First Fruits

by Amanda Carney

  She laughed quietly. “Very.”

  Keeping his voice neutral, he asked, “This Tom . . . what was his last name?”

  “Troester.” She made a face. “I used to call him Tom Toaster behind his back.”

  He filed the name away for future reference. He might not be able to eliminate Patrick as a threat, but he could damn sure eliminate Troester. Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ll never let him get to you ever again. I want you to believe that.”

  She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I know you won’t.”

  Trailing his fingers down her chin, he said, “Tell me something happy about your life. Something good.”

  She thought about it for a long moment. “I met this guy once.”

  Jesse raised a brow. That hadn’t necessarily been what he was going for. “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a secret smile as if recalling the memory. “It was one of those love-at-first-sight things.”

  He listened, his fingers moving down her throat and resting possessively on the marks he’d made just hours earlier with his teeth. They were already nearly healed. He bet Mr. Love-At-First-Sight couldn’t do that with his tongue. He spoke in a flat voice. “What happened.”

  Her voice grew wistful, and she touched her lips. “He was my first kiss.”

  “Really.”

  “And so handsome.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “He had this luxurious black hair. And his eyes.” She bit her bottom lip. “His eyes were just amazing. The deepest green I’d ever seen.”

  When he finally realized what she was saying, his frown dissipated.

  “Come here,” he growled and pulled her against him. She giggled and then moaned as he claimed her mouth good and hard.

  “So I was your first kiss, huh?” he asked, nipping her chin.

  Her eyes were alight with amusement. “First everything.”

  Damn straight he liked that. He pulled back, looking down at her. “Wait, you think my hair is luxurious?”

  She raked her fingers through it. “Oh, yes.”

  He kissed her again but didn’t let his hands roam. He knew she had to be tender, and too much touching on his part and he’d be spreading her legs and getting inside her again. Just the thought had him smothering a groan, and he let his head fall back on the pillow, covering his face with his arm.

  Sighing, she rested her cheek on his chest, her hand on his abdomen. “So . . . how did it taste?”

  Painfully aware of the location of her fingers, he squeezed his eyes shut beneath his forearm. “Not bad,” he murmured. “I think the real deal is better though. That powdered cheese stuff is questionable.”

  She laughed, her breath tickling his skin. “Not that,” she said quietly. “My blood.”

  The memory made his cock ache, and he took his arm away so he could see her. “Look at me.”

  She turned her face to him.

  “It was beyond words,” he said.

  And it had been. He’d never tasted anything like it in his life. There’d been a sweetness to it that was almost unbearable. It’d been vibrant. Lighting his throat on fire. Sparkling and burning its way through his system and hooking him like a drug. The resulting high had been unlike any he’d ever experienced and nothing he ever wanted to come down from.

  And though he hated to admit it, a small part of him, that integral thing that made him a vampire, understood Patrick’s obsession now.

  She touched the marks he’d given her. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  He watched her fingers. “The enzymes in my saliva healed you.”

  “Handy.” She smiled. “And gross.”

  “Yes,” he laughed.

  She hesitated, biting her lip.

  “What is it?” he coaxed, using his thumb to pull her lip free from her teeth.

  She blushed and glanced down. “There’s something I want to do.”

  “Yeah?”

  Her face took on an even deeper shade of red. “You remember that thing you did to me last night?” she asked quietly, studiously avoiding his gaze. “When you got on your knees and . . .”

  Jesse froze at what she was implying, his already-hard cock straining beneath the thin sheet. Yeah, he remembered burying his face between her thighs and getting his tongue inside her. Fucking. Vividly.

  He cleared his throat. “I do.”

  She looked up at him. “I want to do that to you.”

  “Do you.”

  She nodded, biting that lip again.

  He imagined her putting her mouth on him and nearly came. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, throat tight. “We don’t . . . have to.”

  “I know.”

  After studying her face, all he could manage was a stiff nod.

