Cherry Stem (Vampire Cherry Book 1)

by Sotia Lazu

  His expression was serious. “There won’t be any microwaving tonight.”

  WITH THE DOOR CLOSED behind Alex, I picked up my cell. It wasn’t like I was hiding something. I’d just rather escape the awkwardness of talking to my ex in front of my current lover.

  Two clicks later, I was dialing Constantine.

  It rang for a long time, before he finally answered. “Now, I don’t want to talk to you.” His words were drawn out, like he was half-asleep. His drowsy voice had the same effect on me as Alex’s drowsy voice. Maybe I had some condition that caused overhorniness?

  “Very mature, Constantine. I couldn’t talk earlier. Was it something important? Did the council—”

  “You may find this hard to believe, but I really don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m in the middle of more pleasurable things.” A throaty laugh from the background—correction, a laugh that sounded like the woman laughing had something in her throat—accompanied his words.

  I didn’t have time to be indignant before he hung up.

  Ádísa. He was in bed with Ádísa again. Or was it still? Had the two of them jumped into bed straight after our meeting and stayed there until I called? I wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t care. He was safe and obviously pleasured, if not happy. Good for him. I glared at my phone like it to blame that a certain horny bastard hadn’t changed. So much for him not letting go, something whispered in my head. I gritted my teeth against acknowledging the thought and the stinging it brought to my eyes.

  I was still nude, but my naughty mood was replaced by a murderous one. I wished that she-devil was the council member involved in the whole mess, and that I got to dust her. It’d be a challenge, with her age and warrior past in the way, but I’d figure it out.

  “A little help here?” Alex’s voice snapped me out of a particularly satisfying daydream that involved Ádísa begging me for mercy.

  I ran up the stairs and opened the door for him, careful to stay behind it and away from the sunlight.

  He inched in and didn’t miss a step on his way down, despite juggling a heavily laden tray. The tray held a bowl of what appeared to be a mountain of cheese and exuded a mouthwatering scent, together with two plates, cutlery, and a pepper mill. A very slim vase with a paper rose in it was wedged snugly between the plates, to be kept from toppling over.

  “Pasta and a flower for my lady.” He grinned and set the tray in the middle of the bed with a flourish. “I would have gone for a real one, but I wasn’t dressed for outside.”

  Denying the urge to bite his bare ass, I sat on one side of the bed. He took a seat opposite me, cautious not to shake the mattress more than necessary.

  “Prepare to be amazed.” He filled the plate closer to me and then placed the bowl on top of the empty one. Throwing a wink my way, he stuffed a huge bite in his mouth.

  A gorgeous, naked, kindhearted man treated me like a queen, and I was about to give him up because we’d be incompatible at some point down the road. Was that rational?

  “Eat. It’ll get cold.” He spoke with a full mouth, using his fork to jab the air above my plate.

  I did as he ordered, but not before I overindulged myself with the pepper mill. I brought a forkful to my mouth under his watchful eye and couldn’t hold back a moan of approval.

  If his omelet the other day had been good, his pasta was excellent. He’d chopped carrot, zucchini, and onion finely, and as he explained while I chewed, mixed that and an egg with the pasta while the latter had been steaming hot, which effectively cooked the egg and left the veggies crispy enough to make the end result yummy. The whole thing was then buried under an insane amount of cheese and sprinkled with a bit of parsley.

  I was halfway through my serving when I realized he hadn’t even touched his food after the first bite. “What?” I tried not to display the contents of my mouth.

  “I know we said we’d talk about us after things settled, but I called my mother when I was upstairs, to ask where she had the onions—”

  He’d talked to his mother? It had to have been while I was talking to Constantine, for me not to have heard him. Was trying to talk to Constantine, that is.

  “Cherry, baby, you’re great, but you need to stop zoning out.” He was looking at me with good-humored exasperation.

  The rest of my bite went down unchewed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You were saying?” His calling me baby hadn’t gone unnoticed. There was a peculiar warmth in my stomach.

