Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  “No.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, then lay down, my feet dangling over the side, locking my fingers together and pillowing my head on them. “I’m not at all sure.”

  “Do you think it might possibly have been Larry?”

  “I felt a bond with the soul involved. That’s all I can say.”

  He sighed. “Personally, I think what I’ve always thought: Larry is crazy. But much too crazy and egotistical to reach the somewhat sane decision to suicide.” He paced the room briefly. “I won’t rest until I’m satisfied he’s dead. He’s too much of a danger, not just to them, but to you. And that’s what matters. I really need to talk to this witness.”

  “But Victor won’t let you. He won’t even tell us who she is.”

  Mitch sat down next to me and smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Fortunately, Victor is not the only vampire in the Cadre. And I know how I can find out. For now, at least, I want you to trust me. We’ll stay here and bide our time. If within a week there has been no sign of the illustrious Mr. Martin, I think I can start nosing around without arousing too many suspicions. And,” he began to unbutton his shirt, “if there has been no sign of Larry in a week, I might even believe he was dead. I doubt that if he’s alive he’ll be able to hold out any longer than that without causing trouble.”

  “I want to leave now.” I shrugged and smiled, watching the play of the light on Mitch’s chest muscles. “But I’ve felt that way all along, from our first night here, and I haven’t changed my mind. But because you ask it, I’m willing to wait your week, and see what happens.”

  “Thanks.” His eyes were alert, sharp, and I thought to myself that this, finally, was the old Mitch. The man with whom I had fallen in love, the man with whom I would share my neverending life.

  My body tingled where his came into contact with mine. Suddenly, worries and thoughts about Larry Martin were buried deep beneath the urgency of my need for him. I longed to see where our newfound unity could lead us.

  Slowly, sensuously my hand snaked up around his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine. “After all, my love,” I whispered, in a voice hoarse with passion, “we have all the time in the world. And we’re still supposed to be on our honeymoon.”

  “Mrs. Greer,” Mitch said, his eyes glowing, his hands slowly traveling down my body, “have I ever told you that I love the way you think?”

  I laughed. “And have I ever told you that I love the way you love?”

  What a strange lovemaking that was, I thought, as I lay back in his arms, coming down slowly from the waves of orgasms. Yes, it had been completely satisfying, intimate, and passionate, like every other time Mitch and I made love. Yet I felt more alien and more distant from him than I ever had before. The fault, if fault it was, did not seem to lie in the comparison of the earlier blending of our souls with this physical merging. It lay instead with our subsequent division into ourselves again.

  Mitch kissed the top of my head. “That was wonderful, Deirdre. But,” I heard the confusion in his voice, it mirrored my thoughts, “it hurt me.”

  “Hurt you? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “And I’m not really sure I can explain.” He stroked my hair lightly and I shivered, then grabbed his hand and put it to my mouth, kissing each finger separately.

  “Try.”

  Mitch thought for a while longer. “I don’t mean it hurt physically, far from it.” He chuckled slightly. “It felt wonderful, physically. Maybe our best ever. But somewhere, deep inside, it hurt. As if, by pulling away from each other this afternoon, we left behind some sort of psychic wound, one that’ll ache until we’re fully together again. But as aches go, it wasn’t bad.”

  I laughed at him, then sobered. “I think I understand. I’m not sure it can be described, but I think I understand.”

  “I knew you would.”

  We lay quiet for a while, separate physically and mentally, each of us trapped inside thoughts and feelings for which we could find no words. I got up from the bed and began to get dressed.

  “Where are you going?” Mitch pushed himself up on one elbow and watched me solemnly.

  “I know we agreed to wait for a week, but I want to look for him anyway. In my own way.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  “Absolutely, my love. We can look together. But be warned, I plan on starting my search where it all began.”

  Mitch groaned slightly and shook his head. “Well, I don’t like it much, but it makes sense. Perfect sense. Criminals usually return to the scene of the crime, and while the Ballroom may not be that specifically, we can’t deny that there is something that keeps leading us back there. It’s the ideal place to start our search.”

