by PG Forte
Plenty for everyone. That was pretty much the same thing he said every time, and it was another lie. Did he think they didn’t notice that? All around the room, Heather could hear the others working feverishly to fill their cups, racing each other to be among the first to feed, to be among the few who would actually fill their bellies tonight.
Sometimes, Heather didn’t know which was worse—the aching hunger that seemed to settle in her bones when the blood ran out and she couldn’t get enough to eat, or the nausea that curdled her stomach when she tried to eat while the prey still struggled beneath her and it seemed she swallowed a little of their panic with every mouthful.
Please. No more of this. She closed her eyes and tried to drown out the strangled noises coming from the center of the room as the feeding frenzy began. It doesn’t have to be this way. I know it. I’ve seen it…
“Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in?” Standing in the doorway of the small industrial building that housed her loft, Elise eyed Marc up and down. Despite the stony look on her face, her eyes had darkened nearly to black at the sight of him, leaving Marc secretly hopeful she wasn’t as completely unhappy to see him as she pretended.
How he felt about seeing her…well that was another story. “Hey, Elise. Long time, huh?”
Dark eyebrows rose as she gazed at him in feigned surprise. “Oh, you noticed? Silly me, and here I’d been feeling sorry for you, thinking you must have lapsed into a coma and were languishing away, unaware of the passage of time.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Marc leaned in and pressed a kiss against her cheek. The amber vanilla spiciness rising from her skin caught at his chest. He hadn’t been mistaken. This was the same ineffable fragrance he’d picked up on the street. “Ah, but you noticed, didn’t you?” He inhaled again, even more deeply this time, in an attempt to scope out the building’s interior for visitors. As usual, his senses were defeated by the overpowering odors of the oil paints and turpentine with which she worked. She could have an entire army of vampires camped out in her loft tonight and he’d be none the wiser. “Does that mean you missed me?”
“Not even a little.” Elise’s brown eyes flashed with spite. As she straightened away from him and drew herself erect, Marc allowed himself a moment to appreciate the effect indignation was having on her cleavage. “As a matter of fact, until I opened the door, just now, and saw you standing here, I’d forgotten all about you.”
“Is that so?” That cool, untouchable, haughty look she was striving for might have worked better if she’d been dressed differently. As it was, in her rumpled blue chambray work shirt and jeans, both liberally smeared with paint, she put him in mind of an unmade bed—warm, inviting, definitely something he’d like to get back into. Memories of last time he’d been here, of the day he’d spent in her bed, flooded his mind. She couldn’t be trusted—he had to remember that. He had to keep his guard up. All the same, he felt insensibly cheered by her anger.
If she had really tried to set him up to be killed, as he sometimes feared was the case, wouldn’t she be acting a little more conciliatory toward him? A little more frightened perhaps? A little more guilty?
“Well, now that you’ve remembered, maybe you want to invite me in?”
Elise’s eyes took a quick scan of the street behind him and then shrugged. “Guess I’d better. I’d hate for any of my neighbors to glance over and see you standing out here on my stoop. I’d just as soon they didn’t know the kind of low company I occasionally keep.” She stepped back, pulling the door open wide. Marc slipped past her, up the stairs and into the cool, dark expanse of her loft.
The L-shaped main room was much as he remembered it, except for the addition of two large, wooden packing crates, partially filled with canvases. Large windows took up most of one long wall. The furniture was minimal and mostly nondescript. He glanced around curiously. The loft’s open floor plan didn’t leave a lot of places for anyone to hide and he saw nothing to suggest they had company. Good news for him. He took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax a little.
“This looks new,” he said, wandering over to examine the large canvas set up on her easel. Last time he was here, the easel had held a cool-toned cityscape. Tonight’s painting was a bold turbulent-looking abstract. He preferred the former.
Elise sighed. “Good to know life in the big city hasn’t changed you any. Your observational skills are still as sharp as ever.” She studied him for a moment, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Why are you here tonight, Marc?”
Good question. He wished he was entirely certain of the answer to that himself. He rolled his shoulders in a small shrug. “I dunno. Maybe I just wanted to see you again? Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
Elise’s eyes widened. “So that’s what this is—a booty call? Now, sugar, why ever would you think I’d be interested in something like that?”
Marc quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, let’s see. As I recall it, last time I was here, you jumped me within five minutes of us walking through the door. So, if that was why I was here tonight—which I’m not saying it is, by the way—why wouldn’t I think you’d be interested?”
“Because that was three months ago! And this is the first I’ve seen or heard from you since. That might make for a little bit of a difference, don’t you think?”
Marc nodded. “You’re right. Tonight’s entirely different.” Last time, they’d each wanted something from the other—besides great sex. He’d wanted information. She’d wanted…well, to be honest, he still wasn’t certain about that either, but he was pretty sure there’d been something on the other end of the equation; something that justified the risk she’d taken in giving him what he’d wanted.
