Her stomach growled, reminding her of the hour. She reminded it that she had no money for takeout and, since she was sleeping in the shop on the futon in the “waiting area”, no kitchen either. She’d been evicted from her apartment a month ago, and was just barely making the rent and utilities on this place.
At least she still had another month on her gym membership, which was most useful now for the showers. Oh, God, a shower. A hot bath. Such ordinary things now seemed like such luxury to her. She didn’t know what she was going to do in another month when her membership ran out. She didn’t have any way to pay for another year’s membership. Hell, in her present situation, she couldn’t even afford another month’s membership.
Maybe she should think more about taking Benny up on his offer of a few shifts a week at the club. Ever since Heidi had left, he was stuck with only Lisa and Amber. People still asked if she was going to come back. Benny always shrugged and smiled, saying, “You never know.”
Marina’s stomach growled again, unsympathetic about money or memberships.
Returning to the back, she took off the scarf around her head and shook out her hair with a deep sigh. Her stomach growled even louder, insisting on being acknowledged. She glared down at her middle and gave it a light smack of rebuke as she changed her clothes; her uncomfortable feeling eased as she performed the mundane activity. She grabbed her pillow and blanket and headed out to the futon.
It was early – dark, but early – and she had nowhere to go, no money to spend, no television to watch, and no one to visit. Bed was about the only option left to her, since there was no dinner to get tonight. Her stomach’s protests aside, it wasn’t like she hadn’t gone to bed without dinner a night or two before. A few missed meals wouldn’t hurt her.
Maybe I should take Benny up on those shifts, she thought again as she went back out to the futon and lay down. At least then she would have had something to order dinner with. Chinese sounded wonderful.
But Marina was trying to regain a modicum of her pride. She didn’t want Benny’s kind of money. Needed, yes. Wanted, no.
There were a lot of things she didn’t want. She didn’t want to go back to waitressing in the evenings and making up fortunes during the day, or vice versa. She didn’t want to go back to stripping at night. It was embarrassing to have a client come in for a fortune when just the night before you’d either served him a steak or he’d seen you practically naked.
I wonder what Weirdo would look like practically naked, she thought, surprising herself.
She rolled her eyes and shrugged it off. Why were all the crazy ones drop-dead gorgeous?
* * *
Marcos’ thoughts ran along the same line, but not in so much detail.
He’d wanted her. Hungered for her. Had all but felt her heart beating beneath the pale skin of her throat as his mouth closed over it.
Had he been one second more in turning away and leaving her presence, he would have felt it somewhere other than only in his wishful thoughts.
Why then? Why hadn’t he just done it? Why had he spoken to her like he was a man? He hadn’t shown that much restraint . . . hadn’t had that much control over his overwhelming hunger in . . . Marcos couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the master of his need and not the other way around.
A stray cat ran across the sidewalk in front of him, dashing across the empty street and disappearing into the alley on the other side, trying to find a dry place out of the rain.
Buena suerte, gato, Marcos thought with a wry smile. The little black cat would need all the luck it could get in this storm. It was a good thing he didn’t feed on animals the way some of his kind did, or there wouldn’t be enough luck in the world to help that feline.
He smiled again at the superstition that came to mind. A black cat crossing one’s path was thought to be an omen of ill luck in many cultures, but Marcos didn’t think it would hurt him. His luck had run out generations ago.
Perhaps now, though, it was changing a bit.
The girl. The human. There was something about her he didn’t understand, and some strange part of him wanted to. What did it mean?
Marcos looked down at the business card he’d pocketed. Fat raindrops set to work disintegrating the cheap paper almost immediately. He cleared them away with his thumb, contemplating her name. Her true name. The one he’d heard in her thoughts, not the false one touting the services of the fortune-teller.
Marcos snorted. Fortune.
Did fortune ever favour the damned?
* * *
Fortune favoured Marina.
Well, fortune and the tips she’d made at the club this last week.
Benny had made her too good an offer, and people were still paying for that kind of entertainment.
She smiled at the thought – and the inadvertent pun – as she thanked her last reading of the day. Marina followed behind the young woman stepping into the dark to meet the friends awaiting her outside, intending to lock up.
A strong hand reached for the door and held it open for the departing woman. Blushing without knowing why, the woman stammered her thanks and appreciated the tall man out of the corner of her eye as she left.
Marcos offered her a silent nod before looking up at Marina, who stood in the doorway, stunned.
“Will la señorita permit me entry?” he asked hesitantly. Not that he needed an invitation. He didn’t know why he felt the need to ask for one this time. He hadn’t needed one before – she had a public premises and a welcome sign encouraging entry to any who wished it. Perhaps he was attempting to make up for his rudeness during their last encounter.
That had been three weeks ago, and he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since. No, not her, his behaviour. He hadn’t been able to get the way he’d acted out of his mind. Not her.