  Without another word, she turned and pulled the sheet down, exposing him to the cool air. As she wrapped her fingers around him, his breath caught, body going rigid. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and out of her way, which blessedly gave him a full view. He ground his teeth as she leaned down, brushing her lips over the head.

  “Baby,” he said, pleading. For what, he didn’t know.

  Ignoring him, she took him into her mouth, her lips forming a wet, warm seal.

  “Holy fuck.” He fisted the sheet beneath him.

  Before he could recover, she was using tongue and the barest grazes of teeth, sliding up and down, her hand hesitantly working the base. It was tentative and inexperienced and goddamned amazing. But it was when she closed her eyes and moaned softly that really cranked him up. The sound vibrated clear down to his balls. He arched his head back into the pillow, the cords in his neck straining. “So good,” he breathed.

  This seemed to encourage her and damn if she didn’t take him a little deeper and stroke him a little harder. Reaching down blindly, he got his fingers in her hair and held on, feeling her move as she sucked him. And as she explored him with devastating curiosity, he realized it was entirely possible that one could die without ever having stepped foot on the battlefield.

  22

  Wool Socks & Teary Goodbyes

  He is so beautiful.

  The thought was a mantra in my head as I stared down at Jesse, asleep, his nude body tangled in the once-crisp white sheets that were now gloriously wrinkled. Black hair fell over his closed eyes, his face serene. He was on his side with his leg drawn up and arms sprawled. He looked . . . peaceful.

  And beautiful.

  Fingering the pendant around my neck, its stone warm and smooth to the touch, I took a sip of steaming chamomile. I closed my eyes and breathed in the delicate scent with a sigh. He hadn’t stirred when I’d gotten up and he was still sound asleep after the twenty minutes it’d taken me to get dressed and brew my tea. I briefly considered waking him, but decided to let him be.

  Last night had been tiring, after all.

  Smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, I turned and left, closing the door quietly behind me. It was almost seven-thirty, and I figured if I hurried I could just catch the sunrise. A quiet, still morning on the cabin’s old porch with a hot cup of tea and my thoughts sounded about as good as it got.

  If it wasn’t raining, that was. Down below was like being in a tomb, cut off from the world and its weather. A cozy, comfortable tomb, but still a tomb. I craved fresh air in my lungs and dew on my skin.

  The outside was calling me.

  And I needed to make a phone call.

  As eager as I was to breathe in the outdoors, however, I was still nervous about leaving the safety of the underground. Last night, Jesse had told me about all the motion sensors surrounding the property and the multiple surveillance cameras concealed on the cabin’s exterior. The place was a high-tech fortress. If anyone, or anything, so much as sneezed in its general direction, Jesse would know. So it was safe. Safer than most, if not all, the places I’d survived in over the years. My embedded fear could relax for the time being, and so could I.

  Carrying my mug and Je
sse’s phone, I made my way down the hall and into the living room in my socked feet. After about forty years, I managed to unlatch all the deadbolts and swing the heavy steel door wide. Leaving it open, I went up the smooth stone steps, the gas lanterns casting a yellow glow over the passageway. When I reached a small landing just before the top, I stopped and pulled a brass lever to my right, just as Jesse had shown me yesterday. Moving on silent, oiled hinges, the trapdoor directly over my head lifted without a sound and dim light filtered in. Climbing the last few steps, I emerged into the old cabin itself. On the inside, the log walls were sound and the chimney at the far end was intact. As I stepped outside, however, the difference was mind boggling. Vines and weeds grew rampant up the sides, choking the shuttered windows and roof. The top of the chimney was crumbled and leaning. Trees and briars grew unchecked around its perimeter.

  Yet there was a wild, magical beauty about it.

  “Hey there, little lady,” I said, bending down and gently touching the leaves of my beet plant. Its tender greens looked content basking in the early morning air. I knew from reading Home Harvesting that I could pull it at any time, but I almost hated to. I felt a ridiculous attachment to the thing.

