The Last Vampire 1

by R. A. Steffan

  “Right.” Guthrie sounded grim. “I’m guessing this falls under the ‘No, Guthrie, you don’t want to know’ part of things.”

  “I suspect so.” Rans hitched my body a little tighter against his. “Come on, tough girl. Let’s go find you a bed.”

  My belly tightened at the innocent words. God, I was such a sick puppy.

  Even as out of it as I was, I could tell that Guthrie’s penthouse apartment was amazing. I wondered if he lived here alone. It certainly didn’t look like he had kids—everything was too perfect, too untouched. I had a vague impression of subtle, soothing colors and expensive artwork as we moved through living spaces and down hallways.

  Then we were in a pristine, beautifully appointed bedroom that smelled like lavender and fresh cotton. Rans eased me down to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed. The mattress was as soft as eiderdown beneath me. Part of me wanted to collapse backward into the bed’s pillowy support and never move again, but another part clamored in protest when Rans’ grip on me eased and pulled away completely.

  Without even realizing I was doing it, I shot a hand out to twist in the cotton of his black t-shirt. He stayed bent over, watching my face, his glacier-blue eyes level with mine.

  “How did you find me tonight?” I asked. “How could you possibly have known to come to the station at exactly that moment, so you could save me?”

  His lips twitched into something that tried to be a smile, but his pale eyes were watching me, intent and piercing.

  “Stalker, remember?” he said lightly.

  I did remember. I remembered the way he’d showed up in my section at AJ’s the day after he’d bitten me. I remembered him calling me an enigma, and the way he’d seemed to pull back from the conversation when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Get some rest, Zorah,” he said in an even tone. “I need to figure out what to do about… all of this.”

  I stared into those depthless eyes, trying to see inside him.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling decidedly detached from reality at this point. “But… there’s one thing, before you go…”

  A small furrow formed between his dark brows. “Yes?”

  “Just this.” Without thinking, I used my grip on his shirt to pull him forward, closing the few inches between us until I could seal my lips over his.

  THIRTEEN

  RANS REMAINED VERY STILL while I made a spirited attempt to perform a tonsillectomy on him using my tongue. Distantly, I knew that his lack of response should constitute a red flag of some sort, but all of my social skills were currently buried under an avalanche of want and need.

  He’d ridden in on a black motorcycle and rescued me from a fate worse than death with a fucking sword. I needed him. I needed the press of lips against mine, the touch of skin on skin, the connection of bodies meeting. It was wrong, and humiliating, and pathetic, and right now I didn’t care about any of that. I just cared about my tongue sliding against his.

  Rans’ hands hovered an inch above my shoulders for an endless moment before he grasped me gently and eased me back. I heard the pitiful noise of distress I made in response, and part of me hated it. That noise did not belong to the person I pictured when I pictured myself. Only… it did, didn’t it? This was me, craning forward to try to reach the lips that remained just out of reach. This was me, panting shallow breaths as I tried to get back to the man who was pushing me away.

  “This is going to be bloody complicated, I can tell already,” Rans murmured, so low I could barely make it out. Then, louder, “Zorah. Look at me. Try to focus.”

  I was looking at him, though—watching those curved lips move as they caressed the words.

  “Eyes up, soldier,” he said, and I dragged my gaze from his lips to his eyes with difficulty. “That’s better.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. Why were we talking when I could be kissing him? Why did I feel like this?

  “What’s wrong? Quite a number of things, as it happens,” he said. “Don’t worry—I’m keeping a list for reference purposes. Right now, though, the item at the top… is you. I’m about to do something we both may regret. For what it’s worth, though, you can always slap me afterward, when you’re feeling better and you’ll be able to put a bit of welly into it.”

  I stared at him, trying to get my neurons to connect. “Are you even speaking English right now?” I asked.

  He stared back. “Am I speaking English? Of all the cheek! Bloody Americans… I don’t know why I even bother.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” I said, and pulled him toward me again.

