by Tina Donahue
Whoever had turned him and stole his joy should be shot. He hadn’t a say in what he’d become any more than she had being born a witch. By human standards, she was only twenty-seven and already bored shitless by each new, never-ending day. Magic was cool when it was a fresh experience, mainly during her toddler years. Afterward, every spell was the same old, same old. She could conjure any material thing she wanted, which left nothing to strive for. She could put a spell on a man to love her, but his devotion wouldn’t be real. She could concoct a potion to fill her with whatever knowledge she sought then get a high-powered job she didn’t deserve. Magic wasn’t awesome, it was a curse she avoided as much as she could. She stripped at night to pay her bills the mortal way and filled her daylight hours mentoring troubled teen girls, teaching them to respect themselves and demand the same from others, especially guys. Not to fall for the first goon who gave them an empty compliment, trying to get into their panties. Wren had been there and done that. Those girls deserved better. So did she.
Roman pulled his mouth from hers and sucked her earlobe.
She giggled at how it tickled, liking that.
He pressed his lips to her neck, promptly froze, then reclaimed her mouth.
What do you know, a truly nice guy. He hadn’t tried to sink his fangs into her.
Although aroused by his gallantry, she warned herself his blood-sucking might come later. He was a stranger and male, which usually meant a quick “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” then the guy disappearing into the night without a backward glance.
He loosened his grip and held her gently, stroking rather than squeezing her boob.
Delight welled up, quickening her pulse. Tenderness for him followed. A dangerous emotion. She fought her feelings as a necessity. She’d never been good with guys. When she’d been in Blue Creek, Barb Wolfe, the area’s premier shifter-matchmaker had encouraged Wren to attend a scenting ceremony in the hopes a shifter would desire her and she’d adore him.
Didn’t happen. None even glanced her way.
The following week, she left her strip job at the Naked Wolfe and came here to start over. New surroundings. Different faces. Maybe something good would happen.
Roman buried his face in her hair and hugged her tight enough to snatch her breath, but not nearly enough to harm.
He was hurting. His shoulders were so tight they must have ached. He dug his fingers into her hip. She guessed to fight his vampire urges.
Hating the agony he was going through, she eased back and cupped his face.
Embarrassment swept his features. He didn’t open his eyes.
She wouldn’t complain. This gave her a chance to indulge in his potent masculinity. Despite being a vamp, his skin was still bronze, his hair a dark-chestnut color. He wore his locks shaggy and longish, past his ears. His eyebrows and stubble were nearly black, his features rough and virile. If he’d once modeled in men’s fragrance ads or for guys’ underwear lines, she wouldn’t have been surprised. “Tell me.”
His lids snapped open.
His irises were a light grey flecked with blue, his lashes nearly as long and dark as hers after she applied mascara. Nice. “Go on.”
He gave her a wary look. “About what?”
“Your pain… How you resisted biting my neck a few secs ago, okay?” There, she’d cleared the air. They could relax.
His legs tensed beneath her, and his shoulders tightened. “What?”
She thumbed the cleft in his chin and stroked his bristly throat. “I know you’re struggling.” She pressed her mouth to his ear. “My guess is, everyone here sees it, too.” She straightened. “You’re not hiding anything, so you can chill. How did this happen?”
He scanned the room, avoiding her gaze. “This what?”
“How you were turned.” She stroked his puncture marks. “Has it been a month yet?”
“Five weeks.” He screwed up his mouth. “Forever. An eternity.”
“Who did it?”
He gestured frantically. “I don’t know. I asked this daywalker I heard of who it was, but she hadn’t a clue. Said a rogue vampire had probably attacked me.”
“You talked to Aria?”
Surprise crossed his face. “Yeah. You know her?”
“I lived in Blue Creek for a while and got to know the locals and the other paras they knew.” Wren frowned. “Did you used to live around there?”
“No.” He slumped against his chair, bringing her with him, and stroked her back. “I grew up in LA, but after MIT, I—”
“Wait.” She rested her hand on his broad chest. “You’re talking about the school?”
