He growled in response and bent his head to her nipple. Dear God, but that was sweet. Sensation shot to her loins. She throbbed, helpless with longing for what was to come. He sucked first one breast and then the other, first gently and then with coming passion, just as he would soon be sucking at her neck again. The very thought of how sensual an experience it was to give him her blood made her writhe under him. That provoked another growl and she could feel his throbbing erection along her hip. She reached for it as he kissed her throat. She arched her neck, inviting him, but he was only moving from breast to mouth and so finished the journey by thrusting his tongue between her teeth, exploring, savoring.
She ran one hand over the muscles in his back as she slid her other up his shaft. The head of his member was exuding a little moisture and she spread it with her thumb. That made him catch his breath. Where had she learned to do that?
From me. And I’ll lend you some vocabulary. They’re called “cocks.”
Good. I can give him more pleasure. She clasped his cock and stroked up and down.
“God, Françoise, you’ll draw me.”
“Then get to it, wicked duc.”
He needed no more invitation. She spread her legs and he slid his finger between her nether lips. She knew he would find her slick and ready. He positioned himself over her on one arm, and held his cock at her entrance. She moved her hands down his back to cup his lovely buttocks. They looked into each other’s eyes as his buttocks bunched under her hands and he thrust slowly inside her. She breathed in as fully as she could and exhaled in satisfaction as she was filled. Slowly he began to move.
This was what she had wanted. Not just sexual excitement but the closeness, moving as one, the tenderness giving way to passion. This was what Frankie had missed for all those years.
He laid himself down over her, his hair hanging over his bulky shoulders. The weight of him was so satisfying. “Françoise,” he murmured. “I love you.” It was a simple declaration. Not flowery. But direct and heartfelt. His vibrations ramped up. Did he have enough power to draw his canines, weak as he still was?
Doesn’t feel weak to me, Frankie noted, chuffing a laugh.
Sure enough, the scrape of canines along her neck said he was doing fine. She opened her eyes so she could see the burgundy red of his. Someday hers would glow like that. She smiled at him when she felt his hesitation. “Do it, wicked duc.” She arched her neck and turned her head.
His teeth sank into her artery. The prick of rose thorns—hardly more. They withdrew. Then the rhythmic sucking began that matched the mutual thrust of their hips. She had never felt so much a part of another. Her blood pumped through her artery into the soft pull of his lips even as the fever built in her loins. He pumped inside her until she was close, so close to ecstasy …
He stopped, stock-still.
“What?” she asked. Was he having doubts?
He gave her throat one final lick. “Turnabout is fair play,” he whispered. He slid out of her. Her womb grasped at him in disappointment. He rolled over until he could open the drawer of the night table and got something out. She couldn’t see what was in his closed fist. Then he sat up against the headboard. His cock was still amazingly stiff.
Oh, yeah. That’s a great idea.
She crawled into his lap. He lifted her hips as if she weighed nothing. It was up to her to position him then he lowered her onto his shaft. Yesssss. That was what she wanted. He drew her forward and licked her neck. She must be drooling blood. She could feel the hum of satisfaction that was his Companion. Even now her blood had made his vibrations ramp up the scale. He felt more alive. She had done that for him.
He helped her move up and down along his shaft. The pressure that had eased ramped up again. She moaned as she bounced. The thing she craved would be coming soon.
It was then that he flipped open the little paring knife for nails he had in his hand. How endearing that he had hidden it from her, thinking not to frighten her. She wasn’t frightened. He held her eyes as he cut his chest right over his left nipple. She bent her head even as she started moving on his cock again. He thrust up to meet her.
Blood welled from the cut. This was the moment.
“There is no going back,” he warned.
She lifted her head to glare at him in mock severity. “Didn’t I say no more warnings?”
She licked across the cut. The blood was thick, viscous, sensual. It tasted of … something metallic. It tasted alive. Was that the Companion swimming in his veins?
