Holiday with a Vampire III

by Linda Winstead Jones, Lisa Childs

  When she’d remodeled she’d had to keep reselling in mind, since she couldn’t stay in one place for more than fifteen years or so—and that was lucky. More than one bedroom was called for with that in mind, as was the kitchen.

  The doorbell rang again. Persistent sucker.

  This great room was filled with bookcases heavy with books, a large wide-screen HDTV, and an expensive CD player, along with an impressive collection of CDs, and a sleek, new laptop computer. She didn’t sleep and couldn’t go outside while the sun shone, and she had to have some way to pass the daylight hours. Too bad she couldn’t keep Leo around for entertainment. The idea made her smile. Think of the ways they could pass the day if she had him here.

  Her smile faded. If she didn’t kill him. It was too late for those thoughts, since just last night she’d nudged him away from her, mentally. He wouldn’t find her attractive any longer. He likely wouldn’t bother to come into the bar at all, once his investigation was over.

  The doorbell rang again, and this time it was followed by a deep voice she recognized. “Come on, Abby. I know you’re in there. Time to wake up, sleepyhead. I need those sketches.”

  In a huff she leaped from the couch, grabbing a silky length of decorative fabric in swirls of red and orange and hot pink. She wrapped the soft fabric around her body and stepped to the door.

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  There was a short pause before Leo said, “No, I don’t think so. I’ve talked to everyone I can without those sketches. Come on, it’s almost three in the afternoon. You can’t still be asleep.”

  She knew what angle the sun would be at, this time of day, this time of year. There was also a large silver maple right outside the door, still fully leafed even though September had arrived weeks earlier. Opening the door would not be painful or dangerous as long as she stayed away from the threshold. With a surge of anger she swung the door in to reveal a tall, too tempting, much-too-curious man.

  “What do you want?” she asked, taking care to keep the door more closed than open and to keep herself away from any creeping sunlight.

  “Sketches.”

  “You can collect them tonight,” she snapped.

  Leo looked her up and down, taking in the length of fabric that covered the parts of her that had to be covered for minimal decency’s sake and not much more. The same sorts of mental images she’d caught from him last night reappeared. His mind was not entirely on solving his case. Dammit, he should not be thinking of her this way. She’d done what she could to persuade him to forget his obsession.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked casually.

  “Do you need an invitation?”

  “I’m a cop, Abby. Yes, I need an invitation. Please?”

  She sighed, stepped back, and allowed the door to swing farther open. “Come in, Detective Stryker.”

  In his entire life, Leo had never seen anything as tempting as Abby Brown wrapped in a length of thin, colorful fabric. And, quite obviously, nothing else. The fabric clung to her curves, it gaped in interesting places. It barely covered her ass. If he had even a little bit less control he’d be drooling.

  Why was a woman like this one alone? Instinctively he glanced toward a door that might—or might not—lead to her bedroom. Was she alone? Or did she keep her secrets well?

  “How well do you know Remy Zeringue?”

  Her eyebrows arched slightly. “Remy? I’ve known him for years. Why?”

  “Marisa’s friends say she had it bad for Remy, and a couple of them think they might’ve been meeting on the sly.”

  For an instant Abby looked alarmed, and then the telling expression passed. Too late. She was surprised by that tidbit of information.

  She recovered quickly. “Remy never mentioned Marisa, though he is a bit of a flirt, I suppose, and I can’t say he’s never taken a female customer home. You’re welcome to ask him about it tonight, of course.”

  “I stopped by his place downstairs,” Leo said. “He didn’t answer his door, either.” A thought he didn’t like occurred to him. What if the piano player was here? What if Remy Zeringue was in the bedroom, the reason Abby didn’t have on a stitch of clothing? He’d watched them together and had dismissed the idea that they might be involved, but too many women were suckers for a long-haired, brooding musician with a Cajun accent who called every woman he met chère or darlin’. “Mind if I look around?”

