by Mara Leigh
I just described a vamp’s dream room, hoping she’ll bite—no pun intended. But I also described a serial killer’s lair… Which way will she hear it?
Hope invades her eyes as she studies me, clearly trying to size me up. “Your offer is tempting.”
My heart swells.
“I mean, what girl could turn down an offer to go down to a man’s dark, isolated basement under a deserted bar? Doesn’t sound dangerous at all.”
Shaking my head, I lean back. “Look. You’ve got me all wrong. I would never—”
She grins. “I’m kidding.” Her head tips to the side and the light strokes her cheekbone, like porcelain, marred only by streaks of eye makeup. “You don’t seem like the serial killer type. You saved me in the alley, after all.”
“You can trust me. Scout’s honor.” I hold up three fingers.
She draws in a quick breath and her pupils dilate. Is it possible this gorgeous vamp is attracted to me? More likely I look like an attractive dinner. A massive feast.
Both thoughts stir the already hardening rod between my legs.
What the feck is wrong with me?
I would never lay a lustful finger on this woman, although my pecker clearly has a different opinion on that topic.
I draw a long breath, trying to ignore my desire.
Best I can do is show her that I mean her no harm and behave as unthreateningly as possible for a man of my size. After all these years, if there’s one thing I’ve mastered, it’s how to play the gentle giant.
Chapter 6
Selina
The Irish whiskey softens the edge of the fresh human blood in my system, which already contained its fair share of booze. As far as I can tell, vampires don’t get drunk, at least I don’t, even after consuming about six times what would’ve made me pass out as a human.
Rock just offered me exactly what I need, a perfect solution to keep me out of sunlight until tomorrow night. But even though my gut says to trust him, everything about this guy seems way too good to be true.
I want to trust Rock. I want to trust him more than I’ve wanted to trust anyone in my entire life, but the last person I trusted was Santos and that mistake landed me in Xavier’s brutal grasp.
But Santos was a vampire… I can defend myself against a human. If I had to guess, the big, blond man across the table outweighs me by a factor of three, but while he’s got the size advantage, I’ve got the species advantage. Not that I’ve ever tried to fend off or feed from anyone close to his size.
“So it’s settled?” He leans back in the booth, his body making the wood creak as his face slides out of full light. Even partially shadowed, the huge man doesn’t frighten me, although logic says he should.
I drain the rest of my whiskey. “Let’s say I’m thinking about it.”
“Sounds like progress to me.” He nods toward the waitress.
“Why do you want to help me?” I ask, but I know the answer. He wants to help for the same reason any male has ever wanted to do anything for me—because he wants to fuck me.
“I don’t know.” He rubs his chin. “Typically when I rescue someone in the alley I just toss her out on the street. I’m kind of an asshole like that.”
“I can’t figure you out.” I slide my hand across the wooden table. “But there’s one thing I am sure of—you’re not an asshole.”
“Thanks.” He tips his head to the side. “I think.”
The waitress drops two more glasses of whiskey on the table and removes our empties.
“Thank you,” I say and she nods, stone-faced. I’m not in the market for a female friend, but it’s clear I haven’t found a prospect.
“You coming back behind the bar?” she asks Rock.
“Kev too busy?” he asks.
“No.” She shifts her weight onto one hip, jutting it out to the side and widening the gap between her T-shirt and her jeans’ waistband. “It’s just—”
“Let me know if it gets too busy, okay?” He smiles broadly at her, and I swear I see her nipples harden under her gray tank top, like her body’s reacting to his gaze.
“Sure, boss.” She leaves and her butt sways in a way that must be intentionally provocative.
But it’s more than a little satisfying to realize I’m the only witness to Chelle’s performance from our table. Out of my peripheral vision I see that Rock’s eyes are fully focused on me.
“Have you always lived in the city?” he asks.
I shake my head. “How about you?” Better to get him talking about himself. Men like that.
“No, me neither.”
“Where are you from?” I tip my glass toward him. “You have a bit of an accent.”
His eyebrows raise just enough to let me know my question pushed some kind of button. “I don’t have an accent.”
“Okay… So, if not Toronto, where are you from?” His accent definitely carries a hint of something—at least sometimes—but I can’t tell what.
“Nowhere in particular,” he says. “How about you?”
Seems like I’m not the only one evading questions. “I grew up in a small town. So small you haven’t heard of it.”
“Try me,” he says. “I’ve been a lot of places.”
“Like where?”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Before landing here, I traveled all over.”
“Wanderlust?”
He shrugs. “I guess so.” But his body language and expression tell me there’s more to the traveling. Way more.
“Army brat?”
“Excuse me?” He leans back, hands on the table.
“You’ve never heard the expression?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s what you call kids of military parents who dragged them all over the planet.”
“That’s not me.” He casts his eyes down. “I don’t even remember my parents.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Instinctively, I reach across the table and place my hand over his.
Staring at my fingers, he draws a long breath, then his hand flips to take mine.
