by Tami Lund
A sad smile crept across her face as she continued her tale. “Abby used to watch the E! Network obsessively. She wanted to be a movie star growing up. When she was a senior in high school she told my parents she planned to go to LA. They didn’t want her to go, figured that lifestyle would corrupt her. I was still living at home, going to the local community college, and I was turning out okay, and they didn’t understand why she would want something so different.
“For her graduation present, probably to try to appease her wanderlust, my parents took us into the city for a weekend. We had dinner at a fancy restaurant, saw a show, wandered around downtown, spent the night in a beautiful hotel that was listed on the national registry of historical places.
“We met these two girls when we were hanging out at the pool. They told us about blood courtesans. One of their friends had become one, and she claimed it was the greatest experience ever.”
Her cheeks reddened further, to the point where I was nearly blind with bloodlust. Christos, I wanted to know how she tasted. That lick I’d stolen when I’d bonded us hadn’t been nearly satisfying enough.
“They said sex with a vampire was the best sex you’d ever have. At that point in my life, I didn’t have anything to compare that statement to, but my sister was completely hooked. She asked them a million questions. We stayed in the pool with them until my father came and yelled at us for being gone so long. Abby exchanged phone numbers with the girls, and after we returned home, she texted with them constantly. A month later, she packed her bags. Told me she was coming to Chicago to be a blood courtesan.”
Not an atypical story, truth be told. If her sister had been a virgin when she’d come to the big city to discover the theoretically glamorous life of a blood courtesan, and if she looked anything like Anya, she would have had opportunity to make a great deal of money from her first contract.
I pulled out my phone and texted my driver before extracting several bills from my wallet and placing them on the table. As I owned this particular pub, I did not have to pay for the wine and food, but I always took care of the staff. They tended to stay loyal that way.
“Come.” Standing, I offered Anya my hand.
“You’re doing it again. Being presumptuous.”
I sighed. She was right, damn it. “I’ve summoned my driver. He should be out front in a few minutes. My house is twenty minutes from here, located in an established neighborhood with a low crime rate and plenty of police patrol. You will be safe, and I know you are not afraid I will harm you. I want to hear more of your reasoning as to why you believe your sister is in danger, and I want to be in front of my computer when you tell me, in case something you say triggers an idea. I can look it up immediately and take action right then, if necessary. I am offering to help you find your sister, no more.”
Finally, she took my hand, allowed me to pull her to her feet. “You want more than that.”
“Absolutely.” I guided her toward the stairs, allowed her to precede me to the bottom. “If you were so inclined, I’d have you in my lap in the backseat of the car on the way to my house. You only have to say the word.”
I could actually hear her gulp, even with the near-deafening noise of the human revelers we had to work our way through to get to the door. I couldn’t suppress my chuckle. Her cheeks flamed when we stepped outside, and she lifted her hand to cup her neck. Was she disappointed that Peadar had pulled to the curb in a simple black town car instead of a limo with a barrier we could have used to provide privacy during the short drive? Pity I hadn’t made that arrangement, because I suspected I would have had a reasonable shot at convincing her to do exactly what I now could not erase from my mind.
Sweeping her into the car, I slid in next to her, deliberately crowding her, pleased when she held her ground and did not cower away. I wanted to place her hand on my cock, let her feel what she did to me. Instead, I took her hand I’d nicked earlier and turned it over, stroking my fingers over the faint white scar, watching her while she stared at our hands.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I asked. “I don’t have humans to my house very often, so I’m afraid there isn’t much by way of sustenance. We can stop at a grocery store on the way if you’re still hungry.”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice little more than a croak. She wasn’t at all fine, but her discomfort likely had nothing to do with an empty belly. More like heat curling in that belly, which admittedly pleased me.
When she didn’t pull her hand out of my grasp, I twined our fingers together, enjoying the connection. Peadar flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, taking in the action and then lifting to catch my eye. I stared at him, challenging, until he focused on the road again. If I wanted to show affection for a human woman, it was none of his concern.
The text came through just as Peadar guided the car into the driveway.
Got one. Holding him at the bridge.
“Davos has one of the men.” I glanced at Anya, who was unabashedly reading the words on the screen of my phone. I tilted it a bit more to make it easier for her to see.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Don’t be. I have nothing to hide from you. I want you to trust me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Possibly because it is as foreign to me as it is to you.”
She nodded at the phone. “What does that mean? Is he going to toss the guy off a bridge?”
“There is an industrial area on the south side, along the river. I own a warehouse next to one of the drawbridges. We refer to it as ‘The Bridge.’ It is where I prefer to do business with the sort I would not want in my home.”
“So what’s he going to do? Tie the guy to a chair in the middle of an empty warehouse and turn a hose on him? Maybe add nipple clamps and electrocute him, too?”
I laughed. “You watch too much television.”
“I live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. It’s my only form of excitement.”
Climbing out of the car, I offered my hand to help her out. She didn’t need the help, of course, but she accepted my offer nonetheless and didn’t release my hand once she was on her feet.
