He’d found me after the couple had locked me up and I’d set the fire. He’d noticed the smoke and was the first to respond.
“I know. It freaks me out sometimes, too.”
He opened his arms and cradled me against his chest. Pressed against the solid comfort of him, I inhaled his scent and let it calm me.
“I’m a bit relieved now,” I admitted. “Since your mother read my cards, it had me worried about an upcoming fire. You never know how bad it will be.”
The tarot reading had gnawed at the back of my mind like an asshole mosquito determined to wreak havoc. Fire was a constant presence in my line of work, but the magnitude of what we faced was the wild card. Her reading could have foretold a small kitchen fire or a massive inferno.
Tristan sighed. “My mother and her cards. Sometimes, I’d rather not know what she sees.”
“I’m probably going to stay away from them for a while. Some things you don’t want to think about.”
“True.”
“But now that I’ve faced one, I can stop worrying so much. Today wasn’t that bad,” I added. “I’ve faced worse.” The fire at Vamps for one, and I didn’t have my gear to help me that night.
Tristan rolled his hand down my lower back. “Hopefully the worst is behind you, and the rest of your career is rescuing cats stuck in trees.”
I laughed and pulled back to glance up at him. “Not likely. That perception of what firefighters do is blown out of proportion. But I did find a scared kitty under a bed today.”
“It must have been relieved to see you.”
“Its owner was definitely happy.” I shrugged. “I have many, many years left before I retire. So, if you have qualms about being married to a firefighter, you might want to rethink this whole wedding.” I stroked his chest to indicate how that wasn’t my desire.
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Never. I love you, Maya. I’m mad about you. Nothing will change that.”
I gazed into his eyes, losing myself in the depths of affection I saw there. What a lucky woman I was to have him. Raising my hand to his cheek, I trailed my fingers down and dragged them over his lower lip. “Another thing your mother mentioned about fire was that it could mean passion.” Glancing at him with a flirtatious smile, I asked, “What do you think?”
Tristan groaned. “When it comes to talking about passion, the last person I want to think about it my mother.”
I quirked my brow with sauciness. “What do you want to think about?”
He brought his hands up my sides and down my back to rest on my ass. “All of this. All of you.”
“Words are one thing,” I teased. “Why don’t you show me, big guy?”
Tristan scooped me up in his arms and carried me to our bed. “Let’s burn the sheets.”
Nike
Blood, monsters, and all sorts of creatures of the damned floated before me in what appeared to be a dark vortex.
“Michel?” I searched for Michel, but I was alone.
Was I dead? Dying?
Or was this a vicious nightmare?
The pain twisting inside me that made me scream had to mean I was still alive. If I was dead, I wouldn’t be able to feel such churning aches, right?
Where was I?
For hours or years, I tumbled in this agonizing contortion, falling into an endless hole in a nightmarish Wonderland.
Eventually, the falling slowed and the agony subsided. I curled into a ball on what felt and smelled like dirt, but I couldn’t see in the darkness. My body sagged with exhaustion. I was depleted. All I wanted to do was sleep and let the night usher me under its spell.
My eyelids fluttered. Light touched them. I opened them.
Michel sat in a chair next to our bed. That meant I was still in our room. The soft Tiffany-style lamp on my nightstand shimmered like it had been created by a thousand compact rainbows.
“How?” I uttered. “How am I here?”
By my question, I meant how could I be in our house when I’d just been someplace so cold and bleak.
Or had it all been in my mind?
“It’s all right,” he said. “It was just the transition.”
His voice sounded different. Richer and more sensual. How was that possible? I’d become unglued whenever I heard him speak in his French accent in the past. Hearing the rich velvet undertones would turn me into a quivering pile of desire, begging for him.
The bigger question right now was what happened last night. “Do you mean dying?” I asked.
He jerked his head with a twisted expression. Either he didn’t like that reference to it or it brought back horrid memories, I guessed.
“And becoming a nightwalker.”
I gulped. A sudden revulsion for that word swept through me. More than ever, it sounded too much like the walking dead. Which I supposed I was now. But I wasn’t a zombie, thank god. I hated even the idea of those mindless predators stalking the earth. Not that a vampire was much better—but at least we had our minds and could think, right?
“It worked?”
Michel nodded. “Yes. Look around and take in the world through your new senses.”
I glanced at the light again. It was captivating. I could stare at the minuscule shards of colors for hours. My senses had been slightly enhanced since I’d been bitten by Ricard, but now they seemed to have been injected with Viagra.
A thirst tickled the back of my throat. I recognized it from the past—that urge to drink blood. It wasn’t overpowering though, and I was quickly distracted by my surroundings.
Over the next two hours, I explored. It took me half an hour before I even left our bedroom, mostly due to my enthrallment of Michel. I stared at him, fixated upon the variety of colors in his eyes. I thought they were an ice blue, but they broke down into shades, like the color variations in the ocean—some parts were bluer while others greener. The eyes were the most captivating part of him, but I also spent many minutes captivated by his lips. I ran my fingers over them, comparing the softness to the surrounding flesh. The tactile experience fascinated me, unlike anything I’d ever known.
