The Ultimate Bite

by Crystal Green

  As Kimberly slid open his shirt buttons, Stephen told himself that this was far enough. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

  She ran her hands into the opening of his shirt, over his ribs, exploring, smoothing over to his back. Then she swept to the front again, her palms covering his stomach with a heat that pounded. When she traced upward to cover his chest, he fought another groan.

  Thumbs, sweet mercy, her thumbs had found his nipples. She circled them. He peaked, a victim of her knowing search.

  “You’re doing okay in the response department,” she whispered.

  Then, just as naturally as you please, she bent and fixed her mouth to a nipple, tasting it with a delightfully soft touch. He dug his other hand into her hair, his base urges forcing him to slide the palm at the small of her back downward, into her clingy yet stretchy pants. She wasn’t wearing undergarments, so his caress was unimpeded by lace. It was all pure skin, flushed and smooth.

  Electrified, he skimmed the cleft of her rear end, then coaxed his fingers down farther to cup the curve of a cheek. He heard her zipper strain, then break.

  Not that she seemed to care. With his ministrations, she winced against his chest, opening her mouth and tonguing his nipple, biting it lightly. Then, on a sudden breath, she rose, grabbed his hips and brought his erection against her belly, nestling her mouth against his neck.

  With her pants much looser now, he dipped his hand lower, under her cheeks and between her legs, where he found her sex slick and hot. He strummed her there as she opened farther. She gnawed at him, making pleased little sounds.

  All thoughts of the rogue vampire and the hunting group vanished like ghosts in a mist, leaving only an outline of reluctance in Stephen.

  Stop, he kept thinking. Time to stop.

  She grasped the hand he had mired in her disheveled hair, kissed his wrist, his palm, then guided his fingers to her lips.

  “More man than…anyone else,” she panted, taking a digit into her mouth.

  She began to imitate what he was doing to her sex with his other fingers, which circled and pressed against her clitoris. Forced to his limits by her tongue, he pushed two fingers into her, and she softly cried out. Swollen, so wet.

  As she continued sucking at him, he slid out, in, spreading her juices. She picked up the erotic tempo, drawing his fingers in, then out of her mouth.

  Warm and wet there, too, he thought.

  She sucked at him, slowly, wantonly, until there was so much tension built up in him that he thought he would burst to ragged bits.

  In response, he thrust his fingers into her again, but this time he did not mark his own strength. He had lifted her so high and against him with the drive of his desire that she was draped over his shoulder, his fingers so deep into her that she groaned in both pleasure and surprise.

  Horrified that he had hurt her, he let up. But when she squirmed against him, asking for more, he was shocked to discover that he wanted to give it to her.

  Almost bonelessly, she slid down his body, like water over skin. Her sex stroked down his chest. Then her breasts. Then her mouth. As he held her against him, she traced her tongue over his flesh. A message, a single word.

  More.

  All his trepidation came flooding back, wiping him out, washing away this spell she had put him under and revealing his survival instincts.

  He extracted his fingers from her. They were drenched. He shuffled away the craving to lift them to his lips, to taste her, then to sink his fangs into her for the ultimate treat. Her blood.

  Two bites were excusable. But, three?

  Three indicated a habit he couldn’t afford.

  Knowing what he had to do, he lifted Kimberly’s chin until her gaze met his. Passion glowed in her pale blue eyes, almost dragging him back in. But his will wouldn’t allow it.

  No, even while his body screamed for her, he used his power to drive her away.

  I really am a monster, he thought, using his ability to saturate a human mind. I’ll show you as much.

  With that, he slammed images designed to scare her into her head—the first time he had fed as a new vampire. The blood, the terror of not knowing what he had become. The dead body beneath him, the eyes staring dully over his shoulder at Fegan, who was laughing like a king at a banquet table. Stephen had been the third member recruited for the master’s most recent gang; he’d only been a man who had taken to the roads to earn meals, a failed blacksmith who knew nothing of life except that it was hard work. But at this first feeding, none of that had mattered.

  Now, after planting those images, Stephen saw the fear in Kimberly’s gaze, saw that he had gotten through to her. But…

  But, after the first moment, a look of sublime enlightenment captured her features. A comprehension, as if he had answered one of the many questions humans inevitably had about their existence. She hazily reached up to touch his lips, to run a finger over a fang, and he reared away.

  “You are foolish,” he uttered.

  She grabbed his coat with more strength than he had given her credit for, hauling him back to her.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  What was she seeing in him besides the ugly truth? What would it take to knock some sense into her?

  Into him?

  “Shh,” she said, calming him while drawing him farther into the cove. “I can handle anything, Stephen. Try me.”

  Now he knew that he had chosen to be with a woman who was daft. But he didn’t truly believe that. There was something else happening inside of her and, much to his chagrin, it intrigued him. Compelled him.

  “Shh,” she repeated while caressing his neck, “I want you to remember this, remember everything about this night.”

  “That’s a certainty.” He was throbbing again.

  With another bold smile, she gently pulled his head down to meet her. She kissed him, her mouth barely brushing his. Her next words tickled his lips.

  “Unlike a regular man, you’re showing fangs.”