Although he hadn’t known it then, she was one of the very few people in the entire city who could have provided him with the information he needed to save Conrad’s life. And she’d approached him. At the time, it had seemed like nothing more than a freak accident, a lucky break. It hadn’t taken him more than a couple of days to come to his senses and realize that the odds of it being nothing more than sheer coincidence were not good. Not good at all.
So why was he here now? It had to be more than mere attraction, didn’t it? Because, given the circumstances, a booty call was more than just a bad breach of etiquette; it was damn close to suicidal.
He sighed. “Look, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by, see how you’ve been. I’ve missed you. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Oh, no, not hard at all. In fact, I could tell how much you missed me by the huge effort you’ve been making to keep in touch.”
So, all right, she had a point—maybe—but he was by no means ready yet to concede it. If she really had set him up to be killed, not keeping in touch with her was probably the kindest thing he could have done. “Things have been hectic at home and…well, I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”
“Oh, sugar,” Elise’s brow creased as she gazed at him in mock concern. “I can only imagine how awful these past few months must have been for you. Out at a different club almost every night, leaving your mark all over town, I swear, I’m almost overcome with exhaustion, just thinking about it.”
“Jealous?” he teased, flashing his fangs at her.
Her cheeks grew flushed. “Of who you have for dinner? Don’t be insulting.” She nodded toward the door. “I think maybe you should leave. This is going nowhere.”
“Let’s not be so hasty.” He wasn’t ready to go just yet. He was equally unready to ask her the questions he needed to ask—lest the answers cause his potentially suicidal booty call to turn homicidal, instead. Where was the rush? Why not take things slow, ease into the topic?
Giving her his best smile, he sat on her couch. “How about we start over, instead? Pretend I just got here. Offer me a cup of coffee.”
“You did just get here,” she said, frowning as he propped his feet on her table. “And why would I offer you coffee? Since when do you even drink coffee?”
“I don’t—generally. But you do and that’s something else I’ve missed about you.” The taste of it had been on her lips the last time he’d kissed her. He’d been snacking on baristas ever since and still couldn’t kill the craving. That alone should have told him how much trouble he’d be letting himself in for, if he came here tonight. That alone should have been enough to keep him away. But had he let a little thing like that stop him? No, he sure hadn’t. It’s official then. I’m a moron.
Elise shook her head. “Sorry, sugar. I think it’s a little too late for that now.”
“Too late for a cup of coffee? Come on, what are you talking about? The night’s not even half over. How could it be too late?”
She smiled sadly. “Oh, but it is. It’s later than you know.” As she spoke, her glance strayed to the packing crates he’d noticed earlier. “Could be it’s too late now for a lot of things.”
His gaze followed hers. An uneasy suspicion tightened his stomach. He frowned. “Are you going somewhere? You’re not moving, are you?” She is. She’s running away. She knows I’m on to her… No. I don’t know that.
Elise shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve been thinking for a while I’d like to leave town, but it’s hard to say. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Could be I won’t be able to.”
“And why’s that?” He could think of only one reason she’d never make it out of town alive and, unless she was on the verge of making a confession, he doubted what was in his mind was anything at all like what she had in hers.
She met the suspicion in his gaze with a look of surprise. “Well, sure, baby, where’s the mystery? You have people you have to answer to, don’t you? So do I.”
“Since when? Has something changed for you since last time we talked?” Last time they’d talked, she’d told him her sire was dead and her nest was in a state of chaos, with no discernible leader and everyone jockeying for position. “From what you told me, it sounded like you and your nest mates are all free agents now. I would have thought you’d be able to do whatever you wanted to.”
“Don’t be foolish. Who of us is really free? I don’t think we’re wired that way. It’s not in our nature. The blood link…there’s just no getting away from it. As for what’s changed…well, I thought things were bad before, but things just keep getting worse. First there’s one person who appears to be in charge, the next day it’s someone else. It’s difficult keeping track of who’s on top, but dangerous not to. So, yes, bolting seems like a real prudent step, at this point—assuming I can do so without anyone’s taking it into their heads that it makes me a threat. One they’re going to want to neutralize. Like I said, I may have left things a little too late.”
Neutralize? “You mean kill you?” Neutralize. Put down. End. He was getting a little tired of all the euphemisms, and more than a little annoyed by all this talk of his people getting whacked.
Whacked? Oh, great. Now they’ve got me doing it too.
He got off the couch and crossed to where she stood. “Forget it. That’s not happening.”
She smiled wryly. “Well, I hope not either, but…”
“This has nothing to do with hope.” He reached for her, took hold of her shoulders and drew her close. “And I’m not just saying it to make you feel better.” There were questions he should be asking, answers he should be getting, but a big part of him was saying later for that; was insisting trust was more important right now. He just hoped that part didn’t turn out to be his dick. “I know it’s not going to happen, because I won’t let it.”
Elise’s lips twitched. “Why, sugar,” she murmured in tones Marc couldn’t help but find a touch too condescending for his temper. “How very chivalrous of you. I’m touched. Truly.” She went up on her toes and lightly brushed her lips across his. Before she had a chance to pull away he caught her to him, covered her mouth with his own and kissed her back.