He held her tight, covering her curls with kisses as she licked, and they moved together in increasing urgency. The feeling of taking his blood just as she was about to take his seed pushed her over some edge and she lifted her head, arching her back and pressing her breasts into his bleeding chest as she clenched around his cock in mind-engulfing ecstasy. On and on the orgasm rolled. He kept thrusting against her to prolong it until finally she gasped. Had she been holding her breath? The feeling had already begun to ebb when he finally let himself climax. He grunted against her breasts as his cock pulsed inside her.
They stayed, pressed together, his cock still inside her, for a long time. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her. He kissed her breasts, smeared with his blood.
At last they sucked in huge mutual breaths and broke apart. When she looked down at him, a tender smile on her mouth, he looked so doubtful that she had to laugh.
“I wanted this, Henri.”
“And I have wanted this too much to have it be right. I’m still not sure you know what you’ve sacrificed.”
“Frankie knows what being vampire is. It was she who prodded me to fight for what I wanted. She’s the only reason I had the courage to tell you I loved you.”
“She is an optimist. That rarely works out well.”
Françoise blinked. “No she isn’t. She is embittered and cynical. Optimism is naïve. That’s what she always says I am.”
“But encouraging you to push for what you wanted required a leap of faith. What better definition of an optimist?” He must have seen her stunned look. “Maybe Françoise contributed enough naïveté for Frankie to be optimistic, just for once.”
Had she? Had she contributed anything to Frankie? Frankie?
Bingo, girlfriend. But the voice was faint.
Frankie? Was Frankie fading like the time machine? Don’t leave me, Frankie! Now that I’m vampire, you exist. You can stay. I need you, Frankie.
But Henri doesn’t abandon you, probably for longer than a hundred lifetimes. So there is no bitter Frankie anymore …
She trailed off. “Frankie, no!”
“What is it?” Henri tensed under her. “What’s happening?”
I’m ceasing to exist. I feel it.
You can’t. Henri won’t love me if I’m just a naïve young girl. He loves you, Frankie, not me. You said yourself he never looked at you the way he looks at us together.
She felt Frankie soften, faintly. But I’m inside you now because you experienced me for these brief days. You will be my immortality.
If you don’t exist, you won’t come back to this time, and then I’ll never see Henri for what he is, and you’ll never give me the courage to want to be vampire …
Too … complicated, girlfriend. Leave that to Arthur C. What has happened, happened. Time just moves on.
I can’t live without you, Frankie.
No. She heard the whisper, so faint within her it was hardly there. You can’t live without him. You have as much of me as there is for me to give. It will be enough …
Frankie!
But there was no answer.
“Françoise. Françoise! Are you all right?” Henri held her head between his hands.
Tears welled. “She’s gone. She’s gone and I can’t be what you love without her.”
“It’s all right, Françoise.” He smoothed her hair. He pulled her to his chest, but she pulled back. His worry showed in his face.
“She said
she didn’t exist anymore because we stay together for a hundred lifetimes and there would be no bitter Frankie.”
“You don’t feel her inside you anymore?”
“Bingo.”
“What?”
Françoise blinked. About five times. “That’s … that’s something she always said. It means, roughly, you have said something correct.”
He raised his eyebrows. They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Maybe she isn’t entirely gone. You think?” Françoise heard something subtly different in the way she chose her words. Maybe it was the cadence.
Henri smiled. “Perhaps not.”
Françoise felt a little ripple inside her of something … faint. She smiled. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’m glad,” she whispered aloud. “I grew to like you, girlfriend.”
“Maybe she grew to like herself.”
Françoise put her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead, fiercely. She was feeling light-headed. “You’re a wise man, Henri Foucault.” She started to shiver.
He lifted her off his lap and swung her into his arms. “Let’s get you under the covers. Rough three days ahead. But I’ll be here to give you my blood.”
