AllHallowsHeartbreaker

by Delilah Devlin

  “I don’t know what “it” is, yet. But I can’t stay here forever.” She yawned and rolled on her side. “I do have a job.”

  “You could stay here. I could take care of you.” Not usually given to impulse in his dealings with the opposite sex, nevertheless his offer felt right.

  “As in live together?”

  “Yes.” More sure by the second.

  “Let’s wait and see what happens. I don’t want to make a mistake.” She grinned. “And we’ve only known each other for twenty-four hours. You don’t even know whether I snore or not.”

  “Fair enough. The offer is on the table. Get some sleep.”

  Dylan leaned down to kiss her, expecting to give her lips a quick buss, but Emmy’s tongue sneaked out to lick his lower lip. He crushed his mouth to hers for another of their tongue-dueling matches.

  Finally, he pulled back, disengaging her hands, which were twisting in his hair. He rose from the bed.

  “Promise you’ll wake me,” she said.

  “I will.”

  * * * * *

  As he drove to the estate of the council member he’d petitioned, Dylan held the pleasant thought of waking Emmy from her sleep. Would he wake her slowly with gentle kisses and soothing glides of his hands, or would he come inside her, fast and hard? Both choices offered delicious possibilities.

  Navarro’s estate wasn’t far from Dylan’s place. As Dylan’s rented car climbed the slopes of the exclusive neighborhood roads, the lights of the city below flickered like a thousand stars.

  Dylan stopped at the tall brick and wrought iron gate and typed the password into the keypad. While the gates swung open on quiet hinges, he girded himself for a frustrating evening.

  Navarro met him at the front steps and led him through his house to the study. Navarro had always had money—ever since his human boyhood in Spain. And he was a collector. His furnishings—heavy dark oak furniture, plush Middle Eastern carpets, Italian and Dutch paintings—had taken centuries to accumulate.

  Candlelight illuminated the dark-paneled study. One of Navarro’s many eccentricities was an aversion to the harsh glare of electrical lighting. He invited Dylan to have a seat before the fire and poured them drinks.

  While Navarro swirled his brandy, Dylan watched his narrow, European features for any sense of where the conversation might lead. Navarro was typically cryptic in his communication, giving away nothing.

  Of course, he’d had centuries longer than Dylan to cloak his emotions.

  Finally, Navarro glanced up. “Son, what is it you wish to speak to me about?” His hand passed through the air in a diffident wave, granting permission for their conversation to begin.

  Dylan shifted in his seat. “Father,” he replied, addressing his sire formally. “I believe one of our inner circle is siring an army.”

  Navarro’s thin lips curved only slightly at the corners. “Is there to be a war?”

  Dylan simmered with resentment at Navarro’s subtle mockery. “Nicky is turning young people at a frightening rate. Our human friends in the police force can’t keep up the fiction they’re gang-related killings for long.”

  “Nicky has acted imprudently. My emissary will speak to him.” Navarro’s words were measured and spoken in an even tone.

  Irritated, Dylan bit back his temper. “It’s not enough. He won’t stop.”

  “Is the situation truly unsalvageable, Dylan?” Navarro’s sloe-shaped brown eyes met his gaze directly. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the woman you harbor in your home?”

  Of course, Navarro would know he had a houseguest.

  Dylan drew in a deep breath. “I’ve marked her as mine.” Once proclaimed, there was no going back. “Nicky isn’t honoring my right of possession.”

  Navarro nodded. “Congratulations. It has been long since you’ve mated.”

  “I won’t let her be harmed.”

  “Has he attacked you or your woman directly?”

  Dylan’s back stiffened. “No.”

  “Then how are you certain his children aren’t taking matters into their own hands? The newly reborn are often over-zealous in their devotion,” he said, his chiding words reminding Dylan of an episode in his own “apprenticeship”.

  An episode Dylan would sooner forget. It was another stain on his soul. “They’re not acting on impulse. They’re acting on orders.”

  Navarro raised a single brow.

  “I know it to be true.” Dylan’s chest expanded with anger.

  “I will not go to the council without proof. We are after all talking about sanctioning the death of one of our own.”

