Buried Passion

by Marianne Willis

  How was that even possible? Words failed her as sweet copper filled the air. She glanced from Ian to his hand. Blood still coated his now healed cut. The source of the delicious fragrance. She'd been so worried about his hand, she didn't register how the smell of his blood would affect her.

  “My kind heal quickly.” Snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in minutes ago, he leaned forward. The movement had his arm brush against hers, heating her insides with a new awareness.

  She licked her lips. So much want coursed through her. Want for his body, to feel him inside her. Want for his blood, to have it ooze down her throat…

  Her body swayed with the need.

  Dark brows puckered. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She stilled, eyes fluttered closed as Ian’s saporous scent attacked her nervous system like a drug. Damn, if he smelt this good, imagine how he would taste? Hands held out, she backed away. Don’t come any closer. She wanted to shout, but the words became stuck in her throat. Sweat trickled down her neck. Images of her fangs deep in Ian’s neck erupted in her mind.

  A splash sounded as he dunked his fist in the sink and rinsed away the blood.

  Trembles embarked from head to toe, and she wrapped her arms about her waist.

  “What’s wrong? Talk to me?” Ian dipped his head to meet her at eye level and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The friction of his hands up and down her arms became a good distraction.

  She breathed in and out. The delicious scent faded. Urges diminished. Not gone, but at least controllable. “I’m sorry. The smell of your blood…”

  “My blood?” He blinked, his face a quizzical mask. “But you fed not long ago.”

  He was right. She already consumed two bags. Fresh blood had to be more enticing than the bagged stuff. Or maybe it had to do with his species. Perhaps werewolves had a certain blood type irresistible to vampires. Or…was she becoming insatiable? Please God, no.

  He gazed at his hand as though lost in a trance. “And you didn’t bite, you held back,” he uttered under his breath.

  What flashed in his eyes…relief? Pride? She had to be mistaken. Desperate for some personal space, she bypassed him. “I must go.”

  “Which cemetery?”

  She paused outside the bathroom. “What?”

  “You said you needed to go to the cemetery. Which one?”

  “Lynnhurst,” she clarified as she faced him.

  “Lynnhurst?” He cocked a brow. “As in Lynnhurst at Knoxville?”

  Knoxville? Yes. Signs of the name had brimmed the streets when she ran from the town hours ago. “That’s the one.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  She frowned, not liking the finality in his tone. So, the big bad wolf would huff, puff, and boss her around. “I can manage on my own.” At least she hoped. She had skimmed through towns so fast, she failed to remember the exact route. Besides, Ian hated her, and she disliked him as well. Two good reasons not to trust the guy.

  “It’ll be safer if I take you.”

  Oh right, he had to keep tabs on her. “Safer for others, you mean?”

  His face grew rigid.

  Of course that was what he meant. Did she assume he’d show her concern? And perhaps she was a threat to society. “Fine, since you don’t have plans to howl at the moon tonight, take me there.”

  When she opened the front door, Ian raised his palm, the silent action commanded she wait. After grabbing a khaki green duffle coat off the stand and a set of keys from the doorhandle, he led them outside and locked the house. They hopped into his truck. Along a road tunnelled by high slopes and bare trees, a small layer of snow dusted the asphalt. He steered with ease, not saying a word. She preferred the silence.

  The delicious smell of Ian’s blood refused to leave her mind. A good thing she had the blood bags. If he had cut himself before his friends had arrived, the poor guy would’ve been a goner. Was there a reason he smelt so good? His health, age, his kind? Or maybe since she found him physically attractive, his blood also appealed to her.

  “Why the sudden need to visit a cemetery?”

  So much for the silence. Damn thoughts for jinxing her. “Oh, didn’t I mention I’m catching up with Count von Count over drinks?” An emotionless expression overtook her fake pleasantness. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’m driving you, so this is my business.” His voiced strained with each syllable.