And when I say take, I mean it. His huge hand consumes mine, and warmth radiates from the point of contact to spread everywhere else in my body. The connection’s beyond electric, like our conjoined hands contain a beating heart all their own that’s pumping desire through both of our bodies.
Our gazes meet and I suck in a sharp breath.
Suddenly, the air in the bar is thicker, hotter, and the distance between us is charged. I’ve never felt so tempted—tempted to take him up on his offered room, tempted to share all of me: my secrets, my fears, my body, myself.
I’ve felt plenty of lust since becoming a vampire, most of it unwanted, but this is different—scarier and comforting all at once. I want to set up house inside this man, to be part of him and make him part of me. For the first time, it’s more than just arousal. But I feel that, too. I genuinely want to make love with this human. If only I could take the risk.
My heart gallops like it hasn’t since before I transitioned, and the music playing in the bar dissipates, replaced by the sound of my breathing, of Rock’s breathing, not to mention the rush of his blood gushing like a mountain stream in the springtime, one I want to drink from, bathe in, drown in.
I pull my hand out of his.
He gasps. “You okay?”
Cheeks heating, I nod. “Sure. But I really have to go. What time is it? My roommate’s going to be worried.”
Sadness fills his eyes, but he nods, then slides out of the booth and stands, his huge height taking me again by surprise. “I’ll walk you home.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I slide out of the booth and check that my coat’s still securely wrapped around me.
“You can’t leave like that.”
“Like what?”
“Wearing nothing under your coat.” His cheeks flush. “Let me get you something to wear. Wait here. Please.”
He said please like his life depended on f
inding me clothes, on my accepting his help. How can I say no? Gripping the edge of the table to support me, I nod.
He heads down the hall toward the back door, and I perch on the edge of the bench, facing out from the booth, watching for danger as I drain the final ounce of my second whiskey, loving how the alcohol tickles my tongue and rushes into my bloodstream even before I swallow.
Since I became a vampire, it seems like anything that touches my tongue, or anywhere on my skin, really, absorbs into my bloodstream instantly, like I can feel the osmosis happening as everything I taste or touch becomes part of me. But not everything, now that I think about it. This only happens with things my body wants, that it craves. And my body clearly craves Rock.
He returns, holding a small bundle of clothes, including a pair of running shoes. I glance at my feet, filthy from the rainy streets. I barely realized I was wandering the city barefoot.
“Here.” He passes me the bundle. “Everything’s going to be too big, but at least it’ll keep you covered. It was the best I could do from the lost and found.”
“Thanks.”
I feel his gaze on my back as I walk to the ladies room, then I set the clothes on the counter and glance into the mirror. That was one of the first vampire “facts” I quickly learned was a myth: I have no problem seeing my reflection—although I do have a problem with what I see now.
All the diamond clips are gone from my hair and it’s dried into matted knots. And the makeup that Jordina applied twelve—fourteen—hours ago? It’s a mess.
The bathroom soap, strongly scented with fake lavender and real chemicals, is little help with the black and blue glitter mess on my skin, but I remove as much makeup as I can, and then take off the coat. My body’s smeared with dirt and Pike’s blood.
I look like I’ve been through a battle, and I suppose I have.
I splash lukewarm water on my face, then use paper towels to wipe off the worst of the grime and my body starts to relax for the first time in—in almost forever.
I’m far from safe—I still need to find a place to sleep and I’m being hunted by a sadistic vampire—but I’m no longer a prisoner at Xavier’s court, no longer being held in a dungeon where I’m tortured nightly. The dangers of surviving the upcoming day in this city seem minor by comparison.
The T-shirt Rock gave me is about four sizes too big, but it’s clean and soft and has what I assume is the name of his bar on the front: O’Malley’s.
Is that his last name? Is he Irish? Was that the hint of the accent I heard?
The sweat pants are less clean, less soft, and must have come out of the lost and found like he said, but I manage to secure the drawstring waist tightly enough that they’ll stay up. The runners are also too big but they’ll work—at least until I get out of the bar.
My feet are fine bare, my skin much stronger than it was when I was human. It would take something very sharp to cut my skin, and even then I’d quickly heal, but I get that it looks strange to be running around the city barefoot.
The trench coat is filthy and stinks of the alley, but it might prove useful, so I slip it back on over the borrowed clothes and then thread my fingers through my hair, tidying it as best as I can without a brush.
Rock’s right outside the restroom, his size filling the hall.
My heart skips and my belly flutters. What the hell is wrong with me? I just met this man.
“Everything fit okay?” he asks.
“Tailor made.” I tug at the extra fabric at my hips.
The right side of his mouth quirks up, then he gestures for me to go ahead of him back into the bar.
“What’s this song?” I ask, loving the slow rhythm, the strong horn section and the silky, deep quality of the singer’s voice.
“It’s vintage Al Green,” Rock answers.
“Who?”
“Soul singer from the 1970s.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“‘Let’s Stay Together.’” He smiles.
