“Do you have a death wish?”
“I’m already dead.”
“Undead. If you don’t remove that mark before the Council finds out, you’ll be really dead. Mate-marking a human is punishable by stake. You know this.”
Well, shit. “Have you ever mate-marked anyone?”
“I prefer to sow my oats in the wild, an attitude I’ve been trying to instill in you, my friend. Now fix this.”
“It really was an accident, man. I don’t…” He blew out a hard breath. Damn it, he didn’t want to remove the mark. “I think she’s Vanessa.”
Jane pranced across the deserted street toward the cemetery gate, her posture deflating when she found it locked. She rattled the chain, tugging on the lock before attempting to slip between the bars. Ethan smiled, admiring her tenacity.
“What in Satan’s domain would make you think that?” Gaston cocked his head as he watched her snap pictures through the fence.
“She looks like her, doesn’t she? Her hair, something in her eyes, her smile.”
“Mmmm… Not really, my friend. Not how I remember her.”
“You never knew her.”
“I saw pictures.”
“Which you burned fifteen years ago.”
Gaston held up his hands. “I did you a favor that day. You’d been mourning the woman for ten years, and her energy couldn’t pass on with that shrine you’d made in your bedroom.”
“I loved her.”
“And it was time to let her go. Tell me you didn’t feel lighter—once you got through your murderous rage.”
“I didn’t speak to you for six months.”
“And you felt better. I know you did, my friend. We’re connected, remember?”
Ethan gritted his teeth, nodding grimly. It killed him to admit it, but he did feel a sense of freedom after his sire burned every trace of Vanessa’s existence. Social media didn’t exist back then, so all he had left now were the memories, and even those were starting to fade.
“I’ll be a callous prick like you any day now.”
“That’s my boy.” Gaston slapped him on the back and cast Jane a curious look. “What is she doing?”
Jane crossed to their side of the street again and stood with her back toward the cemetery, smiling at her phone as she snapped photo after photo.
“They’re called selfies, old man.” Ethan laughed. “I know I’ve explained the phenomenon to you before.”
Gaston grimaced. “I’ve been drunk since then.”
Jane sighed, chewing her plump bottom lip as she flipped through the photos on her phone. Seemingly unsatisfied, she lifted the device and resumed snapping pictures, stepping backward, closer toward the cemetery gates after each shot.
A car horn blared as a Toyota zoomed past, and Jane flinched but resumed her selfie-taking.
“She’s not the sharpest stake in the pile, is she?”
Ethan smiled, unable to take his gaze off her. “She’s perfect.”
Gaston shook his head. “Remove the mating mark, and then I’ll leave you to her. Do what you want with her, as long as…”
“She’s alive and well and has no clue what I am. I know the rules.”
Jane took a step backward. Then another. Right into the path of a jacked-up pickup truck. Ethan’s stomach lurched, the sounds of crunching bone and tearing flesh clawing through his ears as the thump, thump of the tires sounded like the vehicle had done nothing more than hit a speed bump. She didn’t scream, and with everyone at the parade, no one witnessed the accident.
The truck stopped for a moment before peeling out and speeding away, leaving poor Jane crumpled and dying—or already dead—alone on the pavement.
“Well.” Gaston shoved his hands into his pockets. “Problem solved. Let’s go find dinner.”
“Jane!” Ethan ran to her, lifting her flattened body into his arms. The coppery, sweet scent of her blood greeted his senses like the smell of fresh-baked cookies straight from his grandma’s oven. Her breath came in short, shallow pants, and her lids fluttered, her eyes rolling back so far he saw nothing but white.
With a burst of supernatural strength, Ethan leapt over the cemetery wall, landing gracefully in a patch of grass inside the graveyard. He laid Jane on her back, folding her hands on her stomach, and stroking her hair from her forehead. “Stay with me. I can’t lose you again.”
Gaston drifted down in front of him and dropped her purse and phone next to her before clasping his hands behind his back. “If you’re going to drain her, be sure you’re done before her heart stops beating.” He tilted his head. “Better make it fast, or she won’t have much blood left.”
