He shut his eyes, mentally reaching out to feel her presence, without alarming or frightening her, wishing all the while that he could feel her in his arms, alive and flesh and blood.
Chapter Five
Jen yawned lazily and put her folder aside. The day was slipping by swiftly. She walked over and picked up the cup Dameon had left on the coffee table. She touched it to her cheek and tried to feel his presence. His touch. The ceramic was cool against her skin. Feeling idiotic, she put it back down.
Cobbs was standing near the door, wagging his tail, making chirpy little barks. Jen walked over to let him out when she suddenly caught the faintest whiff of cool mint. A note was leaning against the door. Written in elegant, old-world script, it was from Dameon. She read it. Thank you for the cocoa. I hope your sleep was untroubled. Dameon. Jen read the note and held it against herself while gathering her thoughts. She opened the door for Cobbs, who changed his mind and trotted back over to the couch to lie down. Jen put the note in her dresser drawer for safekeeping, and wondered if she would see Dameon again.
* * * *
It was night time again, and Dameon stood deep in thought. He had been busy working in his lab. He had received good news. A new plant discovered in South America offered possibilities.
Dameon had allowed a week to pass since he'd last seen her, but he could wait no longer. He knew he should leave her alone. His Jen deserved happiness, and he knew he might bring anything but that into her life. With all of his intuitive abilities, he sensed the attraction between them was intense and growing, but he was cautious, not wanting to move too quickly.
Despite his stern intentions to leave her alone, he couldn't help himself—he had to see her. Dameon couldn't bring himself to use his powers directly on her. That would pervert the relationship. Instead, he was devious and used his telepathic command on her dog, sending him out the window of her house and up the hill. He waited. He knew the dog would come. And would provide the perfect excuse.
* * * *
Something would have to happen soon. Tatiana was bored. Her young car thief had performed his first task beautifully, but she expected more from him. The silly humans living at the lake did their parts, too, unaware they were performing in Tatiana's own private show.
In the meantime, perhaps she would create her own entertainment. This city was full of eager, hot-blooded, young men just ripe for the picking. She licked her lips hungrily. It was time to find the most expensive hotel and check herself in, and then go on a spending spree. She had been warned about her spending. But money itself didn't matter to her, only the thrills and the sensual gratification it bought.
Her mother tried to control the purse strings, but Claudia often forgot that her daughter also shared her heritage and could be just as powerful. She was not afraid of her mother; she was a lamia and afraid of nothing. Her mother had been most tedious in repeatedly lecturing Tatiana on the tale of her heritage...
Athens, Greece 400 AD.
Claudia's mother was the notorious Lilitu, and it was rumored that she had been "created" in Babylon. Some stories said Lilitu had actually existed since the days of Adam and Eve, that she was the fabled temptress who led Adam to his downfall.
Written records about Lilitu were found dated back to 400 AD in Greece. It was in Athens that she acquired her infamy, and became well-known by the Greek human population. She was notorious for her deadly exploits and her great, unparalleled beauty. The most heinous crime she was accused of was feeding on the blood of children. Lilitu had been quick to scorn this story, insisting it had been started by a jealous human rival who had lost the affections of her man to Lilitu.
Lilitu, Queen of the Lamias, did not feed on children. She was too proud, too aristocratic. She only drank the blood of adults—males were common prey simply because they were so available. It was also whispered that she and other lamias preyed on unwary travelers, stalking them alongside the paths and roads. Lilitu had dismissed this also as the lie it was. She and her kind didn't need to resort to such pitiful tactics.
Lamias were distinguished by two traits: irresistible beauty and diabolical cleverness. They were almost always females, and superbly talented shape-shifters. Unwilling to exert much energy unless necessary, lamias were known to more commonly inhabit the bodies of animals when the need arose.
Of course, lamias were not the only breed of vampire in existence. Other breeds of vampires were still in the majority, and were actually responsible for many of the fables and stories. Other breeds of vampire could also shape-shift, as well, just not as skillfully as lamias.
