by Cat Marsters
Jamie knew about vampires. He knew about everything mythical. And he was her friend.
“He’ll know what to do,” she repeated to herself for the hundredth time, and hoped to hell that what needed to be done didn’t involve stakes and holy water.
She licked her lips, which were dry, cracked, no matter how much balm she spread on them. She looked like hell, she knew without a mirror. Unlike Jamie, who, full of healthy blood as he was, had never looked better. Scruffy as ever, in a creased t-shirt and jeans, a few days of stubble dusting his jaw, soft brown hair falling in disarray into his eyes. Even his London accent sounded sexier. Strong shoulders -- stronger than she remembered. Strong man. Healthy, glowing, red-blooded man.
Oh, hell.
When she heard the growl of his bike outside, twenty minutes later, she tensed in anticipation. She didn’t seriously expect him to try to exorcise her, but then she hadn’t seriously expected her last lover to turn her into a vampire either.
“Paige?” Jamie said, outlined in the doorway. The lights were off. If he was going to try to kill her, she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “Where are you? I, er, brought you something to eat.”
She sniffed. She couldn’t smell any food. Didn’t see any bags. Wondered for a horrific moment if he’d brought her something dead.
Then he unzipped his jacket and brought out a couple of packets of dark red liquid, and Paige sagged in relief.
She turned the light on, and gave him a guilty smile. “Blood?”
“We keep a store at the office. My boss is a vampire,” Jamie explained, handing her a bag and affixing a tube to it, like a drinking straw. “It might help for you to meet him.”
“Mmm,” Paige said, her eyes glued to the blood. She hadn’t drunk any yet, hadn’t dared to. Didn’t want to kill anyone. And the thought of draining blood from a live animal was too repulsive to consider. “Wait, what kind of blood is this?”
Jamie looked nonplussed. He peered at the label. “A positive.”
“Human?”
“Yes, of course.” He laughed. “Why would it be anything else?”
She took the bag, then another thought occurred to her. “Where does it come from?”
“Hospital. When it’s not fresh enough any more they throw it out. Don’t worry,” he gave her a smile, a lovely sweet reassuring Jamie smile, “it’s not stale or anything. And you’re not depriving anyone of a transfusion. Drink. You look like you need it.”
At first, she was embarrassed to be slurping blood in front of him. But Jamie had seen her in ratty old pajamas with a green face-pack on; and besides, she was starving. The blood was cool and sweet, overlaid with a salty tang, and it seemed to Paige to be the best thing she’d ever tasted.
She drained three packets before she felt better, by which time Jamie had run a bath for her. And when she emerged from the bath, feeling infinitely warmer and cleaner and healthier than she had since the vampire bit her, he’d remade his bed for her, piled blankets for himself on the sofa, and cooked dinner.
Her stomach growled at the scent of lasagna and she realized it’d been two days since she’d eaten anything, unsure of whether her body would reject it or not.
“Can I, er, eat this?” she asked.
Jamie grinned. “Is that a reflection on my cooking skills? You can eat, yes. And now you’ve had some blood you should be able to try garlic. And you can drink whatever you like. You don’t have to any more, but you can.”
He took some garlic ciabatta out of the oven and she nearly drooled. “Thank God.”
Jamie smiled at her, carrying the bread over to the kitchen table, which he’d set with paper napkins. The kitchen was warm, the scent of food washed over Paige, and as she watched, Jamie poured wine into a glass for her.
“Or there’s more blood, if you’d like,” he said, as if he was asking her whether she’d prefer white wine.
She took the bottle from his hand, put it down, and kissed his mouth.
Paige had never kissed Jamie before, apart from a peck on the cheek every now and then. Her lips had never touched his before. They’d never wanted to. Besides, Paige had learned early on that a pretty blonde showing even the slightest physical affection nearly always ended up explaining, in graphic terms, the meaning of the word no.
