Vampire Bites: A Vampire Romance Anthology

by Lori Devoti

  “I said babe.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. Babe is another term for hunk.”

  “Hunk? Of what?”

  “Those are terms for handsomeness, Thoran. Good looks. Supreme male beauty. Gorgeous, jaw-dropping attractiveness. Way beyond the norm.”

  “You refer to me?”

  His eyebrows lifted with what looked like genuine surprise. That easily displayed the perfect silver-shade of his eyes surrounded as they were by lush lashes. He was the exact description of male beauty. She had to swallow and look away before it tied her tongue and scrambled her wits.

  “Of course you. Don’t you ever look in a mirror?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “It’s a severe waste of time.”

  “As gorgeous as you are? I can’t believe you never look at yourself. No man is that humble. Especially one that looks like you. You should be on the cover of a magazine. Make that several magazines. And up on a few billboards. In a gladiator outfit or something. A loincloth. Wow. For the image that brings to mind. I can just see it: you…all oiled up and brandishing that huge sword of yours. Or better yet, you should be eye candy on some actress’s arm. I can think of several who’d look good with your escort. In a tuxedo. Double-wow. I’d better quit before I can’t banish that image when I try and sleep.”

  “What image?”

  He didn’t sound insulted anymore. He sounded confused. She wasn’t looking to check why. It was enough the rays of setting sun were touching on him. Without searing his flesh anywhere she could tell.

  “You. In a tuxedo.”

  “Would that be a good thing?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  “I begin to doubt they speak King’s English in Alaska. I canna’ follow many words you say this evening.”

  “You really should get out more. Or something. No. Forget it. Maybe that’s a bad plan.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d stop traffic anywhere you go. Truly. You sure wouldn’t be sitting on a park bench watching a slow moving current with the likes of me.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “Oh…I don’t know. Stepping over all the women in your path, I assume.”

  “Women in my path?”

  “You walk into any club and watch. I bet you’d need a body guard to peel the women off. Trust me. Even the gays would adore you.”

  “Gays?”

  “You know. Homosexuals.”

  “Sodomites?”

  Now, he sounded really offended. Jolie laughed. It had a carefree sound she’d thought lost with all the vampire nonsense. “Yeah. Those guys. Sodomites. They know a good thing when they see it. And you’re definitely a good thing.”

  “Are you attempting to anger me?”

  “You’re a homophobe? For shame, Thoran Alexander MacKettryck, uh…the fifth.”

  “Sixth. And that due to the dukedom. Actually I’d be the seventh with this exact name if you count the fourth Earl of Umber. He was also Thoran Alexander. But that was before we earned the highest title.”

  “How very upper crust of you, Your Grace.” Jolie said it in a snooty accent, gleaned from watching too many hours of the British channel.

  “That does na’ sound to be a good thing.”

  “Then stop quoting your lineage to me. As if you need further enticement.”

  “To what?”

  “Your bed.”

  There. It was out. And without one bit of warning. Jolie was flushed with the exercise of keeping her tongue from tripping over itself and hadn’t cleared that comment beforehand. There was an awkward silence for some time as she waited, holding her breath, just as he seemed to.

  “I...I doona’ ken what to say, Jolie lass.”

  “A good-bye would work.” She should’ve known. Rich, handsome, old world aristocrats driving Rolls Phantoms and living in castles didn’t like brash, assertive, modern women. They liked to be the aggressor. As he’d pretty much proven already.

  “Whatever for?”

  “It’s a brush-off. To me.”

  “But I’d like you in my bed. Verra much so, actually.”

  Oh…crap. She was going to melt right there. Her legs turned to liquid mash and her hips didn’t help with keeping her in place. She slid before catching it with her hands on the bench seat. She didn’t notice how he’d clenched his fingers together until she got control of her own body. Nor had she noted how tense he felt. It should’ve been easy since he’d managed to move even closer to her and now touched along her entire left side.

  “I’m…a bit a-feared over it, actually.”