  This time, he didn’t resist, cool lips slanting over mine as he pressed me back to lie on the decadent mattress. He followed me down, and every nerve in my body sang with the rightness of it. I writhed and moaned beneath the sweet slide of his tongue against mine.

  The feel of a strong hand gliding over the contours of my body unknotted the painful tension in my muscles bit by bit. The ache of chronic illness morphed into a delicious ache of lust, and my trembling exhaustion eased into trembling anticipation. He was bracing himself above me on one bent arm as he kissed me, his elbow planted by my shoulder on the bed. His other hand slid over my belly, then lower. My legs fell open, inviting, and he cupped me through my jeans.

  He didn’t tease, thank god. His fingers rubbed between my legs with firm pressure. I was wet; I could feel the material of my panties sliding against my sex… feel the dampness where Rans pressed against me. The seam of the blue jeans offered an edge of stimulation against my clit, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. I needed more, everything, all of it right now.

  I scrabbled at the fastenings, tugging at the button and zipper and pushing the fabric down, down, panties and denim together. Rans broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine.

  “Bleeding hell, Zorah,” he murmured into the air between us, the words tickling my swollen lips. But his fingers delved into the space I’d made for him.

  I couldn’t spread my legs with my jeans around my thighs, but that didn’t stop me from making a noise I’d never made before in response to the first, perfect slide of his fingers. I wanted to strip us both naked and rub my body all over his like a cat, or like the vixen that was my namesake. I wanted to ride him… I wanted his mouth on me… I wanted his body pounding into mine from behind.

  I wanted so many things, but what I had was his fingers sliding into me while his thumb rubbed across my clit with every thrust. It was enough to bring me to the brink in minutes, and the nip of teeth across the sensitive skin at my throat where fangs had pierced me mere days ago was all it took to tip me over.

  I jerked, keening, barely aware of the fact that I was in a complete stranger’s apartment. I had no idea how thick the walls were. Or if Rans had closed the bedroom door behind us, for that matter. I didn’t care about any of it. My body was singing, my earlier state of near collapse replaced now by the wash of pleasurable endorphins.

  Rans eased me through the climax with lazy strokes of his fingers, and pressed a final close-mouthed kiss to my lips. It was so good… so good… but it wasn’t all that I needed. His hand slid free of my body. I used my newfound energy to roll us, tumbling our bodies further onto the bed until he was the one lying on his back while I crouched between his legs.

  Without a single thought in my head, I attacked the fastenings of his motorcycle leathers. He was still completely dressed, right down to his black leather coat. It splayed out beneath him like bat’s wings, stark against the pale blue duvet.

  “Zorah,” he said, staring at me as my fingers tugged open the row of dark buttons along his fly. “You don’t have to—”

  I growled at him. Like, seriously growled, the way an animal would growl when something tried to get between it and its prize. His eyes flared for a moment with that blue light like the hottest part of a flame.

  “Or maybe you do,” he muttered. “Buggering Christ.”

  He was wearing black silk boxers beneath
the leather, and I succumbed to the urge to rub my cheek against the sumptuous fabric. He drew in a startled breath and his cock twitched sharply. The heady smell of musk was more pronounced down here. My growl turned into a purr. I freed his thick length from the silk and leather, my mouth watering.

  Rans was uncut—only the second uncircumcised man I’d ever been with. He was also hard and ready, a bead of pre-come gathering in the slit. It looked oddly coppery in the warm light of the bedroom, tempting me to taste. It was coppery, as though a hint of blood accented the usual bittersweet saltiness.

  I probably should’ve had questions about that. I probably should’ve cared.

  I didn’t.

  Rans hissed out a slow breath as I twisted my tongue around the glans. I teased, delving over and over into the slit. I wanted him to grab my hair, fuck my mouth, but his hands were fisted in the bedclothes at his hips. He held his body rigid, though he had rolled up to rest on his elbows so he could watch me. I liked that. My eyes met his, and they flared blue again as I slid my lips down his length. I felt his body tremble as he kept himself from thrusting up… felt it like it was coming from my own body, not his.