  The gall of the man. A frown tensed her face. “You insisted. I would have found my way back to this place sooner or later.” She refused to admit she was glad he escorted her. At least this saved time in searching for the gravesite, and she needn’t worry about shelter before sunrise.

  “Your way back? This is the same cemetery you mentioned earlier. Tell me what the hell is going on?”

  “I’m checking for a grave here, or seeing if it was a dream.”

  “Whose grave?”

  The man was equal to a dog with a bone. Then again, what could she expect from a werewolf? She swallowed, then shut her eyes for a moment. “My parents.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t they vampires? How can they be dead?”

  She gave no reply. The tension in the car had to have stopped him from pursuing more information. Fifty minutes later, a strange sense of déjà vu smothered her as they drove into the cemetery entrance. She waved her arms. “Stop the car.”

  Ian pulled to the side. When he hopped out soon after, she turned to face him. “No. I go alone.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing.” The man’s insistence raised her hackles. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How will I know you’ll come back?”

  “I have nowhere else to go, plus I need your home for shelter.” Not to mention all those blood bags.

  He accepted the valid reason with a nod. “Fifteen minutes, otherwise I’m coming for you.”

  Eyes tapered into slits, she stomped away. Every few minutes, she stopped to check if she recognised the area from earlier. The massive cemetery occupied thousands of graves. This better not take all night or she might need to reschedule. As she headed further down the street, yellow tape closed off a familiar grave spot. Her grave.

  A heap of dirt clumped around the empty hole as if a humongous mole had sprouted from the ground. No coffin remained inside. Someone had to have noticed the absent body. What procedure followed this situation? Did the funeral home notify her family? Or did it become police business?

  She sputtered a soundless gasp. There, beside her own grave sat a tombstone with the names she dreaded seeing. In loving memory of Morgan Rose Johnson and Phillip Warren Johnson, loving parents taken too soon. Embedded beneath the title were two ceramic photographs. The exact photos on the memorial booklet.

  Dark, shattering waves crashed into her soul with so much force she could no longer stand and landed on her knees. The twisting in her chest mirrored the raw devastation she had experienced in the flashback. Her tears grew hot like acid. A part of her hoped, prayed she’d been wrong. She palmed her face and sobbed. No one. She had no one. The pulse at the base of her neck raced out of control. What did this mean now? Dammit, why couldn’t she have wasted away in that forsaken coffin than grace the world alone?

  Both her mother and father shared the same date of death. Had they died together? Perhaps from an accident. She groaned. If only she knew the details. Something else dawned. How long ago had this been? Over at her own headstone, the date of death read two years after her parents died. Her cries subsided to sighs and sniffles. “What year is it?” she whispered.

  The question jostled her to her feet, and she rushed back to the truck. She wiped the moisture from her face. Why hadn’t something so obvious struck from the moment she awoke? Nothing about this era startled her. Cars, fashion, electronics…all familiar. She wasn’t ancient.

  Leaned against the driver door, Ian played with his phone. As she staggered to a halt before him, his he
ad shot up, brows drawn together in a weary frown.

  “What year are we in?”

  A quizzical look encompassed his features.

  “The date, what is the date?”

  He told her, and she teetered back. Buried for almost nine months. How could she survive so long in a coffin, or had she not been there the entire time? As she recalled her date of birth on the headstone, she calculated her age. Twenty-five.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She contemplated how best to explain what she discovered. No, the information had to be kept secret, at least until she figured out more. And if she confessed what she learned, it would be with someone trustworthy…not him. “We should head back to your place.”

  Cinnamon eyes hounded for the truth as he cupped her elbow, preventing her from going anywhere. “Damn, Rachel. You’re shaking.”

  More than shaking. Tears blurred her eyes. Her head spun, her knees resembled feathers. The soft stroke of his knuckles against her arm encouraged her to mourn. She swallowed hard.

  “Hey, look at me.”

  Nausea coiled in her belly.

  “I said look at me.”

  She did, his eyes became her anchor.

  “Breathe. Just breathe.”

