by Mara Leigh
I nod.
“Being followed?”
“No.” My heart rate triples.
“She’s bait. It’s a trap!” The elegant vampire gestures with his cane.
I’m released, and the two vamps disappear into thin air. Even with my vampiric sight and reflexes I barely saw them race away.
I scan the area for whatever or whomever they saw. Close to the next building, a shadow moves on the other side of the fence, but even my night vision doesn’t detect what made that shadow, and I’m no longer sure I saw anything.
My tired, paranoid mind is playing tricks, and based on the way those vamps scattered, I’m not the only one feeling paranoid.
The lot has rundown, warehouse-style buildings on all sides, and I scan every inch of my surroundings, trying to sense danger and select another basement window to test. I need to find a place to sleep fast.
My nose lifts to sniff. I’m not alone. Humans. Somewhere within a few hundred yards.
I wait, watching, listening, but can’t pinpoint where they are. Probably a group of homeless people or drug addicts have laid claim to one of these empty buildings. When I was a teen, living on the streets, I often sought shelter in buildings like this for the night. That experience helped me survive after I turned, even though the time of day I needed shelter had been swapped.
The face of the vampire who drained me flashes in my memory and I shiver. Well-dressed in a tailored linen outfit with asymmetric lines, the female vamp tricked me into thinking she was an art gallery director—a human one. When she offered to give me career advice while she had a quick smoke in the alley, I didn’t hesitate to follow her for an instant.
Big mistake. Huge.
I hope I didn’t make another tonight, by refusing to go with those vamps. Or running when they scattered.
Maybe life in a syndicate wouldn’t be so bad. Most of the stories I know about syndicates came from humans, not vampires, and could be rife with bias. On the other hand Xavier’s court was worse than I could have imagined.
I’m better off on my own. Always have been. Always will be. I can take care of myself.
With a loud bang, a million spotlights turn on me at once, and I hear and feel the rush of a dozen humans closing in from all sides. How did they sneak up on me so quickly?
Blinded by the sudden lights, as bright as the sun, I jump and lunge, flailing around and hoping to strike some of the humans, or at least make my heart a more difficult target for their stakes.
Through squinting eyes, I spot a policeman in full riot gear, his spike aimed and ready and pointed toward me.
I leap, landing in a low crouch, then kick upward to knock the stake out of his hand. Spinning, I slam my fists into his chest.
He falls on his ass but looks unharmed, and my hands tingle from striking what felt like titanium on his chest.
Sensing another human behind me, I jump up and over her, just as she lunges. Her stake strikes the gravel. She tries to turn, but I kick her down, then toss her body across the parking lot.
I can defend myself from three or four wooden-stake-wielding humans at a time, but there are at least ten more alongside the two I’ve already tackled. I’m badly outnumbered.
If those vamps return, I’ll gladly join their syndicate.
Two cops lunge at me at once. I leap about four feet into the air and kick each in the chest. They land on their asses, then roll across the gravel like bowling balls.
Another cop attacks from my right, wielding what looks and smells like a silver lasso. I spring out of his lasso’s way, then dive for the man’s legs, throwing his body high and off to the side.
Someone else comes from the front, catching me off guard, and I grab his stake mere inches from my chest. Using my other hand, I slam up and break the weapon in two, but he pulls another from his belt.
Is this it? Did I survive fourteen months in Xavier’s court only to die less than twelve hours after my escape?
The gravel shakes underfoot and a huge roar fills the parking lot.
The cops turn toward the noise, giving me the opportunity to slam two of their heads together, knocking both of them out, even with their helmets.
Riot-gear-clad bodies fly through the air, some smashing into the walls of warehouses, and I turn in the direction the bodies are coming from.
Rock.
He seems even bigger and taller now than he did back at the bar, and he tosses police officers aside like toys, thundering in a rage-filled scream. As he runs toward me, each footfall shakes the earth so hard it must register on the Richter scale.
“Rock!” I barely get his name out of my throat before one of his huge arms scoops me off my feet and tosses me over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
His long strides cover what seems like twenty feet at a time, and then we’re in the air, wind rushing in my ears.
After clearing the fence, we land, and his body absorbs the impact so well I barely feel it. Lifting my head from his back, I spot the police readying their non-vampire weapons.
“Run!” I yell. “They’ve got guns!”
Shots reverberate, but Rock and I are already a block away, then another, and I can only imagine that from the humans’ perspectives we disappeared in a flash.
From the humans’ perspectives.
I repeat the thought in my mind while I hold onto Rock’s body, trying to keep the bouncing to a minimum as he runs. His back’s so broad I have to grab on to what I can only assume are ridges of muscle at his sides.
No way is Rock human, and I remember how strange his heartbeat sounded.
He slows and I loosen my death grip on his body.
“Hey,” I say. “You can let me down. We lost them.”
He slows to a normal pace and then he gently helps me down to the ground, keeping his hands securely on my waist when I land, like he fears I might bolt. He’s not wrong to think that, but I’m too curious to leave.
We both pant, trying to catch our breaths as we stare into each other’s eyes under the yellow-tinged light of a convenience store’s neon sign.
