Lucy and the Crypt Casanova

by Minda Webber

  Lucy turned around and nodded slightly, her eyes a bit glazed. "Thanks. It's my grandma's saying. Her only saying, really. She says it when she stubs her toe, when she's hoeing the garden, or before we eat."

  "You need a battle cry to eat dinner?" Christine asked in confusion.

  Val didn't let her answer. Grabbing Lucy's arm, he began escorting her to his car. He answered himself over his shoulder. "Not really. Lucy's grandmother is just mad as a hatter."

  Lucy punched him on the shoulder. Christine stood still, grinning.

  "She is not, Val. She's just… a little eccentric," Lucy said.

  Val sighed. "Cherie, the woman wears a lamp-shade on her head to commune with Albert Einstein." And then the darkness swallowed them up.

  Christine chuckled softly to herself. Val had his hands full with this one. Lucy Campbell would lead him a merry chase, and such a mess couldn't have happened to a better vampire. She wondered what Mr. Einstein would say about it all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Close Encounters of the Sexth Kind

  Lucy lived two miles from the House of Usher, so the ride home was fast and filled with lectures about not sticking her nose into police business. She could have been hurt. She could have been killed. She could have chipped a nail. She could have aged thirty years—or, on the other hand, she could have skipped thirty years of income taxes. Still, police concerns and finding DeLeon weren't foremost on her mind right now.

  She let Val's stern lectures wash over her, and she thought about how best to take the bull by the horns. She had to frame her apology for mistrusting him in a manner that he would find irresistible. He had to forgive her and take her back into his life; she missed him too much for him to do anything else. But wearing smashed grapes and bananas on her clothes and peaches in her hair wasn't conducive to groveling—not unless she was apologizing to a fruit fly.

  Outside her apartment, being the protective old-fashioned gentleman and eagle-eyed cop that he was, Val escorted her to her door like she knew he would. She asked him to come inside for a moment. She noted that he accepted with reluctance, almost as if he expected some form of ambush. Clever vampire.

  She stalled him from asking any questions by saying she needed a quick shower. Then, ten minutes later she was out of the shower and dressed in a robe. Val eyed her with both trepidation and a hint of simple male appreciation.

  "Okay, Lucy, what did you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

  "Us."

  "There is no us," Val reminded her firmly—although he had gotten misty just a moment before while holding her hand. She had given him both the best years of his life and the worst.

  "There used to be an us," she suggested, "which was a good us, a great us. Now there isn't an us, but that doesn't mean there can't be an us again. And a great us, not just a good us, because without us, I do okay and sometimes not even okay."

  Val's eyebrows wrinkled and he stared hard at her.

  "That didn't come out quite like I imagined," Lucy said. Romantic it certainly wasn't. "I meant to say, I'd like us to have a second chance."

  "I thought you hated my two-timing guts," Val replied somewhat coldly. Not that his voice didn't always sound a bit cold, him being undead as he was. "At least I remember you shouting that all over San Antonio."

  "I didn't mean it! You had broken my heart—or at least I thought you had broken my heart until I learned tonight that I'd broken my own without your help. I'd suspected I'd been a big ol' fool. Now I know for sure." Lucy began to wring her hands, knowing that she was messing up her apology big time, but she couldn't seem to help herself. It was as if some babbling idiot had taken over her body, possessing her and causing her to blurt out inane things when this conversation might just be the most important one of her life.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Val asked quietly, "What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm sorry. I was wrong about you," Lucy finally managed to get out. "I am so sorry."

  "Chris told you the truth about that night?"

  Lucy nodded.

  "You believe her when you wouldn't even listen to me." Val bit out his words.

  "When I first saw you two together, I was too hurt to listen to anything. My worst fears had come to life. I just wanted to lie down and die," Lucy explained, her eyes pleading with Val.

  "What kind of love can there be without trust? With a woman not willing to listen?"

  He stood so remote from her, as if he were on some distant cliff a thousand miles away. She had to bridge that distance. She fell to her knees, taking his hand in hers and bathing it with her kisses and tears. "I'm sorry, Val. I was stupid and I let my past dictate to me."

