“Like this, darling.” Claire touched the heel of her hand to her forehead and managed to look both terrified and miserable. “Please. Let me go. I beg of you, do not destroy me.”
Lauren applauded, and the director said, “Yes. Exactly like that. Can you do that for me, Miss Cole? Thank you. May we press on?”
The scene continued. Ross sat back in the chair Claire had made someone get for him, and watched her performance. Most of the actors were jerky and unconvincing, including the villain whose oily smile set Ross’ teeth on edge. But Claire had natural talent. She delivered her lines in a clear voice, her face telling the entire story. People in the studio stopped to watch her, enraptured, and applauded when she finished.
“She’s amazing,” the director, a thin man with pasty white skin, said to Ross. “A few more pictures, and she’ll be a star.”
“A star?”
“A top-billed actress. Box-office magic. She’ll be so popular she’ll wade through crowds of fans wherever she goes. She’ll be able to ask for whatever picture she wants and command top money.”
In other words, Claire would have wealth, respect, independence. Everything she wanted.
Where did Ross fit in to this new life of hers? He was still the man chosen as her protector, to keep his vulnerable vampire bride safe forever. The mystics said the signs had named him – Ross Maclaren – although Ross was beginning to suspect the whole vulnerability idea was bunk. The Armand vampires sequestered their females, claimed they could never survive in the world without a protector. That was the way things had been done for a thousand years.
But what about now? Claire was right, the world had changed. In this new age of motorcars and mansions, of film studios and cocktails, where actresses made fortunes like men, why would Claire need Ross? He loved her, but would that be enough?
Above him, a light burned out in a flare of sparks. Ross briefly wondered if it were symbolic of his relationship with Claire. Then the sparks slid down the wire and lit a pile of papers on the floor.
“Cut!” the director roared. “Someone come and put out this fire.”
Ross saw Claire instinctively recoil. She was vampire; the tiniest flame could destroy her.
Ross rose as someone ran over with a bucket of sand. The papers burned merrily, and a tongue of flame ran up a table leg and caught the costumes heaped on top. Lauren gasped, and Claire moved swiftly to the other side of the set.
“Damnation.” The director grabbed at the costumes, cursing when he burned himself. The assistant dumped the bucket of sand on the papers, but the table continued to burn. The curtains between the stages caught. The director cursed again and tried to pull them down, but his jacket caught fire, and he flung it off him, eyes wide with fear.
“Everyone needs to get out,” Ross said in a loud voice. He took up the megaphone the director had dropped and spoke into it. “Take the hand of the person next to you and walk out with them. Don’t run. Let everyone leave while we get the fire contained. You too, Claire.”
Lauren clutched Claire in terror. “Gavin! He’s still in the dressing rooms!”
“I’ll get him.” Ross’ heart hammered as the flames came too near Claire. “Go!”
Claire seized Lauren by the hand and started out with her. Just before they reached the double doors that had been rolled open to let everyone out, Claire stopped and looked back. She saw Ross reach the dressing area and, as he ducked inside, the curtains all around him went up in flames.
“Ross!” she shrieked.
The fire caught the beams that ran up to the roof, engulfing the back half of the building. Fire swirled in front of Claire, and the dressing area was lost to sight.
Claire shoved Lauren towards bright daylight. “Go.”
“No, Claire, come with me.”
The sunlight would be just as deadly for Claire as the fire. Claire’s make-up would protect her somewhat, but it was a bright, cloudless Los Angeles day, with the sun directly overhead. Unless she got to shade quickly, she’d fry.
And while she tried to find shelter, Ross might die. He was mortal, and the smoke could debilitate him quickly. If she was fast, she could run in and carry both him and Gavin out. She had supernatural strength; they didn’t.
Lauren cried out in despair as Claire dashed back into the studio. Fire was everywhere now, and smoke lay thick. She saw Ross’ bulk as he tore the burning curtains from the dressing room partitions. Gavin was slumped over one of the tables beyond, half dressed and unconscious. Ross grabbed Gavin under the armpits and started to drag him off the chair. Then a burning beam fell across both men.
