by Cat Marsters
“The other fae court. The Seelie are summer creatures. They’re made of light and warmth. Finding him this far north in winter, in the middle of the night, just felt wrong.”
She cocked her head. “The ‘other’ fae court? What are you?”
“Unseelie.” At her gesture, he explained, “The opposite of Seelie. We represent… darkness. Winter. Cold.”
“And the two courts? You’re enemies?”
“Yes. Well, no. Well… it’s complicated.”
She looked bored. “And what about the slimy thing? The goblin? What court is he?”
“He’s not. Goblins are Wildfae -- they don’t belong to a court. Sometimes their allegiance can be bought though.”
“Great. So the Seelie faery hired the goblin to kill you.” She picked angrily at the sheet across her lap. “Outside my club.”
“Yes… your club.” Ruarc frowned, and asked again, “How long have you been singing there?”
“That was my first night.” She scowled at him. “And probably my last, thanks to you.”
“Why, what’d I do?”
She stared at him incredulously. “What did you do? You turned up and almost got me killed!”
“It’s not my fault --”
“No, it is. I heard that guy say I was his… his… reward,” she spat the word, “for distracting you, so the goblin could kill you.”
“But how did they know you’d be there?”
“I don’t know!” she yelled. “Don’t you faeries have any extra senses? You said you smelled that Seelie. Can’t a faery smell a vampire?”
Against his own wishes, Ruarc breathed in. She smelled like sex.
Wordless, he nodded.
“Well, then. He just picked out the nearest vampire that wouldn’t be a threat --” she broke off, her eyes nervously darting away from his. “The first vampire who was alone,” she corrected.
Ruarc closed his eyes, because she was damn distracting sitting there all naked and glowing and smelling delicious. “No,” he said. “It’s still not right. I felt…”
He opened his eyes, and she was glaring at him mutinously. She didn’t care what he felt. Didn’t care that he’d felt something dangerous, and something incongruous, and had attributed the two to different things -- vampire and Seelie.
But he wasn’t feeling danger from her now. And he hadn’t in the alley. The dangerous thing was the goblin.
The goblin that had hired the Seelie to cover for the incongruity. Because Ruarc wouldn’t be feeling any specific danger from the Seelie.
But why go to all that trouble?
His headache was returning, with interest. Ruarc pushed away from the wall and headed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.
“Hey, faery?”
She stood there in the doorway, a sheet wrapped around her naked body, watching him. He looked up.
And she said… nothing. Silence stretched between them. Ruarc could feel her curiosity pushing at him, but she didn’t ask him anything.
Finally she shook her head. “Clothes,” she said. “I need clothes.”
“That’s not what you were going to say.”
Her jaw clenched. She squared her shoulders, which had the unfortunate effect of pushing her breasts out. “How do you know what I was going to say?”
Because I’m a bloody telepath. Yeah, she’d love that.
He shrugged, trying to ignore the thrust of her soft breasts against the sheet. Why the hell was she affecting him so much? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before. For five years he’d watched her prowling around her cell, naked and proud, scowling and spitting. He’d thought back then she was beautiful -- for a vampire, anyway.
“If you want to leave,” he said, gesturing to the doorway. “I’m not keeping you.”
A shadow crossed her face at that. Bad choice of words.
“And where am I supposed to go?” she said. “It’s full daylight out there.” She gathered the sheet around her again, and Ruarc tried not to notice the way her breasts swayed as she bent to pick it up.
“Okay then. Go when it’s dark.” He tried to look like he didn’t care. But that wasn’t easy, because it was a lie. He did care. He wanted her to stay here, to drop that sheet, spread those succulent thighs and let him plunge back inside her again. He wanted her to drop to her knees and take his aching cock in her hot dark mouth. He wanted to suckle her sweet plump nipples.
His headache pounding full force, he swiped those thoughts from his mind in case he accidentally broadcast them to her. She’d probably kill him for them. And right now, his head throbbing, his body aching from last night’s fight and unable to heal at its usual rate due to the blood she’d sucked from him, he really didn’t think he’d be able to stop her.
“Do what you want,” he said, and pushed past her to crash on the bed.
Chapter Five
Maria stood staring at the faery’s closed bedroom door, more than a little confused.
Faeries were weird.
She paced slowly down the stairs into the huge open-plan living space of his apartment. Midnight blue curtains covered one whole double-height wall -- she could feel the heat of the sun behind them. So he hadn’t been kidding about keeping the bedroom door closed.
Her unpracticed, unfamiliar eye had no idea what sort of furniture might be considered expensive or stylish in the early twenty-first century, but she could at least tell that the apartment was attractively furnished, decorated in pale, cool colors. Paler than the mad bright swirls that had assaulted her earlier. Now, after sleeping off some of the excess of his highly potent blood, at least she didn’t feel like she was hallucinating any more.
She felt powerful. Vaguely, she wondered if other vampires knew the effect faery blood had on them.
Trailing through the apartment, she found a couple of large cardboard boxes spilling foam chippings everywhere. They seemed to hold computer components. Well, they were no use to her. She’d never seen a computer before she became a vampire, and she hadn’t had the time or opportunity to learn much about them since.
