by Tina Folsom
“Hey, dog,” she greeted him as he jumped on the bed. One thing she’d definitely not do was to give the beast a name. Once he had a name, he would never leave.
“Is it sunset yet?” It was an academic question; neither would the dog answer her, nor did she actually need him to. Her own body had already told her that the sun had set over the Pacific Ocean and it was time to get ready for her assignment.
Yvette stretched, then put her hands onto her head. As every night upon waking, the short, spiky haircut she showed to everybody was gone, replaced by long, dark tresses. During her restorative sleep, her hair grew back to the length it had been the day she was turned. At first, she’d kept her hair long, but over the years, she’d decided that she didn’t like the look anymore. She looked too female, too vulnerable.
She walked into her bathroom and picked up the scissors lying on the vanity. Even without a mirror, she’d learned over the years how to cut her hair. She took a bunch of it in her left hand, cutting with the scissors in her right. Instead of discarding the hair in the trash, she placed it in a plastic bag which was marked St. Jude’s Hospital—Cancer Department. Let somebody else have long hair. She didn’t care for it.
When the weight of her hair lifted from her head, she felt as if the pain of her past was lifting with it. It felt the same every time she woke. The long hair reminded her of her life as a human, of the husband who’d loved to bury his face in her long tresses when they’d made love. Robert. His face wasn’t as clear in her mind anymore as it had been in the first years after they’d separated. Almost fifty years had passed since. While her memory of his face had faded into the distance, the desire for a child hadn’t. Or rather what a child represented.
Yvette placed her hand on her flat stomach. While human, a life had grown in there, not just once, but twice. She’d felt like a woman then, a woman who could give her husband what he desired above all. During those brief months of her pregnancies, she’d felt loved, not just by her husband, but also by the child inside her.
Crazy. Yvette shook her head and continued cutting her hair. She’d been devastated when she’d lost the second baby, and Robert hadn’t been there to comfort her. He’d blamed her. For a year, she’d lived as if in a trance, taking whatever drug she could get her hands on. The numbness the drugs had produced had prevented her from taking her own life. But then, one night, she’d woken up in a stranger’s home, stoned out of her skull. He’d asked her if she wanted to live forever and enjoy sex without consequences. Sure, she’d joked, still riding on a drug high.
She’d struggled against his bite at first, but then she’d allowed death to take her, hoping the next life would be kinder. Only when she’d woken again had she realized what had happened to her. The stranger had turned her into a vampire—an infertile vampire, a fact she’d had to come to terms with the hard way.
As a human, she might have had another chance at a child and at making a man happy, but as a vampire, no such hope existed. And men were men, no matter what shape or form they came in. They fucked her, and she fucked them. But when all was said and done, even her sire had given her the marching papers. Too clingy, he’d called her. Too needy.
Not anymore. Now she was as tough as any vampire male, and nobody would ever see otherwise. The fragile woman inside was dead to the world.
***
Just like Gabriel had told her, the girl Yvette was to protect was young. What he’d neglected to mention was that Kimberly was also extremely beautiful. A twinge of jealousy hit Yvette the moment she set eyes upon her charge. This girl had everything: a thriving career, beauty, and a human body to bear children. Life was cruel. She wished now that Gabriel had let Zane use mind control to make the girl forget about her dislike for him. Yvette really didn’t need a constant reminder of what she couldn’t have. She would have much rather protected some wealthy, overweight executive with a bad haircut, body odor, and a beer gut.
Her consolation was that the assignment would last only a week before Kimberly would return to Los Angeles to work on her next movie.
“This is so much better,” the girl blabbered. “Frankly, that other man, Zane, or whatever his name was, he was really strange. I didn’t like him at all. The way he looked at me, I tell you, he made me really nervous. And I really don’t get nervous. Normally. The one other time I really got nervous was when I had to audition for …”
Yvette tuned out Kimberly’s chatter and looked out of the tinted window of the limousine. This was just peachy. Not only did Kimberly have everything humanly possible, she talked constantly. She only hoped the girl didn’t actually expect her to listen to her chit-chat and respond. She swore she’d make Gabriel write a big bonus check for this one.
“… so I said to him, ‘back at the orphanage we had that game …’ ”
Yvette offered a fake smile and nodded as if listening intently while she scanned the goings-on outside. The limo was stuck in traffic on California Street and was slowly inching its way up toward the Fairmont Hotel.
“… thought I was only nineteen, when I’m really already twenty-two, but it didn’t matter, because they wanted somebody mature for the role …”
A waterfall couldn’t have produced a steadier stream of words. Yvette gave her another sideways glance. Perched on the comfortable leather seat, Kimberly wore a pink evening gown. It suited her. Her wheat blonde locks fell over her naked shoulders and looked perfectly natural. Only the faint smell of chemicals, picked up by Yvette’s sensitive nostrils, hinted at the fact that blonde wasn’t Kimberly’s natural hair color.
For the first time in a long time, Yvette was wearing a dress. It irked her, but Kimberly had insisted, saying that if she showed up in a pant suit, she’d stick out like a sore thumb, and everybody would think she was CIA.