A burning lump of hot coal lodged in Ethan’s throat as he gazed at his long-lost love, slipping away from him again. “How do I turn her?”
“Pardon?” Gaston held a hand to his ear. “This being sober nonsense is affecting my hearing. I thought you asked how to turn her.”
“How?” Ethan’s voice grated in his throat. “I have to save her.”
“If I recall, when I tried to teach you this lesson, you swore on your still-living-at-the-time mother’s grave that you would burn in hell for all eternity before you’d curse another human to this fate.”
“I never said that.”
“Oh, but you did. You can be quite the dramatic monarch.” Gaston picked at his nails absently.
“It’s drama queen, you relic. Now, are you going to help me or not?”
Jane gasped, and blood bubbled from her throat.
“Gaston…” Ethan growled through his teeth. “She’s Vanessa. I know she is, and I can’t lose her again.”
“And damning her to darkness is the perfect way to show the woman you love that you care. What if she’s not Vanessa?”
“I marked her. She’s mine. Please help me save her.”
“You’re making a mistake, my friend.”
Ethan trailed his fingers down her cheek, wiping the blood from her lip with his thumb. “I don’t care.”
Gaston shrugged. “Drink from her; absorb her essence and use your magic to form a connection. When you feel the bond tighten, stop. Then she’ll need to drink from you.”
She wasn’t even breathing. He may have already been too late.
He pulled the mass of beads over her head and sank his fangs into her neck, sucking the delicious life force from her veins. Resting a hand on her battered chest, he instilled her with his magic until a connection formed, like a cord running from her core to his.
He licked the puncture wounds—vampire spit had magical healing properties—and her head lolled to the side.
“Time is not your friend.” Gaston toed her limp leg with the edge of his boot. “Get your blood into her.”
Ethan bit into his wrist, hard enough to tear his skin to delay his quick healing, and squeezed his forearm, working his slow-moving blood to the surface. As a drop gathered inside the wound, he pressed it to her lips, massaging his arm to encourage the flow into her mouth. “Come on, cher, swallow.”
Jane didn’t respond. The heavy weight of despair slammed into his chest, and he hung his head, leaning down to press a goodbye kiss to her forehead. As his lips met her skin, she swallowed, latching on to his arm and sucking with the force of a top-of-the-line Dyson. Her lids flew open, her pupils constricting into pinpoints as her body’s injuries began to heal.
“Don’t let her drain you.” Gaston placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You have to be functioning when she awakens.”
Ethan pried his arm from her vacuum grip, and she sat up, her wide eyes blinking as she took in her surroundings. She looked at him and tilted her head. “I remember you.”
His chest tightened, a strange flitting sensation forming in his stomach as he held her gaze.
Bringing her fingers to her lips, she wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth and peered at her hand. Her brow furrowed before her eyes rolled up, and she flopped onto her back, unconscious.
Ethan looked up at Gasto
n. “Is that…normal?”
Gaston shrugged and lifted her shirt, examining her injuries. “You were conscious a bit longer before the death sleep took over, but she’s healing. She should awaken at dusk tomorrow.”
Ethan yanked her shirt down, covering her torso. “What do I do now?”
Gaston chuckled. “Take her home and hope to hell she’s the woman you think she is. You’re stuck with her now.”
Chapter Four
What on God’s green Earth did Jane drink last night? Hell, what did she do? She squeezed her eyes shut, rolling over and willing herself to go back to sleep. Her throat felt like the Mojave Desert on an August afternoon, complete with a prickly little cactus growing at the base of her tongue. She swallowed, and another cactus cropped up just below the first one.
She moaned, the sound grating in her esophagus, and someone in the room stirred. Had she and Sophie passed out in the living room of their rental? They’d only been in New Orleans two nights, and they’d managed to get shit-faced both times. They needed to slow down.
