by Liz Meldon
Working a better gig was supposed to make her happy, and it did, for a time, but after over a month of dating Claude and drafting fake reports on him, Delia found she preferred the former to the latter. She went willingly to each and every date, happily, because it meant she got to see Claude, one of the handful people in her life who didn’t make her feel small.
The High Council insisted she see him twice a week, but as of the last three weeks, Delia had gone rogue and seen him more often. Four dates a week wasn’t unheard of, and she had already planned a speech to tell Wentworth should she be caught: it would be odd for a couple building a relationship not to see one another if they had time, so why limit it to twice a week?
There were dates at the coffee house. Walks in the park. Horror movie marathons in her living room—though he had yet to stay the night. He had, at the time, commented on the fact that she’d let the mums he gave her wilt into oblivion. No more bouquets for her. Two weeks ago they had gone ice-skating, a pastime that they were equally bad at—a pleasant surprise.
Halloween had come and gone, and while Delia had been assigned a random patrol in the suburbs, she’d received an email the day before instructing her to bring Claude along. She had replied back with objections to save face when really she had planned to ask him to come anyway. They’d strolled the neighbourhoods with huge houses and spectacular lawns, pointing out ridiculous costumes and watching for misbehaving vamps.
With Claude by her side, not a single thing went wrong her entire shift—a rarity, given that vamps, like teenagers, were notoriously ill-behaved on Halloween. There was a slight moment of tension when Claude had showed up at their designated meeting spot wearing that ridiculous, bell-laden fool’s mask from the masquerade, but Delia had made sure it went back in the car where it belonged before they took a single step together.
It didn’t feel like work anymore, this special assignment. Most of her reports consisted of information she dug up from the archives, the wording changed to the point that it was unrecognizable from the source material, along with the occasional real-life twist from her shows. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d asked Claude one of the High Council’s suggested questions, or used a direct quote from him that wasn’t concocted out of thin air as she wrote.
Their hike through the woods that afternoon wasn’t a High Council–mandated date. In fact, Claude had only called two hours ago and told her his evening meeting had been cancelled, which meant he was free if she was.
She knew that the cancellation of his meeting—which League sources had deemed a region-wide clan meeting—meant her report topic for her date tomorrow would probably change. In fact, she could already guess that the High Council would want to know why the meeting was postponed; there was probably already a revised email sitting in her inbox.
Delia could guess why it was put off. Clan tensions had mounted in recent weeks, with more violence erupting between the Donovans and the others. What she gathered from the little Claude shared with her was that the Grimm clan steered clear of the drama, with many of its members preferring to set off on winter vacations now if it meant avoiding the conflict.
“Have I lost you?”
Delia looked to him quickly, cheeks flushed at being caught daydreaming. “Hmm?”
“You’ve gone quiet.” Overhead, the winds had started to pick up, rattling the trees and blowing Claude’s dark locks this way and that. They curled the longer they grew, and he’d left his hair natural today, making it seem fuller than usual. Worthy of a good finger-combing.
Her gaze swept over his thick tresses before flitting up to the sky briefly. The clouds had darkened, bringing with them a chilly breeze. Delia fought back a shiver as she moved in closer to Claude.
“You gave me a lot to think about,” she told him. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” They both paused to navigate a dangerous prickle bush between a cluster of trees, skirting around the outstretched thorns on the curved branches before tackling a thick, half-rotted log. Once around the obstacles, Claude wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Is there anything in particular that made you think?”
She shrugged, knowing she couldn’t share what she’d actually been thinking, even if she wanted to—always a great start to a relationship. “One thing, I guess.”
“Only one? I thought I was more interesting than that.”
Delia returned his smirk. “There’s that presumptuousness again.” He drew her in briefly to kiss her temple. It was the only place he kissed her these days—her temple, her cheek, her hand. Delia licked her lips and shot him a sidelong glance. “You said I was young.”
Claude nodded. “You are.”