According to the legends, Lilitu met a young artist, a stone carver in Athens. He fell so deeply in love with her that he broke off his long standing engagement with another girl, whom he had loved since childhood. The young man was bewitched and thoroughly infatuated with his enchantress, Lilitu. So deeply and helplessly in love did he fall, that even after she tricked him into becoming a vampire, he commemorated her beauty in a stone carving that became famous throughout Greece. Even, after she deserted him to a miserable life as one of the undead, he still loved her. Such was the power of a lamia, mother of Claudia, grandmother to Tatiana.
* * * *
"I'm not losing my mind," Jen announced to herself. "I've got my life." Why should she delude herself? Dameon wasn't for her; he was so far out of her league that it was ridiculous. Nameless longing rose within her despite her brave assertions. She pressed her palms to her eyes. "God help me," she whispered.
Dressing quickly, she added just a dab of lipstick and hastily French braided her hair with only a quick glance in the mirror. In minutes, she was ready to tackle her list of household chores. Munching a chocolate bar for a quick breakfast, she poured water and dog chow into Cobbs' bowls and issued a short, shrill whistle. To her surprise, no golden, furry face came bounding into the kitchen. Frowning, she tossed the candy wrapper into the trash, and irreverently thought, at least chocolate was a safe substitute for love.
After a thorough search of the house, and no sign of Cobbs, Jen stepped outside into the sharp October cold. She cupped her hands and began shouting his name. No Cobbs. Where was he?
She took a short inventory of last night's lock-up ritual. She was positive she had locked him in for the night. She wasn't really worried, just a tiny bit disturbed. She was used to having Cobbs by her side, a loyal constant in her life. It was unlike him to run off, except when lured by a cat. That was probably what had happened. A cat had passed by, and Cobbs hadn't been able to resist the chase, escaping out a window she had left carelessly open.
Jen decided to check the backyard, all the while knowing in her heart that it was a futile gesture. The yard was bare, except for a few dead leaves spiraling in the wind. She would check the path near the lake. Maybe Cobbs hadn't heard her call or whistle. The lake front was deserted; the only living creature around was an enormous crow perched on the telephone pole, closely watching her movements. Jen thought of the duck and began shouting louder and faster.
It wasn't until she stepped squarely into a squishy, sticky substance that she looked down. The sight left her gaping, her cry for Cobbs dying mid-sound. Blood, or something that looked like blood, saturated nearly two feet of ground. Not far away lay a small figure.
Jen's heart froze in her chest. The tiny form looked like a child. No, it couldn't be, she reassured herself, swallowing hard. Gingerly, she approached and gazed down. Relief left her weak and gasping. It was a doll. She peered down for a closer look. It was one of those fancy collector's doll, except that it was naked. Except that its head was cut off. Red stained the severed porcelain neck. The doll's smooth face framed in long, reddish-blonde curls seemed to Jen to be pleading for help. It even looks a little like me.
A swell of nausea made it suddenly hard to swallow. Get a grip, she told herself. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she looked around for something to pick it up. She couldn't just leave it lying there. It might give some unsuspecting person a heart attac
k. Jen's stomach heaved as she bent to touch the doll's body. I can't make myself pick this up, though I know I'm being ridiculous. There was nothing ridiculous, she reminded herself, about the kind of person who would pull such a stunt.
Something black on the ground caught her eye. Unwillingly, she took a step closer. It was a message scrawled in black spray paint. Large, jagged words covering nearly five feet of ground. The message was obscene. Was this related to what had happened to the duck? There was deliberate, pointed hostility and malice to the scene. Why, Jen thought, was their neighborhood the chosen target for these ugly acts? Was there a connection to the smoker in the woods?
She knew she should get help for the clean up, but was hoping to keep the incident a secret; no need to add fuel to the fire of everyone's combustive imaginations. Suddenly, she heard a sound behind her. Heart suddenly leaping, she spun around. Cobbs bounded forward, leapt on her chest, and began licking her face vigorously. Dameon had released his makeshift leash.
