Buried Passion

by Marianne Willis

“I need to use the restroom,” she uttered, and stormed toward the small building. Gravel crunched beneath her boots along the dirt path.

  Ian didn’t know vampires had those needs. Grabbing his wallet off the driver seat, he headed inside. Was the bathroom an excuse to escape the tension in the truck?

  The teen chewing gum behind the counter wore a casual customer-welcome smile, flashing two piercings on his lower lip. “No way, it’s you.” The young man’s eyes lit up as his mouth formed a perfect O. “You’re The Jeff.”

  Rachel chose that moment to exit the restroom. Brows furrowed, she stumbled to a halt. He didn’t blame her for the look of confusion. Years ago, he’d been a big-shot in the riding industry, but he never bragged about himself or his accomplishments. Unlike some ex pro-riders, he wasn’t conceited. It had been a while since he’d run into a fan.

  “Your name’s Jeff?” she whispered.

  The cashier howled a laugh with a loud clap. “Man, I’m like your number one fan. My dad took me to almost every tour.”

  “Cool, do you ride?”

  “Na, bro. I can’t ’cause I have like back problems and stuff.” The cashier chuckled again and pointed to Ian whilst grinning at Rachel. “I can’t believe it’s The Jeff,” he cheered, hand thrust in the air with a cowabunga symbol. “Dude, can I have an autograph. My friends are gonna be so jealous.”

  Ian took the pen the young man gave and glimpsed his name-tag. Mark. The cashier whistled like a lucky child on Christmas morning at the simple note and signature on the back of the receipt.

  Rachel stepped closer and gauged him. “What’s going on? Why does he keep calling you The Jeff?”

  “The Jeff,” Mark cheered again, repeating the hand symbol.

  Rachel glowered at the young punk as though tempted to snap his neck.

  Mark’s eyes bulged at the death stare and he pretended to fiddle with the cash register.

  Ian took a step in Rachel’s direction. “Ian Jefferson is my full name. The Jeff, or simply Jeff was a nickname during my BMX years.”

  “Everyone is referred to by their nickname,” she whispered, staring off into nothing as though in another dimension.

  The strange words gave him pause. What did she mean by that?

  Her nostrils flared. “So, you used to ride?”

  “A long time ago.”

  Now she panted, hard and loud. The last time a woman reacted this way was when Helen’s water broke at a family barbecue. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Did she have another panic attack? Dammit, not here in the store.

  “Dude, is your girl okay?” Mark leaned on the counter, wide gaze on Rachel while blowing gum into a huge bubble that popped over his mouth. Ian wasn’t sure if Mark referred to Rachel’s anxiety attack or the visible blood stain on the baggy gray shirt from her earlier nosebleed.

  Tension swathed Ian. He rushed to her side, clutched her arms. “What’s wrong?” Did she need more blood…already? “Talk to me, baby. You hungry again?”

  She snapped out of it and stared daggers at him. Yanking herself from his grasp, she marched outside. What the hell happened? “Keep the change,” he called out to the cashier and chased after her. Outside, he almost smacked into a gumball machine before catching up to her. When he caught her elbow, she spun to face him, auburn hair swaying over her shoulder.

  Rachel jerked her arm free. “Enough! You’re either lying or don’t remember me at all. Which is it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My memories. Every time I drink, I have these flashbacks of the past. I’ve seen you. We were teenagers, and we were…”

  Rachel encountered flashbacks of him? No, there had to be some mistake. He arched a brow. “What? What were we?”

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Friends.”

  He’d made a lot of friends in his youth and BMX days, but lost contact with many after retiring from professional racing and started a career as a boxing trainer. There had also been a lot of ladies he’d met over the years. As if he’d forget a gorgeous woman such as Rachel. He’d never been one to forget people, even an acquaintance.

  “Do you remember when I used to ride?”

  “Yes. Why don’t you remember me?”

  “I’ve never seen you before the night you attacked me. You must be mistaking me for someone else.” Thumb thrust toward the gas station. “Do you think you might have been a fan like the cashier and maybe your memories are mixed up?”

