Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy)

by Davis, Sharon

  Amelia had hated anything remotely similar to manual labor, so Clint and Lacey had always prepared the holiday meal themselves. He’d cook while she fetched things for him, peeled and sliced vegetables, and opened cans. Once, after begging him, he’d put her in charge of the mashed potatoes, and even though they could have used the end product as mortar he’d gobbled them up with a smile and then asked for seconds after telling her they were the best he’d ever had. The comment had made Amelia storm out of the dining room after giving them both a look that could have instantly frozen boiling water. Clint had quickly followed, looking as excited and eager as a dog whose ball was about to be thrown.

  For two solid hours afterward, the single-story brick house had been filled with their raised voices, her mother’s shrill and her father’s thunderous as they yelled at, cursed and slapped each other. As bad as their fights were, the make-up sex that always followed was even worse. She could ignore the former, but only deafness could have enabled her to tune out the latter.

  Lacey cringed as she buttoned her pajama top. It should have been called ‘throw-up sex’ instead because that’s exactly what she’d felt like doing while being subjected to hour after hour of hearing her parents’ shrieks, grunts and dirty talk. On more than one occasion she’d thought their stupid bed was going to burst through the damn wall and shoot right into her room. And Clint never looked happier than on the morning after one of his and Amelia’s freak shows, which only confirmed Lacey’s suspicion that the only reason her father had ever given her the time of day was to piss off her mother, who hated anyone else receiving attention or compliments while in her presence.

  It certainly explained why he had no use for her now.

  Lacey wished she could forget every good time they’d had together. She knew they were all fake and yet she yearned for them to be real, which made giving up such a difficult thing to do.

  But she would.

  If she kept focusing on all the bad times and every hurtful thing he’d ever said and done to her, eventually her love would turn to hate, and then she would finally be free. To do what, she didn’t know, and she didn’t dare jinx the future by making plans. But for now it was enough just knowing she’d have options that didn’t include spending the rest of her life chained out of love to a man who didn’t even love her back.

  That would be a fate worse than death.

  Chapter 2

  “Alexis.” His sister’s name came out as a deep, rumbling growl of warning from between Zane Nikolas’ sneering lips.

  What in the name of Blodbad had made him think a family outing to a county fair was a good idea? He could have thrown a starving fox into a hen house and been more surprised by the outcome.

  “Well it is,” Alexis replied before taking a deep, appreciative breath. “Mmmm...so many delectable options that I simply cannot choose merely one item.”

  Zane tightened his grip around the back of her neck even though the action was pointless; she could no more feel his hand than he could the wind ruffling the long hair cascading over her shoulders like a black silk cape. “Then you will go hungry.”

  “That’s baby brother’s schtik,” she scoffed, “not mine.”

  Zane eyed the seventeen-year-old boy standing several feet away from them. His head was down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of black skinny jeans that did nothing to flatter his skeletal frame. The pointy silver studs on his black belt glimmered in the light of the setting sun.

  “Samuel.”

  Not looking up, his brother shuffled his feet, making the silver skull buckles on his black ankle boots clink.

  “Samuel, come here.”

  “Can hear ya just fine from where I’m standing,” he grumbled. Removing his thick black glasses, he wiped the lenses with the hem of his tee shirt before putting them back on. “At least until The Powers That Be decide to screw us out of that sense, too.”

  Zane inhaled and exhaled heavily. “The deterioration of your eyesight is your doing, Samuel,” he replied. “You can reverse it at any—”

  “No, I can’t.”

  Alexis rolled her ice-blue eyes, framed with thick, black liner. “You mean won’t.”

  “That’s right,” Samuel replied, dodging a child of kindergarten age as she dashed by with a fluffy mound of pink cotton candy in one small hand. The frantic steps of the woman calling after the giggling little girl slowed when she caught sight of Zane. Smoothing her frazzled blonde bob, she swept her unblinking gaze over him. When their eyes met, she smiled. With a dismissive blink, Zane averted his gaze. The woman resumed her chase with a sharp exhale of breath.