So Yvette had rummaged through her closet and found a little black number that would do the trick. It was an old halter dress with a plunging neckline and a naked back. If anybody gave the dress a closer look, they’d notice it was vintage. Well, they hadn’t called it vintage when she’d bought it back in the 60s. Why she’d held on to the useless thing she hadn’t worn in nearly fifty years, she didn’t know.
She should have given it to Goodwill years ago. It wasn’t like she’d worn a dress or a skirt in the last few decades; leather pants were her favorite attire. Coupled with the same high heels that adorned her feet now, she was always ready to kick ass in her leathers. In the halter dress, albeit a black one—the only color she felt truly comfortable in—she felt uneasy. As if she was faking it. And maybe she was. For the sake of her client, she had to pretend that a dress was a perfectly normal piece of clothing for her, when inside it made her feel vulnerable. And on display.
“Ma’am,” the driver interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t think we can get any further. The cable car seems to have broken down and is blocking the road.”
Instantly alert, Yvette peered out through the tinted windows, scanning the street ahead for any immediate dangers. “Wait here,” she instructed Kimberly and stepped out of the car. She looked up the street and realized that the next intersection was blocked by the cable car coming up from Powell Street. Nothing looked out of place. She’d gotten used to the fact that the old cable cars broke down from time to time.
The Fairmont Hotel was only a block farther. Glancing up and down the street and assessing the passing pedestrians quickly, she determined that everything looked as it should. Foot traffic was light. Yvette dipped her head back into the car.
“We’ll walk from here. It’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Kimberly asked, her voice faltering for the first time.
Yvette offered her hand to the girl and pulled her out of the car. “I’m sure. Let’s go. You don’t want to be late for your own party.” She slammed the door shut, then tapped on the passenger window, keeping her other hand on her charge’s arm. The driver lowered the window instantly. “I’ll call you when we’re ready to be picked up.”
The hill was steep, but Yvette knew there was a side entrance to the hotel which was halfway up the block, and within seconds they reached it. She preferred side entrances anyway—it was a better way to escape attention, and for certain the front entrance of the hotel would be teeming with autograph hunters and photographers.
“Here.” She ushered Kimberly through the side door and along a narrow corridor until it widened into a large opulent foyer, attesting to the hotel’s turn-of-the-century roots.
Yvette’s eyes scanned her surroundings. Waiters and waitresses passed through the area as did well-dressed people. She noticed the stares Kimberly received and knew that people recognized her. Whispers drifted to Yvette’s ears as they passed.
When she found the hall in which the premier party was to take place, she noticed the security at the door and let out a sigh of relief. At least the movie studio had provided some additional security to screen the arriving guests and check IDs.
Yvette flashed her Scanguards ID.
The guard nodded then beamed at Kimberly. “Miss Fairfax, may I just say, I really liked your movie. You’re so talented. Do you think I could have an autograph?”
He reached into his jacket pocket, putting Yvette on instant alert as she shifted into fighting stance, ready to strike him down. When he pulled out a postcard with Kimberly’s face on it, Yvette relaxed marginally.
“Of course,” Kimberly cooed and autographed the picture before turning to the door.
The hall was filled with several hundred people. By the looks of things, no expense had been spared. The room was decorated with still shots from the movie, overblown images of Kimberly and her male co-star, some twenty-something kid too handsome for his own good, and champagne fountains all around.
Waiters circulated with hors d’oeuvres and trays with different beverages. Yvette declined the offer of a drink at the same time as Kimberly snatched a glass of champagne off one of the trays.
“Aren’t you having any?”
“You forget I’m on duty.” Besides, champagne wasn’t her preferred drink. While she could ingest liquids if she had to, she liked something much darker and richer altogether.
“Yes, but don’t make it look like that. Mingle. I don’t want people to know I have a bodyguard. It looks so desperate. People might think I’m too high and mighty; I want to be seen as approachable. People should love me.”
Yvette refrained from rolling her eyes and shrugged. “Let them think what they want. I’m here to protect you.”
“I’m grateful, really I am, but I need a little space.”
Yvette swallowed her next remark. “Fine.” She could observe from afar. With her superior vision and hearing she could tune into any conversation in the room and scan for anybody approaching Kimberly. So when her charge stepped away from her to greet one of her many friends, Yvette didn’t pursue; instead, she stood to the side where she could watch the happenings in the ballroom.
The elegance of the people in the room was stunning. Everyone had outdone themselves, almost like at the Oscars. For the first time, Yvette was grateful for Kimberly’s insistence that she wear a dress. Comparing her outfit to that of the other women in the room, she realized she fit in. At least nobody would take any notice of her.
Slowly, her eyes scrutinized the crowd, intent on ferreting out anyone who could become a danger to Kimberly, when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head. The man who’d just entered the room and now looked around as if searching for somebody didn’t fit in. Even though he wore an elegant suit, he looked as if he’d squeezed himself into it against his will. He looked more rugged than handsome, and his broad frame spoke of strength and power. Not an actor, definitely not.