  He got up from the bed and started to dress. “But I still say we should burn the damn place down.”

  Chapter 16

  I was already settled into the back seat of the cab and Mitch was just about to get in when a familiar figure burst from the front doors of the Imperial, waving frantically in the attempt to get our attention. “Deirdre, Mitch, wait.” Vivienne’s voice was earnest and warm. “Where are you going? I want to speak with you.”

  Tensing slightly, I caught back a sound of annoyance. One thing we most certainly didn’t need or want tonight was the presence of another Cadre member. But Mitch shook his head while motioning for me to stay inside. He straightened back up, smiled at her and she ran over to him, holding out her hands in greeting, laughing the odd, metallic laugh that never failed to make a shiver run up my back.

  I studied the two of them from the back seat. For once Vivienne was not dressed provocatively, but instead was wearing faded denim jeans, a powder blue sweatshirt, and a pair of running shoes. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore very little makeup. She looked pale and delicate, impossibly young and beautiful, her tiny hands enfolded in his.

  Mitch had put on black jeans, with a black t-shirt that was tight enough to reveal a lean and muscled torso. His gray hair was tousled by the wind and I noticed for the first time that he was wearing it longer. I’d never seen him look less like a cop. Or more desirable. Together, I couldn’t help but admit, they made a nice-looking couple.

  “We’re just going out for a bit, Vivienne,” I heard him saying, “but maybe you’d like to join us?”

  “Well, yes, I would.” She rolled her eyes at him. “But only if I’m not interfering. I don’t want to be the unwanted third.”

  “Vivienne,” Mitch’s voice caressed the name, “how could a lovely woman like you ever be unwanted? Please join us.”

  With his second impassioned invitation I realized what he was attempting, understood his motivation as plainly as if he had spoken his intentions out loud. He was going to get the information he required from her.

  Understanding didn’t necessarily mean I had to like his methods. Suddenly I had a flash of how he must have felt while he was still mortal; how he must have suffered to know that I had need to seek out the embrace of another. Even though the need had always been for sustenance and not for love, it was still a kind of betrayal and it hurt.

  “Deirdre, sister?” Vivienne leaned into the cab. “If you are sure you have no objections?”

  I forced back my petty jealousy and gave her my brightest smile. “Mitch is right, you should join us.”

  With another laugh, she got into the cab next to me, giving me a small hug as she settled in. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here,” she whispered into my ear. “I have been so wanting a sister, and a friend, for so long.”

  Mitch crawled in after her and draped his arm over the back of the seat, lightly caressing the tip of my shoulder. “This is nice, isn’t it? One big happy family.”

  Vivienne leaned her head back into him and giggled again. “Yes, it’s very nice, Mitch. So where are we going? And what are we going to do once we get there?”

  “Good point, lady.” The driver turned around. “Where to?”

  Mitch
and I said in unison and with about the same amount of enthusiasm, “The Ballroom, please.”

  “Oh,” she purred, sounding as young and innocent as she looked, “I love the Ballroom. What fun. Such a marvelous idea.”

  We were a block away when she turned to me. “I was very angry, you know, when I’d found out that Max left the place to you. I always thought that it would be mine someday. I even had plans for it.”

  “Really?” I shook my head, the club had never been anything other than a burden to me. And although I’d never admitted it to him, Mitch’s idea of burning it to the ground appealed to me. “What sort of plans?”

  To my surprise, Vivienne took a sidelong glance at Mitch, then blushed. “It’s silly, you know, but I hate to say, actually. It’s a difficult thing to explain without sounding, oh,” and she waved her tiny hand in the air, “rather indelicate. Let us just say I had planned to close it, redecorate it and open up an entirely different type of club.”

  Mitch leaned forward and met my eyes, nodding. “Seems like a good idea to me, no matter what type of club Vivienne wants to open. What do you think, Deirdre?”