“Did you follow me?” I ask.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Reaching up, I brush back a curly lock of blond hair from across his forehead. “You saved my life.”
“If anything happened to you…” His voice trails off almost like he’s choking back emotion.
Our eyes meet again and everything inside me lights on fire. Lights on fire with the desire to be in his arms for as long as he’ll hold me, preferably forever.
In his eyes, I can view the ocean, behold the daytime sky I now barely remember. In his eyes I can see the entire world. And it’s a world I want to live in. A world where I might find peace and comfort and safety.
Rising up to my toes, I pull down on his head and press my mouth against his. I lick lightly, loving the lingering taste of whiskey and the salt of his sweat.
Our mouths press together gently, neither of us moving. And that’s okay with me. I can stay like this forever. The sounds of the city have gone; there’s only our trembling lips, our bodies’ heat and our comingling breaths.
A moan rumbles up from deep inside Rock and it shakes his entire body. His lips vibrate as he exhales against mine, warming my face, my body, my soul. Lifting me into his arms, he captures my lips with unmitigated passion. One hand on my head, the other clasping my waist, he spins me around as he holds me tightly, and it feels as if our kiss has lifted us both off the ground, not just me.
The entire world disappears, evaporates in the heat generated by our hungry kiss, and I’ve never felt so alive, so present, yet in a dream at the same time. Every one of my vampiric senses is completely consumed by our kiss, by the taste of Rock, the smell of him, the feel of him hard against my body.
My life, my whole world is Rock now, and I won’t survive if this kiss ever ends.
The spinning subsides and a brick wall presses into my back, his hand cushioning my head as he continues to ki
ss me.
Yes, I think. Yes. This is my life now. Kissing Rock. Forever. This is how I want to stay for the rest of my life.
He pulls abruptly away, his breathing heavy as he looks into my eyes with so much desire it multiplies my own.
“We need to stop,” he says. “I can’t…”
I fight to catch my breath, to find words, to let my heart rate come down, and most of all to kill my impulse to dig my fangs into his neck.
Within striking distance, Rock’s blood courses through him with the power of Niagara Falls, and there’s something else… Two heartbeats?
I exhale. Hard.
“What are you?”
Chapter 7
Selina
Rock opens his mouth like he’s going to answer my question, then his expression changes and he urgently glances around us.
“Someone’s watching,” he whispers. “Another vampire.”
I gasp, hearing the words on his lips. Another?
He knows what I am. Or is he referring to the two vampires I encountered earlier? Was Rock watching me then?
“Let’s get out of here.” He pulls me off the wall and starts to run with me in his arms.
“I can run fast, too,” I say as I cling to his side, my legs trying but failing to circle his ribs.
“I know,” he says, but he doesn’t let me down, and I don’t complain.
The city blocks whiz past in a blur as he carries me.
As fast as he is, at my top speed I’m much faster, but I love feeling his hard body against mine as he uses it like a powerful machine to transport us. Of course, if a vampire was watching us, as Rock suspected, that vampire could overtake us easily. It can’t have been Pike or I’d already be caught.
Unless… unless whoever was watching is afraid of Rock.
Should I be afraid of Rock?
I press my nose near his neck, inhaling his mysterious and intoxicating scent and fighting to keep my fangs in check. He smells different than any man I’ve encountered, more like the earth, the forest, the air. But it’s not like I’ve deliberately smelled any men.
Before I turned, the only man who was ever this close to me was my stepfather, and with him I’d breathe through my mouth to minimize his stench. After my transition, I only had my face this close to my meal containers, and I’m not positive how non-drunk human men smell.
As he runs, my body undulates in anticipation, and I’m so hungry—hungry for him—that I’m about to burst.
I lick his neck.
“Not now, Acushla,” he murmurs in my ear. “Everything in good time.”
Acushla. I have no idea what that means, but love the sound of it. And even more I love the intimacy of his calling me by a special name. I close my eyes, letting myself drink in long slow breaths of Rock, letting that be enough. Enough for now.
He doesn’t set me down when he stops at the back alley door to his bar, but removes the hand that’s cupping the back of my head to dig into his jeans pocket for the keys. He quickly opens the door.
We step inside and he carries me down a flight of stairs and across what looks like a storeroom. He pushes aside a huge, fully loaded shelving unit to reveal another door, which he unlocks and then he carries me down another long flight of stairs.
At the bottom, I slide down the side of his body, my thigh bumping over a huge lump of muscle, and when my feet touch the ground I stay close, pressed up against him, not ready to break our connection. I don’t want the connection to break, not ever.
As he switches on a light, our bodies shift against each other. He groans.
I gasp. The hardness I felt under my thigh is now pressed against my torso and it’s unmistakable. As I lean against him, it pulses, sending shivers of excitement and fear coursing through me. Is that really his erection?
He pulls away and holds me at arm’s distance.
I try to resist looking down, but my gaze dips quickly to confirm what I felt, and it’s even more staggering than I imagined. An impossibly thick bulge curves to the left and down, straining against the denim. It’s got to be at least three or four inches across and extends halfway down his thigh. It’s so long and double the girth of any cock or dildo or fist that’s violated my body.
