A Girls Guide to Vampires

by Katie MacAlister

  "Virile," I breathed.

  "You can say that again," Roxy agreed, her eyes on Dominic.

  Everyone's attention was on the show Dominic and Tanya were presenting as he suddenly whirled her into a waltz around the room, his skin paper-white in comparison to the black of his pants and silk shirt, carelessly unbuttoned to expose half his chest.

  "Probably uses pancake as well. And shaves his chest," I said softly.

  "You think?" Roxy asked, her eyes alight as the couple swept past us, Dominic's teeth bared for full effect. She gave a lustful sigh. "It sure does look good on him. I wonder if Miranda couldn't have got the Goddess's messages mixed up, and I was supposed to find a Dark One as my perfect man. I could go for a man like that!"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say Dominic wasn't even as remotely intriguing as his companion, let alone a vampire, but as my eyes turned back to Raphael, I was stunned to find him watching me. He held a drink nonchalantly in one hand, his head still bent to the bartender, but his strangely colored eyes were on me. Our gazes met and locked. Instantly I was swamped with emotion: rage, stifled but still an awesome force to deal with; loneliness, such great loneliness that tears came to my eyes in sympathetic response; and finally despair, great waves of it that rolled over me and sucked me under. Almost as soon as the emotion washed over me, it was gone, leaving me feeling curiously bereft if extremely confused.

  "Oh, God, I'm in trouble, serious trouble," I moaned, dragging my eyes away from the man who was everything Miranda warned, and so much more. My skin tingled and burned where it was exposed, as if just his gaze had the power to scorch me.

  "What's wrong? You feeling faint again?" Roxy studied me with a worried eye.

  I shook my head. "No. Just suffering delusional episodes. Nothing to write home about."

  She frowned. "What are you babbling about now? Are you feeling OK or aren't you? If you want me to help you up to your room, just let me know."

  "I'm fine," I reassured her and flashed Arielle what was bound to be a frighteningly insane smile. "Maybe just a bit tired, but OK. Just ignore me while I have my breakdown."

  She leaned back against her chair and gave me a "wait till I get you later" look. Her attention was quickly pulled to other, more interesting things when Dominic strutted over with Tanya on his arm. I wanted to turn my head to see if Raphael was coming our way, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't need any more episodes of the sympathetic whatever-it-was I felt around him.

  "Roxy," I leaned across the table and hissed through my teeth as Dominic made a production of sweeping Tanya's chair with (what else) a black handkerchief.

  "Huh?" She turned reluctantly to look at me. "What?"

  "Is he heading this way?"

  Her eyes wandered over to Dominic, who had turned to answer a question from someone at a nearby table.

  "No, not him, the other one. The big one." I almost said the real one, but stopped myself in time. I did not believe in vampires.

  Roxy's gaze swept the room, then settled on me. "Why do you ask?"

  I tried to shrug, but my skin still felt burned. "No particular reason."

  "He's tall."

  "So?"

  "You're tall, too."

  "Did you take all your medication this morning?" I asked snidely.

  She grinned. "I was just asking. I thought maybe you might have a thing for him."

  Me? With a possible bloodsucking monster? "Not on your tintype, Nelly! I don't even know the guy!"

  Her grin widened. "Awfully vehement, aren't you?"

  "Stop it."

  "OK."

  She kept smiling at me. I glared at her.

  "Hey, Joy?"

  I decided to ignore her. I'd take just a peek, one little itty-bitty peek and see if he was still staring at me. If the burn on my skin was any sign, he was.

  He wasn't. He wasn't at the bar counter, he wasn't anywhere I could see at all. Damn.

  "Joy?"

  I casually turned to look in the other direction. Dominic was handing out flyers to the tables nearest us, but there was no sign of a big, dark man who could potentially, if I wasn't insane or drugged, be a vampire. Vampire, my mind echoed in an extremely annoying fashion.

  I decided insanity was the better choice.

  "Joy!"

  "What?" I snapped, looking back at her.

  "He's right behind you."