  I shrugged. “It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for all of us. I never wanted any part of the damn place.” I looked out the window and sighed. “And it always seemed a vindictive joke on Max’s part to will it to me anyway.”

  “Max.” His name on her lips seemed to drip with venom. “Please don’t get me started on Max. We should be having a good time and not be raking up the past tonight.” Her childish manner had instantly vanished and her eyes narrowed, studying my reaction, “But, in the matter of the Ballroom, you would perhaps consider selling it to me?”

  “Perhaps. What sort of price did you have in mind?”

  The price she quoted made Mitch and the cab driver whistle in disbelief. There was probably a time in my life when I would have been impressed also, but that was before I had amassed a small fortune through the sale of my fashion business and a large one through the death of Max. “That seems satisfactory. Let’s draw up the papers as soon as possible.”

  Vivienne clasped her hands together, in an appealing gesture. “Oh, my sister,” she cooed, “my sweet, sweet sister, thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “It’s my pleasure.”

  The doorman recognized Vivienne and let us in with no questions and no hassles. We pushed our way across the crowded dance floor and up to the bar.

  “What’ll it be, folks?”

  I glanced at the bartender with no recognition. He was young and good looking, with no characteristics to make him different from every other normal man here, as if he had been assembled haphazardly from available parts.

  “We’ll have a scotch on the rocks, a glass of red wine,” Mitch looked down at Vivienne, “and?”

  “Oh,” she laughed, “Marky knows what I want, don’t you?”

  The bartender winked at her. “I most certainly do, Miss Courbet.”

  He mixed the drinks and handed them over to us one by one, “Scotch on the rocks, red wine, and my special formula Bloody Mary. On the house, of course, and with your permission, Mrs. Greer.”

  At my look of shock he grinned at me. “Fred told us that first night who you were. And he said you were always to be greeted by name.”

  “Thank you.” I motioned to Mitch and Vivienne. “Why don’t you two get us a table someplace? I’ll be right over.”

  After they left, I looked around. “I’d like to speak with Fred. Is he in tonight?”

  “Nope, nobody here but us chickens,” Mark laughed. “He mentioned last night that he was going to take a few days off. Said he figured since you’d probably be in town for a while, that you’d be in every now and then to keep an eye on the place. The place pretty much runs itself anyway. No problems, the customers drink and dance and get into just a little bit of, well,” and he winked at me this time, causing me to laugh in spite of my dismay at his familiarity, “hanky-panky every now and then to keep things interesting.”

  “I see.” I picked up my wineglass and took a sip. Then another. It was from the special stock that Max always saved for me.

  “How’s the wine?” Mark asked, making an idle sweep over the surface of the bar with a dish rag.

  “Wonderful, thank you. Just like old times.”

  “But better I’ll bet.” His eyes glinted at me through the dim, smoky air.

  “Yes,” I admitted with a smile, relaxing with surprise into his warm, friendly manner. “Infinitely better.”

  “Good,” Mark said, “we aim to please.”

  Mitch and Vivienne were deep in conversation when I arrived at the table. He glanced up at me for a minute, then turned back to her. “The doorman?”

  “No, not the doorman.” She took a long sip of her drink, then pulled out the celery stick and sucked on it briefly, before smiling at me. “Mitch and I are playing a game of questions. He is most delightful, but I don’t suppose I have to tell you that.”

  “How wonderful.” I sat down and took a pull on my wine. “Who’s winning?”

  Mitch shot me a hard look for intervening. I could feel his frustration. Vivienne was proving to be harder to manipulate than he thought. It was a good lesson for him to learn, I thought, and I turned my chair slightly and watched the dance floor.

  “So, what about the bartender Mark, then?”

