by Clare Willis
BITTEN
“Do you want to bite me? “ Sunni asked.
Jacob nodded, his face contorted with suppressed desire. “But I don’t want to frighten you, or have you think ill of me.”
“Who do you bite, men or women?”
“Mostly women.”
“How do they respond when you bite them?”
His cheeks flushed and he glanced away. “It’s an enjoyable experience, if we desire to make it so. It is part of our predatory adaptation that we can make humans desire to be taken by us.”
“So go ahead. Do it. I want you to do it.”
She pulled him down to her. His lips grazed her neck. She felt her blood rise up to meet him. When his fangs entered her, a tremor of pleasure rolled through her body …
Books by Clare Willis
ONCE BITTEN
BITING THE BRIDE
NOCTURNAL
(with Jacquelyn Frank,
Kate Douglas, and Jess Haines)
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
BITING
THE
BRIDE
CLARE WILLIS
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2010 by Clare Willis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN-13: 978-1-420-10872-9
ISBN-10: 1-4201-0872-7
First Printing: December 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Heartfelt thanks once again to Joanna MacKenzie and John Scognamiglio, my wonderful agent and editor; to Bill, Joe, and Amy for their keen eyes and fast turn-around times; and to Bob and Liz Huss for sharing their knowledge about boats and sailing.
Chapter 1
The wedding would have been the envy of any woman with a romantic heart. The outdoor setting, on a deck overlooking San Francisco Bay, was beautiful and natural but devoid of humidity, extremes of temperature, or insects. The flowers were extravagant but tasteful. The music was poignant but professional. The husband was young (relatively), handsome (ditto), employed, and in possession of all of his natural teeth. But to Sunni Marquette, who was standing at the end of a line of bridesmaids arrayed like the tail of a comet, it was a waste of time, energy, and expense. As was romantic love in general.
But she had learned long ago that her worldview was often at odds with that of the general public, and her comments on marriage were usually as well received as a diagnosis of athlete’s foot. So in the interest of friendship, which she did value, she had donned a polyester satin dress in the hue of orange Jell-O and a pair of cheap pumps that were a size too big and taken her place at the comet’s tail end. The nucleus was Sunni’s college friend Lydia, who looked indeed like a big ball of gas in her fluffy round gown, constructed of thousands of short layers of tulle dotted with bugle beads.
As the priest droned on about the married couple’s duty to bear children, Sunni turned slightly and allowed her eyes to drift over the crowd. She recognized a few faces, mostly people from college with whom Lydia had kept in contact but Sunni hadn’t. Seeing them made Sunni feel that thirty-two was a lot older than she had realized. The men had bald pates, shrunken shoulders, and expanded bellies. The women’s chins had gone soft. Their breasts sagged like socks filled with sand, defying the darts in their expensive dresses. Mothers clung grimly to bored young children, who squiggled like eels in their perfectly natural desire to escape. Were those liver spots on the women’s hands? Not for the first time, Sunni regretted having 20/10 vision.
She squared her shoulders and stood up straight, which still left her a head shorter than the next shortest bridesmaid. She looked young for her age, which had annoyed her to no end when she was in her twenties, but now she welcomed it. Her chin-length bob was as black as ever, with not a strand of gray, and she had yet to find a wrinkle on her pale, heart-shaped face. It was rather weird, actually, considering what was happening to her friends. It made her wonder about what kind of genes she had inherited. Sunni’s DNA was a mystery, coming as it had from a mother who died when Sunni was eight and left no living relatives, and a father who was no more than a blank spot on the birth certificate. So far she hadn’t tried to unravel these mysteries, but maybe someday, when she wasn’t so busy … Busy? Be honest, Sunni thought, at least in your own head: maybe someday, when she wasn’t so chicken.
The priest asked everyone to stand for the wedding prayer. She was about to return her attention to the bride and groom when she noticed, in the back row on the bride’s side, a face that seemed familiar. But not just any face. It was one she’d been seeing and losing for years: a face whose elusiveness only made it more enticing. It always disappeared whenever she got close, like a mirage. A wave of fear mixed with excitement washed through her. Sunni forgot where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. She corkscrewed her body toward the back of the church and turned the full power of her superior eyesight on the man.
It was him, she was sure of it. Her guardian angel.
