The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance

by Trisha Telep

  He leaned closer and I backed up in response, hitting my shoulders sharply on the cabinet pulls. “Then why can I remember the taste of your tongue . . . remember the curves of your body so strongly that it makes my hands ache?” He seemed to sense what I was feeling, whether from the way I was squirming or tapping my fingernails on my jeans. He leaned closer, until I could smell minty mouthwash over cinnamon toothpaste. “Tell me, Syl.”

  “It was just one kiss, nothing more. We were drunk.” Something we swore we’d never talk about again. He waited, unmoving, his eyes watching my every move. I stared at his neck as it disappeared into the dark silk of his shirt. I’d thought it black, but it was brown, the same rich colour as his hair. There wasn’t a mark on his neck. No scar, not even a scratch to show where the wound that had killed him had been. “It was –” God, what to say? That it had been amazing? So intense that one kiss had terrified us both? “After a drug raid that went bad. We lost Bobby Tucker that night and it shook us both. We’d drawn straws to see who would handle the door ram.”

  He was nodding now, brows furrowed. “I remember. It was a competition to see who could take out the door with one blow.”

  “More than two and we had to buy a round. So Bobby always tried for one. But the door was wired.”

  Tim reached up and ran a slow finger through my hair. The shiver and sudden butterflies in my stomach should have made me leap down off the counter and try to get away. But I couldn’t seem to move. “Your hair got singed in the explosion. Had to trim a lot of it off that night.” His eyes focused again. “You liked it when I cut your hair. You kept the look.”

  It was my turn to nod. “You handled the scissors pretty good, even drunk.” I remembered him laughing, joking around, flourishing them, hand on hip, like a temperamental French stylist.

  His hands reached up suddenly and glided through my hair, triggering muscle memory that made me clench my hands into fists the same way I had that night. It had felt good . . . too good, and it had tipped our relationship into something new.

  He didn’t say a word, just lived out the memory. Gentle fingers became steel bands that locked on my head and pulled me forwards to his mouth. I couldn’t stop him . . . or myself, any more than I had the first time.

  Soft, but hungry, his lips and jaw devoured me, tongue searching, twining around mine. I felt my hands reach for him without permission, slide across his warm neck to let loose the band that held back his hair. Silk. I’d always wondered what his hair would feel like if left to grow long.

  I ground my mouth against him with a moan that ended in a whimper, surprised and terrified at how much my body wanted this. He couldn’t be a vampire. It was all some sort of mistake. Tim was really alive and here and wanting me, no longer tied to the rules of the department. No longer in fear of suspension or dismissal.

  He nudged my knees apart and I let him until he was pressed against me so tight I could feel his erection throbbing urgently. No blood? No life? Not possible. Even my tongue could find no trace of the sharp-pointed teeth he’d showed me . . . until I flicked my tongue against the roof of his mouth. There they were – slender and solid, ending with a sharp point. Retractable. They were freaking retractable. His hands had moved to my breast now and my nipple hardened so suddenly that I jumped, felt my tongue move forwards abruptly, impale itself on the sharp point of his tooth. It wasn’t any more painful than biting it accidentally, but when the copper penny taste filled our mouths, Tim tensed.

  He pulled back from the kiss, his bottom lip painted red, and a new look filled his eyes. He swallowed hard and pulled his hand out of my hair to wipe his hand across his lip.

  Tim stared at the smear of colour for a long moment. He shuddered and reached down to wipe it on his pants. “I’ve only fed once today, Syl. You have to be careful.”

  Blood. Vampire. Fed. A sudden surge of horror switched off my libido. “You killed someone tonight, before you came here?”

  He shook his head quickly, and moved his other hand from my breast to rest on my thigh. “We don’t have to kill, except in combat or to bring someone over. We only end up taking about a half-pint, less than someone would give at the hospital. Most people barely notice. They just wind up a little woozy.”

  Now I was getting angry. “But you attack people? Steal their blood?”