  I jumped back so fast I knocked the chair over, myself with it, cracking my head on the floor in the process. The last thing I remember before sinking into an inky black pool of oblivion was the group of people who gathered around to look down at me. One pair of eyes stood out from all the rest; they were amber—clear, brilliant amber.

  "Unearthly," I sighed, and let the blackness claim me.

  Oblivion wasn't nearly what it was cut out to be, so I made the visit a short one and regained my wits as soon as possible. Once I realized where I was, I felt a pang of homesickness for the state of unconsciousness. I did a quick survey of my body, and discovered I was sitting on the cold floor, propped up against something hard and warm. Something that breathed. Slowly I turned my head to look at who it was. Raphael's amber eyes met mine.

  Vampire.

  I closed my eyes, leaning into the shoulder that supported me, unable to keep from breathing in his scent. It was a heady mixture of the spicy tang of a healthy male and the faint, lingering scent of soap. Vampire or not, I couldn't help but be thankful he wasn't one of those men who liked to douse themselves in cologne and aftershave.

  "Joy? Her eyes were open, weren't they?" Roxy asked. Reluctantly I started to pull away from the warm body behind me. An arm locked around my waist kept me from leaving him. The gesture warmed my heart in an odd fashion.

  "Oh, good, she's awake. Arielle, you can put down that bucket of water; she's awake now."

  The faces peering concernedly at me spun around until I thought I was going to throw up all over everyone. "Uh-oh, you're turning green. That's not good."

  "She looks ill. Should I fetch her more water?"

  "Heinrich, call the doctor. We don't want her to blame us for this accident."

  "It's time to go, Dominic. Surely you can't want to stay?" The voices clamored loudly in my ears, spinning me in and out of the warm, cloying darkness that hovered over me, increasing the nausea until I was sure I was going to vomit. The arm holding me securely around my waist tightened as I clutched at it, clinging desperately to it in the hopes that the room—and my stomach—would settle down.

  "I think perhaps we should give the lady some air." I turned toward the voice that cut through my nightmare. The faces around me pulled back until one came into focus. It was one of the bar patrons, a nice-looking man with high cheekbones, and dark, fathomless eyes. A wave of bile choked me as I struggled to keep it contained. I tightened my grip on the arm holding me up.

  "You will feel better in a moment." The man smiled and brushed his hand across my forehead. His voice was beautiful, pitched low, but velvety in its smoothness. It wrapped around me like a soft warm cloak, comfortable and reassuring. Instantly the nausea receded and the room slowed its spinning. "You are not used to our beer. Strangers often find it too strong for their palates. I would advise you next time to try our wine."

  I'd only had a sip of the beer, so I knew full well that it wasn't what was affecting me, but I found myself oddly reluctant to dispute anything the man said. I gingerly felt at the back of my head, locating a lump the size of a runty plum.

  "You have a small swelling," the man reassured me, his fingers flicking lightly over the painful bump. Behind me, Raphael shifted slightly.

  "Are you a doctor?" I asked the man with the silky voice.

  His eyes grew black with sorrow for a moment. I wanted to reach out and take him in my arms, to comfort him and ease his pain. "I am not a doctor, although I've had some training in the healing arts. Your injury is not serious and should not trouble you beyond this night."

  The pain that had been
blossoming in the back of my head eased, fading with the nausea. I'd never been one to have much faith in alternative medical techniques, but I had to admit this man had an extremely soothing way about him.

  "Who are you?" I couldn't help but ask. His eyes were intriguing, so expressive and full of emotion, I found myself wanting to draw closer to him, to look deeper into those eyes.

  "My name is Christian," he answered, another smile teasing his lips as the voices around us rose in approbation.

  Didn't anyone around here believe in using his or her surname?

  "I believe it would be best if we got you off the floor and into bed," a voice rumbled in my ear. I stiffened in response. Where Christian's voice was as smooth as water sliding over sand, Raphael's was deep, slightly roughened, and set up a most amazing resonance deep within me. Weren't vampires supposed to be able to work magic with their voices and eyes? Before I could mull this over, I was hoisted up. Raphael released me, then grabbed me quickly when the room started spinning again.

