Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  Marek mentored him? But how could that be? The Senator had to be a good ten or fifteen years older than...

  "Keep an open mind, Sophie." His voice was quiet. "I'm older than I look."

  "Oh," I said lamely. "How much older?"

  "Much older."

  I hugged my ribs and glanced around at the other patrons. Everyone seemed so normal, so human. How much of this was illusion? What was reality? "Is the Senator DV?"

  "No, human. Why?"

  I shrugged and lifted my fork. "Just wondering."

  "Would you think less of him if he were Demivampire?" It sounded innocent, but I had a clear impression of the depth of his question.

  I answered truthfully. "No, not less. Just different."

  "Different, how?"

  "Well, I always thought politicians were blood-suckers. I guess it gives new meaning."

  "Oh, that was lovely. Now answer seriously."

  I really didn't want to. This was my first night out after a really tough week. I wanted to relax and have a good time. However, his insistent gaze didn't let me off the hook. I sighed and surrendered.

  "DV are different. I had people pretty much figured out despite having this sign on my forehead that reads sucker. Now I find out there are new rules for some people. New danger. New potential. Like you."

  "Am I different than everyone you've met before?"

  "Oh, yes. Without a doubt." I met his gaze, needing him to understand. "When we're together, I—I feel you. I suppose I've always had an instinct for people's emotions but this is so strong. I only ever felt like this once before but he was human. I used to think love made me so aware of him. Now I wonder—was it love or magic?"

  "You're sure he was human?" Marek bristled and looked like he wanted to spring to his feet and flip the table. Well, hell. If we were going to talk life stories, Mr. Jealousy needed to accept the fact I didn't exactly hatch out of an egg the day before we met.

  Ignoring the jealous vibe I answered his question honestly. "Yes, I'm sure. First, I've bled in front of him and he never acted like Fraidy on catnip. You, my dear, could probably find a paper cut on me with your eyes closed."

  "True. I could. Second?"

  "Second." I let the word drag reluctantly, unsure of how it would go over. "You know him. You know he's human."

  "I? I know him?" A change came over his expression like a cloud passing in front of the sun. "The priest."

  "Yeah."

  He said nothing, staring at me with stony eyes.

  I squirmed under the hard look. "We knew each other when we were teens. He was my first serious boyfriend. When he moved away we lost track of each other. A few years ago he transferred to my parish and we renewed our friendship."

  "You love this man as well?" His voice was neutral but his power churned with unease.

  "Not the same way. Even if he weren't a priest now, he's different. I'm different. We've grown up. Away. Apart. Our friendship and history remain. But the history's just history."

  Marek glanced around, seeming to settle. "I knew I didn't like him for a reason."

  "He's a priest, you caveman. Get over it."

  "I am not a caveman," he protested. "I didn't even see the Renaissance."

  "Oh, there's a relief. So I only have to deal with male chauvinistic patterns developed over the last few centuries, is that it?"

  "Men will always guard their women from other men. Women should be appreciative."

  "Well, I'll be sure to let you know if that ever happens." I raised my glass in a mock toast.

  Marek must have taken my gesture as a sign of his victory. His eyes twinkling and bright once more, he reached across the table to take my hand. Pulling it to his lips for a lingering touch of lips and breath, he whispered. "So, you feel me, do you?"

  "Yes." I shivered, goose bumps chasing each other up my arm.

  "Even when I don't touch you?"

  "Especially then, because I'm not distracted by your physical touch. Sometimes it's like I'm wearing you somehow."

  He nodded. "It is my power. It seeks you out, knowing you are mine."

  "I am, am I?" I laughed. "You sound awful sure."

  "Would you have such attentions of mine were it not true?"

  "Well, I am pretty charming. Guys treat me like this all the time."

  His eyes narrowed.

  "Not since we started dating, though," I hastily added.

  He waved his hand dismissively. "Does not matter. You are mine. There will be no others."

  "What? Are you taking me off the market?" I pouted. As if I'd ever been a hot commodity.

