Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy)

by Davis, Sharon

  As he placed two crumpled pieces of newspaper on the grate, Zane’s thoughts turned to the pornographic films that Barbie, a stripper who was one of his regular menu items, often subjected him to. Although he did not—could not—understand the appeal of watching others fornicate, he had to admit he had been intrigued by the sounds and facial expressions of the actors as they pleasured one another. If their performances were authentic, sex appeared to be as enjoyable as drinking blood, and thus he could not help but to wonder what it would be like to have sensation in that part of his body.

  Zane glanced over his shoulder just as Madison polished off her drink. Smirking, he arched a brow. “A little thirsty, are we?”

  “Yeah.” She giggled. “A little.”

  Zane crisscrossed several pieces of hardwood over a handful of kindling, lit the newspaper underneath. “I am feeling a little parched myself,” he said, standing up.

  Madison held out her glass. Dismissing it with a wave of his hand, Zane retrieved the bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and then grabbed the stereo remote off the cedar coffee table before joining her on the sofa.

  “Thanks,” she said after he refilled her glass, which she nearly emptied in one gulp.

  He smiled as he poured her more. “Do you like music?”

  “Of course,” she answered, nodding.

  Zane barely managed to suppress a grimace as the soundtrack to an insanely popular movie began to play. Madison’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  He winked. “I am full of surprises.”

  “I’ve noticed.” She giggled. “So are you Team Edward or Jacob?”

  Zane gave her a half-grin. “Team Victoria.”

  “What? No! She’s the bad guy!”

  He shrugged. “Matter of opinion.”

  Madison gaped at him.

  He chuckled.

  “You’re joking?”

  Zane nodded.

  She sighed in relief.

  “What about you? Sparkly vampire or buff werewolf?”

  “Definitely buff werewolf,” she blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks flushed. “I mean—”

  “No offense taken,” he interrupted.

  Madison’s forehead creased in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

  “Did I not tell you that I am what you humans would call a vampire?”

  She blinked.

  Zane chuckled again.

  She rolled her eyes, playfully slapped his leg. “Oh, you!”

  “You do not actually believe such things exist, do you, Madison?”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not.”

  “Good.”

  Madison took a sip of champagne. Frowned as she glanced at the bottle in his hand. “You haven’t drank any yet.”

  Saliva pooled in Zane’s mouth at the thought of her warm blood filling it. He swallowed hard. “Yet.”

  Her glazed eyes dropped to his mouth as Zane licked his lips. She quickly drained her glass. He quickly refilled it and then raised the bottle. “I would like to propose a toast.”

  Biting her bottom lip, Madison averted her gaze. Zane leaned forward. Her cornflower-blue eyes darted up to his. “To the beautiful woman who has gifted me with the most pleasant night I have ever had.”

  With another giggle, Madison lifted her glass. Zane tapped it with the bottle and then pretended to drink from it as she took a large swallow of her champagne. When she started to lower her glass, he placed two fingers on the bottom and guided it back to her mouth. “Bad luck not to drink it all, my lady.”

  She did.

  Zane poured her more.

  Fanning her face with her hand, Madison giggled. “Shew—I think this better be my last one.” Another giggle. “I’m such a lightweight.”

  He gave her a teasing grin. “You are not going to get drunk and try to take advantage of me, are you?”

  After a stream of girlish giggles that ended with a loud snort, she asked, “How is it that you’ve never been married?”

  Zane forced a smile as a burst of heat exploded inside his stomach, as if his internal organs had suddenly caught on fire. “Wild animals are not meant to be caged, Madison.”

  “Ahhh, I think I get it now.” She took another gulp of liquid courage. “You’re the typical guy—afraid of commitment, don’t want to be tamed by a woman.”

  Zane’s gums began to tingle as he draped an arm over the back of the sofa so that his hand was behind Madison’s head.

  “Firstly, I am anything but typical.”

  He slipped his fingers into the long flowing locks at the nape of her neck.