  Angered, Val jerked her to her feet. "Don't debase yourself. Don't…" His words trailed off as Lucy pulled his head down and kissed him with all the hunger she had shelved and saved for so long. His lips were better than anything she had ever tasted. His body was firm and hard with muscle. His erection jutted against her thigh, causing the heat already growing between her legs to intensify. She wanted him hot and hard and now.

  She rubbed her body against him, hearing him moan. "I need you, Val. I need you," she whispered as she kissed his neck. Then she bit down, knowing that he loved such foreplay. But then, what vampire didn't?

  He groaned. Lucy was so soft and warm, and his longing increased. He needed and wanted to hold her tight, to forget their past and to hell with the future. The traitor in his jeans was clamoring for Lucy's attention.

  His hunger ignited, Val began caressing her breast, finally moving to take it in his mouth. He shoved her robe back off her shoulders. She tasted like the same wild spice she always had, and he wanted to lick and suck on her all night long. She made him so hot that he thought he would explode before he even got his jeans off.

  As if she could read his mind, Lucy unzipped his pants, dragged them down his hips. He helped her, shoving them off his legs as she grabbed hold of his sex.

  "I love your body," she murmured. "So big and hard. I love it when it comes into me over and over, the tightness and the heat."

  The words shredded his control, and Val forgot that Lucy didn't trust him and had shattered his heart. He forgot everything but his need for her, because his body was screaming at him to possess her thoroughly and all night long. " 'Tite ange—my little angel."

  Picking her up in his strong arms, he sped through the living room into the large bedroom at the end of the hall. Placing her on the bed, he followed her down, his lips sucking on her rose-tipped nipples as his hand delved between her legs. She was hot and wet with wanting him.

  He growled possessively as he moved over her and thrust home into her hot, liquid depths. She climaxed immediately, and it took great restraint for him to not follow her. He gasped, "My jolie fille, your skin is so soft and sweet, like golden honey." He could not find words for his joy.

  Lucy felt tears slipping down her cheeks as Val thrust into her body over and over, his mouth feasting on her breasts and neck. This was heaven to her—heaven lay in his arms. This was her man, and his loving was like hellza-poppin. She would never be the same. It was strange what a little moonlight, danger, and an apology could do.

  "I love you, Val—oh, how I love you." Lucy moaned as she kissed his neck, rubbing her hands across his buttocks, feeling their strength as he pumped into her.

  "Mon coeur."

  "My heart," Lucy repeated back to him.

  His eyes were tender as she spoke, her body taut with the upcoming release, her hips pumping in wild rhythm with his own. Her senses were so alive; and she was cresting high on the wave of a whirlpool.

  The tension in Val built and built, cresting until his blood burned like a raging wildfire. Then, with a loud shout, he climaxed.

  As he rolled over onto his side, Lucy stared at him and knew that if she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never find a more perfect example of the male animal, unless it was a werewolf. Val was magnificent in his nakedness, what with his marbl
ed pallor and beautiful symmetry.

  Sitting up, Val reached for his jeans.

  "Where are you going?"

  He glanced back her, his expression resolute. "I've got a murder to solve and an incubus on the loose."

  Her eyes filled with confusion. "I know that. But our lovemaking was so wonderful, and you used to…" She hesitated as he turned away and zipped his jeans. "You used to love to cuddle afterward."

  Val hesitated a moment, then spoke as if he were fighting some internal conflict. "This… shouldn't have happened."

  Lucy was confused. They had made love, and it had been even better than before. Surely everything was all right. She believed in Val now. She would never distrust him again, and she had wholeheartedly apologized. "Why shouldn't this have happened?" she asked carefully, terribly afraid that his answer was going to crush her heart.

  "Because we aren't a couple anymore, and we aren't going to be a couple."

  "But why not? I apologized to you. I meant it. I love you. You must love me. At least, you made love to me like you do."