“To answer your question, yes, we are going to interrogate him. But as he’s human, your suggestions will hardly be necessary. A little glamour generally does the trick. And if by some odd chance he’s immune, intimidation works too.”
“Frank Lloyd Wright,” she said, distracted by my home. “You live in a Frank Lloyd Wright house.”
“You appreciate fine architecture, I see.”
“Who doesn’t? But aren’t his homes sort of known for having lots of windows?”
I opened the front door and waved her inside so she could see for herself the vast entry with rectangular walls of windows on either side. “Nighttime scenery is beautiful, too, you know. Even in the city, a great deal of wildlife comes alive after most humans are asleep in their beds. And I’ve paid a small fortune to create a garden of flowers that specifically bloom at night, not that you can tell at this time of year.”
“It’s beautiful.” She wandered around, admiring the windows, the fireplace in the middle of the great room, the sharp lines and edges that were Wright’s signature designs.
“As are you,” I murmured, surprised at myself for saying it at all. Maybe she didn’t hear it.
She glanced over her shoulder, an almost coy pose. “Thank you. Normally, I would roll my eyes and scoff at that compliment, but you sound awfully sincere.”
“I am.”
She turned away. “So, should we get down to business?”
Shaking off the picture of bending her over the arm of that couch she stood behind, I beckoned her down the hall toward my office. Our boot heels clacked against the hardwood floor, the only sound other than her breathing and the rapid beating of her heart.
I wanted to place my hand on her chest, to feel it pulse beneath my fingers. I wanted to sink my fangs into her vein, to drink from her, to take just enough to slow the beating
to a steady, calm rhythm. As hungry as I was, it really did not take much to feed a vampire. Those who claimed to accidentally drain the humans they drank from were either liars or greedy fools. Why kill someone who could sustain you for decades?
Another wall of windows in my office overlooked a square koi pond that, during summer months, was surrounded by enough foliage and greenery to resemble something of a jungle. I liked nature; it made me feel alive, something that was difficult to obtain when one had essentially been dead for a century.
Verbally sparring with Anya made me feel alive as well, or at least she gave me the strange desire to be so. Which couldn’t happen, of course, and generally I didn’t wish for things that could not be, but she had created all sorts of curious sensations and emotions I otherwise never bothered with.
Lifting one of the two armchairs facing my desk, I carried it around to the other side so she could sit next to me while I sat in my leather office chair and woke up the computer. “Tell me again,” I said while tapping away at the keyboard, “why you think your sister is in trouble.”
“I already said I haven’t heard from her in months. Since Christmas.”
“What happened then?” Opening a file, I pulled up the list of local blood courtesan brothels. Chicago maintained a large vampire population and, as a result, catered to more than a dozen licensed brothels. Yes, licensed. I insisted they all maintain a certain level of decorum, of respect, for both clientele and the humans who served them. Anytime I heard whisperings of someone coming into my town and setting up shop without my prior approval, I paid them a visit to make sure they understood the rules. This was my turf, and I preferred it function like a well-oiled machine. There were fewer issues that way. Less infighting, minimal complications.
“Nothing really,” she admitted, and I glanced at her over my shoulder. She shrugged. “She called to wish me Merry Christmas. Told me to pass along her wishes to Mom and Dad, too, even though they disowned her when she left. She had sent us a package of gifts, and they refused to even accept them. I lied and told her they loved them.”
“I am not seeing a cause for alarm so far.”
“I’m getting there,” she said impatiently, and a smile tugged at my lips. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly smiled back.
“Would you care for some wine while you tell your story?” Without waiting for her answer, I stood and headed to the chiller built into the bookshelves next to my desk.
“You sure are obsessed with wine. Or are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Neither.” Opening a bottle of merlot, I poured it into two crystal goblets. “I haven’t fed in a bit too long, and wine is something of an appetizer for vampires. It helps stave off the hunger.”
Her hand shook when I handed her the glass. “You—you aren’t going to...”
“Not unless you offer. I can control myself. I have had a great deal of practice.” Not entirely the truth. I rarely felt the edges of hunger. Had I not rescued Anya this evening, I would likely be sated by now, both my bloodlust and the need in my balls.
Stroking her fingers along her neck, she asked, “Does it hurt?”
I stared at the action, wished it were my hand touching her. “No. Well, initially, there is a prick of pain, when the fang pierces the skin. Like when they prick your finger at the doctor’s office, to run tests on your blood.”
She nodded and her hand drifted to her chest and curled against her skin.
“But that lasts only a second, and if your partner has any lovemaking skills whatsoever, you likely will hardly notice it. You will be too caught up in the sensations, the pleasure created by having your fire stoked until you are certain you can take no more. And then, when your partner begins to feed, you will learn that you can, indeed handle more. You’ll crave it, desire it. I’m told we are quite addictive lovers.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her breath came out in short pants. She’d squeezed her thighs together, the muscles in her legs so taut I could bounce a quarter off them, although I would much prefer gently prying them apart and relieving her of some of this stress I’d created with my words.