  “Of what? Oh. I’m sorry. I went too fast.” And should have waited for the invitation.

  “No. It’s just… I’m na’ certain I can…perform. It’s been so long, and—”

  “Oh crap. Again. Just kill me now.”

  “What?”

  He turned his head and looked at her wide-eyed, stopping her heart for a painful beat before it restarted with such alacrity, her throat and lower jaw filled with the blush. Then her cheeks.

  “It makes perfect sense now. It does.”

  “What does?”

  “Everything. You. The supper date. This pursuit of me. Heck, even your fan club in an odd sort of way.”

  “Fan club?”

  “Yeah. You’ve got a fan club of weird old guys. Truly weird. They’re totally too fond of you. They collect paintings of you. They gave me presents. Like this one.” She reached for the caller thing and held it out to him. Thoran took it gingerly, sniffed at it, and then pulled it away, squinting at the red light on it.

  “It’s a transmitting device of some sort,” he finally said.

  “No lie,” she answered.

  “It’s always on.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she answered.

  “They’re tracking you.”

  “Ok. That I didn’t know.”

  “Why would someone track you?”

  He was all tense and rigid and angered looking. As if to defend her. Jolie banished the instant image of him brandishing that sword - all oiled up and in a loincloth - to where she’d stored the tuxedo one. To use later.

  “They aren’t tracking me. I think they want you. And I already told you why. They’re fans. And buddy, I have to tell you. You have some very strange fans.”

  “You want this?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not especially.”

  “Good.”

  He pitched it into the center of the river without any effort. They both watched it hit water and immediately sink. The muscles displayed in his arm had moved. Flexing. Rippling. The guy was built. Masculine. And he was gorgeous. And he was worried about performing for her. Jolie sighed. She’d known it was too good to be true. But it had sure been a fun fantasy.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “You. And your…uh…impotence. I’m sorry. Truly.”

  “What impotence?”

  “I should’ve known, really. It was right in front of my face. No wonder you’re here. Right now. With me.”

  “What…does that mean?”

  Thoran had his hair pulled back, but a lock had escaped the bond. Jolie noted how it caressed his brow and moved with every blink of his eyelashes as he looked down at her. He’d moved again, turning toward her, as if to envelope and encompass her completely. With the confused look reflected in those silver eyes, it was impossible not to feel a swoon coming on. She knew exactly what it felt like. And to disguise all of that, she opened her mouth and started talking.

  “There’s no reason to get all uptight and upset. I’m sure it happens to every guy. If they’ve used it too much. Or taken the wrong kinds of drugs for too long. Or had a bad experience with the wrong party. I read the tabloids. Get bombarded with the television ads. It’s not that uncommon. Even in a guy as young as you.”

  “What are you speaking of now?”

  “You’re unable to…get it up. And now you�
�re mad,” she whispered.

  “Get what up?”

  “That’s it. I’m done. I can believe you’re a world class playboy who’s lost his ability. I can definitely believe you’d attempt to get it back by pursuing and then charming the hell out of a little nobody from the end of nowhere. But I can’t believe I actually thought for one moment you were a vampire. I can’t. I must’ve inhaled something from the fumes in that basement. That’s the only explanation.”

  He wasn’t just closer. He was overpowering, looming over her and making certain of his domination with an arm about her back. He pulled her close. Right atop his lap, while his eyes narrowed to slits of mirrored silver.

  “It’s ok, Thoran. Really. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. You don’t have to worry.”

  “Tell anyone what? That I’m a vampire?” He hissed the words.

  “Who would believe that?”

  “Then what, lass? What?”

  “I won’t tell anyone you’re impotent.”

  “I doona’ ken the word use. And I’ve tired of trying. Get your cloak.” He stopped. Looked at the bench on her other side. “Or your…hoodie thing.”

  “I’m wearing all I’ve got.”

  “A cardigan?”

  “It’s technically a sweater.”