  Like there was a connection between us, his sexual energy flowing into me—buoying me up.

  I had intended to set up an easy rhythm, but each stroke of my lips felt so good. Each slow suck, so divine. I couldn’t help speeding up, taking him deeper, hollowing my cheeks harder. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, blue eyes growing distant as though my lips were a drug, sapping his will.

  I could sense his body tightening, preparing to give itself up to me, and a new surge of crackling energy flowed between us. I felt like a goddess. All-powerful. I took him nearly to the root, humming as hard flesh swelled at the back of my throat.

  Rans shuddered and came, silently. I took it all… took him inside of me. I felt his essence flowing between us, leaving him and becoming mine. My throat vibrated in a low, female purr of satisfaction as I milked him of every last drop I could get. When he finally started to soften, I reluctantly pulled back.

  God, I felt… that had been… amazing. Twenty minutes ago, I’d been afraid I might keel over. Now, I thought if I jumped off a roof, I would probably fly.

  I sat up, gazing down at the powerful vampire I’d just taken apart with my mouth, and the first hint of trepidation began to creep back into my mind. Rans looked… pale. A bit dazed. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite parse.

  I tried to reassemble the past couple of hours into a narrative that made sense. My brain felt like a computer rebooting after a catastrophic hard drive crash. An important fact presented itself, big red metaphorical arrows flashing.

  “Oh my god,” I said. “Rans, your shoulder! I’m so sorry… I don’t know what I was thinking!”

  Mortification flooded me, but Rans only flopped down to lie flat on his back and started tucking himself away. I realized that my jeans were still down around my hips and blushed bright red, scrambling off the bed so I could pull them up and fasten them. Christ. My panties were soaked—chilly and uncomfortable now against my skin.

  “It’s all right,” Rans said slowly. “My shoulder’s fine.” He frowned. “Though admittedly, my scabbard is digging into my back like a sonovabitch right now.” He shifted a bit, but made no move to do anything else about it. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. You’ve had a rough day—I daresay you needed that.”

  I slapped a hand to my forehead, appalled at what I’d just done on so many levels I didn’t know where to start. “That’s no excuse,” I argued. “My god. I can’t believe I just did that!”

  “Like I said. You needed it.” He put a strange emphasis on the word. “Feeling better now, I’m guessing?”

  “I’m fine,” I said unthinkingly. “I… wait.” I paused, listening to my body. Noticing, for the first time, the absence of all the things that had been clamoring in distress for days now. “I’m… fine.” My eyes flew to his. “How can I be fine?”

  His blue gaze was still a little foggy. “Had a bit of a top-off, didn’t you? The way I see it, it’s the least I could do after the other day at your house. And it’s not like it was completely one-sided, after all. I’ll probably owe you another free slap for this, but you’ve got a mouth like nirvana, luv.”

  I gaped at him, still trying to process the last few minutes and failing miserably. Letting the nirvana comment pass, I focused on the part that seemed most important. “What do you mean, a top-off? Why do I suddenly not feel like two-week-old shit? And why do you look like you’ve been run over by a Mack truck, if it’s not your shoulder?”

  “You fed from me,” Rans said, very slowly and distinctly, as though talking to a child.

  “I sucked you off,” I retorted, “and you fingered me. Last time I checked, a couple of mouthfuls of jizz doesn’t quite meet the RDA for twenty-seven vitamins and minerals!”

  “No, I expect not. That isn’t what I’m referring to, though. It was my animus—my life force—that you fed on, not my bodily fluids.” He huffed a breath of amusement. “Bodily fluids are my remit, not yours. Vampire, right?”

  I shook my head back and forth, trying to make the world fit into these bizarre new parameters that seemed to have sprung up overnight. “Life force? What are you talking about? How can I feed from someone’s ‘life force’ by fooling around with them for half an hour?”