Sunni’s frustration grew until it felt like she had swallowed a live ferret. The man she’d been wondering about for years was in the same enclosed space with her, and not a public place either, but a private ceremony, where you could only be if you knew the bride or groom. Or if you’d crashed the party. He towered over most of the other wedding guests, which was how he’d become so obvious when everyone stood up. In his tuxedo he cut an arresting figure. Everything about him was striking, from his height to his eyes, whose color she couldn’t quite identify. He had jutting Nordic cheekbones and dark hair that was a bit too long and tousled to suit a professional man, although she sometimes saw him in restaurants or professional buildings wearing a suit and tie, always alone. He was extremely pale, as if he had tuberculosis or worked as an engineer for Google. If he was a spy he was terrible at his job, because his looks made i
t impossible for him to be incognito.
But now here he was at the same wedding with her and she couldn’t get to him, because propriety demanded that she stay put until the ceremony was over. Their eyes met and locked. As the man stared at her his eyes narrowed to slits. His lips pressed together and he grimaced as if he was angry or in great pain.
What was he thinking?
Sunni gasped as the man slipped out of the crowd and headed for the exit, moving so fast his black-clad body was a blur.
“‘A six-foot tall man in a tuxedo.’ There are five hundred guests here. Can you be a little more specific?” Lydia lifted her champagne glass to her lipstick-smudged mouth. It was halfway through the reception and Lydia was more than halfway drunk, but this was the first moment Sunni had found to ask her the question. Lydia’s new husband, Kyle, had his back to her while he said goodbye to a very elderly couple who were leaving early.
Sunni chewed the inside of her lip. “Um, he’s very handsome.”
Lydia waggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, so that’s why you want to find him. And I thought you wanted to put a restraining order on the guy. “ She linked her free arm with Kyle’s, swaying on her high heels. “They say weddings are the best places to meet eligible men.”
Sunni suppressed her annoyance. “He’s very tall, broad-shouldered but thin, light-colored eyes, prominent cheekbones, messy black hair.”
“How old?” Kyle asked, having rejoined the conversation.
Sunni shrugged. “Hard to tell. Between thirty and forty, maybe. ”
Lydia draped her arms drunkenly across Kyle’s shoulders. “Lucky for you I didn’t meet that guy first,” she said, tickling his ear.
“And he was here alone?” Kyle asked, beginning what would probably be a lifelong practice of ignoring his wife.
Was he alone? Sunni felt an embarrassing stab of jealousy at the idea of her angel/stalker leaving with someone else. “I didn’t see anyone with him,” she muttered.
The bride and groom looked at each other for a long moment, then they turned back to Sunni, both shrugging their shoulders. “Nope,” Lydia said, “doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Sure doesn’t,” Kyle agreed.
Sunni sighed with exasperation. “Okay, thanks.”
She had needed to pee for the past two hours, so she found a restroom. While she was sitting on the toilet she peeled off her stockings and threw them in the garbage. She hated nylons, especially the egregious Band-Aid–colored ones, but Lydia had insisted. The too-big pumps felt more comfortable now that her feet were bare.
When she came out of the stall, there was a man in the bathroom, propping himself up against one of the sinks. For a moment her heart stopped, because he was very tall and had dark hair, but when she saw his face reflected in the mirror she recognized him: a cousin of Kyle’s from somewhere on the East Coast. She’d met him at the rehearsal dinner the night before.
“Hi, um, Peter, that’s your name, right? You’re in the wrong restroom.”
He turned, his big head swinging like it was too heavy for his neck. He was handsome in a forgettable sort of way, with coarse features that were probably at their best in high school.
“Hey, Sunni, nice to see you,” he slurred, smiling. His mouth was wide, with cartoonish red lips. “You’re looking very beautiful tonight. Did I tell you that already?”
“We haven’t spoken tonight, so no, and thank you.”
Peter lurched toward her, looking as if he might fall. Sunni grabbed him, sliding her small but strong body under his arm and supporting his considerable weight.
“We’re in the bathroom together,” he said. “Wanna make out?”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got a cold sore that just won’t quit,” Sunni said lightly.
She tried to leave the bathroom, but Peter had other ideas. He spun around and with surprising agility, given his level of inebriation, pushed her against the wall. Sunni’s back bounced off a towel dispenser. The breath flew out of her body, replaced with fiery pain between her shoulder blades. Peter stretched his arms out to the wall, imprisoning her between them. A sour, squishy tongue invaded her mouth, making her gag. He grabbed one of her breasts and twisted it like he was trying to take it home with him, simultaneously pressing his pelvis against her. His belt buckle ground into her lower ribs.
“Peter, no!” She managed to blurt out before he trapped her mouth again. When he pushed the ugly orange dress up her thighs panic raced through her body like electricity. He groaned as he found bare skin underneath. His left hand fumbled with his belt buckle.
