by Karen Payton
He advanced until she was cornered and pressing her backside against a porcelain basin.
With quiet menace, he said, “Sure I did. I’m going to get the death sentence for this.” A derisive wave took in the length of her body. “And all I get out of it is a bite?” he muttered, in a ‘give me a break’ tone. “Now, all you have to decide is where?” he said through clenched teeth.
She gulped. “Why? Bite, I mean, what for?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked as he reeled in his impatience. “The beta-blockers are wearing off. You have no more, and you’re nervous as Hell so your heart rate is up. I will bite you and your heart will slow. We like to take our time when feeding and venom calms our victims. Your skin will be less-” Connor reached out a finger and ran it down her cheek. “Pink and warm. Perfect.”
Rebekah wasn’t sure if he was talking about the plan or her skin.
“And, if we’re lucky, we’ll get you out of here safely.” Concentration creased his brow. “Look, there is a Councilor called Serge who will be gathering a hunt, and make no mistake, he’s not stupid.” Connor’s eyes met hers, and the excitement simmering in their depths sent a shiver of exhilaration down her spine. “We can’t go back. We have to go forward, and this is the only way. So, the only question is, neck, underarm, or groin?” Connor moved in. “Decide.”
Carotid, brachial, or femoral arteries. Rebekah knew her human biology. As she drew in a rattling breath, he said decisively, “Underarm. They’ll get the scent of a wound near the neck, so, underarm.”
Rebekah nodded, pulled an arm out of her sweater and lifted it up, raising her elbow high. Having decided, she thought, let’s get on with it. A small imp whispered, ‘wonder what he would do if I said groin’. But I’m not brave enough to try it, not today.
“Will it hurt?” she asked.
She was not reassured when a fierce frown scored lines into his face and he was suddenly engrossed in assessing her skin. He pressed his open hand on her collarbone, stroked down, under her arm, and around, coming to rest just below her shoulder blade. He pulled her slowly forward. His tone was distracted as he said, “Yes, but I’ll take only a little.”
Stepping in closer, he slid his other arm around her waist and arched her back. Elation flashed in his eyes and his nostrils flared as he said, “Sorry.” Then, he dipped his head.
Smothering a yelp, Rebekah rested her head on the vanity mirror behind, and her breathing faltered as his strong jaws clamped onto her flesh. Pain was the stab of red-hot needles when he pierced her skin, and then, as he began to massage firmly, a seductive, tingling glow laced around her heart. It warmed her chest and trickled down into her stomach like a lazy flow of burning lava.
Her will surrendered with disconcerting enthusiasm, and he became the center of a universe which shrunk to a pin-prick spark of tunnel vision. Vertigo gripped her and distorted her world, and he was all that remained in focus as she pushed her free hand into his hair and pulled him closer. His thigh pressed into the soft cradle of her pelvis, and her body welcomed him, molding to his hard muscles.
How long it lasted, she had no idea, but as he released her flesh, the long, firm strokes of his tongue passing over the wound drew a deep groan from her throat. He suddenly froze, inhaling a slow deep breath as if her scent was thick sweet honey.
His intense features filled her vision, his fingers slipped into the hair at her nape, and his lips dragged over her relaxed mouth. His tart, citrus kiss had the blistering confusion of freezer burn as tantalizing pleasure waltzed on the threshold of pain.
Finally, swallowing her sigh, he pulled away, his cool touch drifting over bare skin.
His eyes glittered with a mesmerizing frosted-silver cocktail as he held her somnolent gaze. Her bones felt like they had melted as Connor guided her upraised arm slowly back down to her side. Her bra strap slid from her shoulder, and Connor caught it, saving her modesty.
Rebekah froze. Aching excitement rode a sluggish tide in her fuzzy mind when his hand grazed her breast. A flush trailed beneath his knuckles as he settled the strap back in place and withdrew, his jaw muscle twitching as he whispered, “That’s better. We need to go.”
Silently, he helped her back into her sweater. He stepped back, extended his hand, and his voice rasped over sandpaper when he said, “Sorry.” Tugging briefly on her fingertips, he muttered, “I can’t hold your hand, but stay close.”