  "Unless you'd be more satisfied with someone else." I grew butterflies at the look of heat he poured toward me. "Can someone else make you feel... like this?"

  It was like a slow fog that crept in late at night. The sensation was thick and soft and incredibly hot. Not temperature hot—more like the kind of hot that melts away protest and inhibition and leaves a woman ready to do anything her lover asks.

  I gasped for breath, surrounded by his desire, pinned down by the light in his eyes. "Oh," I whispered. "I like that."

  He smiled and tilted his head, pulling back the fuzzy mental sex blanket. "Mine."

  "Maybe we'll argue about that later." I shivered in the afterglow of the intimate contact. A waiter appeared to clear our dishes and I used the moment to get back into sorts.

  Marek waited for the man to leave before speaking again. "Is it ever uncomfortable? Sensing me?"

  "Only when you're unhappy," I admitted. It was easier to discuss my strange sensing now he'd confirmed them, validating my suspicions. "Sometimes I get caught up."

  "Well, then. Your primary goal should be to please me. It would benefit us both."

  I laughed at his heart-of-the-matter style of logic. Kind of like going for a walk with a big German Shepherd who spotted a rabbit and chased it down. "Thanks for keeping it simple, sweetie."

  Dessert was served, warm apples, crunchy crumbs and gooey caramel. The splendid down-home stuff eclipsed the pretentiousness of the dinner itself. I believed in good simple things. This was the basic goodness of which all other goodness was made.

  When I finished making an unashamed glutton of myself and contemplated the last sips of my coffee, Marek drew my attention back to the previous discussion. His eyes grew serious as the waiter finished clearing the table. "How long have you been sensitive to my presence?"

  "From the beginning, I think. I didn't realize it was you, though, until the other night."

  He tilted his head and waited for me to continue.

  "I felt you in the museum. I thought it was my imagination—I was in a pensive mood that day so I figured it was a combination of that and your larger-than-life-ness. Your formidability. Your mysteriousness." I paused, remembering, feeling my gut-sense click into focused agreement. "I felt you every time since. Sometimes, even when you weren't around. I figured it was infatuation. That maybe I'd been thinking about you way too hard."

  "You think so?"

  "Yeah, I mean, that night. Before you knocked on the door, before I had any idea you'd show up. I felt it then, too."

  I described the oppressive sensation of being watched—the muffled sound, the paranoid cat, and my assuming it had been caused by the weather.

  "Ah," he said. "That explains your remark about a storm frightening your cat."

  "Right. I didn't really think too much more it since the feeling disappeared. When you knocked, the cat flipped out and ripped me up, which was a bit distracting. And of course, the night ended in a mind-consuming way." I shuddered. The image of blood and teeth only flashed through my memory but it was a staggering flash. "I didn't think about it, period, until now."

  "So when I arrived, it seemed as if my presence got there before me?"

  Didn't he know? I mean, his power was a part of him, not like wisps of cologne that floated unknowingly around. Wasn't it? "No," I said. "It went on for about five minutes or so, long enough to get Fraidy wor
ked up. Then it just, poof! went away and everything returned to normal. And then you knocked."

  I sat back and waited for him to say, Oh, right. That was me.

  He didn't. He leaned forward and squinted. "It lasted for several minutes, then dissipated suddenly, just before I knocked."

  "Yes. Why?"

  "Nothing," he said. He sat back, face carefully neutral. "I'm simply curious."

  "Bullshit," I answered sweetly.

  Marek glanced around with alarm. I was loud but, anyways. Simply curious, my ass. I didn't believe him because his words didn't match his feel. For the first time in my life I had an advantage over a man. I could pick up his emotions. I knew he had lied.

  Marek's "feel" was usually dark without being sinister. It was protective without hiding the danger he held at bay, like a thick glass wall. But suddenly, his back-off feeling and his watch-out feeling and his oh-the-sexy-things-I'd-like- to-do-to-you feeling took on a new sheen—a naked feeling of being threatened.