Sunni’s vision narrowed to a pinprick. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, which would have been the worst thing that could happen, because she knew it would only help Peter. But she didn’t pass out, and in that moment a transformation occurred inside her body. When she opened her eyes, everything was incredibly bright, as if someone had turned on klieg lights. She could see microscopic dust balls on the white tile floor and streaks of window cleaner on the mirrors that had previously been invisible. Although she was moving normally, Peter seemed to be operating at a turtle’s pace as he tugged at his zipper.
Sunni had never taken a self-defense class in her life. She had never thought what she would do if someone tried to rape her. But somehow she knew instinctively how to react. She grabbed his neck with both hands and kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over in pain she punched upward into his Adam’s apple. A single, choked cry squeezed out of his throat before he hit the floor, where he balled up like a pill bug, gasping for air. Sunni took a deep breath and looked for the exit.
That was when she saw him. He had been standing by the door, watching her. She thought she detected a slight smile on his face before he turned away, his hand reaching for the doorknob. She had no idea how she got across the bathroom that fast, but before he turned the knob she had grabbed him and dragged him back into the bathroom.
“Not so fast, mister. You’ve got some explaining to do.” Sunni clutched the lapels of the man’s jacket, at first to keep him in place, but a moment later she was using him for support. The adrenaline washed out of her body, leaving her knees incapable of holding her upright. Her grip loosened and she started to sink to the floor. The man held her, pressing her tight against his chest. He smelled wonderful, like a pine forest after a snowfall. She had just begun to realize that close contact with him was unaccountably pleasurable when he propped her up against a sink and stepped briskly away.
“I see you are well, so I’ll be going …” He headed for the door.
“No!” Sunni shouted. The man paused.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Jacob Eddington.” He spoke in a formal, clipped tone, with a slight accent that was not quite British, like a Kennedy who’d gone to school at Eton.
“No, I mean who are you? Why have you been following me?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes, under fluorescent bathroom lights, were slate-colored, almost gray, and his skin was so pale it seemed transparent. “I believe you mistake me for someone else, madam.”
“The hell I do! You saved me from a mugger, two years ago in front of Glide Memorial Church.”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so …”
“And what were you doing here?” She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest. “You came to save me, didn’t you?”
“As you see, I didn’t save you at all,” he said stiffly. “So there goes your theory. ”
She moved close again, inches from his face, studying it. He appeared deeply uncomfortable, as if looking at her caused him physical pain.
“I’ve seen you, over and over again, for years. Tell me why and I’ll let you go.”
The semblance of a smile tugged again at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll let me go?”
“That’s what I said.”
The smile disappeared. The man’s eyes began to glow with a cool silvery light. The iris expanded until it covered the orb.
Was she hallucinating? Had Peter given her a concussion? She tried to move, but she was frozen, unable to break their gaze.
“You never saw me today. I was never here.” His voice was imperious, and so low in pitch she felt it in her solar plexus.
Suddenly it all seemed humorous, and the spell was broken.
“I see you.” She waved her fingers in his face.
He sighed with exasperation. Whatever he’d been trying had failed.
Sunni felt liquid dripping down her lip. She turned and looked in the mirror. Her lower lip was bleeding where it had collided with Peter’s teeth. She staunched it with her finger and then she turned back to the man.
But he was gone. In an instant he had disappeared completely. There was no sound of the door opening, no tapping of shoes on tile floors. It was as if he was never there. She raced into the hallway, colliding with a woman in a paisley dress dragging a small, weeping boy dressed in a suit.
“I’m not a lady!” the boy wailed. “I can’t go in there.”
Sunni grabbed the woman by the arm. “Did you see a man leave the ladies’ room just now?”
The woman eyed her with suspicion. “No, I didn’t see anyone except you.”
“Damn it,” Sunni said.
Still watching Sunni, the woman opened the door and pushed her son in ahead of her. Sunni heard the boy’s dress shoes clacking across the floor.
“Hey, Mommy,” the little boy called out, “there’s a man in here!”
Chapter 2
The scent of blood was driving him mad.
He closed his eyes and breathed it in: a thick, salty, mineral tang filled the airplane, emanating from the hundreds of bodies surrounding him. It smelled like the ocean, heated to 98.6 degrees. It was the substance of life itself, the one thing he couldn’t have. It was the bitterest irony imaginable: He could have all the blood he wanted, but he could never make himself live again. Unless …