Claire swallowed a scream as she sprinted towards them. She felt her vampire body burning, felt the beautiful hair she was so proud of shrivel and crackle away.
She lifted the beam with her unnatural strength and threw it aside. Ross was still conscious. He looked up at Claire in horror, but when he opened his mouth to shout at her, he coughed on the smoke.
Claire flung Gavin over her shoulder and reached for Ross. He hauled himself to his feet, put his arm around her, and ran through the studio with her. A sound like a thousand nails raining on wood came from overhead, and then the roof collapsed.
With the last of her strength, Claire tossed Gavin to the pavement outside, wet now from fire hoses. Ross turned to her, and she pushed him, hard. He stumbled out into the sunshine and the pouring water and looked back just as the building collapsed onto Claire’s burning body.
Tears rained down Ross’ face as he drove through the streets of Los Angeles, heading for Claire’s house. Claire was still alive, wrapped in blankets in the seat behind him, her little moans of pain breaking his heart. Her skin was black, her hair gone, and she could not speak or open her eyes.
What an idiot he’d been to think her invulnerable. Ross was supposed to be her protector, and he hadn’t protected her. She’d risked her life to rescue him, and all he had to show for the adventure was a burn on his arm he barely felt.
Ross had defied the firemen streaming onto the scene and pushed aside the fallen beams to drag Claire out. He’d wrapped her body in blankets and run with her to the first car he saw, a roadster with a tiny canvas top raised against the sun. He didn’t know whose car this was, but no one stopped him driving it off the lot as the studio burned under the bright California sky.
A hospital would be useless for Claire. Ross drove like a madman, dodging traffic, finally squealing the car up her long, curved drive. He lifted her from the back seat and rushed into the house and up the stairs with her, ignoring the startled questions of the Mexican housekeeper.
Ross slammed the door of Claire’s bedroom closed then put her down on the bed and stripped away the blankets. Her dress and stockings had burned to tatters, and she lay bare on top of the bedcovers. Her lips moved, and a strangled sound came from her throat.
“Don’t talk. I’ve got you home.” Ross shed his clothes and lay down with her on the bed, carefully sliding his body next to hers. “There’s only one thing to do, love.”
Claire groaned again, trying to protest.
“No, sweetheart. It’s the only way.” Ross took the silver knife he’d kept in his sporran for this purpose, drew a breath, and made a shallow slice across his throat.
Bright pain quickly changed to numbness. Blood dropped to Claire’s white coverlet and rained onto her burned body.
Claire moved. She wanted it, and yet he sensed her hold back. She could save herself, but even now, she was trying not to hurt Ross.
He loved her so much.
“Drink me,” Ross whispered. He guided her mouth to the wound, his hand firm on the back of her neck.
Claire hesitated one more moment. Then her fangs elongated, and he felt the sharp pain of them on his throat. He fell back to the bed, holding her. Her bite grew stronger, then she gave in to her ravenous hunger and fed.
Claire’s strength returned, swallow by swallow. Ross’ blood was hot, heady like wine, thick and sweet. She filled her mou
th with it then let it run down her throat, the sensation erotic.
She felt her skin grow smooth and whole. The remains of her burned hair fell away, and warm, new hair took its place. Her bite became stronger, more certain.
She felt Ross’ heartbeat beneath hers. It slowed with each breath, fainter, fainter, dying away into a flutter.
Ross.
Claire’s senses returned with a snap. She yanked her fangs from Ross’ neck and sat up. Ross lay naked beneath her, his skin wan, his eyes closed. He still held her, his hands solid on her back.
“Ross!”
His whisky-coloured eyes opened to slits. “There, ye see? Ye do need me.” His breath rattled in his chest, and then he went still.
“No.” Claire gathered him against her, rocking him. “You aren’t supposed to die. You’re supposed to live so I can love you.”
This wasn’t how the turning worked. It should be mutual, a sharing of blood, Ross turning while he was still alive. He wasn’t supposed to give up his life for her.
Claire snatched up the blade he’d dropped, dimly noting that it was the ritual silver blade for their wedding night. Ignoring the sear of the silver, she nicked her own neck. She caught the stream of blood on her fingers and dipped them inside Ross’ mouth.