  He smiled then shrugged, apparently comfortable in his role, not the least embarrassed. “Not steal. More barter. We get blood in exchange for pleasure. An erotic high that’s better than Ecstasy. There’s no lack of willing donors. Trust me.”

  The horror settled into revulsion. This wasn’t the Tim I knew. He’d been one of the few on the force who had been a gentleman. No one-night stands, no string of leggy girlfriends. He’d been waiting, he claimed, for that special someone. But now . . . “So just how many erotic barters have you had in two years? My voice came out sounding more hurt and angry than surprised.

  He sighed. “If you mean sex, then none.” Then he tipped his head. “Well, one. Before I realized what Jolie was up to. Like I say, she nearly made me believe her. But I gravitated towards criminals. It took me a while to figure out why. I policed the streets in my own weird fashion even before I remembered I was a cop, knocking out burglars and rapists to make it easier for you guys to catch them.”

  I thought back, to just last week. “You mean that mugger Davis found in the alley–”

  He completed the thought with a nod. “Over off Hansen Avenue? Yep. That was me.”

  I shook my head. “But he didn’t have a mark on him. How did you –?”

  He smiled again, and the teeth were back, hanging over his bottom lip dangerously. “No marks . . . except for track marks on his arm. Thought he was a junkie, I’ll bet. Wound up in a policed ward for anaemia and high white count? Apparently our saliva does that. I think it’s also where the high comes from. How are you feeling right now?”

  I tried to think. My body was still all tingly and I had to struggle not to touch my own skin. It felt swollen and raw, and even my shirt moving as I breathed made me wet and hungry. The horror and revulsion at what he’d become couldn’t make it go away. “Then why didn’t you just–” Bite me. I couldn’t make myself say the words, but he knew.

  His voice came out soft and he touched my face, not pulling his hand away when I flinched. “Because I remember you. You’re nobody’s victim, Syl. While I know I’d enjoy it, and you Probably would too, I don’t ever remember you saying that you were into kinky stuff.”

  “I’m not.” There might have been confidence in my voice, but why was I suddenly staring at those fangs and thinking it sounded like fun? The mental image of his mouth opening wide and slamming painfully into my neck was actually getting me excited. My body was aching for him, my heart pounding in anticipation.

  Jesus. What the hell was in that spit?

  “Crosses? Garlic? Stakes?” There had to be some way to protect myself . . . from myself.

  He smiled, and it was just regular teeth again, the fangs tucked carefully away. “Crosses don’t burn, but I haven’t tried a church yet. Garlic makes blood taste weird, but it’s not too bad. Stakes? Yeah, stakes are a problem. Take out the head or heart when we’re vulnerable and it’s curtains.”

  “And you’re dead during the day?” Jeez, it sounded like I was trying to find a way to kill him. But I wasn’t.

  He shook his head, answering patiently. Trusting in his memories of me. “Sleeping, like taking a pill. You can react if you have to, but things are fuzzy. But yeah, we’re vulnerable then. It’s why we hide to sleep.”

  He said ‘sleep’ like others say ‘sex’. The word filled me with a warm rush of regret, and fear. Again my hands ached and I clenched them hard. I needed to get away from him until I could figure this out. But when I jumped down from the counter, he didn’t move and I ran right into him, the thrill of the silk on my suddenly raw skin. It was too much for my poor body and my hands were suddenly all over him, sliding under his shirt, across the bare,
taut muscles and hardened nipples. My mouth reached for him too and I was suddenly kissing him hungrily. He let me, and groaned, but didn’t reach for me in return. I ended the kiss and moved to his neck, nipping and biting. Was I hoping for the same in return? I couldn’t tell. My mind was too filled with fire to think clearly. I didn’t even care any more if his saliva was a drug. I wanted it . . . needed it. I couldn’t breathe past the need to have him inside me, take me over the edge while he filled himself with me, and filled me with him.

  “Yes.” The word was the barest whisper through his lips as I reached for his erection, pressed it tight against his stomach so I could unzip his pants. “Whatever you want, Syl. But only what you want.”