  Alexis arched one pencil-thin brow. “Dinner and dessert?”

  “Act your age for once.”

  “It’s called a sense of humor and considering most girls of twenty-two have them I am acting my age.”

  Zane yanked her toward Samuel, who spun around to run off and collided with a heavily bearded biker just as the beer-bellied man threw a dart at one of the brightly colored balloons lining the game booth’s back wall. “Sonofabitch!” he bellowed as the dart bounced off the counter and onto the ground behind it. He faced Samuel, fisted hands planted firmly on his meaty hips. “Look what you did!”

  Samuel held up his hands. “Sorry—”

  “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be, ya little freak!”

  “Aw now, sugar,” Alexis cooed, slipping out of Zane’s grasp. She tossed him a wink before sauntering over to the biker. “There’s no need for all that. It’s just a silly little game, after all.”

  The biker’s tightened jaw relaxed and his narrowed eyes widened as he gave Alexis a slow, head-to-toe once-over. Moving to the counter, she propped herself up on her elbows, hooking her index fingers around the belt loops of tight red jeans that were so low the strings of her red thong were visible.

  “Zane, take baby brother to get a funnel cake or something.” Returning her gaze to the biker, Alexis flicked the corner of her red mouth with the tip of her tongue. “I’ll make things right with this hulk of a man.”

  “N-no,” Samuel stammered, seizing the wallet from his back pocket. He grabbed a five dollar bill, thrust it at the biker. “Please, just take—”

  Alexis snatched it from his shaking hand. “Great idea, Sammy. The least we can do is buy our new friend dinner.”

  Zane gritted his teeth as she slid the money between the flesh spilling over the narrow strip of red fabric posing as a tube top. She looked as cheap as the merchandise found inside a Dollar Tree store. He hated it, she knew he hated it, which meant she would never stop doing it no more than Samuel would stop feeling sorry for himself. Despite the fact that he had willingly assumed the role of protector and provider upon their father’s abandonment shortly after their mother’s death, his siblings despised him. Ten years and neither of them had ever shown him an ounce of respect or appreciation.

  You must live in the moment, my child. Fruit from the trees of the past and the future must not be consumed.

  Zane winced at the thunderous voice inside his head. The weaker they were the stronger the father of his kind became, and since Zane did not care to find out if Blodbad’s loud, incessant droning could render him both insane and deaf, he decided it was time to obtain nourishment. Before he could excuse himself, Alexis said to the biker, “Come on, big fella. I know somewhere there’s a pork barbecue stand with your name all over it.”

  “My friends call me Big Bad Bart,” the man boasted, his chest puffing out as he slid one beefy arm around Alexis’ tiny waist. “Wit’ good reason, too.”

  “Promise you’ll be gentle with me?” she teased with a flutter of her long eyelashes.

  Big Bad Bart guffawed. “Who you kiddin’, doll? I can spot a broad with a hankerin’ for the rough stuff from a mile away.”

  Meeting Zane’s unwavering gaze, Alexis grinned. “I think he’s a keeper,” she said, then giggled.

  Narrowing his eyes in warning, Zane mouthed He better be before turning to face Samuel, who
had tears in his eyes. “He did call you a freak.”

  “No point getting mad at the truth.”

  Zane released a harsh breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you, for one goddamn night, drop the poor little me routine?”

  “It’s not me I feel sorry for.”

  Before Zane could respond Samuel took off, darting between a couple of rednecks arguing over which of the two had the coolest hat. “It looks like I done got shot up!” boasted a noodle-thin man sporting a camouflage hat riddled with fake bullet holes.

  The potbellied bald guy next to him waved around a hat with fake hair sewn into it. “But I got me a mullet!”

  With his patience and energy nearing dangerously low levels, Zane did not have it in him to go another round with the reigning champ of self-pity. Instead of chasing after Samuel, he turned his focus to the sights, sounds and smells surrounding him.