  “Secondly, I fear nothing.”

  Balling his hand into a fist, he gave her hair a hard tug before releasing it.

  “And thirdly, there is not a woman alive capable of taming me.”

  The scent of fear returned to Madison’s blood with system-shocking swiftness and strength. Zane started convulsing as if being forcibly shaken by an invisible entity, the sofa moving back and forth with each hard jerk of his body. Rearing back, Madison gasped, “Oh my God!”

  Zane gnashed his teeth as he fought to subdue the raging beast within.

  “Are you having a seizure?!”

  Take her, my child.

  “Zane?!”

  Take her!

  “Zane, please—say something!”

  Now!

  Zane snapped his narrowed eyes to Madison’s wide ones. “You made me wait too long,” he snarled, saliva dripping from his mouth as his canine teeth elongated.

  He leaped.

  She screamed.

  He sank his fangs into her neck.

  She thrashed beneath him.

  He fisted his hands in her hair, holding her head immobile as he sucked feverishly, gulping mouthfuls of blood down his raw throat, moaning loudly as he savored the taste of her terror.

  She stopped moving.

  He continued drinking until he had taken her last drop and then, with a satisfied grunt, pushed off of her.

  Zane’s back hit the floor. He stared at the ceiling with glazed eyes that were half-closed, lost in the invigorating rush of Madison’s heated blood nourishing every bone, muscle, vein and cell as it coursed through his body.

  He had forgotten how gratifying it was to feed to full capacity.

  Because you seek to control the uncontrollable, my child.

  Zane grunted at the now faint voice inside his head. “And the buzz kill arrives at the party.”

  Putting up a mental block, he sprang to his feet. Leaned over Madison. Clucked his tongue. “I failed to mention what a dangerous game playing hard to get is with me.”

  Zane tossed her over his shoulder. “Lesson learned.”

  Chapter 3

  Lacey’s eyelids flew apart.

  What the hell was that?!

  Holding her breath, she waited for the sound that had yanked her from her doze to come again. Searching the darkness enveloping her, she had to strain to hear over the thudding of her heart.

  A sudden gust of wind.

  Satanists performing a dark ritual.

  The house groaned.

  A vengeful ghost.

  Windows rattled.

  Skeletons tapping bony fingers against the cracked glass.

  Creaking floorboards.

  They’re all coming to get me!

  Cursing her imagination, Lacey pushed the comforter off of her head as she sat up. Maybe it was a good thing that her father had sold her television, DVD player and DVD’s.

  She kicked the comforter to the end of the bed, swiveled around, put her feet on the floor. She was about to stand up when she heard the heavy echo of footsteps coming from the hallway.

  A horribly disfigured inbred.

  “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she grumbled, turning on the bedside lamp, “enough already!”

  Damn horror movies. Why had she ever watched the annoying things anyway? Nothing but a bunch of stupid people doing stupid things. Investigating stra
nge noises while alone and weaponless. Drinking. Doing drugs. Having unprotected sex. Hell, even safe sex, because apparently orgasms destroyed brain cells—being intimate with Amelia had been the equivalent of Clint undergoing a total lobotomy.

  After a long stretch Lacey left her room. The robust aroma of coffee pierced her nostrils as she shuffled down the hallway. Inhaling deeply, she followed the mouth-watering scent into the kitchen with its ugly apricot walls and matching linoleum, ridiculously oversized cabinets and what looked like the first appliances ever made.

  Clint glanced up, having just finished pouring the contents of the coffee pot into a large metal thermos. “Morning, kiddo.”

  Lacey’s hands flew to her hips. “Hey, I wanted a cup of that!”

  He screwed the lid on top of the thermos. “I changed the filter and added fresh grounds so all you need to do is add water.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” she snapped, glaring at him as she snatched the carafe off the counter. She took it over to the large, deep sink. The pipes groaned as she turned the faucet handle. After a few sputtering sprays a stream of rusty water shot out of the spout. “Gross!”

