The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals

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The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals Page 13

by Cara Villar


  But could I resist the Vampire? Did I want to? I sighed when I realized the answer was a big, fat, resounding no.

  Kicking into action, I shuffled off the bed, decidedly not wondering if Felix had changed me or seen me naked, and traipsed over to my duffel bag, sitting at the foot of a long, wide, cream-colored leather sofa. Dropping onto the cool seat beside my stuff, I blinked sleepily at a note sitting on the table. A long, black zip-up clothes bag was laid out beside it, and there were Victoria’s Secret and L’Oréal Cosmetics bags on the floor. Arching a brow at the VS bag, I lifted the note, blinked furiously to focus my lazy brain, and read.

  Be ready at 8 PM. We’re going hunting.

  ~F

  P.S. I can still smell you.

  Bloody Vampire.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I dragged the bags closer and peer inside. “What the…?” I pull out a box of hair dye, frowning. “Golden Caramel Brown.” I read, and tore it open to read the instructions before tossing it on the table. Then I pulled out a little box of blue contact lenses. I snorted. “Incognito, eh, bat boy?” There was a bunch of cosmetics, right down to foundation and nail polish. I shook my head, not really wanting to know how he knew what to get. I looked in Victoria’s bag next, and gaped, then gaped a bit more.

  I lifted out a pair of black lace French panties, pinched between thumb and forefinger, and then promptly dropped it back in the bag. “I can’t be dealing with this before shower and coffee,” I grumbled to myself, coming to my feet and making a beeline for the bathroom with the hair dye.

  After a long, a very long, dousing in a steamy, multi-jet power shower, and a brief inspection of my completely healed back, I was feeling less like Zombie Red and more like Chain-saw-wielding Red once more—albeit a honey-highlights brunette one. It was kind of nice, to change my appearance. It was a shame that by morning, my immortality would have burned the color out of my hair, returning it to its natural, dark strawberry blonde. I pulled on a thick terry robe that swamped me, all cozy and cuddly like, and towel-dried my hair while I waited for food and coffee to arrive.

  I’d just got the blue contacts in—slippery little shites—when the food arrived. I multitasked as my hair dried, eating my cheeseburger and fries while painting my toenails a bright, blood red color and messaging Jade on my phone. Thank God for blackberry messenger, otherwise my text bill alone would be colossal.

  Me: How’s the club?

  Jade: Meh. Chicago is a mean city. Even the locals call in sick with flu! Shouldn’t they be used to this fucked up weather?

  Me: Damn inconsiderate humans, I said, thinking about duck-walking it over to the windows to peak past the drapes. So I have a question.

  Jade: Uh oh.

  Me: It’s not that bad! I replied instantly.

  Jade: You’re oldest. If you don’t know, how the hell will I? She had a point, but I persevered anyway.

  Me: Ever dry-humped to orgasm?

  I managed to paint all my toes by the time she answered, and I could just imagine her sitting at her desk staring at her phone, dark hair in a high ponytail, eyes fixed and rereading, trying to gauge my seriousness. I grinned when my phone finally bleeped a happy reply.

  I’m going to stop talking to you now.

  I laughed aloud, but didn’t reply. I had to paint my fingers and messaging would prove too tricky, so I swapped the little buttons of my phone for the touch screen of my iPad, browsing through news, gossip and theories on what Immortals were calling ‘The Collector’. Since none of the kidnapped victims had turned up, dead or otherwise, the title seemed creepily appropriate.

  After my nails were dry, I did my hair, piling it on top of my head, allowing stray tendrils to fall about my face and neck. I added a little artificial blush and eyeliner, and the effect made my now-blue eyes look huge. The result guaranteed no one would remember the rest of my face. I also removed all the hoops from my ears and replaced them with simple silver and diamond studs.

  With nothing left to stall me, and noticing I didn’t have much longer until Felix would be by to collect me, I took a deep breath and approached the clothes on the table by the couch. I’d avoided them, opting for the cosmetics bag that seemed safer. However, I reasoned that turning up wherever we were going in a terry cloth robe was probably not going to help us blend.