  Plump lips pressed tightly together, and she broke eye contact. His insides burned. Maybe he should have phrased it differently. How the hell did you tell someone their memories were wrong?

  “I’m not sure. You may be right.”

  ****

  Ian and Jeff were the same person. So, what the hell happened? Why didn’t Ian remember her? More blood, she needed more. Not due to hunger. Ian’s blood satisfied unlike any other. Of course, straight from the vein was better than those chilled bags, but neither the biker nor the robber tasted as good as Ian. Perhaps the delicious flavor had to do with him being a fit, healthy werewolf. Unlike the old drunken biker or the cigarette-drenched man, Ian’s blood overdosed her with vitality and strength. Either way, anyone’s blood would do right now to incur more flashbacks. She needed to unlock every secret of the past.

  None of this would be happening if she’d never gone down that alley all those months ago. Damn that Maurice. Nails deep into her palm, she seethed. If she ever laid eyes on the vampire again, he’d be the one to draw the last breath.

  The drive to Ian’s was met with more awkwardness than before the revelation at the gas station. It took a mental strength to agree with his theory. When he’d questioned her in the forest, she’d lied about checking for his mark. She didn’t have all the answers, so why bother with honesty? Until the full story came to light, she planned to keep every detail to herself. So far, she was certain of three things; one, she had known Ian aka Jeff at one point. Two, she’d possessed an unhealthy, schoolgirl obsession. And three, she’d most likely tricked him into believing they shared the same mark.

  She should have realized this before they had sex. The birthmark, however, launched an onslaught of intense emotions. She believed they shared the same mark. Why she hadn’t figured out the truth sooner astounded her. The memory had been crystal clear; she planned to formulate a spell to confuse her crush. Whatever voodoo magic she’d performed had to have worked. In her memory, she bestowed the same birthmark…and now did not.

  A loud beep echoed in the truck. Ian grabbed his phone from the cup holder and read the text. “Amber and Chayton are on their way back to my house. They’ve called your sister too.”

  Apprehension strummed through her body like strings on a guitar. She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap. Soon she’d meet her sister and cousin. And what of her killer’s twin, would he be there also? The sight of him had sent her insides into a fit. But no need to be afraid. Her real killer was locked away. Lava boiled through her veins and replaced her fear. On the night of her death, she’d been a meaningless fix. A bit hypocritical to judge his actions. She too drank from others, but Maurice deceived her into this predicament.

  The constriction in her throat charged her emotions. Unlike that night, she was no longer defenceless. Strength, speed, and finesse were attributes obtained with the new change. She understood what had to be done; find a way to pay back that damn low-life.

  She frowned at the bloodstained shirt. Her family might panic. On the floor lay the discarded top, and she retrieved the lace material. Dark eyes shifted from the road when she unbuckled the seatbelt. Unconcerned with her bared breasts, she removed the shirt. No point in modesty. He’d already seen every last inch of her.

  “What are you doing?” Desire deepened his voice.

  Ignoring the question, she slipped into the navy top. He averted his gaze back to the road, color returned to his white knuckles. As they pulled into the driveway, the silhouette of a truck stood out in the d
arkness.

  “Chayton and Amber are here. Are you ready to do this?”

  She opened the passenger door. Goose-pimples scattered along her arms, either from the cold or the sudden jitters at meeting her cousin. Ian dashed up the stairs and opened the front door. A heavy ball sat in her throat, and she swallowed before climbing the porch steps. The crackling fire in the hearth welcomed her. Quite a different experience compared to the first time she arrived here.

  Beneath the archway to the kitchen stood Ian’s friend and her cousin, embraced in a tight hug. How long had they been together? Were they married or dating? So many questions. When Amber turned around, her bright blues sparkled, her radiant face aglow.

  Rachel grinned when Amber rushed forward and wrapped her in a hug. Warmth filled her inside which had nothing to do with the fireplace. For the first time since the grave, she didn’t feel alone. This was the first stranger to look upon her without fear or disgust. Rachel savoured the embrace, but veered back when Amber trembled. Tears streaked her cousin’s face and Rachel wiped away the fat droplets.