  A smile quirked one corner of his lips, but it was grim. “It’s the demon in you, Zorah,” he said. “Feeding on sexual energy is what succubi do. Even, it appears, second-generation succubus-human hybrids.”

  FOURTEEN

  MY MOUTH OPENED, BUT since I had no idea what should come out of it, I closed it again. In fact, I did that twice more before finally settling on, “Don’t be stupid.”

  Rans snorted. He dragged a hand over his face roughly, as though scrubbing away cobwebs, and rolled smoothly upright. He still looked wan, but his posture was straight and his eyes penetrating as he slid his black coat off and unstrapped the sword from his back.

  “I told you the other day—you’re an enigma, Zorah Bright,” he said. “The blood I stole from you… it wasn’t human blood. Or rather, it wasn’t completely human.”

  My eyes strayed downward of their own volition, taking in the hard lines of an athlete’s body visible under his black t-shirt. Tattoos wrapped around his right bicep and part of his forearm. The upper part of the black ink appeared abstract, but lower down, I could make out what looked like Chinese characters melded into the design.

  I dragged my gaze back up to meet his.

  “So,” he continued, “Tell me about your parents.”

  “This is insane,” I said.

  He gave me a little eyebrow shrug as if to say, ‘And your point is…?’

  I frowned. “My dad’s an accountant. My mom was a state representative.”

  “Was,” he echoed. “How did she die?”

  I didn’t like the way old grief and fresh paranoia were scrabbling around the edges of my happy sex high. “A crazy guy shot her during a campaign rally while she was running for the US Senate. It’ll be twenty years ago this July Fourth.”

  He nodded. “And the killer?”

  “Hung himself in prison,” I muttered.

  “Anything unusual about your father?”

  God, where to even start with that question…

  “Not unless you count being kind of a passive-aggressive asshole as unusual. Although he earned some serious brownie points today.” Damn. I needed to call him, too. Let him know what had happened. “He wired me money for a bus ticket. He was going to pick me up on the other end, too. Help me find some kind of legal help.”

  Rans nodded thoughtfully. “Just as well you didn’t get that far.”

  “Why?” I asked, confused.

  “Family members make excellent leverage,” he said grimly, and a shiver of unease ran through me.

  Had I put Dad in danger, too? How far did this thing reach? Whatever this th
ing was.

  “I need to call him,” I said.

  Rans was still watching me closely with those piercing eyes. “I would strongly advise against that.”

  “But—” I began.

  “Let’s say someone is watching him,” he interrupted. “If you fail to show up at the bus station and he doesn’t know why, he’s not immediately useful to them. But if he’s in contact with you… if they intercept calls between you, then suddenly he’s a rather attractive source of information.”

  A weight landed on my chest. “But… I bought a burner phone. Two, in fact. I’ve still got them.” Fortunately, the phones had been in my pockets, not my lost backpack.

  “And did he do the same?” Rans asked.

  “No,” I acknowledged with a sinking feeling. “I’d have no way of getting his new number, if he did. And I didn’t contact him with either of the burner phones, so he won’t have my new numbers either.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Chicago,” I said, still not totally sure why I was trusting this man with so much of myself.

  He looked thoughtful. “All right. That’s a fair distance away. Since they clearly know you weren’t able to leave the city, with luck he’ll be low on their priority list right now.”

  My head was spinning again. “You keep saying ‘they.’ Who are ‘they’?”

  “Your mate Caspian and his lot.” Rans’ voice dripped with disdain. “Since the war ended, they’re the ones in charge.”

  I almost didn’t want to ask, but… “The war?”

  Rans must have seen how overwhelmed I was, because he shook his head. “Too much, too soon. Practical upshot—Golden Boy and his cronies aren’t just going to let this go. They know who you are and, more importantly, they know what you are. They also know where you are—in a general sense, at least—though with any luck I can remedy that last part before it comes back to bite us in the arse.”

  I still wasn’t ready to tackle the ‘what you are’ part of things.