But, damn. He’d run her bath, given up his bed for her, cooked dinner and fetched bags of blood for her. Right now, Paige wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let him go.
She didn’t mean for the kiss to be sexual. Just a friendly thank-you kiss. And yet, when his lips touched hers she wanted more, just a little more. Just a little more of his scent, like soap and fresh bread; just a little more of his warm, hard chest against hers; just a little more of his arms holding her gently, keeping the world away. Comfortable, safe, a man who would never hurt her. Never take more than she wanted to give.
Then a little voice said inside her head, you’re making out with Jamie, and she pulled back, a little shocked.
As did he. He followed her, moved forward as if wanting more, but then stopped. Stilled. His warm brown eyes flashed at her, his fingers touched his lips.
“I, er,” Paige began, then couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Jamie opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Food smells great,” she said in a rush.
“Paige --”
“Yeah?” she said brightly, pulling out a chair for herself, sitting down and sniffing the food, sipping the wine, playing with her cutlery -- and keeping her eyes on the table.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Paige ran out of things to look at.
“I, uh…” She forced herself to look up at Jamie, with his ruffled hair and his stubble, suddenly way more cute than she’d ever remembered, and made herself say, “Thanks. Thank you. For all this. I, er. Wanted to say thanks. That’s all.”
Jamie opened his mouth, then closed it again. He nodded, and pulled out the chair opposite her. Finished pouring her wine.
“Thanks,” she said again, and then his eyes met hers and sparked, and she laughed. And Jamie laughed, and relief washed through her.
“I didn’t mean that to be -- I mean, it was just a thank you kiss,” she said, pulling off a chunk of bread.
“I know,” Jamie said.
“I mean, it’s me, and it’s you, and -- come on, why would we be kissing?”
“Why indeed?” Jamie said lightly.
Chapter Two
Why would we be kissing?
Jamie thumped his pillow and wished for the hundredth time that night he’d grown a pair and answered her properly.
Why would we be kissing? Because I’m in love with you, you maddening girl, totally, madly, crazily in love with you, have been for bloody years, and you have no goddamned idea.
And yet she clearly had zero interest in him. Was incredibly keen to tell him so. Dear, sweet Jamie, practically the fourth emergency service, ever-reliable, a girl’s best friend. Like a puppy or something. Yeah. Cute and loveable, but if it climbed into your bed you’d just hug it and tell it to stop licking you.
Jamie stuck his hands behind his head and stared at the dark ceiling of his living room. Sofie was always bugging him to go on more dates. Bloody couples, he thought savagely. Can’t bear to see you sitting around being single, even if you’ve no wish to pair up with anyone.
Of course, Jamie did want to pair up with someone, but that someone, currently lying in his bed, wearing his pajamas, clearly had bigger problems to worry about than whether her best friend was in love with her. Being recently murdered was, Jamie imagined, the sort of thing that made all your other issues take a back seat.
But then she’d kissed him, and for a second he was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she was here, with him, not alive but not dead either, that he’d nearly tried to push things. And then sanity had intervened.
Damn it.
He sighed, lay back, and tried to go to sleep. But a faint noise, like someone whimpering, drifted in
through the still apartment. Someone crying. Someone thrashing.
Paige.
Jamie hesitated for a second, but only a second, then grabbed a bag of blood and a stake, and pushed open his bedroom door.
Paige had kicked the covers onto the floor and was sprawled in the middle of the bed with her pajamas half off, her pale hair mussed, and her cheeks wet with tears.
“Paige?” Jamie said, and got no response. She was whimpering and fighting something in her sleep, clutching at her neck. The bite mark had healed dramatically after she took some blood, but it was still pink, still uneven, still angry. At least, it made Jamie angry. Someone had bitten her hard, taken her roughly, ripped her throat out and ended her life in a flash of pain and fear.
No wonder she was having nightmares.
“Paige.” He laid the blood and the stake down on the nightstand, knelt on the edge of the bed and took her arm, gently. She thrashed and cried. “Paige, wake up. It’s me, Jamie. You’re having a nightmare.”