  It made me pause and take stock. His twitching member was in my hand, where I was stroking it, feeling the heat and the blood that was someone else’s, keeping it hard and ready for me. What did I want?

  My mouth spoke the truth as I dropped to my knees in front of him. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Tim. Dead or alive or somewhere in between. I don’t care.”

  It wasn’t his saliva, some strange drug making me do this, it was me. Me who’d kissed him three years before, me who’d struggled not to drool and stare, me who’d found excuses not to be alone with him until he died. Me who’d wept at his funeral . . . cried for the man I loved and had never told. And, as I took him into my mouth, it all came back to me, filling my eyes with tears. His groan echoed in the room and his legs shook as I pulled on him with my lips. He reached for the counter with one hand to keep himself upright and used the other to play with my hair. He whispered my name over and over as I satisfied a need I’d never gotten over. It had held me back, ended every date with a handshake, cooled any possible desire for another man.

  He stood me up before we went too far and took me in his arms. I became airborne, arms around his neck, legs bent over his elbow. He kicked off his boots to hit the wall with a bang and then stepped out of his pants to carry me to the bedroom.

  There aren’t any words to describe how Tim made me feel once he had my clothes off. Tongue, hands, lips – they all assaulted my sensitive skin, making me cry out with each new brush or lick or scrape. Neither of us could stand too much more, though. It was only minutes before he was inside me, taking that final step that I’d shied away from years before. Our cries became one as we moved together, warm flesh slapping, bringing us closer to climax.

  He pulled away from a kiss and I noticed his eyes were darkening, becoming electric, even more hypnotic than before. His lips whitened, pulled back into a snarl that bared those sharp teeth. I should have been scared, but all I could feel was pleasure, a warm tension in my stomach that was quickly swallowing me whole. Grabbing my hips, he ground himself against me, then pumped furiously until I could take no more. I cried out and screamed. “Do it, Tim! Bite me now!”

  He took me at my word. As my eyes were closing from the intensity of the orgasm, I saw his head dart down, saw fangs flash. Then there was pain, but the pleasure was too great and the sharp intensity in my neck became just another form of climax. My fingers dug into his shoulders as his body tensed and suddenly I was being drained and filled at once.

  Just like I wanted. God help me, but it was what I wanted.

  It was hours later that we were snuggling in bed and he finally explained why he’d come to find me.

  “One of us has been taking cops off the street, turning them and then setting them loose again. I don’t know why. But there are too many vamps now for an area this size. It’s becoming noticeable that people are disappearing.”

  I snuggled in against his warm, warm skin – part of me was inside him now, keeping him as toasty as an electric blanket. “But why bring over cops? Do you think Jolie had a taste for more than you?”

  He sighed. “Jolie . . . didn’t survive a territory combat. She just wasn’t strong enough. I’d left by then, and some nights I wonder if she didn’t want to die.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How would I have reacted if he’d refused me tonight, told me he had no interest? I didn’t want to think about that. “So what needs to happen? What are you planning to do?”

  He took a deep breath, nearly dumping my head from his chest. “We need a police force. We need to bring this, and future lawless vamps down, but with rules that we all accept and will abide by. So far, there’s never been anything like that. It’s been every vamp for him or herself . . . the strongest survive. But they’re rising up faster than the established vamps, the ones who have created or remember their humanity, can react.” He looked at me and ruffled my hair. “Except I don’t remember how to do it. Faces are still fuzzy for me, and I don’t remember names. I can’t even recall the rules or procedures, even though I know I should. But I’m positive I could bring them back to close to themselves with a little effort. And then all us cops could keep the peace . . . just like before.”

  I was starting to come up with a reply when a crash sounded downstairs. We both sat up and tensed. “Wait here,” he said, and disappeared into that mist again so I dropped to the mattress abruptly.

  “Like hell I’m waiting here.” I snorted as I whispered the words and slid out of bed to put on my clothes.

  I heard a hiss and a growl that sounded like two animals fighting as I reached the hallway. I peeked into the living room.