  "I may still love you, Lucy. But love isn't enough." He pulled on his shirt and headed toward the living room.

  Heedless of her nakedness, Lucy followed him like a rat terrier nipping at his heels. Val felt her presence behind him, smelled her sweet earthy smell, the aftermath of love. Yet he didn't look back, because if he did, he just might weaken and take her back to bed.

  "Love's not enough?" Lucy shouted. "What is that? The slogan for Stupid-asses of America? If love isn't enough for a relationship, then what the heck is?"

  "Trust." Val jerked on his jacket, feeling cruel. He could hear the tears in Lucy's voice, but he just didn't want to go through all this again.

  "I do trust," Lucy wailed. "I really do."

  "Tu menti."

  Lucy snarled. "Oh, for crying out loud, speak English if we're going to fight."

  Val turned to look at her, at war with himself. He forced himself to verbalize his fears. "You lie. About trusting me or anyone."

  "What? Do your vampire powers now give you the ability to read minds?" Lucy snapped. "I didn't lie, and I mean it. Not about lying, about meaning that I didn't lie. I trust you. I really do. You should trust me to trust you, because I do."

  Val's eyes almost crossed from her convoluted speech. She was driving him so crazy, he didn't know his right foot from his left—as evidenced by him putting on his boots incorrectly.

  "You say you do right now," he said, "but wait until something happens that makes you lose that trust. Then where will we be, when you no longer are trusting because I did something that made you think I couldn't be trusted, but didn't really?"

  This time it was Lucy staring at Val with a dazed expression in her eyes. He knew it well. He had worn that look often, whenever Lucy went on a rant.

  Hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand, he remarked remorsefully, "Merde, I'm beginning to sound like you! That's all I need."

  Lucy took that cue. "What you need is me. Do you know that when you used to kiss me I could hear violins playing? Now someone's pulling the wrong strings. What you have is a hole in your head. How dare you lecture me about trust? You can trust me to know that I made the biggest mistake of my life when I let you go. You can trust me enough to believe in me. I will trust you, Val. Forever. I give you my word that I won't ever doubt you again. And Campbell women don't lie about something so important."

  "C'est assez," Val muttered, his hand slashing down. "That's enough. This does neither of us any good." And with that, he opened the door.

  "Don't go like this, Val," Lucy pleaded. She hated begging; Campbell women didn't. But then, Campbell women weren't usually stupid enough to get rid of the best thing that ever happened to them. "Forgive me."

  Val glanced back once, then walked out the door. "I do forgive you, Lucy. But I can't forget. You tore my heart to shreds when you left me. I don't want to go through that again, not even for you."

  The closing of the door was symbolic. Lucy felt as if it had slammed shut on all of her hopes and dreams of a happily-ever-after with Val, and only after five minutes of stunned bewilderment and a boatload of tears did she think of a few things she should have said.

  Opening the door, she shouted, "Don't let the door hit you in the butt."

  Her neighbor stuck his head out of his apartment and glared at her. Lucy glared back, unremorseful. She'd had to respond to Val's rejection somehow. Better late than never.

  Chapter Sixteen

  If Lucy Fell

  Three days had gone by, and three nights, and the badass brownshoe of Bourbon Street still hadn't called her. No, Val hadn't contacted her at all after they'd made love, and while Lucy wanted to get in his face and yell at him, honesty made her curb her temper. After all, she'd been the one at fault. She should have trusted him. She should have listened to him at the very least, in spite of her very incriminating eyewitness evidence of his cheating.

  Lucy morosely poured herself a glass of bourbon in a shot glass. Her show was finished for the night, and she was depressed—so depressed that she was sitting in the coffee room at the WPBS television station feeling sorry for herself. Logically Lucy knew that Val had said their making love was a mistake, but Lucy had hoped that after Val reflected he would realize he was wrong. She hadn't expected hearts and flowers, but she had hoped for a call to see how she was doing. Surely he missed her just a little bit.