  Abby gave him an unfriendly smile and gestured with her hand. “Be my guest.”

  She gave him the nickel tour. The apartment, or rather apartments, sprawled. The rooms were large and nicely furnished. She liked red and orange, apparently, but there was one nice-size guest room decorated in teal and green and blue, and another was dominated by shades of lavender. In every room the windows were entirely covered with heavy drapes. Not a hint of sunlight broke through. There was enough artificial light to illuminate the rooms well, but it was odd, not to have at least one window opened on such a pretty day.

  The master bedroom was huge, dominated by a neatly made king-size bed covered with a silky red bedspread and dotted with orange and hot pink pillows in various sizes. There was no Remy, no sign of a man at all, in sight. The framed oils on the walls were nice, florals featuring poppies and roses, an autumn scene filled with flame-leafed trees. He was staring at that one when he noticed the initial in the bottom right hand corner. A. Nothing else, just an ornate, flourishing, A. When he glanced around again he noticed that all the paintings were signed the same way. A.

  “Yours?” he asked, gesturing to the paintings.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re good.”

  “Thanks to years of practice,” she responded coolly.

  She didn’t look old enough to have had years of practice at anything. The information he had on Abby Brown listed her as twenty-eight, but she could easily pass for a college student. Her skin was perfect, if pale, her light green eyes bright, her body fine, petite and still curvy…He shouldn’t go there.

  “Do you suspect that Remy killed Marisa?” Abby asked softly, and though she tried to hide it, he heard the pain in her voice.

  “I don’t know,” Leo said. “I hope not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s your friend and it’ll hurt you if he’s the one.”

  She looked to be genuinely surprised by his answer. “You should not care about my feelings. I’m nothing to you, as you are nothing to me.”

  The words were unusually formal and harsh, but he didn’t think it was Abby’s intention to be hurtful. She spoke her mind plainly. She was logical and a little confused. He had a sudden and vivid image of Abby laid across her bed, the bright silky fabric around her, beneath her, but not covering her. He could see, so clearly, his body and hers coming together. Hell, he could almost feel her around him, as if the sensation of entering her were a memory, not a fantasy.

  “I wish you would not do this to me,” she whispered.

  “Do what?”

  “I’m strong, stronger than you know, but I am not as strong as I should be.”

  “Who says you have to be strong?”

  She didn’t answer, but walked to him, dropped the fabric that was all she wore, and without a word began to undress him.

  “I’m working,” he said halfheartedly. “Nice as this is, I really should…”

  “You really should be quiet and help me get these clothes off,” she said as she pushed his jacket to the floor. “They are in my way.”

  Leo wasn’t a complete idiot. He did as he was told.

  Abby’s hands were cool and insistent. Her long, dark hair was loose; it fell across her cheek as she glanced down to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants, hiding her expression from him. Was she as anxious as he was? That appeared to be the case. What the hell was happening?

  He was a fool to ask questions when everything he’d wanted from Abby Brown was happening right now. Her hands were quick and gentle, her face revealed her hunger for hi
m. Naked and needful, she looked oddly delicate, and he wanted nothing but to give her everything she wanted of him, and more. She wasn’t shy; her hands were everywhere. She even licked her lips as she peeled away his clothes.

  He was so caught up in the moment he almost forgot about the condom in his wallet. With a jerk of his hand he reached for his pants, but Abby’s surprisingly strong fingers on his wrist stopped him from moving too far. And then she pulled him onto the bed, where they both bounced gently and his body pressed to hers.

  “You don’t need it,” she whispered. “I cannot have children and we are both healthy.”

  “How do you know I’m healthy?”

  She arched beneath him, wrapped her legs around his hips, brought them closer together. “I know,” she said softly, “because I have powers beyond those of normal human beings. I can see into your body and your soul, I can see who you are and right now what you want and what I want is the same.”

  “Kinky,” he said. “I like it.” And she moved against him and wiped out every thought.