  This couldn't be good.

  "Marek," I said firmly. "I'm old enough to prefer knowing the truth over being protected from it. This week I've learned many truths—about DV, about vampire, and about you. You may as well tell me why you're threatened because I can feel it."

  I crossed my arms stubbornly. He stared in complete astonishment and temporarily forgot to close his mouth.

  "You'll catch flies," I said.

  Marek shut his mouth with a snap and exhaled through his nose. "Sophie, did it feel like me?"

  I considered it. "No. Not really. I mean, I did think it was just the weather. Or the cat watching me. It didn't feel like a someone."

  "Well, it was someone. But it wasn't the cat. It wasn't me, either."

  A tiny thrill of carbonation fizzed through my chest, the buzz of anxiety. "You think it was... that vampire?"

  "No, no," he said. "I'd have known if any vampire were near. Of course, there would have been your corpse as evidence." His mouth made a grim line. "No, you weren't being hunted, but you were being watched by someone who was chased off by my arrival. I intend to find out whom that someone is."

  After dinner we went upstairs to Dark Gardens, the nightclub that sprawled over most of the fourth floor. As we rode the elevator, he told me where we were headed. I balked, lingering in the car when the doors slid open.

  I don't dance. Really.

  Marek laughed and draped his arm around me, steering me along the hall toward the club entrance. "We're going to watch, that's all. I don't expect you to be able to move in those heels."

  He nodded to the men who checked ID at the entrance and pushed open the door. Music poured out in a wave of solid sound.

  If I'd felt conspicuous walking into Folletti's, I might as well have been naked with my hair on fire now. I hated when people watched me. I was self-conscious by nature but the moment I walked inside I became downright paranoid. Memories of Marek's DV lessons reminded me I was a human in a DV world and I worried someone would stop by for a bite.

  I stepped closer to Marek and pressed my hand to his ribs, too apprehensive to move further into the club. He waved to someone behind the bar while casually reaching his hand under my hair to stroke the back of my neck. The comforting gesture eased my apprehension and a glance up at his face encouraged me to relax.

  Dark Gardens boasted a sunken dance floor. Three wide levels, dotted with tables and booths, ringed the circular dance area, creating a bowl. True to his word, he steered us to a table on the upper levels. We could see the entire floor and most of the seating. The music beat insistently but not loud enough to drown out conversation.

  Marek pointed out DV and human in the rolling crowd below. Black lights mixed in with the gelled ones and the room flashed with bright color. Occasionally I caught the glow of bright eyes glinting among the neon sparks.

  When I commented on it, he only shrugged. "The black lights are camouflage. We can bring the light to our eyes by will, the same way you'd wink at someone. Blood also calls the light. Dark Gardens is a feeding ground, a safe place for DV to satisfy their need. The brightening cannot always be controlled, not here among such temptation."

  Nodding to a group nearby, he leaned closer. "Watch."

  Three college-aged girls scooted into a nearby booth, looking sophisticated, trendy, and sharp. A man soon approached the table, appearing to recognize them, and slid in next to them. The girl closest to him laughed, covering her mouth. With a smile she reached up and stroked the back of his neck, playing with his hair.

  "Did you see that?" Marek said.

  It looked like flirting to me. I shrugged.

  "She claimed him," he said.

  "For what?"

  "For feeding. The humans who are drawn here are susceptible to compulsion. If they weren't, they'd just feel a general not-my-kind-of-place vibe and lose interest in the club. Up here, the DV come to feed. Only suitable donors would linger."

  He slid his gaze toward the booth. The couple snuggled as the other girls in the booth ignored them. Instead, they waved to other patrons and laughed with each other.

  "By claiming him," Marek said. "She's announced to other DV only she will feed on him. It prevents fights and keeps the human from being over-preyed. Even if she had no intention to drink from him, no other DV would dare approach him."

  "I didn't see you make any gesture on me."

  "That's because no one here would cross me."

  "Because of your power?"