And his scent, it was so virile, so masculine. It had always drawn me in, in an abstract sort of way. Now it was more pronounced, and I could articulate it more. His musk had a tinge of the wilderness to it and was so distinct, I was sure I’d be able to detect it from others. My senses had become so much more acute, it was like going from squinting at a Jackson Pollock work to find meaning, to moving to a highly detailed impressionist painting. The fine details combined to create a lush experience.
My gaze fixed on his mouth again, transfixed by the artistic curve and swells. “Can I kiss you?”
He flashed a boyish look. “Of course.”
I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his and was swept into a funnel of sensory pleasure. Pulling away, I gazed at him with wide eyes. “Wow. If a kiss is that intense, I can’t imagine what it will feel like when we make love.”
“I’ll give you a hint—it’s extraordinary. But it can wait. Go on and explore your new world.”
Once I stepped outside, it was an entirely new experience. We lived off the main road in a Cape Cod house near the ocean that had woods buffering our house from our neighbors. The outdoors had a newer, brighter ambiance. The stars above twinkled like jewels—not just multi-faceted diamonds, but ones with different hues.
And my hearing. Everything sounded amplified, like I’d been fixed with supersonic hearing aids tuned to detect the slightest sounds of movement. The waves sounded close enough to lap my backyard, although it was a couple of hundred yards away. Moving cars in the distance sounded as if they were mere feet away. More transfixing was the buzz of nature. The ruffle of the evening breeze through the pines reminded me of a lush rainforest. The chirr of insects and sounds of nocturnal animals scurrying through the brush were so amplified I could pinpoint their location. I studied the patterns on leaves, the pockmarks on rocks, the life in the soil.
I’d read that vampires
had OCD-like tendencies. If you dropped a cup of salt, they’d stop and count every grain. Michel had refuted that as a rumor. But, with how the world fascinated me, I guessed it might have originated from a newly born vampire experiencing their surroundings. Even something as simple as salt could turn into a fascinating exploration.
Michel patiently accompanied me through my rediscovery of our environment. He answered my questions and grinned often as I fawned over every inch of our garden—forever to be a nocturnal garden for me now. But not alone—we could share the midnight world together.
My captivation ended when the thirst roared.
I’d been slightly aware of it but had been so distracted by wonders that it had been easy to ignore. That wasn’t wise because the hunger that now rushed through me was so consuming, it seemed impossible to contain.
And if it ended up anything like what I had done to Ally…
I froze and covered my chest. “Michel.” The panic in how I’d said his name captured his attention.
“The thirst?” he questioned.
I nodded, afraid to open my mouth in fear of what I might do.
“I have it taken care of.” He pulled out his cell phone and made a call. “Send her here now.” The person on the other end replied, “She’ll be there in two minutes.”
After he hung up the phone, I asked, “Who’s she?”
“A donor. I arranged for one to be on call.”
Although I’d lived with Michel long enough to understand that he worked with a supply of blood and donors, it still struck a strange chord. Would that be how I had my meals in the future? Through calls to human donors?
He took my hand and led me into the house. Right. It would be better to be concealed rather than out in the open. As a newborn vampire, I’d have to learn to live in the shadows.
When the door rang, I stepped for it, but Michel was already there. He opened it and greeted a woman with a black slanted bob cut. He stepped aside for her to walk in and she met my eyes and smiled.
I stepped back. Her blood thrummed through her veins, luring me to drink. What would I do? Would I attack her? If my strength was magnified, I’d easily overpower her. Would Michel have to stop me?
“Nike, this is Maura.”
“Hi,” Maura said.
My reply came out as a weak hello.
“I know you’re new,” she said, “but don’t be nervous. I’ve done this safely many times, even with first-timers.”
Eek, I was considered a virgin in the vampire world. How freaking weird. I had unfortunately drunk blood before, but not like this.
My hands felt clammy, and I rubbed them along my sides. God, I was even acting like an inexperienced virgin.
She walked over to me and tilted her neck in invitation. My awareness drew to the blood thrumming in a vein in her neck. I glanced at Michel and he nodded. My fangs extended, already anticipating the sweet nectar that would sate my hunger.
I opened my mouth, sank my teeth into her soft throat, and drank.
Maya
Weeks zipped by in a flash as I planned the wedding. February was gone almost as soon as it had started, and with March in full swing, the date loomed ahead. If I had a wedding party, I’d have help, but I’d decided to keep it small and not even have a maid of honor after the Nike incident. Who could fill her shoes?
My parents arrived a week before the ceremony and fortunately, they chose to stay at a hotel. Although I loved having them visit, my house and mind were in chaos with the final wedding prep. Since my relationship with Tristan had turned serious, there was a question that had been growing in the back of my mind. And it was something I was waiting to ask them in person.
It was too big to mention over the phone—and I wanted to be able to read their body language. I just had to wait for the right time, and hopefully not spoil their visit and my wedding. It was one of those talks that could go either way. But since Tristan and I might have kids one day, I needed to find out everything I could about my murky background.