There was a kitchen, all appliances gleaming like they were brand new. So he was one of those Upper East Side Manhattanites who ate out every night, was he? Figured.
Frowning, she found her way back to the huge living area and sat down on one gigantic sofa, tucking her sheet around her. What the hell she was going to wear when night fell and she could leave, she had no idea. But then again, she’d seen worse outfits than this on the street every day.
Fashions tended to change after seventy years.
Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift. Back across the country, back across the years. A small town in California -- a town now swallowed by the LA sprawl. Dusty streets. Hot sun. A tinny wireless on the counter of the diner. Shoes that hurt her feet, made her back ache as she served coffees and burgers until the sun went down.
She curled into a ball, remembering what she’d remembered every night since. Remembered despite wanting desperately to forget.
But it was hard to forget your own murder.
“I don’t want you walking home by yourself. There are bad men on the streets. Only last week there was a girl murdered twenty miles away. They come out from the big city and prey on young girls like you. Out in Los Angeles where they’re all lawless. And a pretty girl like you, querida, you’ll be a target. Promise me you’ll wait for me or your mother, or get one of the other girls to walk with you.”
And she’d promised. Had promised her father every day. Yes, Papa, I’ll be careful. No, Papa, I won’t flirt with any of the customers. Of course, Papa, I’m saving myself for marriage.
Well, that one had been true at least. Much good it had done her. There she’d been, too frightened of the consequences of having sex before marriage, but perfectly confident of walking home by herself. It was half a dozen blocks. What harm could possibly come to her?
She flinched as she remembered the dark shape looking from a service alley betw
een two buildings. She’d kept on walking, a little faster now, her heels tip-tapping on the paving slabs. Silence followed her. The wrong kind of silence.
When she glanced back, there was no one there. No one in front of her. No one following her.
It was no one who ripped her throat out.
She still remembered the bone-crushing fear, the pain ripping through her, the bubbles of blood in her throat, the mindless panic as she felt her life escaping. The dark flash of her attacker’s eyes. The gleam of sharp teeth in the moonlight.
The soft laughter ringing in her ears as she faded away. And those words, the last her human ears ever heard. The words she heard every night in her nightmares.
“Yes, she’ll do nicely…”
Maria didn’t realize she was crying until she felt soft fingers wipe away her tears. Her eyes opened, saw the darkness of dreamtime, the dull gleam of skin, too dark to see details. There were arms around her. A soft voice soothing her.
Shh. It’s all right. It’s all okay.
His arms were around her. Strong arms. Maria had never dreamed this before, but she didn’t especially care. She’d fantasized about a pair of strong arms to hold her, a hard chest to lay her head against, gentle fingers stroking her hair -- but she’d never actually had such a man turn up to comfort her after a nightmare.
She tucked her head under his chin, felt the rasp of his stubble against her forehead.
You were having a nightmare? he said, gently, questioningly.
She nodded. Shook her head. I was… remembering. Re-living.
A gentle touch on her neck. She’d no idea if the scar was still visible or not. She could feel it, a slight raised weal, the tear in her flesh where fangs had ripped into her. But she hadn’t seen her reflection since that night. Could hardly remember what she looked like any more.
The vampire who turned you?
She nodded again, her eyes burning with tears.
How old were you?
She wrapped her arms around his neck, nestled closer. Eighteen.
Hell. Soft lips brushed the top of her head. You were so young. I had no idea…
Maria didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to explain it, didn’t want to rehash it. She just wanted the comfort of this man’s arms, his hard body and his gentle touch. His soft lips. She lifted her head, cupped his face. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she didn’t need to see him to brush her lips over his. To feel the softness of his mouth against hers. To taste him. The sweet taste of kindness.
And because it was a dream, she didn’t worry that she wasn’t doing it right. After all, not counting a rather chaste peck in the schoolyard when she was eleven, Maria had never kissed anyone before. She’d been kept under strict rules by her father, and then…
No. She didn’t want to think about and then. She just wanted to kiss him.
His lips were full and soft. She ran her tongue over them, over the seam that parted, inviting her inside. The rough stubble on his jaw abraded her lips, her chin, but she was surprised to realize it felt good.
Her hand lay against his cheek. She felt the strong bones of his face, as she held him to her. He didn’t rush her, didn’t push her, just let her kiss him, let her tongue slip past his soft lips and taste him.
He tasted good.
Thank you, his soft voice laughed, and Maria felt herself blush hotly as she realized she’d said that out loud. No, thought it out loud. Her mouth was sealed to his. She couldn’t say anything. Didn’t want to.
You taste good too, he told her, his hands making light circles on her back. She was naked, she realized, curled against him, and he was naked too. Very much so.
She shifted. Oh yes. Very much so.
She kissed him on and on, becoming bolder, tasting him with broad sweeps of her tongue, investigating and conquering. Her skin prickled with desire, with a need to be closer to him. To press her whole body against his.
She’d never felt like this before. Never had such a burning desire to touch and feel, at least not without her fangs buried in someone’s artery. Right now she had no desire to bite, to feed. She just wanted to feel all of this man’s body against hers.