Guiding her swiftly back through the store, Connor pulled clothes from the rails, making random selections without apparent thought. He calmly negotiated the indolent shoppers, and within moments, the evening air cooled her skin and filled Rebekah’s lungs.
He moved her compliant body toward the car, and Rebekah’s brain wallowed in a lightheaded haze. Not knowing how she had got there, the car seat chilled the back of her thighs, and the soft thump of the car door closing felt like a muffled underwater pulse of pressure. The chassis dipped alarmingly beneath Connor’s solid weight when he dropped into the seat beside her. The engine purred as the car rolled forward, and Rebekah’s body hummed with the slumberous rhythm.
The anxiety of the shopping trip receded to a dreamlike sequence. With her head gently rocking on the headrest, she knew that at this moment, being here with him, nothing else mattered. She felt safe and contented.
Connor glanced over and asked, “Station Four, which way are we headed?”
Rebekah frowned as his words focused her brain like a dose of smelling salts. Her feeling of contentment evaporated when it dawned on her that if this trip was her salvation, and she was no longer sure of that, it was extremely risky for Connor.
Douglas fancied himself as a vampire hunter. She shivered. Thinking of Douglas tainted the embers of excitement stirred by Connor’s touch.
None of Greg’s survival lectures ever penetrated with Douglas. Rebekah knew Greg would be livid if he heard some of the theories Douglas spouted in his absence. With him out on a long range mission with Stan and the guys, Douglas could be a real ass. The last thing Rebekah heard, Douglas had been experimenting with Tasers and crossbows. Thank God, if the munitions mission turns up anything good, Greg’ll keep it locked away. Douglas is an asshole, but dangerous to Connor? Maybe.
“It’s down the M20, about thirty miles,” she mouthed, knowing he would hear, no matter how quiet her voice.
He looked across, confusion at her tone etching lines into the smooth alabaster of his skin.
A beautiful face, Rebekah decided, assessing him closely, taking in the details of his black hair, eyes that glowed like aluminum foil in the fading light, chiseled cheekbones, and the strong column of his throat. Thirty miles, and then I’ll never see him again.
Chapter 7
Leaving the city, Connor drove south, back over the River Thames. Passing by the side streets which led to the humans’ safe house, the car heading to the M25, the Motorway which circled London. He kept the speed below twenty miles an hour. On full alert, thirty minutes passed before he allowed the car’s momentum to creep up to where it would raise a vampire eyebrow.
Connor’s muscles buzzed with the adrenalin of human blood. He was high on Rebekah’s pheromones. He had kissed her as he had wanted to all along, but with little danger of hurting her. He was full, replete, and her mouth was the refreshing glass of warm mulled wine which washed down his meal. All he had felt when her red-hot tongue molded to his, branding his lips with her candied scent, was satisfaction. But, an ache of longing still tightened the back of his throat. It was not enough. Can I promise not to do it again? He thought not.
Her blood flushing through his body sharpened his concentration, so he would torment himself another time, but for now, he was focused on getting out of London.
He followed the M20 for ten miles before taking a detour on to meandering country roads. The narrow ribbons of asphalt hugged the tree-lined boundaries of fields and orchards and offered better concealment. Connor was reluctant to interrupt their journey, but it was two a.m., and knowing Ser
ge as he did, traveling at night was not an option. Vampires don’t drive cars at night. We work at night.
Like planets orbiting the life giving sun, vampire existence revolved around the human farm, and darkness, of course. Ironically, with pretense stripped away, for the first time in history, vampires had responsibilities.
Harvesting crops to feed humans, and planting new ones, meant working together. Something unprecedented in vampire culture, although farming held a fascination for some. In a society where money means nothing, purposeful activity represented a novelty, and, with endless sleepless hours to fill, a complex barter and volunteer system thrived.
Connor didn’t receive a wage. What for? I’m allocated daily rations of human blood. I can choose to have my animal blood the same way, or hunt on the moors if the mood takes me, as it often does. Excited blood tastes better. Caring for humans was the only pressing task required of vampires, and every other was indulged on a whim.