  “Let it run for a minute and it’ll clear up.”

  Lacey spun around to face him, her mouth gaping. She waved her hands around. “Seriously? This is the best you could do?”

  He grabbed the thermos off the counter. “I have to go.”

  Of course you do, she thought as he darted for the door.

  “Do you think you could take a few minutes out of playing detective today to pick up some cleaning supplies?” She snorted. “God only knows what kind of germs are crawling around in this shithole.”

  Clint paused in the doorway between the kitchen and foyer. “What do you need?” he asked without turning around.

  For you to get your stupid head out of your damn ass.

  Knowing it was pointless to say what she was thinking, Lacey replied, “Lots of bleach—the strongest they have. Paper towels. Scrub sponges. Rubber gloves. Trash bags. A mop and bucket, broom and dustpan.” She exhaled sharply. “I guess that’s it.”

  After a curt nod, her father walked out of the house. Sighing, Lacey turned back to the sink. The water at least looked consumable now. She filled the carafe and then took it over to the coffee maker, hoping she didn’t catch some kind of skin-rotting disease from drinking the water.

  Lacey took a seat at the aluminum dining table in front of the window to wait for the coffee to brew. She absently traced one of many deep cuts in the table’s yellowish-white top as she watched Clint’s car pull out of the driveway. He probably wouldn’t return until after she’d already gone to bed, so cleaning was off her The Only Damn Thing There Is To Do Around Here list.

  Chewing on the ragged nail of her index finger, Lacey swept her gaze over the beams of bright, golden rays streaming through the leaves of the thick expanse of hickory, oak, and pine trees on the other side of the gravel road. A gray squirrel, its fluffy tail jerking wildly, darted across it. She leaned forward as the animal stopped in the front yard to rear up and look around. “Hey, what’s up?” she yelled, waving her hands.

  The squirrel’s eyes snapped to the window a second before it darted out of sight. Lacey snorted. “Antisocial much?”

  Yawning, she stood up and stretched. Going back to bed and sleeping the entire day away might have been an option if it wasn’t still so damn chilly in the house. She crossed the kitchen to look at the long, rusted thermometer attached to the outside of the small window above the sink. Sixty-five degrees. Shuffling to the coffee pot, she wondered how hot it had to get outside before it got warm inside.

  Lacey filled her personalized mug, blew on the hot liquid, took a sip. After two more eye-watering yawns, she concluded it was going to take more than caffeine to get her brain functioning.

  Opening the front door, Lacey was about to step outside and into the crisp morning air when she spotted a half-naked man standing in the middle of the road. With a startled shriek she simultaneously slammed the door and jumped back. Hot coffee sloshed onto her skin. She shrieked again and dropped the mug.

  Waving her burning hand in the air, Lacey quickly locked the door with the other. She kicked the mug into the living room and then darted into the kitchen. Crouching down, she peered over the edge of the window sill. The man was still there, and he was looking—no, scowling—at the house.

  Serial killer!

  Holding her breath, Lacey’s wide eyes followed the man’s hand as it raked through his damp hair and then swiped across his glistening forehead before returning to his hip. With a slow blink, she lowered her gaze.

  Black running shorts and tennis shoes.

  Lacey’s butt hit the floor as she face-palmed herself. “He’s not a serial killer, dumb ass, he’s a jogger.”

  She shook her head. Not even a full day in Podunk and she was already suffering from paranoia. At the rate she was going, her next move would be to the nearest loony bin.

  Cursing under her breath, Lacey stormed into the living room. She scanned the worn-out floor and spotted the mug next to an ancient-looking wood stove. Diagonal from it was Clint’s tattered beige recliner. The back leg had been lost during one of their many moves and the brick in its place made the chair lean slightly to the right. Beside it was a small end table with a silver radio and a small lamp on top. That was it.