Maria wriggled in his lap, parted her thighs to wrap around him, pressing her body intimately closer to his. That very large naked cock that had been pressing against her hip was now pressing between her thighs, up to her belly. Christ, he was big. And hard.
And that fueled her desire even more.
As she shifted and writhed closer, her nipples rubbed across his chest. It felt exquisite. He was so hard, so primitively male, so strong and solid. His arms wrapped around her, fingers kneading her shoulders, her back, caressing and stroking, holding her close to him as he kissed her on and on.
I could kiss you forever, she thought, and his chuckle ran through her head.
No complaints from me, sweetheart.
His hand slipped down to her buttocks, long fingers cupping her round ass, squeezing it. Molding her to him. Pressed her against his hard cock, making her writhe, arch her hips to press her sensitive flesh against him. She was wet, slippery with wanting, and as she moved she slid against him, up and down. Feeling the hard shaft glide between her delicate folds, back and forth, made her dizzy.
His lips left hers, but before she could really protest, he was brushing kisses down her neck, making her shiver. One hand cupped her breast, and then he was kissing her there, tiny butterfly kisses, little licks and nibbles. He paid attention to the whole of her breast, but not her nipple, where she really wanted him. Where she was aching to be touched. Now she was no longer pressed against his chest, rubbing herself against him like a shameless kitten, there was no friction and her nipples ached, tingling and desperate to be touched.
Stop torturing me! She grabbed his head, her fingers tangling in thick silky hair, and tried to move him where she wanted him, but while his laughter echoed in her head, he remained immovable.
But his other hand still cupped her ass, stroking and kneading, and pressed her closer to his hips. His fingers slid down, stroking the top of her thigh where it curved into her buttock, dipping between her thighs but still never touching her where she really wanted it.
Maria’s pussy throbbed. She wanted to be touched, stroked, filled, wanted to be licked and sucked and worshipped. Her whole body was as tight as a piano wire.
You want me to lick you? came his voice, and she realized once again that she’d forgotten to keep that to herself. His tongue traced patterns on the side of her breast.
Yes, but not there, she told him desperately.
You don’t like it?
Stop teasing me!
He laughed once again, and then suddenly without warning he took her nipple in his mouth, sucked hard, and slid his fingers into her pussy.
Maria sucked in a breath so sharp it was audible.
Is this better? he asked innocently.
She squeaked in reply. Inside his mouth, he swirled his tongue over her nipple. His free hand played with her other breast, rolling and stroking and pinching. Between her legs it seemed as if he’d had a dozen fingers, and they’d all found somewhere really good.
He stroked her clit, circling, rubbing, pressing hard. He scissored her labia between two fingers and rubbed, back and forth, until her head fell back and she whimpered. He pushed inside her, coating his fingers with her slick wetness, filling her a little but not nearly enough.
More, she moaned. More!
Happily, he said, and lifted his head from her breast.
That’s not more, that’s -- oh.
His laughter filled her head.
OH.
Maria was by no means a virgin, but like the chirpy pop song she’d heard the other day from someone’s radio, she damn well felt like one. Sure as hell no one had ever done this to her before. No one had ever parted her thighs, ducked between them, and licked her from ass to clit.
His hand, slick with her own wetness, caressed her heavy breasts, her tight nipples.
His fingers thrust steadily into her throbbing pussy. And his tongue -- oh, sweet merciful God, his tongue! Where a minute ago his fingers had stroked and pinched and rubbed and played, now his lips and tongue danced instead. He sucked on her clit. He nibbled on her labia. He made swirling abstract patterns all over, just licking and licking.
Maria’s toes curled. They actually curled. Breathless, she clutched at him. She was about to come for maybe the fourth or fifth time in her life, and if the build-up was anything to go by, she was going to come harder than all the other times put together.
I’m not even nearly started yet, he told her, and she exploded.
Ruarc held her as she trembled with the aftermath of her orgasm. He still wasn’t sure if this dreamtime was real -- if he’d wake up and have her scent on his fingers, his body -- or if it was all in their heads. It sure as hell felt real.
It was her dream, he knew that. A side-effect of telepathy, he’d discovered, was the tendency to drift into people’s dreams every now and then. He could pull himself out, he knew, if he wanted -- but why the hell would he want to?
She’s a vampire, said a tiny voice inside him.
I don’t care, he told it.
And he didn’t. He might have, if he hadn’t heard her crying. Felt her pain. Seen her memories. He flinched, thinking about the bastard vampire who’d ripped her throat out and drained her vibrant life. He’d clearly felt her fear, her panic, her misery and confusion.
Vampire or not, she was in real pain.
The sex was something of an accident. He’d honestly meant to just hold her and comfort her. Only somewhere along the line they’d both ended up naked, and she’d started kissing him and… well. Here he was with her heels digging into his back and his tongue wrapped around her clit.
He gave her another lick, was rewarded with another shudder, and lifted his head. It was too dark to see her -- presumably her preference, seeing as it was her dream -- but he could see the gleam of her sweat-dampened skin as her breasts rose and fell.
He kissed her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under her skin. More?
Her laughter sounded ragged. I’m not sure I could take more.
