She swung around to make sure Lauryl was there. Lauryl smiled, revealing her fangs, which caused Amelie’s knees to buckle.
Lauryl brushed Amelie’s hair away from her neck and Amelie frantically tried to move her hands away. “You know, I could kill you right now.” She lowered her face to Amelie’s neck and smiled as the veins thrummed. “Or, I could turn you myself and bond you to me instead of him. But that wouldn’t hurt Eamon enough.”
Amelie steadied her breathing. Her chest only rose and fell in short quick breaths. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. She tried again and the words came out. “Just don’t kill me.”
“No,” Lauryl said. “That’s too fast and too easy.” She placed her other hand on her shoulder and stared at Amelie in the mirror. She could smell Eamon’s aftershave on the shirt Amelie was wearing and the memory of him screwing Amelie at Bathory flashed through her mind. Jealousy followed close behind. This was whom Eamon loved, if he could love. Lauryl suspected he truly felt something for this girl. Something different than what he had felt for her. Anger fed into her jealousy. Why didn’t he feel that way about her? she wondered. Lauryl fought the jealous feelings back.
“When you see him, if you see him, tell him I came by.” Lauryl let go of Amelie. “I’ll leave you alone. You’ve got a lot to think about. The mirror trick is fun. I know why he enjoys it so much.” Lauryl snickered and then was gone.
As soon as Amelie heard the front door close, she exhaled the breath she was holding and fainted.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
She Wasn’t a Vampire. Yet.
Amelie stretched and turned her head toward the mysterious yet soothing aroma. A strange, metallic scent played in the air, rousing her from her sleep. The scent grew heavier, becoming more enticing. She opened her eyes and rose up on one elbow.
Her surroundings were unfamiliar, but that didn’t disturb her. Her clothes weren’t hers either. The high-end, designer dress didn’t come from her closet. She sighed and scanned the room for the source of the incredible fragrance filling the room and intoxicating her senses. The smell was now familiar. Not an everyday scent, but one she knew.
A soft coo came from the corner of the room. She sat forward and her eyes adjusted to the dim lights. As they did, she was drawn to a squirming bundle of blankets on a chair. A chair she knew was in Eamon’s living room. A squeak and then a squeal came from the pile of blankets. Amelie rolled to her feet. The smell, which she now recognized as blood, came from the blankets. She ran her fingers through her hair and then took a few tentative steps toward the chair. The closer she got, she could hear the sound of a heartbeat. She rubbed her chest, ignoring her skin’s cold temperature. Nothing else mattered except the delicious, wiggling bundle in the chair.
Amelie licked her lips and halted her approach at the sensation of two long incisors now in her mouth. Her tongue touched the points with increasing curiosity. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, appreciating the erotic, pinpoint sharpness of them. A smile spread across her lips as she opened her eyes. Next to the chair stood Eamon.
His gaze traveled from her face to the baby in the chair, who by now had shoved a tiny hand through the blankets. Eamon sat down on the arm of the chair and silently pulled her forward. Amelie stood in front of him, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. She wasn’t aware of anything else in the room. Only Eamon, herself and the baby.
She reached down, her fingers digging through the flannel for the baby’s skin. She traced her index finger over its chest and up to its neck. A warm pool formed on the crook of its tiny neck. As she pushed her finger through the pool, the metallic odor of the blood exploded into the air again. The warm pressure from Eamon’s hand on her shoulder stirred her from her trance. She looked at him, before dropping to her knees.
Amelie cradled the baby, holding it close to her own face. She closed her eyes and inhaled the baby’s delicious scent. How could something so small and so insignificant be so vital? How could it promise so much?
Blood, a voice whispered into her mind.
Yes, that was it. She nodded and lowered her head to the child as if to cuddle it, but instead buried her fangs into its slim neck. Her lips covered the baby’s neck. As the first surge of blood entered her mouth, the infant began to wail and shriek. Life and power poured into her. The rapid, fluttering heartbeat of the dying baby angered her as she pulled off her mouth and held the limp bundle away from her. The rush of power was short lived, though. Eamon moved behind her, his breath warm on her neck.
“This is what we are,” Eamon whispered. “This is what you will be. A slave to your hunger for death. You’re bound to me forever.”