His dark hair was a little longer than was currently the fashion, and his shirt was open at the collar, even though it appeared he’d worn a tie earlier. In fact, the item in question bulged from his jacket pocket. Not a movie executive either—he’d be used to wearing ties.
His face and neck were tan, as were his hands. Even the skin which was exposed at the top of his shirt was dark, indicating that he spent a great deal of time outside. He was no paper pusher and certainly no accountant either. Yvette let her gaze sweep over him once more, then zoomed in on his hands. Scars. Lots of them: cuts, bruises, and burns. A stuntman, possibly. He didn’t quite fit in even though at the same time he belonged.
Kimberly’s movie was an action flick—with her being the proverbial damsel in distress—and there’d been more than one scene which needed a stuntman to stand in for the hero. Yvette had yawned during the entire performance at the theatre and was glad when the pointless movie had ended. This could easily be the guy who’d doubled for the male star. Even though it seemed impossible to hide his bulky muscled body and make anybody believe he was the young hero in the film. He was at least ten years older—somewhere in his early thirties—and much more mature than the lead actor. Yvette figured graphics and airbrushing could do a lot to make people believe anything. In any case, she’d have to check him out more thoroughly to make sure her assumptions were right, merely for Kimberly’s safety’s sake of course, and not her own inexplicable curiosity about the man.
When she raised her gaze to study his face, his piercing blue eyes greeted her. How long had he been watching her?
Four
Haven exhaled. The woman was stunning. An actress for sure, even though he’d never seen her in a movie. What else could she be with that porcelain skin and the short black hair that was styled back away from her flawless face? Her high cheekbones accentuated her green eyes, and her red lips were so plump and kissable, he felt his cock ache at the thought of her mouth on—
Haven tried to shake off the erotic vision tumbling through his mind. He wasn’t like his brother, who fell for every pretty face without thinking. But as he swept his gaze over her perfect body, appreciating the lush curves hidden under her black dress, he wondered why he’d ever faulted Wesley for his weakness. Right now, he was feeling that same kind of weakness he’d always chastised his brother for.
Haven’s cock expanded under his entirely too-tight formal suit which he’d rented at a tuxedo store down the street. It wasn’t like he was ever going to wear that kind of wardrobe again. There was no point in buying such a useless garment. But as much as he tried to concentrate his thoughts on his unusual attire, they instantly drifted back to the beauty across the room and to the way she made his cock throb with lust.
Clearly, that’s all this was: lust. His life had become too single-minded over the years—only concentrating on hunting vampires and searching for his sister—and he hadn’t allowed himself to enjoy the company of women for too long. He didn’t like being distracted by them. He had no time for family and love when all he wanted was to restore the family he’d lost.
It shouldn’t matter to him that this stranger, who didn’t shy away from the intensity of his gaze, inspired all kinds of desires, none of which were suitable for display in a public ballroom with hundreds of guests watching. The images currently charging through his mind were more suitable to a dark hallway closet where he could press the woman against a wall and fuck her until he’d slaked his lust and felt normal again. Already now, he knew it would take more than just one quick fuck. Maybe he’d have to have her under him for a few hours to get this feeling out of his system. And if she was any good, well, he could spare a whole night, but only after he’d taken care of what he’d come for. That didn’t mean he couldn’t go over there and get her phone number though.
Before he could change his mind, Haven walked up to her, only stopping when he was a foot away from her. To his surprise, she didn’t back away but stood her ground: the sign of a confident woman. And why wouldn’t she be confident? With her sultry looks, she could have any of the men in this room panting at her feet. Licking them even.
“I’m Haven.” He turned on his charm and started counting. Thirty seconds was all he would need to get her number. And not a f
ake 5-5-5 number either.
“Odd name.”
He inhaled her scent. She wore barely any perfume. It rather seemed as if her skin smelled of oranges. He didn’t know of any commercial perfume of that scent. “My mother was into odd things.”
She nodded as if she knew what that meant. “You were working on the movie?”
Was she trying to figure out if he was a big producer who could help her career? He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. No, when she submitted to his touch, she would do so because of who he was, not what he was. “Stuntman,” he lied. It was a job unimportant enough for a woman like her, yet would show off his physical prowess. And being a bounty hunter wasn’t that much different from being a stuntman. Only that danger was more up close and personal, more of a surety. For him, no safety nets existed. No ambulance was waiting when he got injured. No crew stood by to help him out if he got in too deep.
She gave a satisfied smile, her eyes traveling over his body. And damn it if he didn’t love the way she licked her lips at the same time. “I figured.”
Was it getting hot in here? “And you?”
“I’m not a stuntman,” she purposefully misunderstood his question. It didn’t matter. He didn’t really care what she was. All he cared about was where she’d be very soon: under his body.
“Didn’t think so.” He swept an appreciative glance over her body, lingering on her round breasts for longer than necessary. When he met her eyes again, the knowledge that he’d been assessing her female assets was on her face, yet she didn’t pull away or look at him with disgust.
“You think you’ve got what it takes?” The words rolled off her lips in a seductive sweep. Her pink tongue emerged, moistening her lips. “Many have tried. None have succeeded.”