Lust and fear battle inside me. I need to make love with Rock more than I need air or blood, but he’s so big.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
I look up into his eyes and they’re filled with more pain than I can imagine. And I’m very familiar with pain.
His constrained erection must be uncomfortable, and I tell myself to be brave. I reach toward his fly, but he catches my wrist.
Looking up into his eyes, I realize it’s not just pain that I see, but shame. Shame that he’s aroused?
“It’s okay,” I say quashing my fear. “I want to do this.” And I want to believe my own words. I’ve never had consensual sex, and while I hoped that some day I’d have sex without pain, making love to Rock will be worth the inevitable discomfort.
I want more than blood to make Rock feel good, to see pleasure and desire take the place of the shame in his eyes.
Rock would never hurt me. Not like all those vampires who came before him.
I twist my arm in his grip until we’re holding hands and then I raise our clasped fingers to kiss his huge knuckles, one by one. Looking into his eyes, I circle his index finger knuckle with my tongue.
He sucks in a ragged breath. “No, Acushla. We can’t.”
“Acushla,” I whisper. “What does that mean?”
He smiles softly, through his obvious discomfort—clearly fighting lust. “Acushla means…it means pulse of my heart.”
“Oh!” My heart flutters. “How beautiful.”
That’s how he sees me? Even if it’s just a generic term of endearment, like how some men call women baby, I love it. And the way he said it to me didn’t sound generic.
“Forgive me.” He steps back. “But I need a moment alone. Please.”
I hold onto his hand until our arms are completely outstretched between us. Then our fingertips brush slowly as he peels his away. He crosses the room and disappears behind a door at the far end.
And what a room it is. Although we’re two stories underground, the ceiling is at least ten feet high, and it’s cozy down here, and somehow the air is fresh. The walls are painted in a golden-hued yellow—like a pale egg yolk—that complements the mostly oak furnishings, some of which are clearly expensive antiques as beautiful as the ones at the big museum on Bloor.
The faint sound of a shower comes softly from behind the closed door and I smile to myself. After all the exertion, he wants to clean up for me before sex.
I wouldn’t mind a shower myself. Should I join him?
That seems too forward. He asked for a moment alone, and as attracted as I am, now that I’ve gone a few minutes without touching him, I realize I’ve been stupid to fully trust him. I don’t even know who he is—or what he is for that matter.
And that thick bulge has left me both excited and frightened. Anticipation spreads through my body then gathers back in a tight squeeze between my legs that pulses as I wait for him, my wetness and expectation both building.
To distract myself, I run my hand over the top of a glass-front bookcase. It’s got a simple design, but at the same time it’s one of the most beautiful pieces of furniture I’ve ever seen. Dozens of books rest under the glass, tightly packed, some of them with what look like leather covers. I hope to get a chance to explore the reading tastes of this mysterious man, or whatever he is. But right now, it’s not his books I most want to explore.
An oversized sofa, covered in well-worn leather and a massive red leather armchair with a matching ottoman sit in the middle of the room, and I turn back to the staircase wondering how he got these huge pieces down here.
Several striking paintings hang from the walls, large canvases with abstracts painted in graphic colors. The images draw me forward, like they’re inviting me into their world.
One that’s painted in greens and purples and blues immediately gives me an intense feeling of peace and safety, and I stare at it for a long time, letting the calmness tame my lingering fears.
The next painting, in slashes of reds, yellows, blacks and grays, instantly sends a chill to my bones. These aren’t IKEA prints, they’re originals, and I don’t recognize any of the artists. None of the canvases are signed, but clearly Rock is an art collector. Real art. And he has a lot of original art and collectables for a man who seems relatively young—under thirty if I had to guess.
I count at least six side tables and chests, and atop or inside each are exotic objects, but the excess of knickknacks doesn’t come off as clutter, it adds to the coziness.
I run my fingers over an old-timey circus tent, fabricated out of what seems to be painted tin. It looks very old, the paint worn in places, and when I touch the flag at the top I realize the entire tent spins.
“Do you like that?” Rock’s voice rumbles from behind me, and I turn to find him dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans that now lack the obvious bulge.
I can fix that.
“You have some beautiful things.”
“Thanks.” He comes up beside me, and I immediately feel warmer, not even realizing I was cold.
He twists the flagpole between his thumb and forefinger, and as the tent spins the sides rise to reveal an intricate scene with small tin figures, including a lion and his tamer, three clowns, a tightrope walker, plus a full audience.
“Wow. That’s incredible. Where did you get it?”
He steps back and looks away. “Memento of a time I’d rather forget.” His voice tightens.
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head as he crosses the room, then he gestures toward the sofa. “Sit. Please. Can I get you another whiskey?”
“Sure.”
I curl into the sofa, legs tucked up underneath me as he pours our drinks and returns.
“Thanks.” I take mine and pat the cushion beside me.
But instead of taking my hint, he moves over to the big chair and sits, filling it completely. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, suddenly nervous. Am I foolish to trust him?