But that wasn’t why we were here. Despite her attraction, Anya did not trust me, and while I’d told her I didn’t usually care if others trusted me, I wanted hers. And I was determined to figure out who the hell was messing with my city.
“Your sister’s dreams of becoming a blood courtesan were likely realized. That particular profession is both highly lucrative and immensely physically satisfying. The only time there are problems is when either the vampire or courtesan does not follow the terms of the contract. Expectations of BDSM that were not laid out up front, for example. Or, even more frequently, when emotions become involved.”
“You mean my sister might have fallen in love with the vampire she contracted with, so he killed her?”
“Not quite so extreme. More like she became depressed when he severed the contract and sent her on her way. Perhaps she is simply holed up in her apartment, watching chick flicks and eating ice cream.”
“That sounds like my sister,” she admitted.
“It isn’t always the human who falls in love, you know.”
“It isn’t?” Another tremor shot through her hand as she lifted the glass to her lips.
“Vampires have feelings as well. We are just better at hiding them. Or suppressing them. In our world, expressing emotion is often perceived as a sign of weakness.”
“You need blood to survive,” she said, a contemplative look in her eye. “And you enjoy sex. And wine.” She lifted her glass before taking another drink. “But you avoid expressing emotion at all costs. Hence, sex—and blood—became a financial transaction. And the concept of blood courtesans was born.”
“Intelligent and beautiful.”
“So anyway,” she said.
I wasn’t the only one who preferred to avoid dealing with emotions.
“So I can access the blood courtesan database and enter your sister’s name. If she used her given name, we can find out to which brothel she went, to whom she was contracted, and whether that contract has been severed. Depending on what we find, we may even pay that vampire a visit, hear his version of the story. Perhaps we will have found your sister by daybreak.”
As if on cue, she yawned and then giggled. I smiled back.
“I should get to work, apparently. You are not quite used to a vampire’s schedule, I see.”
“I’ve been up since five this morning.”
I nodded at the couch situated near the windows. “If you’d like to rest, feel free. I will wake you when I have news.”
She wanted to do it. It was obvious by the way she looked at the couch, the soft cushions, the fleece blanket draped over the back.
“Or there’s a bed. Upstairs.”
“Your bedroom?”
“My bedroom is in the basement.”
She looked at her palm, the one I’d scored to mingle our blood and bind her to me. I could not work up any guilt for the action.
“For fifteen years I’ve been taught not to trust you. And now I’ve known you for what? Two hours? Three? And I’m seriously contemplating sleeping in your home. What does that say about me?”
“That you are a wise judge of character. Do you prefer the couch or the bed?”
She sighed. “The bed. I won’t be able to sleep if you’re in the same room.”
Chapter 5
But even with him downstairs, presumably hard at work trying to find my sister, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the bed, wearing one of his T-shirts and thinking about his thick, dark hair. Those shining dark brown eyes. The stubble on his chin, those canines that were a tad longer than a human’s. The way his thin sweater draped over his shoulders, showing off the width and the muscles in his chest.
The way he’d touched himself while we’d been at the pub, as if he were so turned on he couldn’t take it anymore. I’d wanted to climb into his lap, rub myself against him, attempt to ease that ache we appa
rently shared.
I’d deliberately chosen to lose my virginity the night I got drunk and convinced Sammy to join me in the rafters in the barn. I hadn’t any sort of feelings for Sammy; he’d been handy, and I’d heard he was easy and good in bed. My sister had just left, so I took steps to ensure I did not suddenly develop the desire to do the same thing.
The experience had fallen far short of my expectations, which were based solely on the movies I watched, but I was no longer a virgin and therefore, theoretically, not tempting to vampires.
Except Cam. The man looked at me like I was candy. Chocolate-covered strawberries. No, cherries. Did he have any idea of my less-than-virginal state? If I told him, would it put him off?
Did I want to put him off?
I rubbed my breast, the friction of his shirt against my nipple causing it to pucker. I didn’t want to put him off. I wanted entirely the opposite. I wanted to be in his bed, with him, not alone in this one. I wanted to feel that sensation of him filling me. I even wanted him to feed from me, preferably at the same time.
He’d said vampires were addictive lovers, that what my sister had experienced had likely been immensely satisfying. Sex with Sammy hadn’t been remotely immense, in any way. It had been a means to an end, and other than reaching that objective, I’d had a wicked hangover, ruined my favorite panties, and had been sore for a couple days afterward.
Not addictive.
Cam was addictive? I shouldn’t want to find out. I shouldn’t want to like the guy; hated that I was attracted to him. I shouldn’t even be here, yet he kept convincing me to question my own judgment, my beliefs. If I wasn’t careful, I might end up letting him convince me he should feed from me.
Have addictive sex with me.
Still massaging my breast, I let my other hand wander down, over my belly, to my upper thighs, the thatch of hair there I kept trimmed but not entirely shaved. It was wet. I was wet. Soaked, thinking about Cam and sex and vampires and his fangs piercing my skin, the pleasure/pain combination I could vividly imagine but should not want to experience.