“What can I do to help?” my mom asked with an excited glint in her eye.
As her only child was preparing for her wedding, she’d turned on full wedding mode. Since Nike had bailed on me and I’d decided not to have a wedding party, my mom was my partner in wedding preparation.
“Can you check on the dress? And give a final count to the caterer?”
I had to keep her busy. If not, she’d drive me crazy with her suggestions on how to run things. I didn’t need help with the music, however. That was my thing, and I’d chosen a band who’d played at a wedding I’d gone to in Albany.
My dad kept himself busy by doing touristy things in Boston and Salem. A history buff, he had a blast exploring the Freedom Trail and the sites where the witch trials had occurred. I omitted how my fiancé had descendants directly involved, and that he came from a long line of witches.
One evening, we drove up to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for dinner at a restaurant I liked with windows overlooking the ocean. A waiter lit a candle in the middle of the table. My parents eyed me, as if worried I’d do one of my tricks with fire. I cocked my head in a “come on” reply. I wasn’t eight anymore.
We started with cups of clam chowder.
“Mmm,” my dad said. “I’ve been sampling different types during my explorations. That’s something they really nailed to perfection here.”
“Boston hosts a Chowderfest in July.”
“That sounds like a call for a return visit,” my dad said.
My mom gave him a look. “Clam chowder is the reason you would return? I could see if Maya said she was pregnant or something, and you wanted to visit our future grandchild.”
And that was my cue, the perfect spot to segue into my question.
“About that,” I said.
My mom opened her mouth and covered her chest with crossed arms. “You’re not going to say that you’ve decided not to have children, are you?”
“No. Give us some time. We haven’t even signed the dotted line.”
“Oh good.” She leaned back in her chair. “I can’t wait to be a grandmother. We might have to move out here when you have kids, because I don’t want to be across the country from them.”
In my head, I screamed, “Eek!” I’ve had my independence on the East Coast for a long time. They didn’t even know about my side gig managing acts at Vamps. If they ever walked in there and saw where their little girl spent her time, they’d probably try to drag my ass back to California.
“Anyway…” I said, preparing to resume.
Just then, however, the server arrived with our meals. Holy flipping interruptions. As my parents talked about the fish and chips and stuffed lobster dishes they’d ordered, and offered each other bites, I twirled the linguine from the shrimp scampi on my fork. I sampled a few bites. Mmm, it was good. I sipped my chardonnay. Liquid courage wouldn’t hurt.
All right, that was enough. It was time to suck it up and spit it out.
“So, have you ever been interested in taking one of those DNA tests?” I asked in what I hoped was a matter-of-fact voice. Since I’d been adopted and knew nothing about my biological parents, genetics was a puzzling area.
My dad lowered his fork and leaned back.
My mom eyed me keenly. “No. Have you?”
“Well, naturally. Considering I don’t know anything about where I came from.”
My mom took a sip of her white sangria. A big sip.
They’d told me that the adoption agency didn’t have any information on my biological parents. Now I never wanted to hurt them, but there have been times that I sensed that they might know a bit more than they’d revealed. I couldn’t pin it to actual words, per se, but it was little things, like expressions or body language when we discussed my adoption. I didn’t catch on to this until after I graduated from college. I guess I was too naïve as a child and too self-absorbed as a teenager, and some might say even still a bit in my early twenties. They were great parents, and I gu
essed whatever they might’ve been keeping from me was for a reason.
But when Tristan and I became serious, the possibility of having children who might inherit some of my traits became a real possibility. And something to consider.
“Well, I am fascinated by the stories of people who live most of their lives thinking they’re one ethnicity and then discovering they’re another,” I said.
My mom’s lips twitched. “I guess it doesn’t matter genetically, then. What matters is how you were raised.”
“Yes, I see what you’re saying, Mom. But when you have no knowledge of where you came from, like me, you kind of fixate on it.”
My dad finished his beer and ordered another one from the server. “You’re saying you want to take the test and find out what percentage you are of different ethnicities?”
“Yes.”
They both eased back into their chairs with a little more comfort.
I wasn’t done yet. “And some people have been able to find relatives this way.”
My parents exchanged a quick glance. The unease had returned.
“Perhaps it will lead me to discover who my biological parents are.” Boom! I’d dropped the proverbial bomb. It was time to wait and see the chaos after the smoke lifted.
My dad squeezed my mom’s hand. “We understand why you would want to know that…but sometimes having answers to your questions doesn’t always bring closure.”
“What do you mean?”
My mom glanced at my dad and they did that eye thing, where one person is asking a question and the other replies, all through eye contact.
At some point, I must have picked up my fork as I clenched it in my hands. I dropped it with more force than I meant, and it clanged against my plate.
My mom took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh. “Although we don’t know anything for certain, we’ve heard stories.”
“Stories? Like what? Was my mom a prostitute and my dad a drug dealer, or something? Or were they spies or something top secret and they had to give me up to keep me out of danger?” I could toss out a dozen or two more scenarios, as I’d considered them countless times.
Combust: a vampire and firefighter paranormal romance (Underground Encounters Book 7) Page 5