  So, with an open, unthinking mind, I went through the Victoria’s Secret bag, began removing tags and putting on the very pretty, very sexy, red and black satin and lace get-up. It was a long way from what I normally wore, though to my chagrin, not by much. Along with the black lace French panties, there was also an already laced black satin corset, with fine detailing etched out with blood red ribbon and lace, and a matching garter belt.

  I was starting to see a theme.

  I dragged on the fine silk black stockings, hitched them to the garter, and then turned to the zip-up hanger bag. As I lifted it, I noticed there was a heavy weight at the bottom, and frowned as I took it to the bathroom door, hooked it over the top, and tugged down the zip.

  I sucked in a reverent breath as I pushed the bag back, taking in a stunning black satin dress. It was strapless, giving reason for the corset, and had an empire waist cinched with an inch-thick band of— can you guess? Blood red ribbon. As I pulled it out, I scowled that it would fall all the way to the floor, making any kind of maneuvering a test to the imagination. Then I grinned when I saw Felix had included a black satin, red silk lined shrug jacket that cinched with a discreet hook under my breasts, to cover my scars.

  Bless him, he remembered.

  As the last of it fell from the confines of the zip-up, two thunks sounded and I bounced back, staring at the floor. A pair of shiny black court shoes lay there, each with a glossy black five inch stiletto heel, and a yummy red sole. I could have drooled if I wasn’t instantly examining the outfit and all the ways it would hinder me.

  Sighing, I brushed my fingers over the dress, noting that the lining of the skirts was red too. Taking it from the hanger, I dragged it over to the full-length mirror, and wiggled into it. The zip was on the side, and once up, completely hidden. The dress, like the underwear, fit perfectly, the shrug too, and when I slid my feet into my new shoes, I noticed they didn’t even pinch. Not the tiniest bit.

  How the hell did he know my sizes?

  Shaking my head, I turned back to the Armani bag, and rummaged around until I found the lip gloss. I puckered up and applied, dabbing until my lips were a plump, glistening dark red, enhancing the effect of my pale skin and big blue eyes.

  I hardly recognized myself. Shivers.

  A sharp knock at the door made me flinch from my reflection, and I hiked up the long hem of my gown and strolled to the door. Felix was on the other side, leaning casually against the frame, and my breath literally stopped as I took him in.

  His dark hair was slicked back, his face cleanly shaven, bringing out all those sharp, dashing lines and making them positively devastating. My breath came out in a shuddering sigh as my eyes scanned down him, admiring the way the sleek black tuxedo fit his broad shoulders, how the satiny lapels lay smoothly over his chest, and matching my dress.

  The sharp white points of his shirt collar were a bright contrast to the black tie. It, too, shimmered slightly, like his lapels, and the snake-skin pattern on his tie matched the same one on his glossy waistcoat, as his slim waist tapered into narrow hips. His black-clad legs were crossed casually at the ankle, his hands in his pockets, his sharp lime and jade eyes examining me in kind.

  I tilted my head. “I don’t think,” I began, “that you were ever a British noble.”

  He arched a brow. “You sound so sure.”

  I clicked my tongue. “At first glance, you could pull it off. But, on closer examination, you look too much like a rogue.” I spun on my heel and sauntered back into my room, breezily pretending his stunning appearance didn’t make my heart pound with want. My cheeks heated with flashes of a memorable orgasm.

  He followed me, closing the door,
saying, “Pot, kettle, black, pet.”

  I grinned over my shoulder, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach as his smooth east-London accent poured over me. “I never said I was noble.” I moved over to the bedside table, taking up my chains and putting them around my wrists

  “But you clean up so well.” He came up behind me, and I froze as his hands settled big and warm on my waist.

  With him at my back, the memories of what we had done on the plane came back stronger, how good grinding on him felt. My lips parted on a small gasp as his lips brushed the exposed column of my neck, and my knees almost buckled, a faint hint of the heat blooming demandingly between my legs scenting the air.