  Vivienne put her head back and laughed. “That is an interesting one, Mitch. And one that I cannot answer. It’s not that easy, you see, telling one of us from one of them. I think that Marky, if not a vampire now, will be one soon. He’s only here two maybe three months and he’s already a favorite of Fred’s.” She waved her hand in the air again, seeming to dismiss the situation. “And you should know, mon chou, that I am, in any event, the wrong person to ask. Now Victor, he is a different story. Victor knows everyone, poor man, that’s his job. He knows the new ones and the old ones and the ones that only appear every century or so.” She picked up her drink and stared at him over the rim of the glass. “Why do you need to know all this, anyway?”

  Mitch smiled. “Curiosity, mainly. I’m so very new and Deirdre is unfamiliar with the turf, so to speak. I still find it hard to believe that the city could contain so many vampires and no one would notice.”

  “Ah,” Vivienne said with a tilt of her head, “curiosity. I understand that quite well. And there are really not so very many of us, Mitch, as you seem to think. Most of the house leaders had been called here when Deirdre was under scrutiny and on trial. And they seemed to have lingered longer than usual. Even I have stayed much longer than I planned. It was fortunate in a way, that the Larry Martin situation turned up so quickly after your departure. We would all have been in very unpleasant moods if we’d left, then had to be called back after such a short time.”

  I gave a half laugh. “If the house leaders’ recent moods can pass as pleasant, then it really was fortunate.”

  Vivienne reached over and laid her hand on my arm. “Poor Deirdre, we have not been very nice to you, have we? Myself, I think that Victor put you in an impossible situation, one which looked like you could never win. But,” her face brightened a bit and she drained her drink, “you did win. I am very relieved, for many reasons, that things turned out as they did.”

  She waved her hand and the waiter almost instantaneously appeared with another round of drinks.

  “Good service,” Mitch observed with a grin, “even better service than Deirdre usually gets. She often has to wait for a minute or two.” He eyed Vivienne’s glass. “So what exactly is in Mark’s special blend Bloody Mary?”

  “A little bit of this,” she admitted, “and a little bit of that. But,” she gave Mitch a serious glance, “certainly not what you’re thinking. I much prefer that drink unadulterated.”

  The band stopped playing and the dance floor began to thin out. I couldn’t stop myself from studying the dancers intently, although I knew that catching Larry a second time
would not be as easy. If he was even around and alive to be caught. The whole endeavor seemed futile to me. If he were dead, we were wasting our time. And if he were not, he most certainly would not come here.

  Mitch followed my gaze out on the dance floor and suddenly tensed. “What?” I whispered to him over the table, completely ignoring Vivienne’s presence. “Is it him?”

  “No,” Mitch said, rising from his chair and waving, “it’s Chris. What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

  “Hi, Dad.” Chris sat down at the table and nodded to me. “Deirdre.” He was drunk again; he’d barely had time to sleep off last night’s alcohol. Mitch frowned in his direction and Chris looked away from both of us, focusing instead on Vivienne with growing interest. “And friend.”

  “Mitch,” she said, her voice light, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Vivienne, this is my son, Chris. Chris, this is our new friend Vivienne Courbet.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Miss Courbet.” Chris was teasing her with his formality, to his eyes she would appear younger than he.

  “And you, Chris.” Her words were as soft as velvet. Velvet covering cold hard iron, I thought and stole a glance at Mitch. His expression of distrust seemed to agree. “I see that you are as charming and handsome as your father. But younger,” she laughed at Chris and winked at Mitch, “and far better looking. Would you like to dance?”

  “Well, yeah.” Chris was completely enchanted with her, “I’d like that very much, but the music’s stopped.”

  Vivienne’s voice deepened. “Ah, mon petit chou, when one is young and in love the music never stops. Besides, I have monopolized your father’s attentions for way too long. We wouldn’t want Deirdre to get jealous, now would we?”

  “No, ’course not.” Chris’s voice cracked slightly. She rose, took his hand, and led him to the empty dance floor.

  Mitch stared intently as the two of them began to dance. “I don’t think he knows what she is, do you?” I asked him. “Do you want me to stop them?”