  "Well, at least she's not green anymore," Roxy muttered, wringing her hands. "I think you're right about getting her into bed. We're on the top floor, though, and she looks a bit shaky to me."

  Raphael didn't answer, just put an arm behind my knees and scooped me up.

  "Um," I said, turning my head and flinching just a bit as a hall light hit me square in the eyes. My nose brushed his cheek. I couldn't believe he was carrying me up three flights of awkwardly steep stairs, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. If it hadn't been likely he was a bloodthirsty member of the undead, I would have kissed the man.

  One glossy chocolate eyebrow rose as he glanced down at me. "Um?"

  "You're carrying me," I said, feeling it necessary to say something intelligent, but lacking the wits to actually pull intelligent things out of my scrambled brains. First insanity, then drugging—now I was in the arms of a man who might be a vampire, and all I could think of was how nice he smelled and how warm he was.

  Of course he's warm, he just fed.

  I squashed that inner voice down flat and met his amber eyes without flinching. Much.

  "Yes," he agreed, his voice thrumming inside me. He had an English accent, giving his voice a richness that reminded me of antique mahogany. It was very sexy. I liked it. A lot.

  "Up the stairs."

  "Your room's at the top," he replied.

  "But you're not puffing or straining or breaking out into a sweat."

  Both eyebrows went up at that. "Should I be?"

  "I'm not an inconsiderable weight," I pointed out. "Most men would balk at hefting me across a room, not to mention up three flights of stairs."

  "I am not most men," he stated, turning on the first landing.

  You can say that again, trembled at the edge of my tongue, but I bit it back, saying instead, "Regardless of your obviously fit state, I'm too heavy. I'll give you a hernia. If you put me down, I'll be happy to walk the rest of the way."

  "You're not too heavy."

  I looked at him as if he had an extra toe growing out of his ear. "What planet are you from? In case it escaped your notice, I'm six feet tall and built like a brick oven, as my mother used to say."

  "I happen to think a woman's shape looks better with curves," he said blithely, looking me up and down. "Yours look good on you."

  Well, stap my vitals! A man who had enough muscles to haul me around and still managed to say nice things about my overabundance of curves? If only he wasn't the walking dead, I would have proposed marriage on the spot. But the probability was that if I wasn't insane, he was what he shouldn't be, so marriage was out. Which was a shame, really, because the closer I got to him, the better he looked. He was about four inches taller than me, was broad in all those areas that men look good being broad in, had a hard, angular face and dark curly hair, but it was those eyes that snagged and held my attention. Amber, deep amber, pure and clear and flecked with gold and brown. He started up the second flight of stairs.

  Vampires can mesmerize with their eyes.

  "Um."

  "Are we back to that again?"

  I tried to look down my nose at him, not an easy thing to do when you're being carried. "I apologize for the lamentable lack of scintillating conversation, sir, but I have recently been unconscious and I find some allowances are going to have to be made."

  "I see."

  "For example, we haven't been introduced."

  He rounded the last landing, looking faintly startled by my words. "I thought introductions went the way of eight-track tapes and laser disks."

  "They're not entirely extinct," I answered. "I'm Joy Randall."

  He hauled me up the last few stairs, stopping at the top to look into my eyes. "Raphael."

  "Just Raphael?"

  He shrugged.

  "Most people have two or more names."

  "Do they?"

  "Yes." I waited. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes as if he were memorizing my face. I got tired of waiting for him, and decided to give him a nudge in the right direction. You'd have thought someone who'd lived for centuries would have picked up a few social skills along the way. "My middle name is Martine. I was named for my grandmother. Joy Martine Randall."

  Abruptly a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "I was named for my great-grandfather."

  "Great-grandpa Raphael?"

  "Griffin. My name is Raphael Griffin St. John."

  "Nice to meet you, Raphael." I hazarded a smile before I realized what I was doing. Flirting with a vampire! What was next for me—French kissing a werewolf? Dirty dancing with a zombie? "For the record, I think your parents did the right thing."