He touched her cheek, and her eyes slammed open, a vivid, glowing green in the dark bedroom.
Her fangs gleamed.
“Paige,” Jamie said, wishing like hell he hadn’t put the stake down. But then, what sort of thing was that to wake up to? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. What, this old thing? Just an oversized novelty toothpick.
Her eyes darted wildly. She licked her teeth. Her very pointy teeth. A primitive reaction, Jamie knew, an automatic response to fear, lust or anger. Very slowly, keeping his eyes on hers, he reached out and felt blindly at the nightstand until he found the blood bag.
“Here --” he said, holding it out to her, and she grabbed it and tore into it like a wild animal, blood spattering the sheets, her face, Jamie’s bare chest. Blood dripped down her chin as she sucked greedily at the contents of the bag.
And then stopped, abruptly, wiping the blood away from her mouth and looking appalled.
“It’s okay,” Jamie said gently. He took the half-full bag, propped it on the nightstand, and smoothed away a drop of blood on her lower lip. His thumb caught her fang, razor-sharp and serrated, and blood welled up from the tiny cut.
Blood that Paige licked away, then sucked, drawing his thumb into her mouth and licking feverishly at it. Jamie suddenly couldn’t breathe, the sheer eroticism of what she was doing making him dizzy.
And that’s just my thumb, he thought, as his cock hardened painfully. Just my thumb.
Then, as abruptly as she’d broken the kiss earlier, she pulled back, as if shocked at what she was doing. In the cool moonlight stealing in around the edges of the curtains her eyes were huge, sparkling emeralds, glittering with lust and fear and disgust.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her fangs receding, her face white. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Without thinking, Jamie put his arms around her. So maybe she was a terrifically unstable new vampire who hadn’t a clue how to control her new needs and desires. She was still his Paige. And she was frightened. “It’s all right.”
She quivered in his arms. “How is it all right?”
“It --” Jamie hesitated. “It’ll be all right. I told you, my boss is a vampire, an old one. I’ll take you to him. He can help you. You just need to learn how to deal with all this. And I know you, Paige. You can deal with anything.”
Her voice was small, her head pressed against his chest. Her hair tickled his bare skin. “What if I can’t?”
Jamie stared down at the vicious slash of pink on her neck. Some bastard had killed her, ripped out her throat and stolen her beautiful life, and left her like this, small and afraid, unable to survive on her own, unable to control the creature she’d become. He knew a lot of new fledgelings didn’t make it. They couldn’t handle the physical changes, or they went mad from blood cravings. It was only due to Paige’s strength of mind, he figured, that she’d survived.
Some new vampires just didn’t rise again. They could have gallons of vampire blood forced down their throats, but they’d never be anything more than corpses.
Jamie shuddered, and held Paige a little tighter. She could so easily have been lost forever.
“You can do anything,” he told her. “I know you can.”
She lifted her head, gave him a smile. “Oh, Jamie,” she said, and brushed her lips over his cheek. Then she brushed them over his lips. Then --
-- one more kiss --
-- she looked up at him.
“Why would we be kissing?” she said, her voice barely audible.
Jamie thought he might be trembling. “Is this a thank you kiss?”
She shook her head wordlessly, her soft hair tickling his chest, and he kissed her, for the first time actually kissed her, and she didn’t try to stop him.
Her mouth was soft and sweet, her body soft in his arms. Probably, Jamie thought, I shouldn’t be doing this, because she’s terrifically unstable right now and I don’t want to take advantage of her, but on the other hand…
Jamie figured he knew Paige pretty well. And one thing he knew was that she seldom did anything she didn’t want to. She could disguise herself as a plain, ordinary girl to avoid hassle, and when that failed she could talk her way out of any unpleasantness. More than once Jamie had been ready -- willing -- to step in and defend her, but she’d taken care of herself just fine.