  After placing the mug in the sink Lacey grabbed the wet dish rag draped across the faucet, returned to the foyer and dropped to her knees. A few swipes rid the floor of both the coffee and the layer of dirt that covered it. “Fucking pigpen,” she spat.

  Lacey stood up just as something hit the door. Yelping, she spun around to face it and then jumped back when she saw the man standing on the other side of it. His mouth was moving but she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. When she didn’t speak, his dark brows furrowed.

  The doorknob jiggled. Gasping, she lunged at it. Lacey turned the lock and then bolted up the stairs. She was half-way up them when the door creaked open.

  It was already locked, dumb ass!

  Lacey’s brain stopped functioning after that thought. She started back up the stairs. Stopped. Took two steps down. Stopped again. Looked up, down, left and right. Shot up to the second floor landing and then spun around. Shuffling backwards, she came to an abrupt stop when her backside hit the wall.

  Looking down into the foyer, Lacey found the man staring up at her with raised eyebrows and his arms crossed over his chest. “Wh-Wh-Wh—”

  Damn it, mouth, work!

  Lacey was struggling to form words out of the garbled sounds sputtering out from between her lips when the man spoke. “Are you all right?” he asked, taking a step forward.

  “No!”

  Yes, I can speak!

  “Do you need help?”

  “No!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No!”

  But apparently I know only one word now.

  Lacey blinked as the corners of the man’s mouth curled up. He’s smiling. Why is he smiling? Because he’s thinking about what he’s going to do to me, that’s why. Oh God, is he going to kill me? Yes. Yes, he’s going to kill me. Because that’s what serial killer joggers do.

  “Relax,” he said, his deep voice softening. “I am not going to hurt you.”

  Oh good—a quick, painless death.

  “I heard screams.”

  “I screamed.”

  He chuckled, and it was the scariest sound she’d ever heard. “Yes, which is why I decided to come check on you.”

  “I spilled coffee. On me. I spilled coffee on me. It was hot.”

  Seriously? What the hell, brain?

  “Do you need medical attention? Should I call an ambulance?”

  No more talking, dumb ass, just shake your head.

  “Very well,” he said, “I shall go then.”

  Lacey nodded like a bobble-head doll. The man started to turn away but then stopped
. He glanced over his shoulder. Tilted his head back as he inhaled deeply. Frowned. With a sharp exhale of breath, he walked out of the house.

  Lacey remained where she was for a couple of minutes before slowly descending the stairs. She paused half-way and crouched down to perform a slow back and forth sweep of the front porch. Not seeing anyone, she ran to the door, slammed it shut and locked it. Pressing her face against the glass, she scanned the sides of the porch.

  Nothing.

  Lacey released the breath she’d been holding as she backed up to sit down on the bottom step. No need for coffee—she was definitely wide awake now.

  Chapter 4

  “No one?”

  “No one.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  Running her hands over the crimson silk sheets adorning the four-poster bed, Barbie glanced at the fifty-two inch television across from it. “Then how do you know that you wouldn’t enjoy it?”

  “Ask me one more question,” Zane snarled as the freckled redhead on the screen swallowed the muscular black man’s cock. “I dare you.”

  Barbie’s heart-shaped face revealed her fear a moment before its sharp scent saturated her blood. “I’m s-sorry, Master,” she stammered, her russet-colored eyes wide. “Please, don’t go.”

  Zane shifted so that his back was flush against the headboard. “Face the television,” he ordered, wrapping his hand around the base of his erection.

  After tucking the thin strands of her sandy blonde hair behind her ears, Barbie eagerly straddled him, positioning herself so that the head of Zane’s cock was poised at the entrance to her wet cunt.

  Zane seized Barbie by the hips. Her body tensed, breaths and heartbeat quickening in expectation. He inhaled deeply, bypassing the now dominant scent of arousal in favor of the subtle trace of fear still left in her blood. Soon both would be replaced by pain, the scent that spoke the loudest to the predator within, making him want to lunge at his prey, sink his fangs into its neck and rip out its throat before he voraciously fed on its life source.