She was really shaking now. “B-better be longer than three d-days this time, buddy.” Buddy? Where had that come from?
“Quite a bit longer.” Henri pulled the duvet up around her. “Frankie was wrong. With luck, it will be more than a hundred lifetimes.” He bent and kissed her forehead.
“M-maybe.”
“That’s all we can expect, my love. Our chance. Frankie had the courage to try to change her lot. She gave us something lost to us the first time round. Can we have less courage?” He smiled at her. “Maybe we’ll find a way to use what we are to mean something to the world. There are other places where people need help besides France, you know.”
The man was a hero, not a wicked duc. And she loved him from someplace inside that was closest to who she was, maybe even closest to God.
She grinned even as her teeth chattered. She was going to be vampire. She was going to have the powers Frankie missed. She was going to love this man forever. Donna di Poliziano had been right. She’d found what she really wanted and claimed it.
“We do what we can, guy. We do what we can.”
Epilogue
“Do you think it will still be there?” Frankie worried as Henri guided the sleek black BMW rental car down the steep hill of California Street into the part of San Francisco known as Cow Hollow. The lights of the city were just coming on. “I mean, what if she’s sold it? Or what if … if I never gave it to her because Donna never gave it to me, because in this version of time I was never bitter and didn’t need to go back?”
“Calm down, ma petite,” Henri said. “It does no good to twist your hair like that.”
Frankie jerked her hand away from her curls. She glanced at Henri. He smiled. How she loved that smile.
“And stop chewing your lip?”
She took a breath and tried her best to scowl at him. It was always hard to scowl at Henri. “You know as well as I do how important … no, how dangerous that book could be. What if someone uses it for their own purposes?”
“If she’s sold it, we’ll track it down and buy it. And the other argument is circular. You know that. It will either be there or it won’t.”
Bingo. Henri was right, of course.
“I might remind you that you used it for your own purposes and things seem to have turned out well.” His eyes were laughing at her. But she knew it was love that made them laugh.
“There. There’s the shop.” Miraculously, a parking spot waited for them right in front. In San Francisco, no less. Vampire luck to the rescue again. On the whole she liked being vampire, strong and alive as she had never felt before Henri had given his gift of blood. She had to admit she was eager for one of their number, Julien Davinoff, to finally produce a successful synthetic blood. If anyone could do it, Julien could. But it didn’t matter. She would never let the inconvenience of needing blood every couple of weeks stand in the way of the life she had built with Henri. She was so lucky, in so many ways.
She watched his face as he eased the Beamer into the parking space. He was tired. He’d just flown in from Somalia the night before. He’d had to get his team out of that hellhole before it all collapsed and their risked lives turned into lives lost. Doctors Without Borders was Henri’s current effort to make the world a better place. She loved him for that.
ROSANO’S RARE BOOKS was painted in gilt over the window of the little shop. Under those words a single pedestal stand displayed a great book that looked like one of those old dictionaries a foot thick. Light glowed from within, but Frankie couldn’t see anyone inside.
Henri reached over and took her hand. “You’re holding your breath.”
She let it out. “Okay, let’s go.” She didn’t wait for him to open her door. But he made it to the door of the shop ahead of her and pushed it open. A bell tinkled as they entered.
The familiar head of red hair poked out from a door in the back. “Be right with you.”
Frankie scanned the shop frantically but she didn’t see Leonardo’s book. Henri took her hand. She breathed.
Of course not. No one would keep something so valuable on display. The bookshop was crammed from floor to ceiling with leather-spined books of every shape and size. Comfortable chairs and a sofa sat on an oriental carpet in cones of soft light cast by several reading lamps.
The woman she remembered hurried out from the back, looking distraught. She was a lovely thing, well upholstered like her chairs with winsome curves and a perfect translucent complexion that went with the wavy mass of red hair. She stopped dead when she saw Frankie. “It’s you!”