  I loved his eyebrows. I loved the way they zoomed up and down and were so expressive without saying a word. "Your name," I told the eyebrow arched in question. "It's different. I've never known a Raphael before. It's very romantic. Dramatic, too. I like it."

  I mentally groaned to myself as the words left my lips. I was babbling. I was clinging to a man who just possibly might be undead, and I was babbling about how much I liked his name.

  "It is a family tradition. All the men in our family are named either Raphael or Griffin."

  "And you got both."

  "Yes."

  "Fun tradition," I commented. He made a little moue of distaste.

  "It's on par with the other family tradition."

  "Really? What's that? It doesn't involve webbed toes, does it? 'Cause if it does, I don't want to know about it."

  His eyebrow arched even higher. "No webbed toes, thank you for asking. The family tradition to which I am referring is much more disconcerting: A St. John man knows the woman he will marry the first time he meets her."

  I blinked at him. "Oh. That's a bit different. Men don't usually fall in love at first sight. Still, Raphael is a cool name, so I guess your family traditions aren't all bad."

  "I, on the other hand, dislike the name intensely and would much prefer it if everyone just called me Bob."

  "Bob?" A vampire named Bob? Was that allowed? "Bob? Why Bob?"

  His shoulders moved in an elegant shrug despite the fact that he was still holding me. "Why not Bob?"

  He had me there. "But Raphael's a nice name. It's exotic. It's unusual. It—"

  "Sounds like it belongs to a male prostitute," he interrupted.

  "Well, I think it suits you," I said as he walked down the short hallway.

  He looked at me out of the corner of one of those delicious eyes. "You think I look like a man who takes money to pleasure women?"

  "I think a lot of women would pay you money to give them pleasure," I said. "I know I certainly would if I had some spare cash lying around."

  He stopped before my door, giving me a curious look. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Are you saying you'd like to have sex with me?"

  "Well, it's not written in stone, but I have to admit that right now, with you holding me and all, it's on my list, although I should warn you that I just discovered
my mind is pretty much shot, so perhaps I'm not the best judge."

  He carefully set me on my feet, holding on to my waist while I waited to see if the room would stop spinning. It did.

  "I believe the best course will be for me to take that statement as a compliment." His hands were warm on my waist, his fingers doing a little caressing thing that had my knees melting.

  "Now I've offended you. I'm sorry. It's just that the women in my family tend to call the shots as they see them. I forget that not everyone is thrilled to hear my opinions."

  His eyes glittered brightly into mine. I wanted to dive into their amber depths and bask in the warmth contained within them. "On the contrary, I find myself strangely compelled to encourage you to share your opinions."

  If he weren't so damned sexy I'd have been OK, but he stood there positively smoldering with sensuality. I fought the unseemly urge to throw myself into his arms, and stepped back. "I think you'd better go. I'm liable to launch myself at your head if you don't, and you don't look like the kind of a guy who likes to be rushed into a kiss."

  His eyes deepened into a look so wicked it took my breath away. "You'd be surprised at what I like."

  Oh man, oh man, oh man! I stared open-mouthed at him. Fortunately, he didn't wait for a reply and took pity on my scattered wits. "Do you have your room key?" he asked, holding out his hand.

  "I have it," a cheerful voice piped up behind him. "Boy, these stairs are tough on the toes. Here I come, everyone hold tight. Joy, the hotel owner wants to know if you want him to call a doctor. At least, I think that's what he said. Jeezumcrow!" Roxy stopped on the other side of Raphael and gave me the eye. "You really have taken a beating today, haven't you? You look awful. Thanks a lot, Raphael, I'll tuck her into bed. You don't mind my calling you Raphael, do you? Will you be at the fair tomorrow?"

  A surge of annoyance welled up at the sight of my best friend batting her eyelashes at what was probably the only person in existence who could carry me up three flights of stairs, and still tell me he liked my curves.

  I smiled my best shark smile at him, and reached behind Roxy to pinch the back of her arm.