  Dylan had come on a fool’s errand. There would be no support from the council. “I won’t wait for her to die to give you your proof.”

  “Which is why we permit the extinction of newborns without consequence to the Master responsible.” Navarro pinned him with stare. “You’ve been busy lately, amassing your own statistics.”

  Rankled his dustings had been questioned, Dylan replied, “Every killing was needed. Newborns can’t turn a human until they’ve learned to rein in their lust.”

  The older Master waved his hand. “We are not concerned with your nightly patrols. I have every confidence your purges have been warranted.”

  Fighting his rising frustration, Dylan gripped the arms of his chair. “Can we come back to the issue of Nicky’s activities?”

  “We will not interfere with your right to protect your possession.”

  Dylan relaxed. He had permission to kill Nicky himself.

  Chapter Ten

  To his disappointment, Emmy wasn’t asleep when he returned. Instead, Dylan followed the sound of muffled laughter to the kitchen. Quentin and Emmy were inside, seated at the table.

  She was dressed in his robe, the dark blue a foil for her rosy cheeks and sunshine-colored hair. Her gaze swung to the door and her eyes lit up like Christmas lights when she saw Dylan. His heart swelled in his chest—grateful he could produce such a look of joy.

  Quentin raised a slice of pizza, loaded with pepperoni and sausage from the savory aroma, and waved it at Dylan. “Join us. Emmy was just telling me she has a distinct preference for organ meats.”

  Dylan’s gaze narrowed as he stared at the gap at the top of his robe. It exposed more cleavage than he wanted to share, even with his best friend. “Only mine, I hope.”

  “That’s not what I said.” Emmy blushed scarlet. “And for your information, Dylan, that wasn’t what we were discussing.”

  “Better not be,” he growled, feeling grumpy. How many ways could he say ‘get lost’ to his buddy? Dylan strode past the counter littered with open pizza boxes to the table, and hooked his foot around the leg of chair, pulling it close to Emmy. He straddled it backwards.

  “Didn’t go well, hmmm?” Quentin asked.

  Dylan’s gaze didn’t leave Emmys’ face. “About what we thought.”

  “Damn. We’re on our own then.”

  Emmy took a bite of pizza and darted a glance at Dylan. “Do I have tomato sauce on my nose?”

  “No, love. And it’s not your fight, Quentin.”

  “And leave me out of the party?” Quentin drawled. “This little intrigue is more fun than I’ve had in a long time.”

  Emmy set her pizza on her plate. “Okay, I’m just a little bit tired of being left out of the conversation, when I feel like I am the topic of the conversation.”

  Gratified he’d brought her temper to peak, if not her body, Dylan clutched the back of her head and brought her forward for a kiss.

  She shoved at his chest. “I have pizza breath,” she warned.

  “My favorite.”

  “Thought it was whiskey and woman,” she murmured, her eyes drifting closed.

  “It was.” He kissed her full on the lips. He hoped Quentin took notes.

  Emmy pushed him away. “You changed the subject. I hate when you do that.”

  “Because it’s so easy to do?” he asked, teasing her into a temper.r />
  She rolled her eyes. “I swear I’m going to scream.”

  “Not again, my ears are still ringing,” Quentin drawled.

  Dylan leveled a killing glare at his former best friend. “So what was this about organ meats?”

  Emmy’s blush deepened. “Dylan! Drop the subject.”

  “I thought that wasn’t what you were talking about,” he said, feeling the tension in his shoulders roll away. Teasing Emmy was fast becoming his favorite pastime.

  “Organ meats on pizza,” Quentin said with a smirk. “Will you get your mind out of Emmy’s gutter?”

  “Quentin!” Emmy’s frown was seriously shy of ominous. She turned to Dylan. “I just wondered why they never make pizza with liver or hearts. There’d probably be a market for it with so many vampires walking the streets—now that I know you guys eat things other than pig’s blood.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

  “Yes!” he and Quentin responded, sharing a look of male commiseration.

  “So why do you need blood, if you can eat real food?” Emmy asked, her eyes wide and curious as a child’s.