  Her skin was cool and smooth and perfect. She smelled like cinnamon and sex and vanilla. Cookies. She smelled like cookies. He kissed her shoulder, wondering if she would taste as sweet as she smelled. His lips lingered on her perfect flesh. No, she didn’t taste like cookies; she tasted like woman.

  He was so close to being inside her it was driving him crazy, but he waited. For months he’d dreamed of this moment, and now that he had Abby wrapped around him he wasn’t going to rush; he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her throat. She gasped, moaned in pleasure. She responded intensely to his touch, and he liked it. He wanted to make her his in every way. His hands skimmed over her body, stopping here and there to explore and arouse.

  Abby moved like a snake, undulating against him, rubbing her body against his, bringing them closer to the end. He’d pursued her for months and she’d denied him, but now that they were here it seemed she had less patience than he did. She caught her breath in a sigh of intense pleasure and wanting. She threw her head back and arched her spine. Maybe he was willing to be patient and take his time, but she obviously was not.

  He pushed inside her, filled her, eased the ache that had been driving him crazy since she’d opened the door and presented herself to him barely covered by that length of brightly colored fabric. He’d thought of having her in just this position a thousand times, but even his imagination hadn’t been as remarkable as the real thing. There were times when he’d thought he’d never get what he wanted from her, never be so close. Now here they were, like a dream come true.

  She was oddly cool, inside and out. Her skin, her lips, the inner muscles that quivered against him, all were without the expected heat, as if she were made of gentle frost over silk. No sensation could compare to the delicious combining of his heat and her chill. He was lost in her and there was nothing but the two of them and the pleasure their bodies reached for. She kissed his chest…what the hell, was she biting?…no, no, it was just a kiss. A fervent kiss. As she kissed him her body grew warmer; the chill of her skin subsided, her hips moved faster, more insistently. She stole every thought from his head, until there was nothing but her body and his and the need that drove them.

  She came hard, with her lips still latched to his chest, her legs tight around him, their bodies joined…and while she quivered he gave over, too.

  They lay spent on her bed, silent but for the sound of his breath. The woman beneath him seemed to make no sound at all, no raspy breathing, no pounding heart. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was entirely unaffected.

  Nothing had ever drained him so. Abby kissed his chest, she licked him there. Her head was tilted so he could not see her expression, and he wanted very much to see her face.

  “I should like to keep you,” she whispered.

  He bent his head and kissed her shoulder. “I would very much like to be kept.”

  “Would you, truly?”

  “Yes.”

  She rolled him onto his back with surprising quickness and ease. “I have not shared myself with anyone for such a long time,” she whispered. “I crave the sharing as much as the sex, as much as the blood.”

  Leo’s body tensed. “The blood?”

  She was above him, now, as he had once been above her. Her eyes bore into his and he felt an invasion, as if her gaze was a physical thing that pierced his eyes and traveled into his brain. “You cannot move.”

  Leo attempted to gently push Abby away and roll from the bed, but she was right. He couldn’t move. His limbs were frozen. Had she drugged him? And if so, how? He hadn’t drunk or eaten anything since entering her apartment.

  But there had been the sting when he’d thought she was biting him. Did she have a needle in this bed? Had she drugged him with a muscle relaxant? Hell, he had the worst taste in women!

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said, and as she spoke she smoothed back a strand of hair at his temple. “When this day is over I will make you forget, but for now…I swear, there is something about you that makes me feel lonelier than I ever have before, something that compels me to cling to you, to tell you the truth of who I am.”

  “Who are you?” he asked, still confused but no longer afraid. Her words and her voice—and more important her eyes—spoke of loneliness and fear and a need for something he himself craved. Someone to cling to. Though the situation was confusing and should be frightening, he could not be afraid of her. Besides, if she’d meant to hurt him she could’ve done so by now.