  He drew back, knowing this wasn’t a good thing. But she wouldn’t let him go.

  “I like that, Stephen. I’ve fantasized about that for the past year.”

  “It’s not a healthy fetish.”

  “Says who?” She lifted her mouth to his again. “Now be quiet while I take care of some wish fulfillment.”

  Thrown off balance—never in his existence had he met a woman so determined and impervious—Stephen could do nothing but comply. What was he saying? He wanted to comply; it was not as if he were a bite-addled servant.

  Before Kimberly’s lips met his, she lightly outlined his mouth with her finger. He shivered. When she reached the bottom, she took his lips between her index finger and thumb and—

  He heaved in a breath at the sting.

  She had pinched his lips together, and the pleasant pain jolted him, excited him. Before he could recover, she tugged him nearer, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, then capturing all of him.

  His hands hovered in the air, helpless as she seduced him with a leisurely kiss. She dove in deep with her tongue, exploring him, flirting with his fangs in confident wickedness. She had to know that, when aroused by the possibility of feeding, his teeth extended in preparation, much like other uncontrollable parts of his body.

  Parts that were pounding out demands even now.

  Slowly, he gave in, ensnared by stirred sensations he had kept long hidden.

  At her kiss, images of him as a mortal, as a servant on his master’s country estate, flowed through him. Peace, he thought, remembering the muted gurgle of a stream as it meandered through a field. As a vampire, that gurgle would have sounded like a gush; even soft murmurings had the power to overwhelm until Fegan had taught him how to shut out the noise, to restrain and subdue.

  But now, Stephen felt no restraint, and that was foreign to a creature who had learned to turn off the infusions life assaulted him with nightly.

  As Kimberly sipped at his lips, he found himself pulling her a
gainst him. Each of her curves melded into him, fused by his cravings, each wild heartbeat in her body becoming his own.

  Then, with even more passion—how she managed to conjure more, he did not know—she devoured him. He returned each nip, each suck, until he felt weak all over. Warm, altered, melted.

  “More,” she whispered harshly, pushing the hair that had come out of her ponytail away from her neck. “More, Stephen.”

  No. He wouldn’t bite her again.

  Then, obviously knowing him too well, even in such a short time, she made a sound that resembled a frustrated growl, going for his throat and…

  Stephen reared his head back, stunned. She was sucking at his neck like a starved animal. His body seemed filled with gunpowder, shooting, stinging beneath his skin. Destructive flashes pounded at him with their spark, destroying him from the inside out. And it was not merely a physical decimation—the explosions chipped away at his unwillingness to ever get close to one of them again. Each pop and bang exposed him, leaving him vulnerable.

  Summoning all his rage—all the self-loathing he had cultivated—Stephen extricated himself from her. Yet, even as he did it, the forced distance felt wrong, unnatural.

  In a last-ditch effort to preserve himself, he bared his fangs, knowing he looked like the monster he actually was. He knew his eyes held eviscerating fire, his mouth held the promise of a screaming death.

  As Kimberly backed away, her eyes widening at what he had changed into, something heavy fell from his chest to his stomach.

  “Is this your fantasy?” he growled. “Am I all you and your hunters had ever hoped for, Kimberly?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing emerged.

  Then, just to be certain this would never happen again, he added, “I am death. Do you understand? I am not a man at all.”

  And, before he could change his mind, he flew away from her once more, a creature who had become a part of the night he belonged to.

  MEANWHILE, nearby, the rogue vampire made yet another desperate attempt to get someone to notice him. Anyone. Because eventually this would lead to his dearest wish—becoming one of them again. A mortal. A being who had no idea how beautiful a limited life was.

  He lingered at the Marrakech casino’s bar tonight. Long ago, a host had invited him into the building as he’d strolled by on the sidewalk, therefore accidentally choosing where the rogue would drain the first victim, then most of the others. Here, neon blended, making everything an eye-stinging blur.

  This time he had done his research, preselecting a victim who would definitely force some recognition. He would make sure his message would be about more than merely a draining. If tonight’s bite didn’t draw out his ultimate prey—or even a representative of him—the rogue didn’t know what would.

  As a part of that research, he had read the papers, then turned to the Internet to see what other avenues he could discover for subtle publicity—the kind that would only threaten exposure to the humans, not guarantee it.

  Now his endgame could be won. At least, he hoped so. Even though he had led a long existence, he’d become so tired lately. The last of his will was drained, and he was ready. He was eager for everything to finally change.

  When he saw tonight’s victim and her friend meander past the gaming tables on the way to the Mystique nightclub, he tossed a few dollars onto one of the video poker screens that littered the bar, the bills coming to rest against his untouched gin and tonic. Then he trailed his prey, gaze assaulted by the blinking slot machines until he concentrated on tuning it all out.

  She got in a long line snaking past a gift shop and waited along with the other hopefuls, all so young and fresh in their slinky clothes and overactive hormones. As a group of girls glanced at him and smiled, he tried to be pleasant while not encouraging them. It worked.