Dazed, Jen hugged Cobbs, looking through her lashes at Dameon. He was standing here, in the flesh. She had vowed to put him out of her mind. But here he was.
"It appears your mysterious troublemakers have struck again," Dameon said softly, a frown drawing his brows together. "I've brought Cobbs back. He was having a grand time chasing a rabbit near my house. But I knew you might be concerned about his whereabouts..." He walked over, picked up the broken doll and stared at it. His face was unreadable as he studied it and the blood-drenched grass.
"Thanks. I was getting a little worried..." Jen pushed her hair out of her eyes, averting her gaze from the doll. "I can show you where the dumpster is, unless you think we should show it to the police," she said with a weary sigh. "We either have malicious gremlins or somebody out there really hates us."
"Do not worry, chérie. This is the work of a miserable vandal and nothing more," Dameon said coolly as he followed her across the grounds. "Certainly a creature with a limited vocabulary," he added with a wry backwards glance at the repetitive obscenities. Some of her fear subsided at his casual tone.
"We might as well forget the police. They'd only say it was another prank," Jen admitted. Somehow, he'd diminished the horror of the bloodied doll. His nonchalance comforted her. "Do you think the blood is real?" she asked as they made their way through the damp, leaf-strewn grass. The dumpster was only a few yards away.
Dameon looked away for a moment. "It is only animal blood." She started to ask him how he knew when he spoke again. "You should not be out in the cold, chérie, dressed as you are. Why don't you go inside and get some rags while I finish here?"
"I guess we should try to clean up the mess—" She paused by the huge, metal dumpster and winced as he tossed the doll halves inside.
"Yes, I think we should." His smile was a beguiling one. "Don't worry about the rags, chérie. I'll take care of the blood. Leaves and dirt should cover it well."
Jen nodded, grateful to leave the ugly sight behind. Once inside the house, she took a moment to brush her hair, powder her nose and slip on her shoes. Her hands were still trembling a bit, but she was feeling a little better, and she had to admit, Dameon contributed to the faster beating of her heart. She nearly ran back and was not pleasantly startled to see that Dameon was not alone.
"Um—hi—er, Jen," Pam Davis trilled, apparently having a hard time remembering Jen's name. The woman tossed back her blond hair coquettishly.
"Hi, Pam," she called out, forcing a friendly, casual tone into her voice. She quickly peered downward and saw that Dameon had kept his word. The blood and graffiti were completely eradicated. She heaved a sigh of relief.
Irritated, Jen watched as Pam, smirking and fluttering, leaned close to Dameon, her hand perched on his arm. She restrained an irrational desire to yank her hand away.
Pam apparently didn't seem to notice Jen's annoyed expression. "We were just introducing ourselves when you showed up, Jen. Mr. La Faim is the one who bought the big house up the hill." She turned to Dameon. "I insist you call me Pam. Mrs. Davis sounds so formal." She giggled and made a mock grimace.
"As you wish," Dameon murmured, making a small bow.
Jen cleared her throat. Was Pam going to hang around all day? "We have to be going, Pam," she said sweetly. "It was nice to see you again."
"I'd better run, too. Don't you be a stranger, Dameon," Pam said, taking an intimate tone. "We're just like a family here at the lake. Feel free to stop by." She gave him a flirtatious look through her lashes. " I live in the white tri-level. We're the only one with the glass greenhouse—you can't miss it. " She tossed her head, an engaging smile on her lips, and waited hopefully for Dameon's affirmation to her invitation. His response was a polite, but silent smile. She turned, obviously reluctant to leave. When no one begged her to stay, she gave a little Miss America wave and trotted off home.
Cobbs started to follow before Jen whistled him back to her side. "I take it Pam doesn't know about the blood and doll we discovered, " she said, sourness seeping through her voice.
Dameon shook his head, his expression almost grave. "No, she is ignorant of what's happened," he affirmed.
"She's ignorant, all right, " Jen couldn't resist saying. Dameon shot her a quick look and laughed. Reluctantly, she joined in, a look of embarrassment crossing her face. The twinkle in his eye made her uncomfortably aware of how easily he read her feelings.