He nodded. “Got a degree in applied mathematics and everything. Then I got a job at RAND, which I loathed. Counting cards was more fun, until it wasn’t.” He hung his head.
Poor baby. “You lost big time?”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound like his voice. “I wish. I won too frequently.” He lifted his face.
Anguish darkened his eyes.
To avoid staring and making him uncomfortable, she stroked his arm then eased up his sleeve. The tribal tat on his biceps sported thick black swirls. Her mouth watered. “I don’t understand.”
“Who could when it comes to this?” His sweeping gesture took in the room. Vamps, shifters in every variety, demons, and other paras crowded the space. “I never realized this world existed until the night I got turned.”
His prolonged sigh said he wished he hadn’t. Curious, she had to know more. “Did your transformation happen at a casino?” She made a face. “In the men’s room?”
“What?” He leaned away as best he could. “No. Nothing like that happened. I was at an off-the-strip spot, one real gamblers go to, making my magic, if you will. Nothing flashy. Only beginners or fools would behave that way. I’d win a game then lose three more. Not too much to cut into my pot, though. I was up thirty grand when the pit boss started shooting daggers at me. I pretended not to notice and lost five grand to play nice.” He shoved back his hair. “Wasn’t enough. Two goons strode up and stood directly behind me. Everyone at the table kept glancing at them, except me. I played dumb.”
“Would it have been better if you’d acknowledged their presence?”
He lifted his shoulders. “I’m a pretty good actor when I’m counting. You know, being cool, not breaking a sweat. They freaked me out. My buddies in the business mentioned a counter who got beat up really bad. The goons put him in the hospital for months. He might never walk the same as he had before. Since I didn’t want to end up in a wheelchair, I did the stupidest thing I could do.”
“You confessed?”
He laughed louder than earlier, making his black T-shirt ripple over his sculpted abs. “I wish.” He sobered. “I rammed my chair into one of the goons behind me and bolted. Unfortunately, I knocked an old lady into the slots on my way out, but despite her screams, she was okay. I checked on her later, after I’d turned. Anyway, I ran outside, hopped on my Harley, and sped off.”
Call her crazy, but what he’d said didn’t sound bad. “The goons followed you in a Hummer and hauled out their assault rifles?”
“Nope.” He ran his hand down his face. “At least, not that I know of. I was too afraid to look back. I took off at high speed and raced down street after street, trying to lose traffic. Once I did, I should have slowed down, but the adrenaline was pumping hard. I accelerated, took a curve too fast, and wiped out.”
Wren clutched her throat. “Oh my God, how hurt were you?”
“Critically.” His gaze turned inward, and his face paled. The way he should look as a vampire rather than his heathy glow. “I was near death when it happened.”
She shook her head. “When what happened?”
The same haunted look filled his eyes. “A woman I’d never seen before strolled up and regarded me. She had long hair like yours, but hers was bright red, the kind you see on kids when they dye their hair to drive their parents nuts. Her face was better than gorgeous, more like un
believable it was so perfect. As if she’d been Photoshopped in real life. No moles, wrinkles, or pores, yet her complexion was really pale. She wore a black leather top, jeans, and boots similar to a dominatrix. I thought I was hallucinating or had ended up in Hell. I recall whispering ‘Who are you?’”
He shivered. “She leaned close and smiled, exposing her fangs. I would have gagged if I’d had the strength. Running would have been good, too, but I was totally fucked. I think I’d severed my spine. I couldn’t get anything to move. She eased my head to the side and said, ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll save you.’” He made a face. “The next thing I knew she was sucking on my neck, her lips icy. She smelled awful, too, the same as rotting flesh. Damn, it was the grossest thing I’ve ever experienced with a beautiful woman.