Jane rolled onto her back and rubbed her face, still afraid to open her eyes. These sheets weren’t nearly as soft as the ones on her bed, and the room had a musty scent to it, while the rental house normally smelled like peach pie.
Oh, dear Lord, she never made it home last night. The person sitting on the mattress next to her wasn’t Sophie. Think, Jane. Think. Who did you pick up? She racked her brain for a memory of what drink could have fucked her up so badly and what man she could have followed home, but aside from the nasty absinthe she’d had that afternoon, she couldn’t recall a single shot.
Well, Jane, you made this bed…and probably did a helluva lot more than lie in it. Time to make nice with the bear you poked and get the hell out of Dodge.
She pried her eyes open, expecting the morning—or possibly afternoon—sun to stab into her pupils like daggers, triggering the massive headache she was sure to have, but darkness engulfed the room. Her vision adjusted quickly, and she found herself staring up at wooden rafters not five feet from her head. What the hell?
A lamp switched on, bathing the room in yellow light, and the dagger effect came on full-force. She expelled a breath of air, but with her throat so parched, she sounded like a spooked house cat guarding its favorite toy.
“Hi, Jane. How do you feel?” A familiar, smooth, deep voice drifted toward her, and the tension in her chest eased. If she had to spend a wild, drunken night with a stranger, at least he was a hot stranger.
She rolled onto her side and found him fully dressed in jeans and a dark gray t-shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap, nervous tension rolling off him in waves. A lock of dark hair fell across his eye, and he brushed it back, his biceps flexing with the movement.
Her stomach fluttered, and a warm, fuzzy feeling flooded out from her chest to her toes. Damn. The last time she felt this giddy about a guy was with Aaron Dicks, freshman year of college. That man sure lived up to his name, unfortunately in more ways than one. Her asshole meter functioned at full capacity these days, though, and this guy seemed okay.
“Jane?” His eyes held concern. Concern was a good, nonassholish emotion.
“Hey.” She propped herself on her elbow. Her clothes were still on too. Weird. “I didn’t mean to hiss at you. My throat’s dry.”
He shrugged. “It’s normal.”
She laughed. “Women hissing at you when they wake up in the morning is normal?”
He pressed his lips together.
“Where are we?” She sat up, taking in her surroundings. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the rafters, and dust motes hung stagnant in the air. That explained the smell.
“We’re in my attic. Jane, what do you remember about last night?”
“We must’ve had one helluva time to wind up sleeping in your attic. Did I do shots again? Sophie and I promised each other we wouldn’t do shots this time, but I don’t remember what happened after the parade. We weren’t planning to drink anything.”
Why was he asking her what she remembered? Could he not recall the night either? She sucked in a sharp breath. “Did someone drug us?”
“No. We weren’t drugged.”
“Oh, good. That makes me feel better, though I’m pissed at myself for doing shots again.” Hold on, she was in this man’s attic. Warm fuzzies or not, shouldn’t she have been panicking or at least calculating a quick exit? Any woman in her right mind would be out the door the moment she found her shoes, but something about the quizzical look on this guy’s face and the way his jaw ticked as his brow furrowed had her more curious than frightened. In fact, she wasn’t the slightest bit scared at all. Lord knew she’d found herself in situations much weirder than this.
She slid to the edge of the bed, setting her socked feet on the plywood floor. “Be a doll and grab my boots for me, would you?” She pointed to her shoes and purse sitting in the corner.
“You didn’t do shots, and your boots are within arm’s reach.” His face was so serious, she’d have thought he was going to tell her he gave her crabs or something.
Oh, God. There were quite a few somethings a lot worse than crabs. She stretched an arm toward her belongings, wiggling her fingers. When he didn’t take the hint, she sighed and grabbed them herself before slipping them on. “Please tell me we used protection.”
He blinked, confusion clouding his eyes for a moment before his brow rose. “We didn’t have sex.”
A sense of relief battled with the sting of rejection. She wanted to ask Why the hell not?, but if she’d been as drunk as she thought last night, maybe that was a good thing. He’d had two chances to take advantage of her now, yet he hadn’t touched her. The fluttering in her stomach reached up to her chest, and she warmed to him even more.