  Clearing my throat, shame a heavy weight in my stomach, I turned around to face him, smiling as I fastened the last chain around my wrist. “So, where are we going tonight?”

  Felix eyed me for a moment, a slight hint of confusion momentarily clouding his features, but in the end, he took a small step back, giving me space, and a familiar hint-of-dimple grin. “All of Illinois’s finest will be at a specific location tonight, wining, dining, mingling, and stuffing each other’s egos with new connections.” He drawled, turning away to go sprawl elegantly on the sofa. “I have a contact amidst the ton, who has informed me that Ambrose is on the guest list, moonlighting as a Mr. Geoffrey Carver, a dazzling entrepreneur for one of the largest corporations for the military government this side of the military itself. My contact has worked for his company for nearly five years now, and considers her position quite stable. We, pet, are going to mingle.”

  I wondered over to the sofa and, seeing no other way to sit with some dignity with all that skirt around my legs, contented myself with just flopping back onto the cushions. “Which corporation?” I asked, and then answered my own question. “G.C. Logistics.” I shook my head. “That place isn’t just military. It’s worldwide travel, government tech-support, major shopping malls, business financing, private art dealings, international trade, and more. That corporation is huge!”

  “Hence, why Ambrose is a Vampire without a base. He travels around so much, constantly flitting from each branch, with the excuse that he likes to keep himself involved. He also has an unlimited supply of liquid assets.” Felix shook his head. “Among mortals, the man is considered a genius. Making him disappear will be difficult, no matter how obstinate he is with the press about his private life.”

  Speaking of… “Is he in disguise too?” I asked. “I’ve never seen his picture. The only description I have of him is medium length dark hair, brown eyes, six feet tall and a Vampire.” I shrugged. “That describes about eighty percent of America without the Vampire bit.”

  Felix nodded. “You wouldn’t have seen his picture; he refuses to speak with the press if cameras are present. I’ll know him when I see him though, and so will you. In so much human company, I doubt he’ll even bother to hide his power signature so diligently.”

  I tilted my head as I smoothed my hands down the satin over my lap. “Have you met him before?”

  “Yes,” Felix replied, rolling gracefully to his feet and coming to stand in front of me. “He’s not as strong as I am in power, but he has a certain…presence about him. He’s charismatic and attracts people, so his following, though small when I knew him, has grown. I worry more for those he’s influenced and his children, than for Ambrose himself.” He held out his hands.

  “What will you do with him once you catch him?” I asked, sliding my hands into his and letting him pull me up. He didn’t step back this time, but instead held me close, pressing us together. My breath hitched.

  “He’s a sociopath. He’s killed on a fit of temper, tortured with the excuse of garnering information, taken what he wanted whether his companion was willing to give it or not. He has no conscience and he likes it. He’s perfected his façade with allure and brilliance. He’s nothing more than a pampered, rabid dog.” The weight of his hand slid down my hip and over my backside, the erotic pulse it sent through me warring with the cold lump in my chest caused by his words.

  “How come he hasn’t been taken care of before now? By the sounds of it, he’s been building on this for a while.” His appeal and connections suggested Ambrose had been selling himself like a prime politician for some time. His face might not be well known, but the Carver name was a pass key to any organization in the world. I was surprised if we didn’t have a President Carver already!

  “He has, and he’s been very good at convincing certain unhappy yet powerful clans to join in with his campaign. They keep blocking us from bringing him in civilly. They’ve left us no choice but to follow the less polite route now.” His hand massaged my backside through the satin of my gown, his fingers dipping ever lower to the crease between my thighs. I was near panting now, screaming at myself to move away, but his touch felt so good, and it had been so long…so, so long.

  “What will happen if less polite doesn’t work?” I was breathless, mesmerized by the intensity in his jade eyes, the tingle of danger about him that was as provocative as his bold touch.

  “The kind of regimen he’s trying to bring about will make all immortals subservient to his will, and mortals nothing but slaves to do his bidding. I can’t let him do that.” His eyes met mine, gold flecks sparking softly, his jaw rigid with the effort of retaining the fierceness of his emotions. “I won’t.”