  “In this clime, a cardigan is the least you can wear. The weather changes quickly. And can chill through and through. Always have a cloak. Or a plaid about.”

  “I’m an Alaskan, Thoran. This is t-shirt weather. Anything over 50 is.”

  He ignored her to pull the plaid blanket thing from over his shoulder as he spoke. Jolie’s eyes went wide as she wondered if he was truly planning on taking it completely from his body. Leaving him with what everyone whispered a Highlander wore beneath his kilt: nothing. She didn’t think she could handle it. The she remembered. He was impotent. That would work.

  “Damn,” she muttered, once he’d swathed her into a cocoon attached to him. Not only was he still wearing some of the material, but she was running out of time. What looked like a ‘54 BMW 502, sometimes referred to as “Baroque Angels” due to their lines, was just turning into the park drive, Barnes at the wheel. She could see him a mile away. Easily.

  “You’re not carrying me,” she informed Thoran as he stood up, holding her to him and doing that exact thing.

  “I am.”

  “And I’m not going with you. Anywhere.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m not sure I like the male chauvinist side of you, Thoran. Especially as it comes pretty empty. If you know what I mean.”

  “No. I doona’. And I’ve ceased trying.”

  The car was nearing, purring with a huge engine that surrounded her with comfort for some reason.

  “Exactly where are we going?”

  “To my bed. Exactly as you specified.”

  Oh…triple crap! “What will that prove?”

  “That your desire is as large as mine?”

  He made a question of it. Jolie trembled. Since he had her wrapped in his blanket and in his arms he felt every bit of it.

  “I’m no therapist, Thoran.”

  “What is a ther-a-pist?” The last syllable was shoved at her.

  “Someone who works with you on your problem. Or problems.”

  “What problems do I have? Other than a confusing bit of words?”

  “The one in your bed. Your fear of performing. Remember?”

  There. She was being brave, but in a moment Barnes was going to be there opening the door. She’d be hustled into the back seat, still enwrapped in Thoran’s arms, getting hotter and wetter and more miserable with every prolonged moment.

  “I may have spoken…hastily,” Thoran replied, tipping his head and grazing his lips along the bottom of her jaw. That move followed the line of her chin, to the pulse point below her ear. He sucked delicately at the spot and about drove her insane.

  “But…you’re…unable to consummate anything. That’s a problem.”

  He lifted his head. She watched enlightenment dawn in those silver-hued eyes. And then such anger, they turned black. Obsidian. Remote and cold. And deadly. It was the exact match to his voice.

  “You dare insult my manhood?”

  “Uh…” She’d rather face a vampire than an angry, bristling Highland male who’s just been insulted.

  “That’s what you’ve been saying to me? Me? Thoran Alexander MacKettryck?”

  “You said you feared performing.” Her voice was barely audible. Fearful. Worried. Tiny.

  “Oh. You’ll regret this, lass Immensely. Barnes? Get us home. With all speed.”

  The door was open. She was tucked and carried, still encased in Thoran’s arms, and the settled atop what was definitely not an impotent part of his anatomy. She focused on the hint of a cleft in his chin. It was safer.

  “Look at me, a chroi.”

  No way. She’d rather die.

  He moved the chin she was watching, licking his lips before moving them toward her. Jolie closed her eyes. It was too much. Much too much.

  “Oh…lass. I vow I’ll perform for you. Easily. Fully. You’ll na’ be dissatisfied.”

  Embarrassment and anticipation warred with one another, closing off her throat and stopping her mind. And then passion and craving took their place. All of it hastened into being by his lips sliding along her throat, the moisture touched by his words, starting shivers. Rumblings. Tremors.

  “Complete bliss. Ecstasy. Realms without borders. Heavens without end. I promise it to you. Hours and hours and days of it. Until you plead with me for mercy.”

  “No. I shouldn’t listen. You should take me home.”

  “You doona’ ken yet. But you will. It’s been so long, lass. Years. Centuries. Of wasted existence. Time…without end. I’ve waited for you. Just you.”