  He was surrounded by people: Rambunctious kids. Exhausted parents. Teenage girls running into everything because they were too busy text messaging to watch where they were going. Teenage boys more interested in chasing each other with the wooden mallet intended for the large rubber mole that emitted a high-pitched squeak whenever it was clobbered on the head. Coins clinked against glass bowls, bells chimed, whistles blew, music exploded from beyond the grandstand where a country band sang about fishing in the dark. And the smells...

  Oh dear Blodbad, the smells. The odor of human blood changed with emotion, and the smorgasbord of options bombarding him from every direction had him on the verge of a feeding frenzy.

  Swallowing hard from the lack of moisture in his mouth, Zane spotted a curvy redhead purchasing fries from the stand six feet away. Turning around, she popped a slither of potato into her mouth and then shuffled forward, her full attention on the Styrofoam cup she held.

  Zane took a deep breath, zoning in on the scent of the famished woman’s blood. The flavor of that life-sustaining liquid also changed with emotion, however his preferred method of feeding primarily during sex—the only way he could do so without calling attention to himself and then be able to leave afterward without a body in need of disposal—meant he rarely got to enjoy something other than the smell and taste of a sexually aroused female.

  As difficult as it was to do so, Zane had to refrain from sampling the fear-laden supply of blood stored at home. He knew he would not be able to stop after a mere sip or two, which would leave Samuel, who refused to hunt for himself, without sustenance. His brother’s ability to resist such temptation while in a perpetual state of starvation was beyond Zane’s comprehension.

  He reached for the silver watch on his left wrist as the woman closed the distance between them. He was about to undo the clasp when the sharp scent of fear pierced his brain like a red hot poker. Ignoring the voluptuous female now shuffling past him, Zane quickly identified the source—a shrieking woman paused at the top of the Ferris wheel. He was salivating by the time the operator helped her off the ride.

  Zane waited until she was approximately a foot away before unhooking the watch’s clasp and then giving his wrist a subtle shake. “Oh!” the woman gasped, almost stepping on it as it hit the ground. Kneeling swiftly, she slid two fingers around the band. Her gaze climbed upward, doing a double-take when it passed over the bulging material at his crotch. “Sir, you dropped this,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she held up the watch.

  Zane casually brushing his thumb across the palm of her hand as he took it from her. “I cannot believe this,“ he exhaled, “my jeweler assured me that this infuriating thing had been repaired.”

  After sliding the watch into his pocket, Zane helped the woman to stand. Model thin and tall, she came within a couple inches of matching his seventy-five. Sandwiching her hand between his, he gave her an appreciative smile and said, “I am impressed—your honesty is practically a nonexistent trait in today’s world.”

  She averted her gaze, a bashful smile curving the corners of her wide mouth. “I guess you can thank my parents for that.”

  “I would love to. Are they here with you?”

  The corners of her glossy mouth turned down. “No,” she said in a soft voice, “they’re with the Lord.”

  Zane mirrored her mournful expression. “I am so very, very sorry.”

  She offered him a tiny smile.

  “Well, I feel positively horrible now,” he said, punctuating the statement with a heavy sigh. “Bringing up painful memories is not how I wanted to repay you for your kindness.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” the woman replied, shaking her head so hard and fast he was surprised she did not sustain whiplash. “Please, don’t feel bad.”

  “I will not be capable of feeling any other way until you allow me to make it up to you.” Zane pushed aside the strand of sandy blonde hair hiding one of her deep-set eyes. “There is a delightful little French cafe only thirty minutes from here—”

  “No, I couldn’t possibly.”

  Zane blinked in disbelief. With the exception of Alexis, the only time he ever heard the word no come out of a female’s mouth was in conjunction with Don’t go or Don’t stop.

  Reigning in the anger at the thought of having to continue his hunt, Zane gave the woman a curt nod and then turned away.

  “Wait...please.”

  He resisted the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he met her troubled gaze.

  “What I meant was...” She released a shaky breath, followed by a nervous laugh. “Well, we just met and...”

  “You would prefer remaining here,” he finished as her voice trailed off. “Where you feel—” he cocked his head to one side “—safe.”

  Shifting from one foot to the other, the woman wrapped her arms around her in a protective hug. “Would you mind?” she asked in a timid voice. “Staying?”