It was a simple enough move—not something he’d thought through, definitely not something he’d planned in advance—but nothing out of the ordinary. Or so he’d thought. What resulted, however, was anything but simple. From somewhere deep inside him, a rush of power welled up, surprising him and drawing a startled gasp from Elise. She tried to jerk away and again he reacted without thinking. Acting purely on instinct, he sank his fangs into her lower lip, effectively halting her flight.
The taste of her blood went straight to his head. He kissed her harder, hands roving everywhere as they shaped her to him. He felt ancient and strong, powerful beyond belief.
Ancient?
The thought gave him pause. It was the second time tonight he’d felt this way—the first being when he was in the alley with Heather. Only, then it had made some kind of sense. Next to her, he was ancient—or almost, anyway—and he’d assumed what he was feeling with her was not so different from the way all the other, much older, vampires probably felt around him.
With Elise, things were different. He’d kissed her before tonight, and enjoyed it a lot, but it hadn’t ever felt like this. She whimpered uneasily. The sound broke through whatever bloodlust had overwhelmed him.
“I was wrong about you,” she muttered when he’d released her. She looked almost frightened. “You have changed since I last saw you. What’s happened to you?”
So the difference was in him. He’d been pretty sure it had to be. “I don’t know. What do you think it means?”
“I have no idea.” She shook her head and tried to ease herself out of his arms—but he held onto her, not quite ready to let her go. “What have you been doing these past months?”
Marc smirked. “Oh, c’mon, Elise. I thought you said you knew the answer to that. Remember? A different club every night, testing my teeth on every neck in town…”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Elise snapped. “That could never be the kind of thing that would cause…something like this. You have to know that.”
Marc shook his head. He didn’t know it. How could he? He still had no idea what “something like this” was. “Well, what would cause it?”
She eyed him worriedly. “There’s only one thing I’ve ever heard of that would allow this kind of power transference to occur.”
He could hear the panicked racing of her heart. Whatever she was thinking, it sure wasn’t happy thoughts. When her tongue edged nervously over her lip, licking at the places his teeth had been, it was all he could do to keep from pulling her back against him. He wanted to reclaim her mouth and make her yield to his desire once again. He wanted to reassure her, and maybe himself as well, that it would all turn out all right. He held himself in check, but it wasn’t easy. “And?” he pressed, when she hesitated. “Tell me. What would that one thing be?”
She swallowed hard and answered reluctantly. “I think…you must have killed someone.”
Chapter Eight
The damp city streets gleamed faintly in the light of the street lamps. Armand breathed in the scent of the woman who walked beside him and smiled. He’d enjoyed tonight, even more than he’d expected to. Probably more than was wise.
For almost fifty years, he’d been guarding his heart against the possibility of loss. He’d thought the habit was second nature now, an ingrained response. But as this evening had made abundantly clear, he’d been fooling himself with that thought.
The feel of Julie’s body moving against his as they danced, the pleasure he’d experienced as he watched her feed, even the enjoyment he felt right now just being near her—it all made him yearn for things he shouldn’t even be thinking about.
He was satisfied with the life he’d crafted for himself. He’d made his peace with this path he’d chosen. He was content. Why risk it all on a gamble that might never pay off? In fact, why risk even part of it on anything less than a sure thing?
He glanced around at the night, calculating the hour. He’d timed their departure carefully to coincide with Brennan’s lunch break. He didn’t want to take Julie home again until he was certain the human would be off work and
safely out of the way. He’d been waiting months for the chance to spend some time with her, to get to know her better. There was no sense in spoiling things at this stage with reminders of a love affair he sincerely hoped was now ended.
From practically the moment they met, he’d felt a connection to Julie he could neither explain nor completely resist. Right from the start, she’d made him wonder what it might be like to feel more than satisfied or peaceful, more than merely content…
But was she worth the chance he’d be taking if he let himself become more than casually involved? Even more to the point, was she worth his heart’s hard-won happiness, or the lifetime of regret that could very well result from making the wrong choice? These were the questions he’d been asking since the day they’d met. Tonight, more than ever, he suspected the answer might possibly be yes.
Even so, he would not be rushing into anything. One of the most enduring benefits of living forever was the freedom to take his time. That was exactly what he intended to do.
He took hold of her hand and tugged her closer. “So, what would you like to do now?”
“Hmm, I wonder,” Julie replied, playfully bumping her shoulder into his. Armand was about to offer suggestions, but one look at her face changed his mind. The expression in her eyes was unexpectedly sly and thoughtful, as though she, too, were considering her options, carefully weighing her decision. Perhaps she was calculating her own set of risks? Curious, he held his tongue and waited to see what she’d say next.
Before either of them had a chance to say anything, however, a figure emerged from one of the doorways in the deserted street in front of them, and stepped straight into their path.
“Stop right there,” the man ordered, his movements jerky and imprecise. As he waved his arms, the knife in his hand caught the light on its blade. “Hand over your money.”