“That explains why my clothes are still on.” She tugged on the hem of her shirt, and her eyes widened as she took in its condition. A crusty, dark red substance was smeared across the front, and…was that a tire mark?
“Holy fuck.” She looked at the guy, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember his name. “John?”
He tilted his head, looking offended.
“Paul? George? Ringo? What’s your name again?”
“Ethan.” He blinked once, his dark lashes fringing emerald green eyes. Was he smoldering at her?
Judging from the way the flutter in her core had settled below her navel, his smolder was about to set her ablaze. Damn, he was hot. Good-looking and a gentleman, yet somehow, he’d gotten her into his attic. This didn’t add up.
“Ethan. That’s right. What the hell happened last night, Ethan?” She stood and knocked her head against a rafter with a smack. A quick, sharp pain sliced through her skull and dissipated just as fast. “Seriously, dude. Why are we in your attic? Is this some weird fetish? I’m usually down for just about anything, but I need to know what I’m getting into before I agree to it.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “What do you remember?”
So he wanted to play this game, did he? It seemed Mr. Serious watched a tad too many docudramas on the old TV. She had two choices: walk out the door now, look for a new vacation rental so he couldn’t find her, and get on with her life…or sit down and play along.
She scanned the room for any possible murder weapons, but other than the mattress and a lamp, the room sat empty. Not that she was worried about becoming his next victim. In addition to her black belt in karate, Jane was an excellent judge of character, and not a single warning alarm had gone off in her mind since she woke up. Not to mention, the man could make her clothes fall off with a simple look, and Jane never fawned over men. There was something special about Ethan, even if he didn’t have much to say.
Besides, she was dying to know how they ended up spending the night in his attic. “This is almost as weird as the time I woke up in Brock Johnson’s grandma’s panic room. Do you live with your parents?”
He arched a brow. “No.”
“Wife? Girlfriend?
”
“No.”
“Okay, you win.” She sank onto the edge of the mattress. “I’ll play your game, but only because the curiosity is driving me bonkers. Why are you looking at me like that?”
He pursed his lips, looking thoughtful for a moment and not at all pleased. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Well, you don’t have to look so damn disappointed. I thought you’d be a little more exciting too. You know what? Never mind.” Her tolerance for bullshit had reached its limit, so she rose to her feet, hunching over to avoid slamming her head into the ceiling again. “I don’t even care how we ended up here. If we didn’t have sex, then no harm done. I’m out.”
Clutching her purse, she made for the door, but he shot to his feet and leapt toward it, blocking her exit faster than she could say, “Holy hell raisers, you’re fast!”
“Hell raisers?”
“I don’t know where that came from. Move. I’m leaving.” She grabbed the knob, but he palmed the door, keeping it closed.
“You can’t leave. It’s still daylight.”
“I sure as hell hope it is. Move.” She tugged on the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t let you leave.” His voice deepened like he actually thought he had some kind of authority over her.
“Fuck that. I said move.” She shoved him—a smidge harder than she planned to, but the guy was trying to hold her hostage—and he stumbled, his eyes widening in surprise before his head smacked into a rafter. Damn, adrenaline is something else.
She yanked the door open, and the brightest, goddamn blinding light she’d ever seen sliced through the opening like hellfire exploding through a ground fissure. Her vision went solid white, and her eyeballs burned like they were melting out of their sockets. Her skin sizzled, and as she fell back on her ass, she could have sworn she smelled the aroma of burning flesh.
Ethan slammed the door, engulfing the room in glorious darkness, before he scooped her into his arms and laid her on the mattress. “I told you not to do that.” Was he scolding her?
She blinked, her vision coming back into focus, her eyes, thankfully, still solid and in their sockets. Her face stung, and the sand content in her throat doubled along with the cacti. “Holy Mother of God…” The moment she uttered the word, a coughing fit racked her body, and it felt like she’d swallowed hot coals.
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