As they turned back toward Jen's house, a sudden damp wind blew, ruffling Dameon's hair. She shivered and looked down at her hands. Though she'd washed them, a trace of blood showed under her thumb nail. Her stomach heaved. She would never forget the horror of finding that doll, thinking it was a child...
"Look, Jen," he said, lightly touching her arm. He nodded toward a glossy ebony crow watching them from a low branch on a nearby pine. "He looks like Dumas. Does he not?"
She smiled in surprise and nodded, swiveling to gaze at Dameon, who stared at the crow and reached out his hand, making a soft, whistling sound. To her surprise, the wild bird rose and flew toward them, landing softly on Dameon's wrist. It flapped its wings and peered curiously at both of them with such a human expression on its face that Jen chuckled in delight.
"How'd you do that?" She watched the bird fly off, fascinated. The sick feeling inside of her was fading.
"It is something a friend showed me a long time ago. She was an old Tlingit woman who could communicate with animals—one of her many gifts."
"A Tlingit woman? Were you in Alaska, too?" she asked.. Dameon had deftly distracted her from thoughts of the doll, she realized.
"It was a long time ago, chérie. Travel is not so impressive when one has too much time to fill." He smiled down at her.
"But, still, to see the world. It must be fascinating," she said
"And lonely," he answered in a low voice. "Without the right kind of companionship, any city, no matter how glamorous, can seem dull and dreary." He glanced at her.
She found herself drowning in the fathomless darkness of his eyes. "That's true," she answered. "Feeling connected to another human being is the very essence of life. Without it, nothing else seems to matter."
"You are a perceptive person, chérie."
Jen felt her whole being tingle. She was not a pushover for sweet-talking men. But his calling her 'chérie' made her feel special and beautiful. It sounded natural coming from his lips.
Dameon turned away. "Human connections," he echoed. "Yes, they're very important." A strange, distant look flitted across his face.
Jen puzzled by the shift in his mood. She was intrigued about the Tlingit woman story and wanted to ask more, but decided to wait. He might be too tired for more questions. Cobbs had raced ahead, and was waiting, tail wagging furiously, for them at the porch. Cobbs cast imploring looks in her direction, which meant he wouldn't mind an extra snack.
They halted at her doorway. Jen was about to open her mouth to invite Dameon in when sudden shyness stilled her tongue. Her heart raced, remembering the se
nsations she'd experienced during the massage.
The cool expression had melted from his face. She shivered. He rubbed her hands gently between his own, warming them.
"I won't keep you long in the cold." he told her. "I am glad that I was able to return your pet to you." He paused, a funny, almost guilty looking expression flitting across his face. He was so close that she could see the long sweep of his black eyelashes shuttering his eyes briefly, and the smooth, poreless texture of his skin. Her hands resting in his, she felt a tingle. A path of electricity traveled up her arm to the very center of her body. Her heart felt thick and swollen. She gazed up at him uncertainly. He released her and stepped away.
"Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner this Friday, at eight o'clock?" he asked.
"I would love to." You should have waited for him to get the words out of his mouth first before answering, she scolded herself. Nervously, she asked, "Should I bring anything?" And felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the foolishness of her words. This man was elegance personified. It wasn't a church potluck he was asking her to, after all. Graciously, he thanked her and assured her that her company would suffice.
Jen watched him walk away, his body as sinuous as a cat's. He turned once, as if feeling her gaze, and even from the distance, she felt the impact of his stare. She touched her cheek, feeling the warmth still there from embarrassment. She watched till he disappeared from view.
Jen was eager and curious to see the inside of that house. But she couldn't kid herself; it was Dameon, himself, that enticed her. He was the magnet. The mystery she wanted to solve and understand. Her life had taken on a different hue and everything seemed alien. Nothing seemed it would ever be the same.
Her mind whirled with visions of what to wear, and how she would look. She repressed a quick grin, thinking how surprised her mother would be. Jen, who normally dressed in bargain-basement business suits or jeans and sweats, daydreaming about dressing up.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 7