I stop short and my belly swirls, my skin heats. I shake my head. “I told you. I have to go home.”
“No. Um.” He rakes his fingers through his blond waves. “That’s the name of the song. It’s a classic.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “Cool song. I like it.”
“Me, too.” He smiles and we look into each other’s eyes.
Time stops as the music combines with the clinking and crashing sounds of the bartender cleaning up behind the bar. For the moment there’s nothing in the universe but Rock and the promise of safety I see in his eyes. For the moment I believe I belong here, with him, that I’ve finally found a place in the world where I belong.
I turn away, unable to bear the hope.
Rock follows me to the door, and as soon as I get outside, I turn toward him. “I’m good from here. Thanks for all your help.”
“Selina.” His fingers brush the fabric of my coat sleeve, and the light contact sends waves of electricity coursing through me. “Please,” he says, low and deep, “let me make sure you get home safely.”
I shake my head.
“Then promise you’ll come back. Promise that I’ll see you again.” He swallows hard, like his mouth and throat are dry. “I can’t explain it,” he says, “but I need—I need to see you again.”
I need to see him again, too, even though I know it’s risky.
Sooner or later he’ll figure out what I am, and when he does, he’ll either stake me himself or make sure the cops do. And even if Rock doesn’t turn me in, someone else at his bar will. Probably the waitress.
It’s beyond risky for me to see Rock again.
“Okay,” I say softly. “I’ll come back tomorrow night. I promise.” And part of me actually means it.
Selina
Walking away from Rock, I resist the urge to look back. When I left, the clock behind his bar read ten after two, but it’s late spring so the sun will rise in about three hours. That doesn’t give me a ton of time.
I can barely imagine how easy it must have been for vampires back when most humans thought our existence was a myth. How amazing it must have been to move freely through the night, taking just enough blood to survive without leaving any trace—no wounds or memories—before retiring to safe houses to shelter from the sun.
Even without a Maker to guide me, I’ve figured out a lot about how this whole vampire thing works, but I don’t know the history. Still, it seems to me that humans and vampires once had—or must have had—a symbiotic relationship.
If it weren’t for the rare vamps who drain their victims, like the one who bit me, humans and vampires might have continued in harmony forever, even after humans had proof we existed.
A shiver traces through me along with the sense that I’m being followed.
Is it Pike?
It can’t be. If it were him, I’d already be dead, or more likely wishing I was.
Dodging the glow of a streetlight, I stop and press myself against the brick wall of an old warehouse that’s been converted into condos, and I scan the area. The brief hint of a shadow moves a block and a half behind me, but as I wait, trying to control my heart rate, there’s no further movement. Could have been my imagination. Or a rat.
While looking for my meal, I also checked most of my old hiding spots so it’s time to get creative.
I head toward some buildings on Sterling that used to be empty, but they’re not empty anymore. In fact, one of them is an art gallery. The next building looks more promising.
I easily scale the fence at the back, jumping over the barbs at its top, and I land in a parking lot with two rusted-out cube vans loitering in the corners.
Approaching the building, I peer through the iron bars of a basement window.
A pale face appears.
I jump back, and someone grabs me from behind, trapping my arms at my sides, tightening theirs around me like a boa constrictor. I twist, expecting to easily free myself from what I assume is a human, but I can’t. My captor is definitely not human.
>
A male vampire steps into view, and he leans on a slim black cane with an ornate brass handle. He’s wearing a huge curly brown wig and is dressed like he thinks we live in another century, with a lace scarf at his throat and an ornately trimmed velvet jacket and pants that are tight over his calves, above high-heeled shoes tied with ribbons.
“Which syndicate, darling?” His teeth flash white in the moonlight.
“I don’t have a syndicate.”
He raises his cane and removes the rubber tip to reveal a sharp point. A sharp wooden point. After making sure that I see it, he slowly drags the point up from low on my belly, to stop just over my heart. “Pretty little thing like you? With no protection?” He shakes his head.
I raise my chin. “I can take care of myself.”
“Doesn’t look like that to me.”
The vampire holding me from behind laughs in my ear. “I know how to take care of her.” He dry humps my butt.
I’m desperate to get my body away from him, but don’t dare move much with the spike at my heart.
I fight to slow my heart rate, hoping to hide my fear. But if I let myself take too deep a breath, the spike might pierce my skin. It’s already poked a hole in the T-shirt.
“Look,” I say. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just looking for somewhere safe to spend the day. Cops were parked outside my usual place.”
“Poor baby.” The vampire exaggerates a pout. “Please. Let me be of service.” He lowers his stake, steps forward and traces the back of his hand along the side of my face. “I don’t ask much of my members, and my syndicate will protect you.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Except for the fact that his thug is still holding me captive.
“Are you good?” he asks with lust in his voice. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.” Eying my neck, he reveals his fangs.
But instead of biting me, he steps back quickly, glancing around and sniffing the air. “Are you alone?”