  Goddamn it, I should have chosen the fucking redhead.

  Zane gave her a warm smile. “Not at all. I shall seize the opportunity to show off by winning you a few of those giant stuffed animals.”

  The woman’s shoulders dropped as she relaxed, smiling so wide he could see the chip in one slightly pointed premolar. “Only a few, huh?”

  “Dozen,” he replied, offering her his bent arm.

  Giggling, she slid hers through it. “Oh, I’ll settle for just one of each.”

  “I’ve never done this before,” Madison said with a marked urgency in her voice as Zane shut off the engine. “Going home with someone I just met, I mean.”

  Retaining his fake smile, Zane climbed out of the van. Instead of trying to rip it off the hinges like he wanted to, he gently closed the door. As he walked around the front of the vehicle he took deep breaths, trying to ease the hot slices of pain in his gut. Not for the first time that night, he regretted selecting Madison as a possible addition to his menu. He did not look forward to spending another four hours coaxing the woman into having sex just so he could feed.

  Take her, my child, take her now and then bury the body in the woods. No one will ever know.

  Zane pushed Blodbad’s rather appealing suggestion from his mind as he opened the passenger side door. Ignoring his proffered hand, Madison stared down at him with uncertainty in her unblinking eyes. “I...don’t think I should be doing this,” she whispered.

  “I assure you, Maddie,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice soft and even, “my intention is solely to resume getting to know you in a more private setting over a bottle of champagne.”

  When she continued to look skeptical, Zane wanted to yank her out of the van and then sink his fangs into the body part that happened to be the closest to his mouth. Instead, he bowed his head as he expelled a heavy sigh.

  “I can see now the connection I thought we shared was merely a figment of my imagination. I shall take you back to your car and never again burden you with my company.”

  “Zane,” she said as he turned to go, “wait.” When he met her conflicted gaze, Madison shook her head. “I’m being ridiculous.” She si
ghed and then offered him a tiny smile as she held out her trembling hand. “Forgive me?”

  “No apology necessary,” he replied, helping her out of the van. With his hand on her back, Zane guided Madison along the gravel path leading to the one bedroom cabin’s small porch.

  “I really am sorry,” she whined, swatting at a moth as it flew by on its way to the flickering overhead light. “You’ve been a perfect gentleman all night and I repay you by acting like a paranoid lunatic.”

  Zane brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “But a most beautiful paranoid lunatic.”

  Madison’s face flushed red as she looked down. With a light chuckle, Zane tweaked the end of her nose before opening the front door. “After you, my lady.”

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she said, giggling girlishly as she entered the cabin.

  Madison’s breath hitched when Zane closed the door behind them and darkness swallowed the combination living room slash kitchen. Her wide eyes darted around, the beats of her heart becoming frantic. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, his head and body buzzing from her fear-scented blood.

  “Z-Zane...?”

  Not making a sound, he moved to the cedar sofa table and lit the first of three pillar candles that were on top of it. “I will build us a fire,” he said as Madison’s eyes snapped to his. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  She hesitated a moment before ambling over to the cedar sofa, glancing around as she sat down on the edge of it. “Cozy,” she said, clutching the ends of the hunter-green cushions. “And really clean for a guy.”

  “A place for everything,” he replied, leaning over the back of the sofa, “and everything in its place.”

  “Oh my!” She gave a nervous laugh as she patted the area over her heart. “You startled me.”

  Grinning, Zane revealed the glass he held that had been hidden from view by the back of the sofa. “Your champagne.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Zane walked to the fireplace, hoping as he knelt down in front of it that his zipper would not burst apart from the pressure his swollen cock was exuding upon it. The scent of blood coupled with the anticipation of satiating his hunger with that delicious beverage always gave him an erection. He could only surmise that it was a by-product of being half human since the skin of Blodbad’s descendents was impervious to everything including sensation, a physical trait designed not only to prevent suicide in a painless, easy manner but to also ensure that the only pleasure his kind was able to obtain was through the consumption of blood.