  Tim’s face had turned into an inhuman mask, skin thinned to nearly glowing over hard bone. His opponent looked the same. I was surprised that I recognized him. Evan Danvers was a two-bit thug who’d disappeared a year before. We’d found him in the canal and , yep, his throat had been slashed. Danvers was a nasty-tempered waste of skin who’d caused us nothing but problems while alive. I was betting he wasn’t much better dead. I was a little surprised that he was one of the people to remember their past. He didn’t seem the type.

  From the fangs and fingernails that he’d sharpened into claws, I realized my gun wasn’t going to do much good. I retreated to the bedroom while they hissed, spat and circled on the carpet like angry cats.

  What to use? What to use? I put my sidearm back in the holster as Danvers’ voice drifted into the room. “You’re not going to stop me, Meyer. I’ll have her and she won’t even remember you. She’ll answer to me, just like the rest.”

  Tim hissed again. “Not while I live you won’t.”

  I rolled my eyes. Talk about your melodramatic testosterone battle. While I was pretty certain Tim could rake care of himself, he’d always been one to fight fair. I didn’t think he’d lose, but I needed something to defend myself with, just in case.

  I looked around the room, searching for something . . . anything to use as a weapon. And then the answer stared me in the face: the photograph of Tim and me, just out of the Academy, hanging on the wall next to the bed. Tim had framed it himself using solid burled walnut from a tree he’d cut down in his yard. While I hated to destroy it, I couldn’t help but notice those nice sharp points at the end of the 18-inch lengths of wood.

  By the time I’d ripped the frame apart, they were in full battle mode. It was fascinating to watch them slashing and biting, spraying blood across the floor and the walls – only for the wounds to heal while I watched. But they were moving so damned quick that I couldn’t figure out how to move in on Danvers without risking Tim getting wood through his chest.

  That’s when Danvers spotted me. He was on me before I could move out of the way. The look in his eyes was truly frightening and I felt my heart pounding as I pushed against muscles that were like steel. I’d fought Danvers before when hauling him in, and he’d been nothing like this. It made me realize that Tim had been gentle with me. I also realized his problem. No way would any of the guys on the force stand up to Danvers now. They’d all be toast and, without any memory of their former dedication to enforcement, would wind up a criminal cartel like nothing the city had ever seen. There’s actually very little difference between a cop and a crook – just intent. We’re all predators – intense, driven, with vi
olent tendencies. But with nothing to channel that aggression – wow.

  Tim was on him, pushing Danvers harder against me, even as he tried to pull him off. I brought the frame up between us, pushed it against his throat to keep his teeth out of mine. Unlike Tim, Evan hadn’t bothered with toothpaste or mouthwash and I could smell blood and decay, like rotting hamburger left too long in the back of the fridge . . . both sweet and pungent.

  Danvers threw Tim off and grabbed me by the throat. He dragged me backwards until his back was against the wall, digging nails in until I could feel blood trickle down. “That’s it,” he whispered. “Bleed for me, Beck. You’ll be doing even more than that by the time I’m done with you.”

  It was when he licked a slow line up my cheek that I understood that he planned something similar to what Jolie had. Kill me, kill Tim and bring me back as . . . well, I didn’t even want to think about that. A full-body shudder pretty much said it all.

  Tim picked himself up and launched forwards, but Danvers yanked my head to one side by the hair, exposing my neck. “One more step and it’s all over for your girlfriend, Meyer.”

  He’d do it, Tim knew it. He stopped and glared, his fangs exposed and hands clenched into fists. The wooden stake I’d been fending him off with lay feet away, and I’d just bet that Danvers felt safe. He wasn’t really watching my hands, paying much closer attention to the other vampire. Even Tim wasn’t watching so it was a complete surprise to them both when I pulled the shorter frame from inside the front of my pants and used every ounce of my shoulder strength to shove it over my shoulder, point first. It hit him in the eye and paused before I slapped my other palm against the base to drive it into his skull.

  He fell backwards or, more precisely, hit the wall and slid down, smearing red in a long line over the white paint.