  "No," he said. "Because I'm the biggest guy in the room." He casually stretched, showing off the muscle beneath his fine shirt. I had to agree with his logic. Power or no power, Marek didn't look like someone to kick sand on.

  He rose from his seat, captured my hand, and drew me along with him. I realized he was leading me down to the dance floor.

  The look simmering in his eyes made me forget how much I loathed dancing. That look held me, his hands held me, his arms held me. We didn't dance. It had become much more intimate. He pulled me up against him and we swayed to a rhythm he picked, slower than the one that played. People bounced and twisted around us but we were alone, separate.

  Marek stretched out his power. He sent a stream of pleasure through me, tickling my insides and brushing against soft secret places. It started a slow fire within, one I wanted him to quench only after the fire had burned everything else away.

  I surrendered to my senses, opening myself up to the touch of his power. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I submerged myself in what he felt, now so much more than mere impression. Pleasure mingled with other emotions. Possession. Desire. Need.

  Not just the need to have me, the need to have his urges met by mine. A desperate need cried out from deep within his soul. He needed me to help him find salvation.

  It called to something inside me. It made me reach out to him instinctively, to stretch out my awareness like fingers caressing his depths. I drew his needs to me, filtered them through my own essence, and returned them to him, satisfied.

  My eyes closed, my mind inundated by swimming emotion, I whispered. "I promise."

  I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, eyes bright like sunlight on grass. His lips parted rapturously and he ran his tongue back and forth between his sharpened canines.

  "Would you call my desire, here, Sophie?" His voice was husky, as if words were difficult to form. "Gods, you can feel me, my power. You know what I am. Do you mean to tease me?"

  I stretched up against him, lacing my fingers behind his neck and drawing him down to my face. My skin tingled from the memory of the strange feelings I'd just experienced. "I know what you are, Marek, and it doesn't matter. Who you are, whatever world you come from, it doesn't matter. I want you."

  He seemed stunned, even as he wrapped his arms tighter around me. "You don't know what you're saying."

  "Maybe but I do know what I'm feeling. Let me be your sunlight. I'll show you what love and hope truly mean. You'll never be lost in the dark again."

>   His power quickened, thinning out into a triumphant ribbon that surged up into his eyes. They burned with a violent emerald fire and I laughed with delight.

  Marek shuddered and pulled me tighter.

  "Mine," he growled. "You will be mine."

  "Mmm," I said, and slipped my arms up around his neck. "Just shut up and dance."

  We sat in Rodrian's office, high up in the National Bank building on Tenth Street.

  I should have been concerned, considering we were halfway up to the same roof Marek had once pulled me from. However, it was daytime, the sun shone like a golden promise, and since neither Marek nor his brother masked their power around me anymore, I sat amidst their supernatural arsenal and felt quite safe.

  Marek sat in a dated leather armchair, newspaper spread imperiously in front of him as he made disapproving faces at everything he read. I curled up on the couch, my bare feet tucked under me as I browsed a book on ancient Egyptian spirituality. I hoped to better understand some of what Marek told me during his DV lessons.

  Extra-credit Sophie, that's me.

  One of the chapters listed a genealogy of Osiris. Marek had said his race descended from Horus; this text stated Bastet, the cat-headed goddess, had been the half-sister of Horus. I read a passage aloud and turned to Marek. "So is this why Euphrates hates you? Sibling rivalry?"

  "Hate is such a strong word."

  "Who is Euphrates?" asked Rodrian.

  "My cat."

  "Oh." Rodrian's lip curled in faint disgust.

  "All cats are part of Bastet," said Marek. "Her spirit lives in each of them. That's partly why they're singularly disagreeable animals."

  "Because they think they're gods?"

  "No," Rodrian interjected. "Because they think they're women."

  I made a face and a sarcastic sound at him. What a brat.

  Rodrian had spread his accounting books across the desk, scribbling notes and punching at a calculator. I once asked why he didn't use Quicken or some other computer program; he'd replied he liked the feel of pen and paper and preferred to use his brain.