Marina just looked at him, confused, but nodded slowly. She had to be out of her mind to let him back in when he’d been such a jerk last time, but he looked so . . . hopeful. Like he was afraid she’d say “no”, or tell him to get lost. She probably should, but he seemed apologetic. She could at least give him a chance to talk before kicking him to the sidewalk. She’d done as much for ex-boyfriends who hadn’t deserved time to say three words to her. This guy was at least trying to be nice. Or so it seemed.
“Gracias,” he murmured as she stepped aside and let him in.
Marcos stepped inside, just far enough to have a look around. The room appeared just as tacky as it had the last time, for the most part, and still smelled of that rancid incense.
She lived here, he realized, catching a scent beneath the incense that no human would have been able to detect. The scent of life. Of home and belonging and independence.
His eyes went to the beaded pillows on the futon, and he moved silently, drawn to the weight of the fragrance. She slept there. He could all but see it in his mind.
“I was just about to lock up,” she said in that atrocious phony accent of hers. “Something you need? It’s not raining today.”
Marina knew she was rambling, and hoped her accent didn’t give away that she was scared out of her mind. He was back. What was he doing back here? She had convinced herself that he hadn’t been real, that he wouldn’t be back, and here he was, standing in front of her. She’d dreamed about him in some way every night since he’d come into her shop, and now that he was here, she didn’t know what to do, or say. God, he was gorgeous.
“I . . . I am uncertain . . . ” Marcos offered lamely. She already thought him a madman, and perhaps she was right. Thinking back on their first encounter, he had seemed quite out of his mind. But then, his hunger had been nearly overwhelming, and it was the fact that she remained unharmed in spite of his need that mystified him.
He gestured at the low table he’d stood next to the last time he’d been there. There was a large glass jar there now, filled with coloured stones. Wedged between them were several sticks of patchouli incense, burning slowly.
“You’ve mov
ed things around. There was a different holder for your incense here last time.”
Marina nodded slowly, making sure to study him more closely this time. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been the night he’d come in, but then, so was she. It wasn’t raining, but he still had on his long black coat. She noted his hair as well – shiny black, curling gently at his shoulders near his collar. He was paler than she remembered, but his features gave away his Latin heritage. He was even more gorgeous in front of her than in her dreams.
“It is put away, in the back,” she replied.
Marcos nodded and didn’t say anything more. He merely looked at her, studying her, taking in every detail of her, though he knew them already, having played her image in his mind every day, every hour, since their first encounter.
Realizing what he was doing, he turned his attention to the objects in the room.
“Why did you do that?” he asked, not knowing where the words came from. Why was he asking? What did he care?
Because, he realized, he was enjoying speaking to someone for the first time in he-couldn’t-remember-when. Actually speaking to someone – having a conversation with another being.
Someone . . . human. Someone who reminded him of who he had been. What he had been. What he’d once had, and –
And what he had lost.
No, not lost. Traded. Sold. Bartered. Willingly given away, truth be told.
Marina considered him for a long moment. His tone, his words. He was being way more polite than he had been a few weeks ago. Still, he didn’t look like a psycho, and she didn’t get the “creep” vibe from him, and she knew creeps. She dealt with plenty of creeps. Even dated more than a few. This guy didn’t seem at all creepy. Strange, sure, but not creepy.
“I often change the décor to reflect the seasons, and spring is a season of growth and change,” she replied. “As I said, I was about to lock up, so if you wouldn’t mind.”
She gestured meaningfully towards the door.
“I thought . . . perhaps . . . you might assist me in . . . finding some answers to questions I have,” Marcos found himself saying. “That is, if you are willing. I realize that our last encounter wasn’t the most pleasant.”
Marina smiled. At least he recognized he’d been kind of a jerk. Was he trying to apologize? She had time before her shift at the club for one last client. It might as well be Weirdo.
“I am willing. However, I do need to lock up,” she replied. “You don’t mind being locked in, do you? I promise, I won’t make you stay the night.”
Marcos laughed and shook his head. “I’m accustomed to staying up nights.”
“Have a seat in the back, through there,” Marina said, gesturing towards the metallic curtain separating the waiting area from the reading room. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
He nodded and started towards the curtain as she went to the door, keys in hand. She pulled it shut and locked it, then turned off her sign and drew the curtains across the door and windows.
Then she realized what she’d just done. She’d just locked herself in with Weirdo. Maybe she should unlock the door . . . just in case.
The door moved as if in answer to that, and Marina heard a female voice curse before footsteps carried it away. No, it was a good idea to be closed. Besides, she had to get to her shift at the club soon, and didn’t have time for another client after Weirdo tonight. The ad in the paper she’d spent her last dime on a few weeks ago seemed to be working. Business was slow, but at least it was business, which was more than a lot of the other shops on this block had these days.
She moved slowly towards the curtain that Weirdo had gone through. She glanced through the strings of metallic discs to see him studying the incense burner she’d had in the waiting area before, his long, graceful fingers caressing the carved wooden base reverently. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite remember what.
“You are musical,” she said after a moment, mostly for lack of anything better to say.
“What makes you say that?” Marcos asked without looking at her.