“And is that… I don’t know…” Delia paused, trying to find the right wording. “Is that weird for you?”
“No,” he remarked without missing a beat. “Does it bother you that I’m substantially older than you?”
“How substantially?”
“I’d hazard a guess at, say…three hundred years, possibly,” Claude said, smiling when her eyebrows shot up. “What? Surely you knew that was a possibility. Young vampires don’t run clans.”
“Or rule regions, I guess,” she muttered, to which he nodded. “Fine. So you’re old and I’m young. You’re fine with that?”
A bird fluttered by overheard, the whap of its wings causing her to look up. All black. Large. Maybe a crow or a raven. It carried on, not paying attention to the cuddling explorers below.
“In my lifetime, I’ve had four wives,” Claude admitted, this time with some hesitancy. She knew he’d been married before. Hell, he brought it up on their first date. Still, even with prior knowledge, a rush of something hot surged through her, something that settled as a heavy lump in her throat as Claude spoke. “One was a vampire, the others human. I never saw their ages as a reason not to pursue them. I’ve always thought humans, no matter the age, have as much to teach me as I have to teach them.”
“What happened to them?” she asked without thinking the question through. A pained look flashed across his face, but only for a moment.
“They died,” Claude said flatly. “Every last one of them. Old age. War. Alzheimer’s.” He coughed and looked away, but seconds later he faced her again and the pain in his eyes was gone. “I’ve grieved. I’ve celebrated each one as I said goodbye. Don’t the League archives have a section on my marital status?” When Delia opened and closed her mouth wordlessly, he gave a warm laugh and squeezed her shoulder. “Come now, I don’t believe for a second that you didn’t read up on me after the masquerade.”
She pursed her lips at him, sensing a welcome shift in the direction of the conversation. “So the age thing, it’s a non-issue, huh?”
“As long as you don’t look like a child,” he told her, “or act like one, I’m fine. Is it an issue for you?”
“I hadn’t even considered it before now,” she said honestly. Freeing herself from his grasp, Delia whirled around in front of him, walking backward, trusting Claude not to let her fall over some thorn bush as she matched each of his steps. “I think…” She pressed a finger to her chin, squinting at him. “I think it’s a deal breaker.”
He cocked his head to the side, mischievousness washing over his features. “Oh, little huntress, age is but a number. Have I not proven my stamina yet?”
Warmth spread from the nape of her neck to the crux of her thighs. When she shook her head, Claude tutted at her and rolled up his sleeves, slowly, one at a time.
“Well, I do sincerely apologize,” he said, his voice edged with a purr that left her wanting. “I’ll need to rectify that immediately.”
His arm shot out, a hand reaching for her, but Delia ducked out of the way just in time and took off with a giggle. Weaving her way around the trees and over grasping roots, she ran with the silliest of smiles on her lips, not caring if he saw, not caring that he could have caught her in seconds if he actually tried.
Delia pushed on, forcing her legs to go a
s fast as they could on the unfriendly terrain, until her foot slipped into something that wouldn’t let go. She toppled forward with an embarrassing half-shriek, stopping herself with her hands against the hard earth.
“Mind the animal dens, little huntress,” Claude teased, sliding an arm under her waist and hauling her upright. “You wouldn’t be much good to your High Council with a broken leg, would you?”
“I think you underestimate the strength of my shin bones,” Delia said breathlessly. Arms outstretched to each side, she watched with growing affection as Claude dusted the dirt and underbrush from her clothes, taking more time than needed to ensure her thighs and breasts were spick-and-span. It was the first time he’d been so physically forward on their dates—and she liked it.
In fact, she liked it so much that she had every intention of kissing him, planning to catch his face as he stood and press her lips to his.
Just then, however, the skies opened. With no canopy to speak of, they were soaked within the minute. Scowling, Delia shuffled forward and tucked her head under Claude’s chin.