  Smiling, I stood, tucking my hands down inside the sleeves of my oversized sweater. I held the mug with both mitts and leaned against a porch post. The sun was just starting to twinkle through the treetops, casting rays of light through the mist rising from the forest floor. Birds were chirping, their trilling calls adding to the tranquility of the crisp fall morning. Taking a sip of my tea, I rested my head against the post, closed my eyes, and listened.

  The lack of human noise was blissful. As small a town as Floyd was, the tightly packed houses and passing cars had always been a little claustrophobic. I craved the quiet.

  Looking down at Jesse’s phone, I hesitated. Despite his confidence in his signal scrambler, the idea of calling still gave me pause. A part of me imagined Patrick swooping down like the angel of death to snatch me as soon as I said hello. Swallowing my doubt, I took a deep breath and dialed.

  When Lou picked up on the second ring, I gave thanks it hadn’t been Kristen who’d answered. “Monk’s diner. This is Lou. What can I do you for?”

  I was surprised when I found it hard to speak, my throat tightening. It wasn’t often I found someone worth missing in the towns I landed in. Never, in fact. But Lou had been a balm since the day I’d walked in the diner looking for work. She was kind and sweet and good, and her thoughts were like a bowl of chicken noodle soup—warm and comforting. I hadn’t realized it until this moment, but she was a friend. My only friend.

  “Is this Earl again?” Lou asked, the diner murmuring and clinking in the background. I knew from her tone she had a hand on her hip. “Don’t make me call your wife. I told you the next—”

  “It’s Parsley.”

  “Oh hey, sweetie,” she said. “How’s New River Gorge? I hear West Virginia is beautiful this time of year.”

  I smiled at the eagerness in her voice. She was happy for me. It faded when I remembered I was lying to her. Last night, Jesse had told me how he’d gone to Lou before he’d taken me. How he’d convinced her he was planning a romantic surprise trip, and that she shouldn’t be alarmed when I didn’t show up for work the next day. She’d been more than happy to keep the secret. He’d been planning to send a forged letter at a later date, saying we’d eloped and were moving to some other state, but I insisted on talking to her myself.

  “It’s great,” I lied, readjusting my grip on the phone. “Lou, I hate to do this on such short notice, but I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”

  She was quiet for a moment and then, “You taking off with him?”

  “Yeah . . . I think so.”

  “You love him?”

  My heart ached just thinking about how much I did. “I really do. Yes.”

  “Then I’m happy for you,” she announced, sounding like she meant it. “I always knew you wouldn’t be here long anyway. You’ve got a wandering soul. I could see it in you.”

  Not by choice. “Thank you. That means . . . a lot to me.”

  She chuckled. “I had a feeling this was going to lead to a whirlwind romance. Like I said, coffee ain’t never just coffee between the likes of you two.”

  I laughed too. “You’re a wise woman, Lou.”

  “Try telling my husband that,” she said dryly. “So, am I hearing weddin’ bells, or is that just Desi saying order up?”

  “Not just yet,” I laughed.

  “Well, you’ve got all the time in the world.” She paused to make change for a customer. When she returned, she said, “I’ll miss you like the dickens, but I’m glad he’s getting you out of here. This old town ain’t got a thing going for it. Nothing but farmers and dusty roads. You were always meant for somewhere bigger and better, kiddo.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, and I struggled to keep my voice even. “I’ll miss you too. And please tell Fred goodbye for me.” My sadness grew at the thought of the sweet old man who’d been kind to me so many times.

  “Of course, sugar. Listen, I gotta go. Got a table needing refills, and Kristen’s nowhere to be found, naturally. Keep in touch, you hear?”

  I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “Okay. I will.”

  I knew it was a lie, and I had the feeling she did too. Still, she said, “And when he does get around to popping the question, and he will, I expect to be invited.”

  I laughed again, though it sounded thicker this time. “Of course.”