  So, she had been wrong once. So what? Lots of people in life made mistakes. Val should forgive her mistake, because make no mistake, Lucy would never make that mistake again. Not even if she saw him in bed with three vampiresses. She would now believe anything he said, even if he told her they were all just trying out a new mattress. Never again would she accuse the vampire she loved of being unfaithful or untrustworthy, if only the stiff-necked neck-sucking stiff would believe her. She had to get another chance!

  He had called her "mon coeur" when he was making love to her. But if she was his heart and he was hers, how could they not be together? His comment "Love is not enough" was pure blasphemy. Love was always enough, presuming one partner wasn't being pigheaded. Lucy had to make Val see that the past was the past, and that the future could still be theirs.

  Ricki the makeup artist came in, interrupting Lucy's pity party and switching channels on the television set. Glancing up, Lucy caught sight of Val on the screen. "Turn it up," she urged, surprised to see a reporter interviewing him.

  Apparently, last night the New Orleans Paranormal Task Force had released information about the incubus. Tonight Val was telling what was being done to track down the monster. Lucy listened intently to Val's interview, frowning when he began to criticize the incubus, calling the creature's methods messy and unrefined, and hinting that the only way the incubus could "get it up" was to rape, terrorize, and age women. A little death really meant a lot of death with him. Val's condemnations were so harsh that any vampire would find them offensive, since vampires, even the subspecies, were concerned with prestige and power. And Ka incubi were even worse.

  Val hadn't pulled any punches in his criticism of the incubus, which Lucy knew was totally out of character. He could be silent as a corpse when he chose to be.

  Ricki shook her head. "What your detective just did is like sticking a hot iron up the ol' wazoo of that DeLeon."

  "He's not my detective," Lucy answered, wishing that he were. Besides, Lucy recognized what Val was doing. He was making DeLeon madder than a snake in hopes that the youth-sucking creature would make a mistake.

  "But you wish he was," Ricki remarked, knowing her too well. She tapped her long red nails on the tabletop.

  Lucy grumbled. "I never should have told you about us." Yesterday, Ricki had caught her crying into her café au lait, and had poked and prodded her until Lucy had caved in and spilled the beans about everything.

  "But you did tell me," Ricki crowed. "Finally! And a good thing, too. Broken hearts are too bad to be kept to one's little old s
elf. We all need a shoulder to cry on. Although preferably a big strong male one."

  Lucy shook her head. "Been there, done that. Crying, I mean. I about flooded West Texas with my tears last time," Lucy admitted. A gleam came into her eye. "This time, I think I'll try something different."

  Noticing the sudden twinkle, Ricki laughed. "Hmm… whatever you are going to do to that handsome Cajun detective, count me in."

  Lucy nodded. "All right. Let's go," she said, and she picked up her purse.

  "Whereto?"

  "I'm going to do a little old fashioned wooing," Lucy replied mysteriously. "At Val's house."

  "Oooh! Sounds romantic! This could be fun!"

  Two hours later, Ricki took back her words. "This isn't fun at all. I can't believe I'm doing this," she complained.

  "Oh, hush," Lucy said, dusting off her Levis. "I said I was sorry you tore your pants. But you should have climbed up that tree and over the fence like I did, not climb the fence with those iron spikes on the top."

  "Well, why does your detective have to lock his fence? Hell, why is his property even fenced? He lives twenty minutes from town. Who'd come all the way out here to rob him? Besides, he's a vampire! A crook would have to be crazy to jack a vampire. And how the hell should I know how to climb over fences? I'm a hair and makeup artist, not a two-story man. And what's with that 'Remember the Alamo' stuff?"

  "Texas tradition."

  Ricki shook her head in exasperation. "Thank God I'm from California. In fact, I don't even like the country. I don't like the bayous or the swamp."

  Lucy had to smile. "This isn't exactly the swamp."

  Ricki sniffed and pointed out the large cypress and oak trees lining the front of Val's house, which was settled back deep in shadow, only slightly lit by the half-moon. The trees were covered in gray-black pieces of moss, which swung like long feathered boas in the night wind. "That's moss, isn't it, and I can smell the bayou. It stinks."