“Uh, yes.” Suddenly, Frankie didn’t know what to say. At least the woman recognized her. That meant that she had been in the shop. And she had left the book here.
“I’ve been looking for you for the last week.” Suddenly she peered at Frankie. Her eyes slid to Henri. She looked a little stunned. Frankie was used to it. Women always looked stunned when they first met Henri. She tore her eyes away and back to Frankie. “You look … different.”
Frankie patted her hair self-consciously. She no longer had the original Frankie’s spikes. “Where are my manners? Lucy Rossano, this is Henri Foucault.”
Ms. Rossano nodded to Henri. “A pleasure, Mr. Foucault. Am I to credit you for the change I see in Ms. Suchet?” She glanced back to Frankie. “She looks so much … softer.”
“I like to think so,” Henri murmured. It was left to Frankie to blush.
“Never mind that,” Frankie said. “I’ve come about the book. You have it?”
“That’s why I’ve been trying to find you. No one had heard of you at the address you gave.”
“I’ve been … away. Do-you-have-the-book?” Frankie spoke each syllable slowly.
Lucy Rosanno ran her hands through the thick mass of her hair. “Yes. Yes, of course. But someone has made an offer on it. And … and I don’t know what to do.”
“You haven’t sold it?” Frankie and Henri both said it at once.
“No, no. At least not yet. But … but they offered … they offered a million dollars.”
Frankie and Henri glanced at each other. The book was easily worth that. And more. An original by Leonardo da Vinci? A million was low if she sold it at auction.
“We’d be willing to match whatever you’re offered,” Henri said calmly.
Ms. Rosanno looked at him like he’d grown another eye. Her mouth worked but she didn’t manage to bring forth any sound. If anything, Henri’s offer seemed to leave her even more distressed. Her pale complexion alternately flushed and went dead white.
Frankie began to get the oddest feeling; a tingling right at the edge of her mind. “Why … why were you looking for me?”
Ms. Rosanno’s clear green eyes searched her face. “At first I just thought I should share the price with you
. You just left it here, you know. You didn’t ask anything for it. I thought it wasn’t right that I should get a million dollars and you get nothing at all.”
“And after … ?” Frankie asked, because there was definitely something else going on here. Frankie could feel it.
“I started to dream about the book. And I couldn’t bear the thought of selling it at all. I started thinking about it every waking moment. And I wondered … how you could give it up like that … just leave it here and not look back?”
Because for me, it had already done its work. Now where had those thoughts come from?
“Is … is it cursed or something?” the young woman asked. “I mean, were you trying to pass it on to get rid of it?”
And it all became clear to Frankie. She knew what she must do. She smiled, and she knew the smile was reassuring because it felt true and right. “No. No, I had already used it to make me happy, and I was finished with it.”
Ms. Rossano’s eyes got big. “You do look happy,” she whispered.
Frankie stepped forward and took the girl’s hands in her own. “Don’t sell the book. You don’t want to sell it, do you?”
The girl’s eyes filled. She shook her head.
“Do you need money?” Henri asked. “A million dollars is a lot of money.”
The girl gave a jerky laugh. “Who doesn’t need a million dollars? The shop …” She looked around. “It’s hard.”
Henri looked to Frankie. “We’re meeting Donna and Jergan at Ozone tonight after the opera. They know everyone who is anybody in the arts in this city. I’m sure they know collectors who would like to browse your collection.”
“Keep the book,” Frankie said, looking into those clear green eyes. “You’re meant to have it, just as I was.” She turned to Henri.
“Time to go?” he asked her. She nodded. Henri took one of his cards from the inside breast pocket of his Armani, and handed it to the little bookseller. “If ever I can be of service, don’t hesitate to call.”
And they left. Frankie relaxed. She needn’t worry now.
“What happened to all the anxiety?” Henri clicked the key fob and the car chirped as it unlocked itself and turned on the lights. The fog was coming in and the air felt thick and damp.
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