  “Eh, the moment’s gone now.” He gave me a dismissive wave and focused on his plate.

  I was such an ass for not paying attention to the wonderful, beautiful, sexy, intellig—God, I needed to work on my focusing. “No, tell me. Please.” Whatever it was he wanted to say would be huge. It would play a major role in something. All my instincts screamed I needed to know.

  “It’s nothing.” He picked a piece of pasta with two fingers and popped it in his mouth. “My mother asked why I was home in the middle of the day, and I told her I took this week off, to spend it with my girlfriend. It was supposed to be a white lie, get her off my case, but I liked the sound of it.”

  His girlfriend. He thought of me as his girlfriend. I hadn’t been something so innocent to anyone in a long while. It was surreal that I could feel happy amid all the danger, and that in turn horrified me. There was so much more than my unlife at stake.

  I knew Alex had told me so he’d see my reaction, but I couldn’t give him what he wanted just yet. When we’d finally be done with the case, I’d have to decide whether we could be together or I should go ahead with my original plan. He didn’t know about that, though, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  I began to smile, stopped, and ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure no sneaky piece of parsley was stuck on any of them. Nope. I beamed at him. “Did you tell your mother you’re not putting out?”

  I’M A NATURAL BLONDE. Well, used to be a natural blonde. Now I’m a very unnatural redhead, a shade so striking, it stays in the mind of the casual observer—also known as any guy I choose not to leave a place with, when I go out for a snack. That’s why, on occasion, I do my nightly prowl in a wig.

  In that apartment, my wig collection was in the right-hand side of my closet, and it was extensive and fabulous.

  I was in a skintight silver minidress and had set aside the killer Jimmy Choos, for which I’d used my vamp gaze on a bank manager just the previous month. The dress made it a bit hard for me to kneel, as did the nice and pointy piece of wood I’d taped to my inner thigh. I managed nonetheless, and was now carefully going over the blonde wigs, trying to choose the perfect one without getting the rest of them tangled up.

  “What about this one?” I held out a honey-blonde one with as natural a curl as it comes when wigs are concerned, and looked over my shoulder at Alex.

  “What was that?” He lay on my bed propped up on his elbows, wearing the shirt he’d had on the night we met. His hair was tousled to perfection, and his gaze was trained several inches lower than what I was showing him.

  I realized the dress was not covering even a little bit of my rear, so I pulled on its hem with my free hand. My efforts at modesty were in vain, but at least Alex looked up. “The hair. Do you think it’ll work?” I said. It would, in principle. The club would be crowded and the music too loud for Willoughby to realize the blonde waiting for him wouldn’t have a heartbeat.

  “It’s a bit too conservative for what we’re going for.” He crossed his legs and returned his gaze to where it had been before I demanded his attention.

  I scrunched my nose. “You’re right.” Looking for something more bleached provided three alternatives. Highlighted, short, and feathery was rejected. Longer hair would hide more of me. The second was shoulder length and light yellow, but one look at Alex shaking his head made me discard it. The last one constituted a eureka moment. A near-white hue, it was silky smooth, completely straight, and came down to my waist.

  I tried it on and studied my reflection. Yes, I ha
ve one. We all do, and thank God for that, or applying makeup would be mission impossible. The whole thing with vampires casting no reflection only held true when mirrors had a real silver coating at the back. I don’t know why we can’t see ourselves in silver; it’s not like we’re silver intolerant, like werewolves are. What I do know is that it’s a good thing I was turned after that era, because my vanity didn’t fade with death, and I don’t think checking myself out on other surfaces would have comforted me—not like I could walk around with a window pane or a lake in my purse.

  I grunted at what the mirror currently showed me. “I’m like a ghost in this.” I looked at Alex, who shrugged.

  He was looking at my butt again. I found it endearingly annoying. What was more annoying was that my self-made broomstick-turned-stake dug into my flesh, the way I squatted.