With London behind them, Connor drove along the winding roads fast and without headlamps, taking his finely tuned preternatural night vision for granted. The imposing hedgerows and trees slipping by as a landscape of jet-black and darkest charcoal were alive with color for Connor. An angular silhouette caught his eye above the rushing scenery, and the decision was made.
Peeling off the road, he eased off the gas until their pace declined to a gentle rolling walk over the packed earth of an undulating track.
“Why are we stopping?” Rebekah asked, her head rocking on the headrest in time with the swaying of the chassis.
“There’s a building behind the trees. Somewhere to hide ‘til morning.” Connor darted a look at Rebekah’s pale face. Her drowsy tone caused him a stab of regret. She’s still lethargic. The loss of blood was not dangerous, but his venom made sleep compelling. If taken to its ultimate conclusion, the victim never woke again. It’s a humane death, at least.
Connor had diluted his venom with anticoagulant saliva, the chemical reaction vampires use to vary the toxicity of their bite. But, he had miscalculated. Excitement made me careless. He felt relief he was not faced with the decision of turning Rebekah to save her from the permanent slumber of death.
The car rolled to a stop outside the farmhouse, and he studied the black lashes tracing the crescents of her closed eyelids. Her features were delicate: arched brows, small straight nose, and a bottom lip fuller than the top. She looked defenseless. I would turn her, and spend an eternity begging forgiveness, rather than lose her like this. His dead heart glowed in his chest like granite warmed by the scorching sun. His twenty-four years of being alive were still lucid dreams, and he would never take away one moment of her human existence to satisfy his own needs.
Getting out of the car, Connor left her alone for the brief moment it took to satisfy himself it was safe inside.
The rooms, gutted of furnishings and with bare flagstone floors, could not be called comfortable, but the granite walled construction pleased Connor. No one will be coming through these walls, not without causing an avalanche. The impressive walk-in hearth, even though it was littered with decaying leaves, hinted at quaint charm, and the large kitchen boasted an Aga wood burning stove. Despite the thick layer of gritty dust covering every surface, an air of rustic magnificence persisted.
Collecting Rebekah from the car, Connor supported her stumbling weight, guided her through the doorway and across the dirt-covered floor, and lowered her onto the wooden chair he had brushed clean of most of the dirt.
She sat in silence, weaving gently.
Connor moved around the room sweeping, and clearing away the worst of the grit from an area on the floor where Rebekah would hopefully be able to sleep.
“Where are we? What are you doing? I can’t see a damned thing.” Rebekah whispered.
Connor chuckled. He’d forgotten her dull human senses would leave her disoriented and blinded by the soot black shadows.
Crossing to the window, where boards tacked across the grimy glass only allowed occasional splinters of moonlight to slice through, Connor forced his fingertips in between the slats and crumbled the edges to dust. He pulled away enough pieces to disperse the shadows every time the moon broke from behind the clouds. Rebekah could now, at least make out the comfort of his face.
Satisfied he had done all it was wise to do, he returned to Rebekah.
“Here, you’ll need to change,” Connor whispered, placing a pile of clothes on her lap and pressing a zip-lock bag into her hands. “Put the ones you’re wearing inside and seal it.”
“Telling me I stink again? Ever the gentleman, Doctor Connor,” she said dryly.
“Please, just Connor. I think we’re past formal introductions.” He smiled.
Rebekah blushed.
The sweet scent of blood filled the air as the bite wound under her arm throbbed, and Connor added on a strangled note, “I’ll be outside the door.”
When he returned, Connor cushioned the hard floor with more of the clothes he had plucked from the department store rails, and they sat side by side with their backs against the wall.
He stared straight ahead, wondering what on earth he had gotten himself in to. Rebekah’s new clothes fit like a glove, hugging every curve, and they drove him insane. Bloody girl would look good dressed in a garbage bag. It scared him, just how accurately he had assessed her size. Obviously more obsessed than I knew.
Suddenly clearing his throat, he pushed up to his feet and said, “You must be hungry, I’ll find you something.” As he headed for the door, he added, “I’ll only be a moment, sit tight.”