  “We need the nutrients,” Dylan replied. “Our stomachs don’t digest other foods well.”

  “So you still need calories? Or what? You get skinny? Lose your gorgeous hair?”

  “Our skin dries like a mummy’s,” Quentin said.

  Dylan pressed his lips together to prevent a bark of laughter. Emmy looked so appalled, he took pity on her. “I experience hunger the same way you do. If I don’t feed, my stomach feels like it’s gnawing on itself. Makes me grumpy.”

  “I can so relate,” Emmy said, taking another bite of pizza. “And I’m relieved about the mummy thing.”

  “Regular food is like roughage.” Dylan couldn’t resist another oblique reminder of their previous conversation about vegetables. “Passes right through.”

  “I say,” Quentin said. “That was rather indelicate in mixed company.”

  “No, no,” Emmy broke in. “It explains a lot. So is it just human blood and body parts?”

  Dylan wished the conversation would come to an unnatural end. “No. Human blood is the tastiest, but any mammal’s will do in a pinch.”

  “You’d better eat some pizza, or I won’t kiss you again,” Emmy said.

  Dylan grabbed her hand and directed her slice to his mouth. He took a large bite all the way to her fingers, making sure he brushed her with his lips before biting.

  Emmy drew her bottom lip between her teeth and set the remainder of the slice on her plate. “I think I’m full.”

  “Clean up the kitchen, will you Quentin?” Dylan drew Emmy from her chair.

  “What else am I here for?” Quentin grumbled.

  * * * * *

  Dylan’s heart slowed its pounding and he stretched, careful not to dislodge Emmy. The fading pleasure of a moment ago was already giving away to a slow reawakening. He’d have her once more before the sun rose.

  “So, how does one become a vampire?” Emmy asked, her chin rested on his chest and her gaze was fastened on his face.

  Dylan knew she’d be relentless until he satisfied her with an answer. Emmy’s curiosity was proving as insatiable as her sex drive. “By your expression, you expect something ghoulish?”

  “Is it?” she asked, excitement making her eyes shine. “I mean, I’ve watched vampire movies. In some, you get bit on three consecutive nights. On the third, you die. By the time you wake up in the morgue you’re a bloodsucker. Sometimes, you get partially eaten and come back the next night looking like you’ve been partially eaten. And then there was this one movie with a voodoo priestess—”

  “Em! One must be drained nigh unto death, then fed a vampire’s blood to replace it.”

  “Oh.” She looked disappointed. “Sounds simple enough.”

  “Well, it’s not,” he replied curtly. “More often than not, the person dies before she can be turned.”

  “She?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Emmy laid her cheek flat on his chest and smoothed her hands over his chest. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  Dylan waited.

  “Are you very old?”

  With a wry smile, he replied, “I’m one hundred and eighty-six.”

  “Wow! That’s old enough to be my great, great, great—”

  “Old enough. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “How did it happen for you, Dylan?” she asked quietly.

  Miss Twenty Questions would drive him mad. But he supposed he’d have to tell his story sooner or later.

  “My wife and I were starving to death,” Dylan began.

  Emmy raised her head, her eyes full of questions.

  Dylan plucked a strand of hair from her cheek and rubbed it between his fingers. “First we lost the potatoes—the only crop we were permitted to keep. Then our rent was increased. When I couldn’t pay it, we were forced out of our home by the magistrate, our cottage burned to the ground.

  I looked for work, but there were so many people who were displaced—just like we were. Everyone starving. I stole food when I could find it. Took charity when it was offered.

  Then we heard the Brits were offering free passage to America—a chance for a new start. Breda’s health was already failing. She was a wraith. But we had to try.”

  Dylan closed his eyes. The picture he’d carried in his heart for so long was finally fading. Red hair, soft brown eyes. “She suffered terribly from seasickness. Many did. We were housed in the hold of the ship. Bunks four-deep. Stacked like cords of wood. The smell of vomit and the dying was often more than I could bear. At night, I’d escape to the deck. The captain didn’t mind, because his paying passengers were usually in their cabins.”

  Emmy touched his face. “You don’t have to go on, if you don’t want to.”