“Then everything went black. When I woke up, I was sitting on the shoulder, my bike in a ditch. Although my clothes were torn and bloody, I was in one piece, no pain. Color me confused. I twisted around, trying to determine where I was and what had happened. That’s when I saw her again.” He bared his teeth. “She was leaning against a car, watching me. I asked, ‘What happened? Did I run into you?’ She laughed. This shrill, creepy sound. ‘No, I ran into you,’ she said. Then explained how I was near death but she’d saved me from dying by turning me into a fucking vampire. Her good deed for the day. I mean, she was actually proud of what she’d done, like she was a freaking Girl Scout or something for giving me eternal goddamn life.”
Wren understood his pain.
His eyes widened. “The more she talked, the more I shouted ‘what?’ She gave me an indulgent look, as you would to a moron, then said, ‘You’re welcome,’ and took off.”
“She morphed into a bat?”
“No, she ran at supersonic speed, turning into a blur. I don’t think she can shift.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. It was the one cool thing I could think of in being a vampire. At least I’d be able to fly.” He groaned. “I can’t even do that.”
He’d been beyond fucked. Wren stroked his shirt collar. “Is that why you contacted Aria? You’re hoping to find the vamp who turned you so she can undo this?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Can your turning be undone?”
He looked sick. “Aria doesn’t see how.”
Wren kneaded his shoulder, trying to help him relax. “Have you been craving blood the whole time?”
“Ah…not exactly.” He glanced at her throat then away, shame registering on his handsome features. “The hunger didn’t start until twenty-four hours after I was turned. My cravings were mild, at first, but have grown worse each day. That’s why I’m here tonight and at other places like this, hoping to find the nitwit who did this to me.”
Wren offered a sympathetic nod. “In the meantime, have you considered getting a familiar?”
“A what?”
He was a newbie at this. “It’s a human servant who gets blood for you to feed. After serving you for years, or decades—the time period depends upon the vampire—you turn the familiar as a reward.”
“What? The fuck I will.” He eased her away from him. “I don’t want to turn anyone. I don’t want anyone murdered to feed me, not even crappy people. Every time my fangs sprout, I’ve been pulling them out.”
Ew. “How quickly have they grown back?”
“Instantly. That’s why I’m suffering without plasma.”
“Could be it’s not such a bad thing. Aria says drinking blood from the source ages a vampire. Avoiding the stuff is wise.”
“For her. Blood won’t age me. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. One of the perks in being a vampire, I guess. Even without gulping plasma, I’m slowly becoming susceptible to sunlight. I’m not a daywalker like Aria is. Nothing about us is similar. She comes from a different line than the thing that drained me.”
“What if you can’t find her ever?”
“Aw, shit.” He ground his fists into his eyes.
Too bad there weren’t psychotherapists for paras who needed help as much as the average Joe. Possibly more. Humans foolishly believed having powers made everything better. Wrong. Magic and supernatural capabilities screwed up the natural world where people were meant to be born and die. During their stay on Earth, they were supposed to live a full life while they could and attain wealth or position the normal way—either by earning the privilege or screwing over people as many one-percenters had.
Wren wouldn’t wish her heritage on anyone. Roman’s either. Quality in one’s days was far more important than quantity. “If you want, I’ll ask around, see if anyone knows who this vamp is. Give you a heads-up on where to find her.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
His astonishment made her smile, her reaction puzzling. She wasn’t usually this laid back with guys. Her armor was always up. “Why so stunned? I like you.” She wiggled her butt against his stiffened rod. “I kissed you, didn’t I?”
“Hell, yeah.” He wagged his eyebrows. “And I kissed back.”
“That you did.” She pecked his mouth. “I don’t want anyone suffering. Being immortal, I know what you’re going through.”
“Not entirely. The…ah…blood I have to have is kind of unique, as far as vamps go.”
She considered the notion. “It has to be from women alone?”
“Uh-uh. Men will do in a pinch.”
“The subject has to be young?”
He slanted her a look. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘victim,’ not subject. And no. Young, old, or middle-aged is good, or rather, it will work as long as they’re alive.”