  “All right. And Parsley?”

  “Yes?”

  Her voice took on an almost sad note. “Live a little for me out there, would you?”

  I swallowed. “I will, Lou. Thanks for being my friend.”

  “Ditto. Goodbye, doll.”

  I hung up before I could let out my sob. Setting the phone on the weathered log railing, I cried for a while into my sleeve, holding my mug out so I wouldn’t spill it. It was the loss of not only Lou, but the end of my life as I knew it that made my chest ache. What I’d had hadn’t been much, but it’d been mine. The cramped, dingy apartments, the low-paying jobs, the hours spent on the road with nothing but my thoughts and my car as I crossed the miles to some new, obscure town. The many, many nights spent laying on an unfamiliar mattress, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, wondering when it would end. When I’d be free.

  And now I was leaving one prison for another, mourning my old cell and its terrible yet reliably familiar bars.

  My laugh was damp against my sleeve and a little hysterical. I hadn’t realized until this moment how used to it all I’d become. How sad it was that the looming threat of Patrick was just the same story on a different page in my book of tragedies. That I’d lingered so close to the fear for so long, it’d become me.

  After a few more moments inside the muffled darkness of my sweater sleeve, I slowly dried my eyes and lowered my arm, the dewy, early light making me blink. Sniffing, I held my tea against my chest with both hands, gazing out into the morning. Change was hard, but it could be good too. Especially when you didn’t have to face it alone. I thought of Jesse asleep down below in the tangled sheets we’d done wonderful things on, with his dark hair and wounded heart and hard love. He felt that love in his bones. I knew because it sang to me every time I was near him.

  I hiccupped quietly into my mug as the emotions receded like an outgoing tide. I was going to be all right this time. We were going to be all right this time. Even if we didn’t know what lay ahead, where we would go, or what we would do. If we’d live or die. And as I sipped the sweet, gentle chamomile, I decided it didn’t matter what roads we took to get there, because I’d already reached my destination the moment I loved him.

  23

  Switchblades & Doppelgangers

  “Lovely morning.”

  At the unexpected sound of Jesse’s voice, I jolted and sloshed tea down the front of my sweater, my eyes flipping open. “You scared me,” I gasped, hand
over my pounding heart.

  He was standing just inside the tree line across from me, watching from the shadows.

  “My apologies,” he said, wearing a contrite expression.

  Frowning, I glanced at the open door behind me and then across the overgrown grass at him. “How did I not hear you come out?”

  He walked forward, keeping to the shade while looking me up and down. “I used another door.”

  I hadn’t noticed another door. Then again, I hadn’t been in either the weapons room or the surveillance room yet.

  “I wanted to let you sleep,” I said, holding my mug out so that I could dab at the spilt tea on my sweater.

  As he approached the porch, he smiled. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  I smiled too, watching him walk up the steps. “I decided I would make you breakfast this morning.”

  A black brow arched. “Did you?”

  Nodding, I took a sip of what remained of my tea. “I make a mean pancake.”

  “Pancakes,” he murmured.

  “That’s right.” It was about the only thing I could cook.

  As he crossed the porch, he glanced inside the cabin, his gaze lingering on the open trapdoor. “How long have you been out here?”

  I watched his lips as he spoke, thinking that I might very well be developing an obsession with them. Kissing him was my new favorite hobby. No offense to my crochet hook. “Only a little while.”

  Without waiting for an opening he took me by the back of the neck and jerked me to him, bringing his mouth down on mine. Hard. At first, a delicious thrill shot through me, and I nearly dropped my mug in my excitement, but then the kiss became aggressive rather than hungry, his lips crushing mine, his fingers biting into me. I started to pull away, but he pressed me back against the post, growling, his tongue forcing its way in my mouth and his erection grinding against my belly.

  I pushed at his chest and broke away with a gasp. My heart pounded and not in a good way. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “I don’t know what came over me.”