  The lighter the shade of blonde, the fewer people it looks good on. Some complexions, mine included, are too pale to pull it off without the end result looking like someone threw them in the washing machine, and others are too dark for the hair to look anything but alien contrasted to them. It was extremely thoughtless of the powers that be to give me the combination of hair and skin they did. Couldn’t they have read a copy of Cosmo, prior to blending features together?

  Still, there was a way for cosmetics to fix what nature had messed up.

  I applied foundation, thinking of how that golden-white blonde worked on Ádísa. Not that I’d ever seen her without makeup on. For all I knew, she looked like Scarface in a wig. Nah. The woman was naturally gorgeous, and it was a good thing her personality was that of a cockroach. If she were nice, I’d have to despise her more than I already did, and I wasn’t up to such a Herculean feat.

  Speaking of gorgeous blonds, Constantine would have called back by now if he needed to talk to me. I pulled my phone out of my cleavage and checked for missed calls—not that I wouldn’t have felt them buzz. Nothing.

  I added blush and proceeded with a generous amount of charcoal eye shadow, ignoring the questioning looks Alex threw my way.

  I was done applying a double layer of mascara and about to finish it all up with cherry-flavored lip gloss when Alex said, “Don’t. It’ll smudge when you feed.”

  Why didn’t I think of that? The upcoming confrontation with Willoughby had killed my appetite, but I still had to eat before we left. “You’re a wise man, Detective Marsden.” I stood on tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips on my way to the freezer. Out came a pack of frozen blood.

  Down on my hand came Alex’s huge palm. “You’re not eating that.”

  I withdrew my hand and popped the package in the microwave. “You need all your strength tonight. Make that offer to me again when we get back. I promise I’ll say yes.”

  He didn’t press the matter more, but I knew he’d hold me to my promise.

  Chapter Eleven

  WE WERE AT THE DARK Sun at a little after ten, to scope the place out.

  The mountain of a bouncer outside the VIP section raised a meaty palm when we approached. “Reservation only, this way.” Sweat glistened on his forehead and marked him as human.

  “I’m Mr. Erebus’s guest. Is he here yet?” I said.

  The guy checked the list in his other hand and shook his head. “Says here party of two.” He looked at Alex. “He’s not going in.”

  I looked at him, smiled, and said, “Yes, he is. And you’re going to make sure we get no trouble for it.” I used my slow, mesmerizing voice. Alex could have flashed his badge, but we were trying to stay under the radar.

  “Of course he is,” the guy said with a goofy grin. He barked orders into his headset, and a busty brunette with barely more than a bikini on came to lead us to our booth, where a bottle of champagne awaited.

  Willoughby’s seduction style hadn’t changed since we met. I parked my ass on the edge of the semicircular leather couch. Since my maker wasn’t there yet and Alex was busy locating the fire exits, I took the opportunity to assess my surroundings.

  For a place with such a name, I’d expected the Dark Sun to be a bit less perky. Then again, for an exclusive club, I’d expected its patrons to smell a bit less of perspiration. The stench of it was everywhere, and it was too early in the evening for the sweaty bodies undulating around us. The women wore clingy, sexy outfits, but the majority of men looked bored. I didn’t get it. Why weren’t they interested? Had to be a case of overabundance of supply, bringing value down.

  One pop song followed the other, but my mind wasn’t on the ambience. We still had time until the rendezvous, yet Willoughby might have also arrived ahead of schedule. It’d be in my best interest to spot him before he saw me.

  “Dance with me.” Alex’s breath caressed my ear, his whispered words more of an order than a request.

  “No.” My refusal had nothing to do with the reason we were there. In all honesty, despite the weight loss that preceded my turning, when it comes to dancing I feel like the chubby teenager who didn’t get a date for prom. Whenever I think of myself doing anything more than nursing a drink and gently swaying on the dance floor, I get a vivid mental image of the hippo in the tutu from Disney’s Fantasia. “Cherry doesn’t do dancing,” I said, trying for a joke.

  Alex wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me so my toes barely touched the ground. “Come on. You’re too tense. You’re supposed to be a wannabe starlet, out for a good time, not the best-dressed wallflower in the establishment.”