“Drink,” she begged. “Ross, please.”
Nothing happened. Claire smeared more blood on her fingers and again wiped them inside Ross’ lips. She was healed now, his blood hot within her, making her stronger than she ever had been.
“Please.” Her tears trickled to his skin to mix with her blood. “Stay with me, Ross. I love you.”
Ross’ eyelids fluttered. Claire bit her lip, not daring to hope. Then Ross closed his lips around her fingers and suckled, hard.
“Yes, love, that’s it. Drink.”
Ross raised his head, hunger in his gaze. Claire guided him to her neck and cried out when his teeth sank into her. He drank her as she’d drunk him, needy, ravening. She felt his body flush with strength, felt his arousal swell between his legs.
Claire’s own need flooded her, mixing with relief and love. She slid her thighs open and guided him into her. Then for the first time in her life, she felt a man inside her.
Ross jerked his head up. A different hunger flared in his eyes, and he thrust. Claire felt pain, instant and hot, then it fled. A pleasure she’d never known before took its place. She loved it. Ross pressed her down into the mattress and rode her, harder, faster.
Abruptly Ross stopped, his eyes clearing as though he were awakening. He stared down at Claire in shock.
“You’re all right,” he whispered. Then tears poured from his eyes and he kissed her lips, her face, her throat. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
Claire wrapped her arms around him. “You saved my life. My lover, my protector. Mine.”
Ross stroked her hair, still inside her. He filled her and stretched her and felt so damn good.
“Am I . . . vampire?”
“Yes.” Claire bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t the proper time. But I had to save you.”
His gaze softened. He could be so tender, could Ross Maclaren. “’Tis no matter, love. We’ll marry, as the signs said we would.”
“Yes.” Happiness tingled inside her. “That’s perfect.”
“That is, if you’ll still have me.”
Ross looked worried. Worried? How could he worry that she ever wanted to live without him? “I’ll have you, Ross. I love you, my mad Scotsman. I never want to lose you again.”
Ross’ smile turned wicked. “I love you, my bonny sweet vampire.” He sobered. “Oh, God, Claire, when I thought ye were dead, when I thought ye’d never smile at me again . . .”
Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away impatiently. “No, no sorrow. You saved me, protected me, like I’ve always dreamed you would.” She touched his face, loving him. “And anyway you’re making love to me right now and I don’t want you to stop. I never want you to stop.”
“That can be arranged,” Ross growled.
He pressed her down into the covers again until they were both shouting and laughing with the incredible joy of it.
“Look,” Lauren said excitedly the next afternoon in Claire’s favourite restaurant. “Can you believe it?” She waved a hand under Claire’s nose, a large solitaire diamond sparkling on her third finger.
“Darling, that’s wonderful.” Claire hugged her. At a table across the room, Gavin waved, a little embarrassed.
Ross and Claire had gone to the studio an hour before in Claire’s chauffeur-driven closed car to find that the entire building they’d filmed in, and the one next to it, had burned to ruins. The picture would go on though, the producer told her. They were moving onto another lot. A film there was scheduled to end the next day, and they’d resume production the day after that.
So the actors found themselves with an unexpected day off. Ross took Claire to the nearest jeweller’s and bought her a fancy ring to seal their engagement.
Lauren now slid into the chair next to Claire’s. “I held Gavin’s hand until he came to after the fire. He smiled at me, and then he proposed. I’m sorry Claire, but I, um, kind of told him that I rescued him.”
Claire clapped her hands. “Brilliant! You’ll make an accomplished actress yet.”
Ross grinned and raised his glass of whisky. “To Gavin and Lauren. May ye bear many bairns.”
Lauren’s dimples showed. “My real name’s Myrtle, actually. Myrtle Bloomfield. But Mr Goldberg thought it wouldn’t look good on a marquee.”
“Gavin and Myrtle, then,” Ross said generously.
Claire slid her own beringed hand along the table. “And Ross and Claire.”
Lauren gasped. She seized Claire’s fingers and studied the diamond with the intensity of an expert jeweller. “Oh, my, how gorgeous.”