  Soon, the club opened, the line moving enough for him to enter only three parties behind his chosen victim. He focused on her, catching a whiff of her scent through the stale cigarette smoke. Her hair, worn up in a bun, revealed her lovely neck. Once inside, he waited, ensconcing himself in the stereo-pulsing shadows while everyone else danced and drank and forgot to remember to count the blessings that every second of mortality afforded them.

  They all should be living every moment as if it were their last. Only a vampire knew how precious that was, because urgency lost its meaning over too many years. It lost its value.

  Though his intended victim was with a man, there came a time when one went to the restroom while the other hung back. It just so happened that it was his prey who needed to visit the facilities first. Like a streak of Vegas light, the rogue vampire followed her inside and slipped into her private stall before she—or anyone else—could detect him.

  But they wouldn’t be here for long; he planned to subdue her, then use his preternatural speed to spirit her off to a more private location. The rogue would wait and hope for any enforcers there, wait and hope for as long as it took.

  As she saw him suddenly standing in front of her, she screeched in a breath. He mildly put his hand over her mouth before she could make a sound.

  Then he divested her of her bulging shoulder bag before she could move to stop him.

  There was a line of women outside giggling as they waited for their turn in a stall. They had no idea.

  The rogue looked into his woman’s eyes, captivating her. There’s no reason to scream.

  Gradually, her eyes went from wide to glossy. He removed his hand from her mouth. Her lips remained moist, parted, her scent blood-laced and fearful. His fangs emerged in anticipation of what this bite would finally bring him. Mercifully bring him.

  Quiet now, he told her silently. I’m going to make you feel very good, dear.

  And he proceeded to do just that, his shadow covering her in darkness as he leaned forward to drink.

  6

  AS KIM RODE the elevator to her apartment, she tried to think about what had happened back at Mystique. But her brain wasn’t working right, and it wasn’t just muddled from what she thought might be a touch of hypnosis from Stephen, either. It was filled with a jittery terror.

  An addictive wariness.

  Even though she was shaken, she was stirred up. Stephen’s true vampire form had done its job in frightening her off at first, but…Dammit, she had to admit it—the sight of him so dangerous, so hungry had only brought her to the next level of…What? Obsession?

  Was she some kind of junkie with latent adrenaline cravings? Was she an insatiable superfreak vampire groupie?

  What was with her?

  The elevator dinged and opened the doors to her floor. The lobby was a modest mix of Spanish tile and iron-laced wall decorations, a middle-rent haven. She walked past all of it in a daze.

  Once again, the image of Stephen turning fully, furiously into a vampire assaulted her. Fangs extended all the way until they were like saber teeth, eyes blazing with what she could only describe as ferocious…

  She stopped walking, leaning against the wall, resting her hand on it for balance as she closed her eyes. Her pulse picked up steam, her nerve endings on fire.

  I am death, he’d said. Do you understand?

  A horrible thought cut through everything else. Death. Did Stephen represent what was waiting for them all?

  His altered appearance remained rooted to the backs of her eyelids, so Kim opened her gaze, clinging to what she wanted to see in Stephen—her fantasy, her sexual ideal.

  Well, she was a real piece of work. In lust with something that scared her, intrigued her, called to her. She’d pleased him tonight, even without a bite, and that somehow satiated her. Having made him so helpless told her she was everything she’d hoped to become after that first bite—in control, desirable, memorable. She’d had him at her mercy—she knew it—and he was certainly never going to forget her.

  But was that enough?

  No, she thought. She wanted him to need her again and again, in spite of everything. She wanted an actual f
eeding, not just foreplay.

  At the sound of a door opening, she composed herself, pushing away from the wall and yanking her coat over the slinky silk blouse. In her car, she’d fixed her hair back into its ponytail—the one Stephen had ruined, when she’d gone full throttle for her fantasies.

  Kim found herself smiling, ridiculing herself. She’d given Stephen a hickey. A hickey. How many of his bites did that to him?

  When she rounded the corner into the hallway, she found Mr. and Mrs. Cornish gussied up for a night on the town—if that was what you would call the suburban Green Valley area of Henderson. The couple, who were on the sunset side of their seventies, were “foodies” and, besides attending every cocktail show in town, they made a frequent practice of going to new, trendy restaurants whenever they could get reservations. It was a bonus that Kim could always catch the aroma of amazing meals from her neighbors’ apartment, too.

  “Late grub tonight?” Kim asked, hoping she didn’t look as spooky as she’d been feeling. That’d be mortifying.

  Mr. Cornish beamed at her. Both he and the missus were short, with impishly twinkling blue eyes, but Sean Cornish had spiky gray hair to Caroline’s meticulous bob.

  “We’ve already indulged in a phenomenal meal,” he said in his Bah-ston accent.

  Mrs. Cornish joined in, her rosy cheeks just as effusive as her personality. “Yes, I made a lovely Grilled Berkshire Pork Chop. I’ll call you over next time we have it. But we’re off to see the cocktail show at New York, New York, now, you know. They’ve got a disco band in the Big Apple Lounge.”

  While his wife talked, Kim felt Mr. Cornish’s scrutiny, wondering just what the ex-cop was thinking. She drew her coat tighter around her body, smiling and nodding as Mrs. Cornish finished her commentary.