If Paige didn’t want to be kissed, then she’d never put up with Jamie kissing her. Let alone kiss him back, heated, feverish kisses that had his head spinning. Wonderful, deep, endless kisses, until he couldn’t think of anything but her.
Her hands gripped his back, stroking, kneading his muscles as she kissed him, on and on. Through her thin pajamas her nipples puckered, pushed hard against him, and Jamie tugged at the fabric to feel her bare breasts against his chest. Her high, small, soft breasts, gleaming white in the moonlight.
He left her swollen lips to kiss her neck, kiss that awful scar, a reassurance to himself as much as to her that he’d never let any harm come to her again. Then he pulled back to look at her, her breasts rising and falling as she breathed -- you don’t need to breathe, but I’m glad you do anyway -- her nipples hard, tight and dark against the whiteness of her skin. He’d never allowed himself to imagine her naked. That way, madness lay. But he’d known she’d be glorious.
Jamie dropped his head and licked a circle around one of Paige’s dark pink nipples.
She rewarded him with a gasp, arching toward him, falling back to the bed and pulling him with her. His head swimming, Jamie feasted on her hard nipples, her soft breasts, sweet and hot and wonderful. Paige’s breath came fast and shallow, her fingers threading in his hair, her legs curling around his waist. She pushed at the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing by way of pajamas, and he spared a second to appreciate the irony that he’d only put them on because she was here.
Then he was helping her take them off, take her own clothes off too, both of them clumsy and frantic to be naked. He caught her eye as he threw the last of their clothes away, and sparked off a smile.
Yes, he thought. It’s right, this. It’s so right.
Damn, I wish I’d had the courage to do this years ago.
Naked now, her long, slender body twined around him, Paige kissed him long and slow, sliding her legs against his. Her skin was so soft, stroking his all over. A full-body caress. When she shifted her hips and pressed her wet folds against him, Jamie nearly moaned.
I ought to make this last, he thought, even as he rubbed his aching cock against her slick pussy lips. I ought to be savoring it all, taking my time, kissing and stroking and licking her all over.
But Paige was bucking against him, sliding her clit against his cock, and he figured foreplay could wait until next time.
Because there was sure as hell going to be a next time.
He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth, and slid, trembling, inside her.
Paige gave a little sigh and pulled him in deeper with her legs. She w
as so tight inside, so wet, pulling him in and holding him there, right where he needed to be.
I love you, he thought, looking down at her closed eyes, her parted, swollen lips, the fall of tousled pale hair over his pillow. God, I love you.
He started to move, sliding out of her perfect heat and back in again, and she moved with him, meeting his thrusts, pushing back against him so he went as deep inside her as he could go. His balls tightened as he pushed in so far they brushed her ass. Her head was thrown back, her fingers gripped his shoulders.
He was going to come soon, and he wanted to take her with him.
She was so wet her thighs were coated and her clit was slippery when he ran his thumb over it. Thrusting deep, circling her clit, he watched her face tighten, her head thrashing from side to side -- and then she came, crying out, clutching at him, so tight she squeezed him into orgasm.
He came inside her, every last drop, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
It was weird, lying there with her head on Jamie’s naked chest, his arm around her, his fingers playing idly with her hair; but it was right, too. The whole thing had been so right.
Paige breathed in the scent of his skin, sweat and soap and vitality, and smiled.
“So,” she said, “why did we never do this before?”
Jamie gave a soft laugh; she heard it rumbling in his chest. “Good question.” He played with her hair some more. “I’ve seen what happens to guys who pretend they just want to be your friend, and then make a move on you.”
“I’m perfectly pleasant to them,” Paige said, which was a lie.
“You call them dirty liars and refuse to even see them again,” Jamie said, which was the truth.
“Well, okay.” She felt too good to argue. For the first time in days, she actually felt really good. Jamie’s heart beat in his chest, the steady thump a comfort, a reassurance.