  Slow and deliberate he inhaled.

  She mimicked his moves. Inhale, exhale. Inhale.

  “Good,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing her elbow. “That’s good.”

  A warm hand trailed up her arm and cupped her cheek. “You saw their graves, didn’t you?” His sad smile shone through his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  The heat of his hand on her face reached into her soul. She needed this, needed someone right now. Alone. She was alone in the world, but right here, right now, she had him. Before the first tear fell, she’d wrapped him in a hug. Face buried in his chest, she gasped and drew his fresh scent into her lungs. The fragrance and male strength numbed the ache in her chest. Not soothing it, but at least depriving her sorrow of its full power. Strong arms circled her, dragged her close against him. Unprepared for the comfort, a bubble rose in her throat.

  With every gut-wrenching emotion about to be released, she stiffened. What was she doing? In fact, why did Ian act friendly and considerate? She jerked out of his embrace, squared her shoulders, and flattened her hands down the front of her hoodie. “I can’t talk about it right now. Let’s leave.” Unshed tears burned her eyes. She mustered all her strength not to release them. Hand extended, he looked about ready to protest. Instead, he sighed, opened the passenger door, and helped her into the truck.

  The emotional and mental strain of the day played on her consciousness. Shop signs and streetlights littered with Christmas decorations made for a nice scenery as they drove, but her heavy eyes drifted close for the hundredth time. She gave in to the blissful coma.

  Rachel sidestepped a stack of boxes and lumbered up a dark, empty alley. Loud orchestra music from the party hummed in the distance. Once again, the stupid ruffle strap slid off her shoulder. This time she didn’t bother fixing the dress. Stopped beneath a streetlamp, she steadied her hand against the brick wall, and tilted the champagne bottle for another swig. Empty. Her coat and purse slipped to the pavement, but she didn’t care.

  The champagne didn’t transport her to the craved mindless buzz where all reason ceased and she could float in a senseless drunken state. Instead, memories of the eventful past with Jeff haunted her. Damn Jeff, his touch from long ago still burned her skin with sensual heat.

  Rachel’s teeth gnashed together. For years, the burden of his rejection weighed on her heart. So what, she deceived him. He could have overlooked her transgressions. Rather…he accused her, berated her, had her hunted down, then betrayed her in the worst way possible. Yet, he still occupied her mind. He’d laugh in her face if he learned of her infatuation. Rachel snorted. That would never happen…she made sure.

  After that terrible night many years ago, life became not quite normal, but tolerable. Then her parents died…and fighting to pull through made a death sentence seem fun. Alcohol became the perfect escape. She rolled her eyes at the empty bottle. “And now, I don’t even have that.”

  A strange mist flourished a foot away. The form of a man manifested. Wide shoulders stretched a white dress-shirt, dark blond hair cropped short, and the most alluring eyes she’d ever seen; a rich emerald.

  Another man, handsome? That’s a first. Ever since Jeff, men were faces and bodies that did nothing for her. The bastard had ruined her for others. But tonight was different, this time she meant it. Wait a minute…

  It was him. The same man she drooled over to distract her sister and cousin from scolding her for drinking too much. “Where’d you come from?” The question released on a slur.

  Mouth parted, he twisted toward her. “Hell,” he joked, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt.

  A sense of humor…she admired that. “Nope. That’s where I am. So in saying that, you haven’t left.”

  When he perceived they were alone, his nostrils flared as he inhaled deep. “You’re a witch.” A French accent. He had to live here in Nice.

  Heels clicked along the pavement. She swayed and straightened for balance. “And you’re a vampire.” Not too hard to guess, werewolves and witches didn’t appear out of nowhere.

  Those green eyes danced from her open-toe lace-up stilettos to her face. “Are you here alone or with a clan?”

  “My family are inside, no doubt enjoying the tedious celebration the species have the nerve to call a party. Say,” she added, swirling her finger at the space he appeared out of. “The little appearance stunt you pulled, how’d you do it?”