  “You’ve been terribly missed.”

  If only she could say something similar in return, but Rachel held one insignificant memory of the woman. The emotion on Amber’s face stirred tingles in her belly. They had to have shared a great friendship. “I wish I remembered you.”

  From the corner of her eye, Rachel glanced at Ian removing his coat, and averted her gaze back to Amber.

  “Where is your shirt?” Amber questioned, one brow cocked.

  Ian threw the coat over the back of a chair. “It’s covered in blood.”

  Amber clutched her swollen belly. “What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” Ian reassured in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Rachel refused to face him, even though she itched to see the expression on his face. Did he reflect on what happened against the tree? The strong desire that devoured them, their sweat-slicked bodies against one another, their moans and sharp gasps of pure ecstasy.

  Amber’s chin tilted. “Well then, tell me what happened?”

  Insistent little thing. Rachel hid a smile behind pursed lips. Perhaps this was a Johnson trait they shared.

  “I used my shirt to help with Rachel’s nosebleed.”

  Amber's wide gaze refocused on her, brows knit together. “Why did your nose bleed?”

  Rachel wasn’t about to lie to her cousin. “It happens after I feed.”

  “I’ve never heard of a vampire having nosebleeds after a feed. We’ll have to tell Tristan.” Amber’s eyes brightened. “Speaking of feeding. I almost forgot. We found you more blood bags. Dr. Macrom contacted a friend at Sevierville medical centre and we stopped by to pick them up.” She sauntered to the kitchen.

  “Let me help you. I stacked them in the back of the refrigerator.” Ian’s friend followed her cousin into the kitchen.

  The warmth at her back confirmed Ian’s presence. “You can drink from me…” His breath tickled her ear. “If you want to.”

  Another feed from the vein? Who’d have guessed he’d be so willing. And what was with his offer, anyway? Perhaps guilt for what took place earlier. “I don’t want your pity.”

  She walked into the kitchen, eliminating the contact between them. Oh, to drink from Ian again. Not for his blood alone, but the closeness that came with it, the roughness of his hands all over her. Rachel shook her head. This wasn’t fair, craving a man who belonged to someone else. Nothing worse than wanting something you couldn’t have.

  An uncontrollable moan rumbled up her throat as she recalled the past. The schemes, the betrayal…what a stupid young lady she had been. For some reason, he either forgot, hid the truth, or worse…didn’t remember. Time to figure out which. “What’s on the menu, AB positive, O negative?”

  Amber snorted a laugh as she withdrew the supply from the fridge. “Not sure, but I hope you like it.”

  Rachel flinched. Her cousin didn’t seem bothered by her new diet. It was nice to have someone accept her for who she was. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’d like to drink in private.” She took the foam box from her cousin’s grasp.

  “Take your time. We’ll be in the living room if you need us.” Amber held Chayton’s hand and led him into the other room.

  “Come,” Ian said with a wave. “You can use my room.”

  She followed Ian down the hall. “I know which one’s your room, I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  Without a reply, he entered the room. She winced at the splintered claw marks on the wooden door. One of his sister’s had wanted to slash her face in the same manner. As he rummaged through his drawers, she stopped from rolling her eyes at her foolishness. So, not an excuse to follow her, but rather, he needed a shirt. When she suspected he’d leave, he entered the en-suite to the shared bathroom. Dressed in a dark red shirt, he returned with a washcloth in hand.

  He spared a knowing look. “You sure you want the blood bags? I can’t imagine it’s as good as the real deal.”

  It wasn’t. The reminder stuck like a thorn in her side. “If this is your wolfish way of repeating your earlier question? I’ll have you know the answer is no. I don’t want your blood.” An absolute lie. She craved the delectable flavour.

  “Is it because what happened earlier? I didn’t use you—”

  Tension left her muscles as she sighed. She compelled her gaze to his. “I know. You thought I was your mate.” And she did too. She didn’t elaborate on their past. How could she when the truth humiliated her? Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t recognise her or remember their past. Some things were meant to stay buried. “I don’t hold what happened against you.”