“Poor thing,” Claude rumbled. Delia’s hand flattened against his chest, enjoying the vibration of his voice as he continued. “Come on then. Let’s get somewhere dry.”
“And where, exactly, would that be?” She started walking somewhat begrudgingly. “I have no idea where we are.”
“Well, some of us were paying attention,” he said. Suddenly the rain stopped, and when Delia looked up, she saw he’d taken off his jacket and was holding it over her head in the form of a makeshift umbrella. “We actually aren’t too far from the guest quarters.”
Her eyes dropped to his lips, wet with little rain droplets while he shielded her from the worst of it. Those kissable lips, the memory of them still seared to her skin…
“Well, come on then,” she said somewhat unsteadily, forcing herself to carry onward. “Some of us can actually catch a cold in this weather.”
They trudged ahead, a curtain of thick rain following the pair through the forest. Steadily the ground went from hard and unforgiving to mushy and clawing. More than once Delia got her hiking boots stuck in the mud, and more than once Claude had to help yank her leg out. When they finally reached the manicured sanctuary of the Grimm grounds, she all but ran for the lawn, temporarily forsaking the shelter of Claude’s jacket if it meant getting out of a forest that wanted to swallow her whole.
On the trek back to the main house, bypassing the dull guest quarters and the mess hall with the bright red door, Claude invited her to stay for dinner, but she declined. She was scheduled for a mini patrol from four until seven the following morning and Delia needed a semi-decent night’s sleep if she was going to drag her body out of bed at that hour. And given the effort she’d expended today, she suspected she’d crash the second her body settled onto something even half comfortable.
“Trust me, I’d stay here if I could,” she insisted as they plodded along. “Little baby shifts like this one sometimes don’t feel worth the time and effort it takes me to get ready.”
The only reason she had been scheduled, she figured, was to fatten up the numbers out on patrol—the League’s scheme to maintain the tentative order in Harriswood, despite escalating clan tensions.
They had almost reached the circular driveway in front of the main house, rain-soaked lawn squishing underfoot, when an enormous bolt of lightning cracked across the sky. It must have connected somewhere nearby—the sound was unlike anything Delia had ever experienced before. She could practically feel the heat of it. Seconds later, thunder rumbled overhead and Delia was surprised it didn’t shake the ground.
When another streak of light stabbed the sky, she grabbed Claude’s hand and hurried for the huge parking garage on the other side of the house. An embarrassing yelp slipped from her mouth at the next flash, and Claude used the remote on his key ring to get one of the huge doors open before they arrived. Delia skittered to a halt as soon as her feet touched concrete, chest heaving.
She’d been in there a few times before, insisting that she didn’t need to wait on the porch for Claude to roll up in one of his many, many cars just so he could open the door all suave and smooth for her. The warehouse mirrored the guest apartments—long, grey, rectangular—though instead of bland suites it was two long rows of vehicles of every shape and size. The far wall was covered in tools and spare tires and whatever else the Grimm mechanics needed to keep the cars in prime condition.
“What the hell is this storm?” Delia asked, wringing out her hair as she peered around Claude. Rain pounded the metallic roof above, each drop a booming echo. When her gaze shifted to the vamp before her, she expected him to turn and snag the light switch nearby. Instead, he tossed his jacket aside and ran a hand through his hair, his expression a little too serious for her liking. Delia crossed her arms as a chill started to creep across her skin. “Everything okay?”
When he finally looked at her, those bright blue eyes actually made her draw in a sharp breath. It was like seeing them for the first time again—like turning around and finding them watching her behind a ridiculous mask. Magnetic. Entrancing. Lusty. She knew now why they had so much power over her, but knowing didn’t change anything.
“Claude…”
He descended upon her with all the ferocity of a starved man, grasping her arm as his lips hungrily found hers. She stumbled back, but he followed, snaking an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. Electricity buzzed through her, as if the bolts of light lurching across the tumultuous sky had hit home. The raindrops on the rooftop fell like thunder, louder and more present now as she succumbed—happily so. Her hands ran up his chest as their lips parted against one another, her eyes fluttering closed as a welcome familiarity sunk in. A needed familiarity. A wanted one.