  Abby shook back her long, thick hair, and then she looked him in the eye. Softer this time, without demand, without that feeling of invasion. “I was born Abigail Smythe in 1543. My memories of that time are not clear, but I know I was a farmer’s daughter on a spot of land in the north of England, who grew to have a passably pretty face and a pleasing manner, both gifts from my mother. My life was simple. I suppose it was happy enough, though to be honest it’s hard to remember, after such a long time. It’s as though that girl was someone else, someone distant, and yet I realize that foolish, weak girl was me.

  “When I was fifteen my father arranged my marriage to an older man who was important in the community. I thought he was quite something, but of course now I know he was nothing more than what today would be called a big fish in a small pond. Mr. Bailey, though nearly as old as my father, was a good and attentive husband until it became clear to him that I was not going to give him the sons he desired. Two of our children were stillborn, both girls, and when I was nineteen I gave him a strong, beautiful daughter. The delivery was difficult and I almost died. After Merry was born I did not conceive again.”

  Leo knew when people were lying to him; it was part of his job, hell, it was a part of who he was. Everyone had a tell or two, when they were spinning a lie, and he could spot them from a mile away. From all he could see, Abby was not lying. Impossible or not, she believed what she was telling him. Still…“This is not…”

  “Possible? I assure you, it is. Listen to me, if you please.” She turned her head to gaze toward the heavily curtained window. “The final years of my human life are more clear in my memory than those that preceded them. I was as happy as could be expected, considering that my husband despised me and would on occasion beat me when he found himself longing for the son I could not give him. I had my daughter, a lovely, sweet girl, and I never had to worry about food or shelter. All in all, my life was fine.”

  Leo felt a surge of anger. Her story was fantastic, it was unbelievable, but there had to be some truth to it, somewhere. “He beat you?”

  Abby ignored his question. “When I was twenty-three years old, a young mother and a reluctant wife, a scourge came to our village. People died horrible deaths in the night, and their dry, bloodless bodies were left in the streets for all to see when the sun rose. There was panic, as you can imagine. Town meetings were held frequently. Mr. Bailey was always present at those meetings, of cours
e, as he was a leader in the community. We were told to be vigilant, to be suspicious of everyone, even those villagers we thought we knew. We were warned to be especially cautious at night, as that was when the killings occurred, and not to allow anyone into our homes.”

  He saw the pain in her eyes; he felt it as if it were his own, as if they remained connected in a way that went well beyond sex.

  “But how can you say no to a traveling priest who arrives at the door, hungry and looking for shelter from the rain, just past dark? How can you turn away a human being in need?” She looked him in the eye. “I did not turn him away. I invited him in, even though my husband was not at home. In a matter of moments the priest who was not a priest at all rendered me immobile, as I have done to you, and I watched as he broke my daughter’s neck and drank every drop of her blood. When that was done he turned to me. I begged him to kill me. I did not want to live without my child. Merry was all I had in my life that was good, and I could not continue on without her.”

  Her voice dropped. “The creature did kill me, but he didn’t allow me to remain dead. He brought me back as a vampire, like him. I think if I had not asked him to kill me he would’ve left me alone, he would’ve allowed me to remain dead.”

  Perhaps realizing, or at least suspecting, that he did not believe her, Abby smiled. Two fangs appeared, sharp canines elongating and growing more pointed before his eyes, transforming what should’ve been a pretty smile on a beautiful face into a demonstration of terror.

  And he believed. How could he not? The truth was right before his eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No.” The fangs retracted as quickly as they had grown.

  What she’d told him was impossible, incredible, but he had no choice but to believe. Beyond the truth he knew, another world existed. A dark, hidden, terrifying world where creatures he’d thought to be mythical existed. Considering some of the nasty murders he’d seen during his career, he couldn’t be shocked. He was surprised, however, that Abby was a part of it. She wasn’t evil. No matter what she said, he saw who she really was and there was nothing to fear. “What happened next? How did you survive?”