  He ground his hips against mine, urging me to follow their motion. It should be sensual. It would be sensual if I weren’t as graceful and pliable as a brick wall. His words gave me an out, though.

  “I’m also supposed to be here for him,” I said. “Alone. Not dry humping you on the dance floor.”

  He let me find my footing and withdrew his arm but didn’t move away. “Well then, you have to play the room.”

  I knew what he meant, but that didn’t mean I liked it. It had been a long time since I last flirted for the sake of flirting, and I felt rusty and old. I reclaimed my seat. “And you have to keep some distance.” I wanted him out of the line of fire, so to speak.

  His hesitation was evident in his eyes, and it wasn’t like I didn’t share his worry. Honestly, though, if Willoughby recognized me before he was close enough for me to press the sharp piece of wood against his chest, there was no way Alex would stop him from fleeing. If, on the other hand, Willoughby got close enough and chose to attack me despite the danger to himself, Alex could do nothing to help me.

  Speak of the devil, and he appears. As soon as Alex took a couple of steps back, I saw someone swaggering my way.

  I lowered my head so my hair hid as much of my face as possible, and looked up through my eyelashes. Yup, it was Willoughby all right. He was taller than average, but not as tall as Alex, with perfectly parted, chestnut hair and chocolate-brown eyes. He was dressed to the nines, as if he were going to the opera and not a nightclub, and had on that self-satisfied smile that once upon a time seemed classy to me but now paled in comparison to Alex’s grin—and even Constantine’s smirk. And why did he keep popping up in my head?

  Willoughby took his time approaching and appraising me at the same time. I sucked in my stomach and made a show of crossing my legs, careful not to reveal my weapon, yet positioning my left thigh so I could grasp the stake easily. I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late. There was no way for him to sit right beside me unless I moved deeper into the booth, and that would give him time to recognize me. It left me with only one option.

  The moment he stood in front of me, I looked up and smiled. “Hey, you.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Alex close in behind him. Stupid man. He shouldn’t stand between a vampire and his escape route. Without thinking, I grabbed the stake and threw myself at Willoughby. I wrapped an arm around his neck and held the stake between us, pointing it at his heart. I hoped the crowd would see it as an overexcited hug.

  “I have a pointy stick between your ribs,
and I’m not afraid to use it,” I whispered in his ear, certain he’d hear me despite the music. “Now, pretend you’re happy to see me and walk me out of here. We have some things to talk about.”

  “Cherry. Always a displeasure to see you,” he said. “Didn’t you get my message? I have your friend. If you hurt me, she is as good as dead.”

  He sounded unperturbed by my threat, so I pressed the stake in a fraction of an inch, hoping it stressed my point. “I think she’s dead either way. And who said anything about killing you? We just want you to answer a couple of questions.” Uh-oh. Major uh-oh. Why did I have to go and say we?

  He caught my slip of the tongue at the same time I did. He grabbed my waist, spun to his left, and spotted Alex, who with his alert stance stuck out like a sore thumb. “You’re actually working with the human?” Willoughby asked.

  I was grasping for a witty comeback, when Willoughby threw me on Alex, as the latter was pulling out his badge.

  I bounced back, and with a fleeting look at Alex, started after my maker, who was getting away.

  Willoughby could have fought me and probably won. He was older and stronger, and I gave a damn about the humans around us while he didn’t. So why was he running?

  Behind me, Alex yelled, “Police. Make way.” I didn’t turn to see how that worked out for him.

  Willoughby disappeared among the humans. I couldn’t fly after him, with so many eyewitnesses here. If I failed to brainwash even one of them afterward, our kind might be at risk. So I ducked and I rolled and I sidestepped, and the distance between me and Willoughby grew.

  He disappeared through the fire exit, while I still waded my way through the crowd.

  I was helping up a girl I’d tripped in my efforts to get to Willoughby, when Alex caught up with me.

  His eyes were restless, scanning the crowd. “Are you okay?”