She didn’t care that she was drenched, soaked to the bone. The cold barely touched her—Claude’s warmth kept it at bay. She wanted more. More of him. His hands on her skin, clothes gone and storm forgotten. So Delia let herself fall. She let herself give in with no thought of the consequences, no thought of the future. Embracing the here and now was so difficult, but Claude made it feel easy, made it feel right.
Her fingers threaded through his thick wet hair, tugging at it as he walked her backward. Suddenly her feet were off the ground, and Claude’s hands gripped the backs of her thighs as he lifted and set her on the hood of a nearby car.
She took a much-needed gasp of air, their lips breaking apart but only just, as Claude dragged her to the edge and wrapped her legs around his body. Hot breath mingled between them, Delia’s hands sliding up to cup his face. The look shared between them was like wildfire—so wrathful, so destructive, not even the relentless rain outside could stop it. When their eyes met, hers heavy-lidded and his flecked with need, she murmured his name like a prayer.
He swallowed what little sounds she made, their lips parted in a kiss of desperation. Claude drank her in like a parched man would drink at the watery paradise of a desert oasis. Heat flared between her thighs as their bodies pressed together, fitting perfectly; it was impossible not to feel him stiffen against her.
It would have been so simple from here. His hands would wander to her jeans and pop the button open, pull down the zipper. She could picture him cupping her, stroking her beneath the fabric, enticing her, reminding her of what they’d had for one night. Delia would stretch her legs out, beg him to undress her. Her fingers would fumble as they went for his track pants, for the ties hidden in the waistline, for the elastic band of his boxers. It would be hard and fast, the way he’d fuck her, right there on the hood of the car as thunder rumbled deafeningly overhead. She’d cling to him with all she had, arms around his neck, head thrown back in bliss, until he pushed her over the edge and she cried his name in sweet release, not caring who might hear her…
Her needy daydreams came to a hasty end when Claude’s mouth dragged over the two marks he’d left on her neck. Her skin was already a prickly mess, his tongue and te
eth getting a rise out of her as he worked his way along her jaw, then down to her neck as she fisted a hand in his hair. But the moment his lips brushed the marks, it was like someone had seared her with a cattle prod. Delia’s eyes shot open, the fog of lust clearing in an instant, and pushed frantically at his chest.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Claude whispered, bringing his mouth back to hers.
Their kiss was over before it started, Delia ducking her chin down and taking a few calming breaths. With his forehead resting against hers, she realized fear had made her react as she did—and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Sighing gently, Claude brushed her damp hair back and cradled her head in his hands. She let him because it felt good, calming, her eyes drifting closed as she took a moment to collect herself.
“I won’t do it again,” he told her, the seductive purr replaced with something else, his voice straddling the precipice of strain and comfort. She couldn’t blame him, given the hardness that still pressed against her thigh.
“I don’t know why I…” Delia let out a shaky breath. “It was like you shocked me.”
Claude kissed her cheek, lingering for a long moment as warmth bloomed across her skin, before pulling back and meeting her eye. “I should have realized it would affect you. Sincerely, Delia, I do apologize. It shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
She nodded, swallowing hard as she brought her hands to his chest and pressed her palms to him, then watched as he ducked down and kissed her fingertips. When he straightened again, some of the desire had started to fade, replaced with what Delia interpreted as concern.
“It won’t happen again,” he told her with a nod to her neck. “Not unless you ask me.”
Unable to stop herself, Delia let out a hollow laugh, which he mirrored with a somewhat forced smile.
“Let’s…” She shifted closer to him when she started to shiver. The cold and the damp had finally won, regardless of the warm vampire between her thighs. “Let’s forget about it for now.” Her hands fell to his waist, gripping his shirt. “Maybe you could just drive me home?”