She looked down at the bloodstained blankets marked “Property of Tampa General Hospital” and let the baby fall in a heap to the floor. “No,” she said in a tear-choked whisper.
“Yes,” he whispered as he bit her shoulder.
Her eyes squeezed shut. A hand cupped her chin and turned her face up. Amelie opened her eyes and screamed. Lauryl stared down at her, smiling. Eamon pulled his mouth away and licked at the wound on Amelie’s shoulder. He leaned forward, pulling Lauryl’s hand from Amelie’s chin. He pressed his bloody lips to her palm.
“You’ll learn to accept it and love it in time. Ask my wayward Lauryl.”
Amelie shook her head furiously.
“Now I’ll have you both. You’re mine.”
Amelie bolted upright in her bed, flailing her arms to keep Eamon and Lauryl away. She took a more lucid look around. Her room was empty and she heard her radio playing. It was a nightmare; a horrific, vivid nightmare. She rubbed her neck and shoulder, feeling for any bites and ran her tongue along her teeth, sampling the sharpness. They were all normal. She looked around the room again. It was her room at her house. She wasn’t a vampire. Yet.
Amelie fell back in her bed. There was no way she could go back to sleep now. The images from her dream kept replaying in her mind. Each time she visualized Eamon as a vampire, her heart pounded, and not with pleasure. He was a killer. A monster. When she pictured the Eamon she knew in her mind, it was difficult for her to believe what he really was. But it was true. Or what Lauryl showed her was true. She rubbed her neck.
All of the times they had “played” vampire, they weren’t playing. At least he wasn’t. Tatum was right. He did have issues. This went beyond issues, though. She remembered when she asked him how old he was. He told her that he was twice her age. No kidding. He said he hardly functioned during the day. Yeah, that was true too as well. He was a monster. A charming, well-dressed monster. That made it even worse.
Her phone rang with Eamon’s ring tone. She sat up and stared at the pink phone, as if it could somehow reach out and grab her. Did Eamon have powers like that? Amelie snatched the phone up and turned it off. Before she did, she noticed that it was three fifteen.
Eamon must be home, she thought. And he’s looking for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Choosing to be a Vampire Wasn’t Like Choosing to be a Democrat or a Teacher
Eamon cursed under his breath and tucked his phone back into his pocket. It disturbed him that he had been unable to reach Amelie since returning to Tampa. All of his c
alls and text messages had gone unanswered. That wasn’t like her at all. Something was wrong. Now, he wished he hadn’t gone to New York, even if the trip had provided the opportunity to buy an engagement ring for her.
It was a lovely Edwardian piece he found in an estate jewelry store in Greenwich Village. It wasn’t where he usually shopped for jewelry. He preferred Cartier or Bulgari to bring him a selection and choose from the privacy of his office or home. Nevertheless, the actual shopping and choosing of the ring brought him a feeling of closeness to Amelie. He knew she would love it. Delicate filigree carving and scrollwork decorated the platinum band and a two-carat, mine cut diamond sat in an ornate setting.
When he pulled in to her drive, her black 1965 Mustang was there, but the house was completely dark. Right away, his suspicion that something was wrong was confirmed. He could feel Lauryl’s presence with the same intensity as if she were standing at the door. It leaned on him, and tension crept up his back and into his shoulders. The idea of Lauryl close by immediately raised red flags in his mind, especially after what had happened at Bathory. Her markers rained on him from everywhere around the house.
Damn her, he thought as he walked up the porch steps.
Eamon listened for any sounds inside the house before he knocked. The faint sounds of a floorboard creaking and of tiptoeing distracted him, and Amelie’s almost out of control anxiety and fear filled the air. Eamon stepped over to the window and tapped on the glass.
“Amelie, I know you’re in there. Please let me in.” He could feel her standing just to the side of the window. A few moments passed and neither of them moved. Again, he tapped on the window.
“No, Eamon,” she finally said. “I’m…I can’t let you in.”
“Why not?”
“I know what you are,” she said softly.
“And now you’re afraid of me,” he said. His eyes darted around the porch as he imagined what Lauryl had told her. “I don’t want to have this conversation through a window. Will you please let me in? I swear I will not hurt you.”
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