True to his word, seconds later, Connor returned from a foraging trip of the nearby orchard, fields, and woods, and presented Rebekah with an assortment of fruit, vegetables, and mushrooms.
Lowering himself down, Connor sat silently beside her once more, assessing his own body’s needs. Easing out his thigh confirmed the worst; a toxic cocktail gripped at the fibers, cramping the muscles. He could not put off the inevitable. I need to hunt. The lubricant he needed was blood, and any blood would do. It was a matter of oiling the gears, but he needed to go now, while he could still move well enough to stalk his prey.
“Hey, I’ve got to go out for a while,” he said.
Rebekah inhaled sharply, but before she could protest, Connor’s voice cut through the gloom. “I’ve got to go now. I will be back, but-” He left the sentence hanging when he saw her nodding.
“Okay. Back soon,” he said gently. “I need to hunt.”
Rebekah blinked.
Connor stood up and pushed his long fingers through his hair, unveiling eyes which glinted with the steely focus of a hunter.
He left the farmhouse and loped across the fields with the awkward gait of a man who had sat in one position too long. He didn’t like leaving her alone. I’ll stay within earshot. Two miles should do it. Pausing to scent the air, he sighed. It isn’t going to be exciting, all I can smell are cows, sheep, and rabbits. He rolled his shoulders in an ironic bring-it-on gesture, and took off at an easy run.
I prefer the challenge of mountain lion - being literally a heartbeat away from having sinew torn from bone. He enjoyed the snarling undulation of the fight. Ramming his head under the cat’s chin and biting down into the esophagus gave him a rush. He reveled in the metallic taste of the blood at the height of the cat’s terror as he finally crushed the ribcage in an embrace which slicked his face and chest in hot syrupy pleasure and stained him red.
This was as far from that as he had been in one hundred years, and he shook his head. What is my world coming to? Connor shrugged before he got too distracted. But hey, I don’t mind herbivores, although it’s not so much a hunt as sidling up and knocking them over. But on the plus side, they are quick, and today, I need quick.
Even though it would be a stroll in the park, Connor still bared his chest. He could at least enjoy the freedom, and the sensual buzz of the dying heartbeat beneath the warm flesh thundering against his skin when he tightened his grip.
<><><>
“Connor?” In Rebekah’s mind, he had simply vanished. How long has he been gone? She adjusted her position, easing her numb backside on the mattress of clothing which had become a bundle of hard seams and sharp buttons. She welcomed the discomfort because it helped her fight sleep. Her eyelids fluttered, but she needed to stay awake until Connor returned. She tried to picture him hunting; recalling the intensity in his eyes when he’d bitten into her made her skin tingle. Just his kiss had been like a lava flow through every fiber.
Suddenly, a glimmer in the blackness caught her eye, and she whispered, “Oh, you’re back. I-” Sighing with relief, the words died on her lips and she gagged on the smell of rotting flesh. The hairs on her neck prickled when the thickened shadows heaved a sigh of their own, but did not move.
An adrenalin-charged jolt of panic clenching her heart, and she shot to her feet. Fear exploded inside her and the next sixty seconds were a kaleidoscope of overloaded senses.
It’s not him. The thought gripped her in a vise of cold steel.
<><><>
Kneeling beside his kill out in the meadow, Connor heard Rebekah’s heartbeat pick up pace before she registered it herself, and ice-cold certainty filled his chest.
Closing in silently on the farmhouse with the devastating accuracy of a heat-seeking missile, he covered the two miles in eighteen seconds. Slipping inside, he whisked around the perimeter of the darkened room until, stepping forward, he appeared behind Rebekah like a shadow solidifying into vampire form. Folding her into his embrace, he confronted the intruders.
His breath fanned her hair, wafting over her goosefleshed skin. Her knees began to buckle. She shook as the iron band of his arm pinned her tightly up against a chilled chest.
He draped one arm across her body with his fingertips grazing her hip, settling his other hand casually on to her shoulder. Connor studied the two vampires. The excited glitter in their eyes betrayed the craving lurking behind the carefully indifferent expressions.