“Which means I won’t be making any more films,” Claire said. She felt a pang of regret. She truly loved everything about the movies – the cameras, the lights, the acting, even the early cast calls.
Ross closed his warm hand over hers. “Of course you will, lass. You’ll be making plenty more. As many as you like.”
“But I thought I was supposed to go to Scotland with you,” Claire said in surprise. “What about your draughty castle?”
Ross shrugged, broad shoulders rippling. “I like it here. This movie-making looks interesting. I have one or two ideas that mebbe I can write into films.”
Claire laughed excitedly. “I knew the bug would bite you. I just knew it.”
“What bug?”
“Never mind. Let’s go pitch your ideas to Mr Goldberg.”
Lauren stood up as Gavin joined them. The four exchanged mutual congratulations, then Ross took Claire’s hand and led her out of the restaurant. They dived quickly through the patch of sunshine into the back of Claire’s car, which her chauffeur had pulled to the door.
“Did you really mean that, Ross?” Claire asked as she snuggled down against her new protector’s shoulder. “You want to stay in Los Angeles with me? And I can keep making movies?”
“I wouldn’t take that from ye, Claire. You love it so much.”
“I can’t do it for ever, you know. We won’t age, and people will get suspicious. I can retire from acting and produce what you write. And your Scottish castle will make a lovely summer home.”
“I’m home wherever you are, love,” Ross said in a dark voice.
Claire shivered in delight. “I think it’s screaming that you want to do movies too. You and I will be the cat’s pyjamas for a while and then twenty-three skidoo.”
Ross frowned. “What the devil does that mean?”
“You know, scram.”
Ross growled and pulled her close. “What am I going t’ do with you, lass?”
“I have one or two ideas. Then we’ll go out tonight and celebrate. Champagne, jazz music and the charleston.”
“Or we’ll stay inside and celebrate.” Ross leaned down
and kissed her, lips bruising, possessive, then he grazed her neck with his teeth.
“Yes,” she whispered, heat gathering inside her. “That sounds just fine, too.”
I Need More You
Justine Musk
I look like an angel, but I am no angel.
“I know what you are,” the boy said.
He had been following me for God knows how long, skinny white-faced blur swimming through the sand-tossed air. Under normal circumstances I would have noticed him much earlier, but there was nothing normal about tonight: not this temporary makeshift city deep in a desert nowhere, camps set along concentric rings that framed the area known as the playa: and not my purpose for being here, my mind enfolding the image of my lover like it were some dark, priceless egg on the edge of breaking.
He had summoned me here. He was so close, now – out there on the playa – I could almost taste how I’d be tasting him later.
He did not look like an angel any more than the fake ones I saw in the crowds, raggedy wings sprouting from naked or near-naked backs, bobbing along with each step. Different strains of music – house, reggae, acid jazz, dubstep – poured from the elaborately fashioned art-camps that rimmed the inside of the playa, thumped from the speakers of the outdoor clubs. White and neon lights picked out the art-cars moving along the playa, described the domes and twisting organic shapes of the theme camps. And the Man watched over it all: a giant, primitive figure lit up a ghostly blue, striding atop a wooden dome. On the last night of the festival, they would burn him and watch him fall.
“I know what you are,” the kid said again. His voice came at me like a worm twisting through the sandy dark. “Sweet girl. Sweet, beautiful girl. I know.”
“Get lost. I have nothing for you.”
“I know what you have. I want it. Need it. Please.”
He darted round to face me. The wind blew sand in our faces. I did not slow for him, forcing him into an awkward back-pedal as his eyes tried to meet mine and dropped away. A string of beads draped his neck, he was fingering it like a rosary, his shirt flapping on a decidedly unappealing torso. I have a penchant for lean human forms, their carved-out beauty of muscle and sinew, but this was a vermin body, starved and dirty and desperate, with the high-sweet smell of something rotting inside. “Please,” he said again. “You are so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” Couldn’t he bother to arrange himself more appealingly? Fall to his knees, lift his arms with dramatic flourish, tilt his head to expose that soft stretch of throat? Perhaps even quote some poetry. I can be a sucker for poetry. But there was no poetry in this one.
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 45