“Your hands, the way you move and touch things,” she replied with a shrug.
“It is not so,” he said, his black eyes meeting hers intensely. “I have no talent for music of any kind, Madam Marina.”
“You know my name,” she said lightly. “Perhaps you would honour me with yours? I will need it in order to give you a satisfactory reading.”
“You claim to be a psychic,” he countered. “Don’t you know it outright?”
Marina scowled at him. “‘Psychic’ does not equal ‘mind-reader’. No one can read minds.”
“Nor does ‘gypsy’ equal ‘psychic’,” Marcos said flatly. “Look at this place. Look at yourself. Even your name sounds like you chose it from a pizza menu.”
“And here I thought you said you wished me to assist you in answering questions you have,” Marina retorted, glaring at him. “I can see that you still need to figure out what questions those are. Now, if you are finished insulting me and my profession, I’ll see you out. As you’ve said yourself, you have no need of my services.”
“You were intending to service me?” Marcos replied, raising an eyebrow at her choice of words.
Marina realized what she’d said and how it could be interpreted and blushed. “My professional services,” she clarified.
“Out of my shop. Come. The door is this way.”
She moved away from the curtain and gestured behind her, beckoning him to follow. When he didn’t, she returned to the doorway and pushed aside the curtain. The discs tinkled merrily, in complete opposition to her mood.
He still stood there, smiling.
“You are coming, yes?” she asked. “Your legs work? Or must I call the police?”
Marcos snorted again. “And they will take, what? Forty minutes to answer your call about a man upsetting you? I could do much more than upset you in that time, if I so chose.”
Marina narrowed her eyes at his thinly veiled threat. “Out, now.”
She pointed firmly at the door.
“You’re quite fetching when you’re angry,” he replied, studying her. “Your cheeks turn the most brilliant shade of pink. It’s a nice thing to see.”
“So you insult me just to see that?” she demanded, rolling her eyes. “I won’t be your entertainment. Out.”
“But you have been ‘entertainment’,” Marcos replied, not moving. He cocked his head and met her eyes meaningfully.
Marina crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t remember seeing him at the club, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a regular. She’d only started working at Benny’s place again last week, and had yet to even receive her first pay cheque. If he was a regular there, he was a new one.
“And you frequent places of ‘entertainment’?” she asked acidly.
Marcos laughed and shook his head.
“Hardly,” he replied. “But is that not what you do? Entertain people? Your card states what you do is ‘for entertainment purposes only’ . . . ”
Marcos trailed off, letting his words hang meaningfully between them. He shrugged. Her anger would warm her blood beautifully. Perhaps he should make it a habit to anger all his prey. Fear always left a bitter aftertaste. Anger, on the other hand – now that was a sweet emotion. Hot and spicy, just the way he preferred his food.
“Even the title before your ‘name’,” he continued, enjoying the tension filling the room, “implies you oversee a brothel.”
How he’d closed the distance between them without her noticing Marina couldn’t fathom. One moment he was studying a lotus flower candleholder, and the next he was holding the metallic curtain back, his hand resting lazily against the door frame as he leaned into it and smiled down at her.
“Some can read minds,” he murmured.
Why wasn’t his closeness making her uncomfortable? Why couldn’t she look anywhere but his eyes?
“No, they can’t,” she heard herself reply.
“There isn’t a soul who can.”
Marcos chuckled softly and leaned in close, brushing aside the wisp of hair at her ear that had escaped the scarf tied around.
“Perhaps then that talent lies only with the soulless,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “For I can hear your thoughts as clearly as if they were my own, and you are not afraid, are you, Mary?”
Marina swallowed hard. She was afraid, but not . . . not frightened. Not of him. She’d had men want something she wasn’t willing to give before. Getting scared didn’t help the situation.
“How . . . How did you—”
“—know your real name?” he finished her question for her. “As I said, there are some who can read minds.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply as his mouth found the pulse at her throat.
She gasped as his fangs pierced the delicate flesh of her neck. Her eyes slid shut as her arms wound around his neck, clinging to him before they went lax again.
His arms went around her waist effortlessly. He supported the weight of humans nightly – sometimes more than once – and could easily carry her weight. Not that there was all that much to support. Beneath her voluminous layers, there was an average-sized woman. A little thinner than he liked – the women from his home country had more meat on their bones than these would-be skeletons in this one – but her thinness seemed to be due more to hunger than any desire to keep her weight down.
Hunger?
Marcos rarely, if ever, read the information conveyed in his prey’s blood. Oh, there was a great deal of knowledge carried in the lifeblood of any creature – it would drive one mad if they allowed it to surface. If they attempted to fathom it all. It had been one of his first, early, and most difficult lessons when he’d initially become a lost soul.
Vampire.
Might as well call it what it was. Vampiro, his people – former people – called those like him. Every language had a word for what he was, and they all meant the same thing. Blood-drinker.
He was no fledgling now. He could allow himself to absorb the knowledge in her blood without risking madness, and so he did.
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 15