  Strong arms folded across his chest. “Oh, I could teach you, Witch. But you’ll have to pay the price.”

  Goose-pimples spread along her arms at his motionless gaze. A sense of apprehension prickled the air. She swallowed. What had he meant by that?

  “I’m playing.” He laughed and gave a dismissive wave. “It’s simple. I close my eyes, focus on a destination, then I’m there.”

  What she’d give to obtain such an ability. A liquor store would be the first stop or better yet, her dealer’s house. Hold on…no need for her dealer when she had a living vampire here. “Hey, how much to refill this with your blood?” She held up the empty bottle and recalled the angered look on the bartender’s face when she stole the beverage.

  Dark blonde brows furrowed. “You drink vampire blood?”

  “Yes, it’s better than any alcoholic beverage in the world. I have a dealer back home who has connections with vampires.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Tennessee…USA baby,” she elaborated with a guttural voice.

  Humor flickered in his gorgeous eyes.

  “So, how about that blood? I couldn’t bring any with me on the trip over. I trusted this crap to hit the spot, but it hasn’t.”

  “Are you sure, mon coeur?” he asked when she wobbled again.

  “I’m light-headed…not satisfied.”

  He ambled closer, and she grinned when he backed her against the wall.

  “I see.” He rested a hand over the brick above her head.

  “Please,” Rachel whispered up at his handsome, pale face. “Will you give me your blood? Just a little to get me going.”

  He gauged her. “What’s your name?”

  “Rachel.”

  “How’s this, Rachel? I take from you and you take from me.”

  Never had she drank from the direct source, she always acquired bottled stuff. Vampire blood turned her insides into popping candy; a thrill ride, a euphoria, but like every other great thing, it ended. “How does it work?”

  Male heat and strength emitted from him as he leaned into her. “We share in bites. It’s easy, and can feel so good with another.”

  The last time she had a man this close… No, she wouldn’t mull over Jeff. She always daydreamed about him. And when her parents died, she mused over him even more. For years, she abstained from relationships,
never contemplating even kissing another man. Considered the act a betrayal. She bit her lower lip. But Jeff never cared. So, why not? Why deny this chance to lose herself?

  “You’re spoken for?” A quick tilt of his head accompanied his alluring smile. “I don’t mind.”

  Spoken for? Ha, the man of her dreams never wanted her and no other would claim her in this lifetime. “Neither do I.” On her tiptoes, she closed the space between them and sealed them in a kiss.

  Firm lips danced over hers in a rough intimate storm. He pulled away, smirked, then cupped her face. His hot mouth descended on hers once again. She gave in. This fierce response from the vampire was the last thing she expected. He acted as if he were…starved.

  “Bite into my neck, bonne fille,” he murmured between kisses, then wrapped her legs around his waist and supported her with his weight. She obliged, and bit hard enough to break the skin, arousing a groan from him. The first gulp of sweetness had her moaning for more. In a surge of animalistic need, he rubbed his erection against her.

  “My turn.” The vampire held her wrist above her head with one hand, the other cupped the back of her neck. Blood travelled through her system. Shivering in ecstasy, she lost her footing around his waist in her headiness. Rachel laughed aloud with utter satisfaction.

  Hot and wet, his mouth descended on hers. Maybe the utter gratitude toward this stranger, or the fact he awakened her body made her kiss back in surrender. Effectual lips travelled the length of her throat, the caress emanated another fit of laughter. For the first time in forever, she didn’t care to mope over her lost love. Too much on a high, she focussed on the sensations this man introduced. When razor teeth sank into her neck, she clutched at his shirt. The sharp fangs stung, but she found the discomfort to be a helpful distraction.

  Another sample of his delicious essence was a must. “More.” She tugged at him and licked the bloody wound she inflicted. His head fell back, purring a laugh. No wonder people took part in one-night stands. No strings to form, no promises to break, just a giving and receiving of each other’s needs.