Sounded as if he had a wide field concerning choice, not something rare as he’d claimed. “You prefer a para’s blood rather than a human’s?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had either.” He curled his upper lip. “Nor will I, especially if they’d have to die to satisfy me. I’m not killing anyone. Ever. Let me finish, please.” He pressed his fingers lightly against her lips. “Unlike other vampires, I need a certain blood type to satisfy my cravings. AB positive, to be exact. Nothing else will do.”
Wow, he hadn’t been kidding. That was uncommon. “How many of those types are walking around?”
“Last I googled, three percent of the US population has it.”
Like him and her. She figured he’d smelled her type, a vampire talent he owned. “How can you be sure the other types won’t work?”
“I. Just. Know. Don’t ask me how.”
She rested her hand on his flat belly. Even with the tee between them, she could still appreciate his rock-hard flesh, warm to the touch rather than deathly cold. His internal heat and still having a healthy complexion might be normal, a gift from the vamp who’d turned him. “How badly are you hurting now?”
“Not much.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Your kiss helped a lot.”
She beamed at the sweet compliment. Way better and arousing than a line. If only guys understood the most powerful aphrodisiacs for women were loyalty, trust, and honesty. “Want to keep going?” She touched her nose to his. “I don’t mind.”
His chuckle shook his shoulders. “Actually, I had another thought.”
She’d never jumped into bed with guys she just met. As a rule, she expected them to buy her drinks, or dinner, or take her to a show first. But what the hell. Roman was hotter than sin yet also sweet. The whole enchilada. “Me, too. My place or yours?”
Bewilderment crossed his face. “What? Wait. Are you inviting me home?”
“I think I have to.” She traced his tat, loving the macho design. “Vamps can’t enter anyone’s place unless they’re invited in first by the owner. That’s a rule.”
“Seriously?” He shook his head. “More shit to deal with. No. I wasn’t talking about that, although I don’t mind going to your place, eventually.”
“Eventually? You want to have a drink first? Maybe dinner? Catch a sh
ow? Wait. Can you eat?”
“Yeah. Steak tartare and stuff like that doesn’t bother me, though I have been craving substantial garlic on it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought vamps were repelled by garlic.”
“Not this one. Religious symbols have zip effect on me, too. The only things that turn me off are low calorie beer and chick flicks.”
She struggled not to smile.
He looked worried again. “That’s not what I was referring to when I said eventually.”
Rather than guess what he’d meant, she opted for being direct. “Whatever you’re thinking about must be godawful given how tense you are. Make that tenser than when I was on stage.”
“You were great.” He grinned but sobered fast.
“Thanks. You were saying?”
“I need to ask you something before we leave here and go wherever we’re going.”
Suddenly, she didn’t want him to quiz her on anything and hoped what he wanted to know wasn’t too bad. “If you’re worried that I’m married, I’m not. Never been close. Currently, I’m free. No warlocks to deal with, okay? And I don’t have kids.”
“Me either. On any of those fronts.” He rubbed his mouth. “What I have to ask is more personal.”
“I’m twenty-seven in human years. You?”
“Thirty-one. That’s not what I wanted to know.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not telling you how much I weigh.”
He snickered. “I already figured as much. And I wouldn’t ask.” He held up his hands in appeasement.
She didn’t soften. “Go on. Ask your question.”
He tapped his feet, shifted his weight easily despite her being on his lap, and glanced at everyone in the room except her.
Now, she was more curious than worried and eased his face to hers to keep him from looking away. “What?”
He blew out a sigh. “Would you consider being my blood slave?”
Chapter Two
Wren slid off Roman’s lap and stepped back.
Not the answer he’d wanted. Pushing aside disappointment, he stood and grasped her wrist to keep her from fleeing, possibly disappearing forever. He’d had enough of that shit with the vamp who’d turned him. “Hold on.” He made certain to keep his voice calm and his grip light rather than hurtful, even stroking her thumb for good measure. “Please.”