  “I can stay in here if you’d like, to help you.”

  There had to be a reason he had no recollection of that time. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you have an accident or something that made you lose your memory?”

  The frown was answer enough. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “I wondered if you’ve ever experienced what I’m going through.” Another lie. Great going, Rachel. At the doorway, she waved for him to leave. “As for your help, that’s not necessary, Wolfy.”

  As he exited the bedroom, he tapped the box and studied her with those cinnamon eyes. “If you remember something about me, please tell me.” He handed over the clean washcloth. “For your nosebleed.”

  Weighed down by fatigue and stress, she shut the door and all but fell onto the bed. The last twenty-four hours caught up in a sudden rush. A small face popped into her mind. She hoped little Tara wasn’t scarred for life.

  Careful not to mess Ian’s bedspread, she withdrew one of the bags and hovered over the open box as she tore into the plastic. Crimson travelled down her throat. Her nose scrunched and she stopped herself from gagging. Earlier, she enjoyed the blood bags; not as good as Ian’s, but much better than this repulsive stuff. Was it possible she acquired a certain appetite now that she sampled from a healthy living source? Would she not be able to drink from these plastic sleeves?

  Goodness, what if she became an addict like her killer? Over her dead body. She held her breath and drank the entire bag. As she placed the empty plastic back inside the box, the crash of colors and vertigo forced her eyes shut.

  Chapter 11

  Face scrunched into a frown, Tara packed her duffel. More like punched the clothes into the bag.

  “I’m sure they won’t be too hard on you,” Rachel said to lighten the mood.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got busted.” Tara checked her phone and whined. “Dammit, they’ll be here any minute. I want to meet them out on the road, otherwise they’ll stomp in here and embarrass me in front of everyone.”

  With strict parents such as Tara’s, Rachel wouldn’t put it past them. Her own mother would flip if she discovered no adults supervised this event. “I’d take the fall with you, but…”

  Tara cocked a brow. “Things are too good with Jeff?�
��

  Rachel bit her lip. Yesterday, Jeff had made her wait at the finish line at the last race. Sure enough, he won. When he first jumped off his bike, he hauled her out of the seat and swung them around. For the rest of the evening, they hid from friends and fans who wanted to celebrate, and swam in the waterhole. Tara made her spill everything when she returned this morning. “Well, yeah.”

  A huff echoed the small tent. Tara’s gaze shot daggers. “Grow up, Rachel. When are you gonna tell the truth?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play dumb. If you love this guy like you claim, you wouldn’t deceive him like this.”

  Rachel clenched her fists. “We’re meant to be together.”

  Tara crossed her arms. “If that’s true, then confessing what you’ve done won’t change that. Do you want to live a life based on lies?”

  An ache coiled in the pit of Rachel’s stomach. She turned away before Tara spotted her tears. So what, she’d lied. Jeff was happy, and so was she. Everything worked out as it should have. But then why did the lies make her insides burn? Damn Tara for being right. What the hell would Jeff do if her secret was exposed? A bigger question, was she willing to risk it?

  A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. “You can do this. You’re not a bad person. You’ve just let this obsession control you.”

  Limbs shaking, she turned and hugged her friend. “I’m scared.”

  “You’ll get through it. I know you will.”

  “I have to go. I promised I’d meet him.”

  “Remember what I said.”

  Rachel nodded. “Good luck with your parents.”

  Tara snorted a laugh. “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  Outside the tent, Rachel almost knocked into Troy.

  “Hi.” The gleam in his eyes highlighted his wide grin.

  She shuffled her feet in the grass. “Hey.”

  “Is Tara inside?”

  “Yeah.” Rachel spotted Jeff ahead, riding his bike toward her with a backpack strapped on. She forced a smile and thrust her conversation with Tara to the back of her mind.

  Troy followed her gaze. “So, the rumors are true. You and Jeff are together.”