  His hand pressed deeper between my legs, and a rush of heat ran right up my body to my face, making my breath hitched. Forcing an airy demeanor, I smiled, “In that case, how about we crack on with this hunt?” I plucked his hands off me with trembling fingers. “Eye on the ball, not hands on the butt.” I moved away, wondering if the thrum in my ears was an electrical appliance about to blow somewhere, or the ridiculously fast beating of my heart.

  “I may be male,” Felix said, as I scooped up my tiny sparkly purse and dropped my phone into it, “but I can multitask.” His voice had dropped to something hot and sultry, and tremors moved through me in response, despite myself—luscious liquid-fire pooling. No doubt he could smell my arousal. There was no getting away from the perfume in the air, one I’m sure he was all too familiar with. His wicked little grin confirmed it as I shifted uncomfortably in my damp panties.

  If this was going to keep happening, I might need to take a spare pair of panties with me whenever Felix was around.

  Or don’t wear any at all? Shuddup! Damn, traitorous body.

  “Then tell me where we’re going as we walk?” I coaxed, keeping my distance as I headed for the door. He followed, doing that eye-catching, rolling swagger of his that just oozed sex. Damn him… why couldn’t he be ugly? Or at least, unattractive to me?

  “You’d be surprised how deft I am at doing several things at once, pet,” he said, the statement full of innuendos as he arched a brow at me. “Like blood-donations and chocolate orange orgasms.”

  And there it was.

  Blushing from head to toe, I spluttered as I pulled my door shut, “That was just pot luck!”

  He strolled toward the elevators and did a graceful turn on his heel to face me. “The blood or the orgasm?” he drawled.

  My face burned hotter. “Both!” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid smoothly open. Inside was a myriad of mirrors and gold. I frowned and peered inside. “What hotel are we in?” I asked, gingerly stepping inside, afraid a bit of misdirected immortal strength might chip the beautiful filigree etched in the glass.

  “The Waldorf Astoria, of course,” Felix replied smoothly as he hit the ground floor button and the doors slid shut. My brows shot in my hairline as I stared at my dull reflection in the elevator doors.

  “Really?” I blinked. That explained the W.A. on the terry robe. “I’ve never stayed here before,” I murmured softly, slightly awed.

  “Don’t like luxury?” he asked, meeting my gaze in the doors.

  “More like the price. What’s the point in spending a ridiculous amount of money on a room I’ll only sleep in?” I straightened and l
ooked back at him haughtily. “As long as the bed is comfy, the rest don’t matter.”

  He arched a brow and gave me that dimple-hinting grin that was all kinds of wicked. “Indeed,” he purred, and my temperature ratcheted once more.

  Damn Vampire.

  11

  The drive to ‘the function’, as Felix kept calling it, took about half of an hour, but with the evening’s traffic, Felix estimated it might take longer. I didn’t know where we were going, and Felix didn’t seem particularly inclined at that moment to tell me. I didn’t push it; I knew I’d find out once we got there. Either way, the limo driver seemed in no rush as he cruised leisurely through Chicago city traffic. In the meantime, Felix coached me on who I was to be. He was sprawled on the back seat watching me, while I perused a file about the identity he had nurtured over the last few years as if it were a five-star restaurant menu.

  “Alistair Walter-Harvey.” I arched a brow at the decadent Vampire. “Say that ten times fast.”

  His lips quirked but he said nothing.

  Alistair Walter-Harvey was apparently a well-to-do English businessman who came from a lot of old money. The Walter-Harvey’s were apparently descended from the first Duke of Wellington. I highly doubted it, but I guessed Felix had played it so well that no one had bothered to check. Alistair was CEO of his own company, and travelled around a lot, visiting his plants and offices, inspecting production and approving new lines.

  When asked what this fantasy company actually produced, Felix had shrugged and said, “Data syntax and programming for superior wireless military communications.”

  I could only blink at him blankly before returning to the file. “So, my name is…” I scowled up at him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Wendy? Seriously?” I slumped back against the seat. “I didn’t like that name even when it was popular.”

 

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