  Dylan opened his eyes and shook his head. “One night, I met a man walking near the railing. A storm was picking up, the sea was battering against the hull. I could barely keep my footing and had decided to go below. Then I saw his face. He was staring at me. His eyes were glowing in the dark. I thought I was seeing things. He introduced himself. His name was Navarro.

  He asked me if my woman was dying. I wondered how he knew. I’d never seen him before. How could he know my circumstance? He said he could smell her on me.

  Then he told me there was a way to save her. But there must be a sacrifice. I told him, whatever it was, I’d gladly pay.”

  “He was a vampire,” Emmy breathed.

  “Yes. I gave him my life’s blood. When I awoke, I lay on the deck. I felt powerful, strong. I could see in the dark. Every darkened shadow was bright as daylight. My sense of smell placed every deckhand. But my hunger was incredible.

  Navarro warned me not to act on it. That he would guide me, but first I must bring him my wife.

  I carried her to his cabin. She was delirious, but I followed his instructions. While I drank from her, sating my hunger, I felt her life passing, ebbing like a wave away from me. When it was time to feed her with my blood, she was too weak to drink.” Dylan paused, his voice feeling rusty, his tongue thick. “She died in my arms. I killed her.”

  Emmy’s arms spread across his chest, hugging him tightly.

  Dylan drew her up, his arms encircling her, and he pressed his face into the corner of her shoulder. “I’ll not attempt to turn another,” he said, his words muffled against her neck.

  Emmy’s shoulders shook. Her tears wet his chest. She cried while he couldn’t. “I don’t think you killed her, Dylan. She was already gone. You acted with love.” Her head raised and her eyes were bright with tears. “So tell me how you came to have a Brit for a best friend.”

  Dylan laughed, a joyous, freeing laugh, and he rolled Emmy beneath him. “That is a tale for another day. For now, let me come inside you.”

  Immediately, Emmy’s legs parted, her knees rising to either side of his hips. Her tentative smile turned to a gasp as he pushed deep inside.
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  “Stay with me, Emmy.” He drove into her, long powerful thrusts, bathing his cock in her creamy channel, seeking absolution for his sins in the goodness of her human soul. “Be mine, Emmy.”

  Emmy’s hand clutched his hips, her fingers digging into his buttocks, encouraging him to propel faster, deeper. “I’ll stay,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

  Dylan slowed his pace and leaned back to hook his hands beneath her knees, lifting her buttocks off the bed. “I won’t let you change your mind.”

  He pumped into her, controlling the depth, pressing deep, then short, deep, short—until she writhed on the bed, her hands on her breasts, twisting her nipples, begging for release.

  “Say it. Say you won’t leave.” He swirled his hips to rub the crisp hairs at the base of his cock against her clitoris.

  Emmy’s head thrashed upon the pillow. “I promise. I won’t leave you. Just fuck me, Dylan. Fuck me!”

  Dylan slammed into her, faster and faster, until his hips jackhammered into her tender flesh.

  Emmy bucked, her legs straightening, rising higher, sobs erupting from her throat the closer she rose to the summit. Then her body stiffened, and she cried out.

  Dylan continued to pound into her, and then his teeth glided down. He quickly withdrew and draped her knees over his shoulders and sank his teeth into her dripping cunt. Her orgasm pulsed against his mouth, around his teeth, trickling blood onto his tongue, and he roared as his cock pressed into the bedding beneath them and exploded.

  Afterward, he drew her into his arms, her back to his chest. Their bodies slid together, slick with sweat. Lying on their sides, he drew her upper thigh over his and pressed his cock into her vagina to glove him while they slept.

  Emmy murmured sleepily, “What will I do if I wake up horny, and you’re sleeping like the dead?”

  “Whatever your heart desires. Have you ever heard of morning wood?”

  Emmy snickered. “Then you’ll have a stake between your legs, just for me?”

  Dylan grimaced. “A stake anywhere near my person doesn’t engender pleasant thoughts.”

  “Even when you are the stake?” She looked over her shoulder and circled her lips with her tongue in a slow tease. “Then how about a pole?”