  “Thoran…I—.”

  “Trust me, Jolie love. Surrender. Now. To me.”

  The reply was lost in his mouth, suctioned from her along with her will. Her sanity. Her reason. Beneath them the 2.6 liter V-8 engine of his BMW continued to purr, taking her farther and farther from reality. Until there was only Thoran. And now.

  Chapter Five

  He lifted his lips from Jolie’s neck before they reached the gates. He’d already grazed a tiny cut through her skin and the whiff of her blood sent heat flaring through him. It was exactly as he’d once been told and hadn’t believed. Thoran kept his eye on Barnes while he opened the driver window. Inserted his card in the stone column, making both iron gates swing open. Inward, toward a lighted drive that passed his private landing strip, circled the loch, and then went through the stone edifice of his barbican walls.

  Jolie stirred from his shoulder, blinked, and then scrunched her eyes up at him, taking his emotions for a ride as she did so.

  “You really do own a castle.”

  “I am na’ in the habit of telling falsehoods, lass,” he replied.

  She buried her nose beneath his chin, sending sweet warm currents of air with each exhalation. They dragged his along with each breath in a parody of life. Warming him. Stirring him. Creating whorls of barely-recalled passions, cravings, and lusts. For something other than blood.

  Finally.

  They had to reach his room, and they needed to do it quickly.

  Barnes obeyed wordlessly, driving them across the drawbridge and between the black stone twin towers of his gatehouse and into the inner bailey. He brought the BMW to a stop in a swirl of road grit at the entrance, opened the back car door, and stood aside so Thoran could breeze past and reach the foyer. He glided along the slate floor to reach the wheel-stair. Climbed in a swirl of motion, barely touching steps, and then finally entered his tower room, where a huge fire shed light and warmth in a semi-circle resonating from the hearth, before reaching to where an alcove held a bed.

  Where he never rested.

  “Quickly, Jolie lass!”

  The command was hissed, spiked with worry. When that undead Campbell clan wretch h
ad first changed him, Thoran had used his newfound strength and powers to turn on the monster and destroy him. He’d killed the bastard. Again. And again. And as many times as it took to revenge taking the most basic pleasure of life away. Despite the futility of it and the fact that the man just kept rising. Thoran had left that battlefield angered and vengeful. The combination lasted decades when it was easy to kill and feast and hate, until the sheer magnitude of days of existence without end finally soothed some of the anguish away. And almost silenced it.

  He’d nearly forgotten what that Campbell vampire had promised him. When Thoran gave up trying to execute him and listened. Thoran had been told of this. That one day…should the fates be kind, his mate would arrive. He’d finally be complete. And he’d get his physical pleasure back. All of it.

  After a span approaching four hundred years.

  Thoran put Jolie on her feet and pulled the plaid from her, twirling her out of its embrace, leaving her wobbly on her feet as he yanked at the MacKettryck Chieftain brooch holding the material to his frame. Then he unstrapped the sword from his back. Dropped it.

  “You and me, mister.” Jolie was standing, lit by firelight and fully dressed, pointing a finger from him to her and back again. “We’re going to have a talk. Real soon and real deep.”

  “Na’ now, lass!”

  Thoran’s hands were trembling, crazed and fumbling with his haste before he yanked the brooch from the material, ripping it in the process.

  “Oh yeah, right now. And not a second longer, and then Holy--!”

  Her voice rose and she had both hands clapped to her mouth as if to prevent what sounded like a scream. Her eyes were wide and frightened and shocked.

  “What?” Thoran dropped into a stooped crouch, scanning the room in a full circle before getting back around to her. “What?” He asked again in the same voice.

  “You—you. You are…not normal.” The words were garbled through her closed hands.

  Thoran looked down, touched flesh that hadn’t been this excited and readied in centuries and looked back up. It looked totally normal. From how it had looked prior to that fateful night on that battlefield in 1615, anyway. Exactly the same. He looked back over at her.

  “Where?”