by Mary Hughes
I sometimes forget that not everyone went beyond kindergarten art. “In paints, yes. Paints are subtractive. But light mixes differently. Light is additive. RGB.”
“Twyla, make sense.”
“Red Green Blue. Red is a primary, but it’s a color we want. Blue can be flashed with red light to make magenta, a violently bright pink.”
“And green? Green plus blue is aqua, and green plus red is just ugly brown.”
“Not in light. Green plus red equals yellow.”
His breath sucked in. “What? That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s physics. Every single light in the Square can be morphed into a variation of red or yellow.”
Nikos blinked once as his brain processed what I was telling him. “The whole Square is a vampire time bomb. And we’re standing on the detonator?”
“Exactly. In the last minute, as the Ball descends, the Square will be awash in yellow and red. Vampires will go berserk. Did you hear that, Nixie?”
“Yep. Mr. Goo’s on it. But it’s going to take him a minute to reprogram.”
That was when the Ball started to drop.
Chapter Six
The bright bustle of color oozed around us, morphed in the streets below. Red began to predominate, and a spoiled-egg-yolk yellow. The beat of the final seconds hit my ears like a battery of drums. I stared out, horrified. “We don’t have a minute!”
“Julian, Twyla’s got a panic on, and that can’t be good…uh-oh. Take a look at the idiotbox.”
They were seeing what I was seeing. The cement and glass ocean of Times Square was bathed in light that was red as fresh blood. The color would be real soon enough.
“Damn, Julian, look at the crowd. That guy, there. Look at his face. His eyes.”
“Nixie, I’m on the roof. What are you seeing?”
“This,” Nikos said from behind me.
Nape crawling, I turned.
Fangs split his lips like gleaming daggers. His skin was hard as a shell and his eyes were deadly rubies.
“Are…are you okay?” I squeaked.
“No. But I will control it.” His fingers clenched like he was concentrating really, really hard. His claws poked holes in his skin but his fangs receded somewhat.
I wasn’t afraid, not of Nikos. He would never hurt me. He would manage whatever was happening to him.
But I was shaken. “Nixie. We could really use your guru to come through about now.”
“He’s hamster-wheeling it, but it’s not that easy. He has to figure out which colors are combining with which buildings and signs, all over satellite bandwidth-”
“No he doesn’t. Just scramble it!” Below me, the roar of a million excited people sharpened with the edge of panic. “All he has to do is bump the colors coming from the Ball. Make them random.”
“Oh. Yeah. Julian-you heard?”
The lights intensified. Red and yellow became screaming vermillion and lemon. They brightened so much I had to squint, my eyes aching. Vermillion and lemon became salmon and canary…and then pink and buff…and then white.
And suddenly the pounding blood colors fell apart, muting into spring green and sky blue. The horrible feeling of drowning ebbed.
More importantly, Nikos’s features eased into their normal severity. His eyes opened, a warm seal brown, and landed on me. “Twyla. You did it. You saved us.”
He swept me into a kiss. All the rest of what he had to say was nonverbal, but quite eloquent.
***
When questioned about the strange images on some of the film from that night, nobody could answer. Nobody remembered that anything was off with the light show, almost as if their memories had been erased. And the films themselves disappeared, one by one. You can still see their holes on the Internet.
We found Aylmer and the rest of the crews on an untenanted floor. The crews went on to finish New Year’s in grand style. Aylmer had taken a clean shot to the leg, which had bled a lot but caused no damage to bone or nerves. After the EMTs cleaned and stitched and gave him fluids, he was taken into custody by some suspiciously handsome police officers. He was eventually released to go home and play with his tinfoil hats, any memory of v-guys forgotten. The officers also searched Jones’s brownstone loft, where plans for future terrorist acts were found.
“It was a human after all,” I said on the flight back. I was sitting next to Nikos in a private jet piloted by Bruce, ultra first class. For the first time I felt like I belonged. “Not the New York Cadre, or whatever they call themselves.”
“This time.”
We were back to the Spartan. And he was hogging the window seat. Well, one thing at a time. “I know, their philosophy isn’t the same as yours. But this proved you have some of the same goals. Doesn’t that mean there’s hope you can find some common ground?”
“Maybe.” His eyes shaded red.
“But…?”
There was a soft ding. “We’re about to hit some turbulence, sir.” Bruce even sounded a little like Bruce Lee. “I’ll try to get above it.”
Nikos popped the intercom. “Fine.” He turned to me. “I didn’t say but.”
“No, but your eyes did.” I wasn’t a musician, able to hear lies in the nuance of a voice. But I had other methods, other expertise, and I’d forgotten that. Nikos had helped me remember.
He sighed, the barest breath. “The code.”
“Code-you mean the program used to control the Ball?”
“And screens, yes. It was written by Steale Programové. Steale Software.”
“So? Wait, that sounds familiar. Isn’t Steel Software a big security software firm? One of the biggest in the Midwest, I think.”
“Steel Software, with an ‘e’, yes. This is a rip-off. That’s how our computer guru hacked in so quickly. He recognized most of the base code as his own.”
“That’s awful!”
“But common in second- and third-world countries.”
The plane shook like a car on a rough patch of road. I pushed down a slight feeling of panic. “What, you mean like China?”
“And the Middle East and the old Soviet Bloc. Ever hear of Adibas shoes? Hanghai Sharpies?”
“And you’re worried. Don’t try to deny it.” I brushed fingertips against his cheek. “Your skin is hardened like glazed pottery.”
A half-smile touched his lips. “It may be nothing. But until we know, we’re increasing staffing and security on all Alliance-protected blood centers.”
We’d broken the single-syllable barrier. But he was still hogging the window seat. One down, one to go. I reached over him to open the shade.
“Twyla.” Nikos caught my hand, his eyes telling me I’d crossed yet another of his internal lines.
“Why do you do that, anyway? All the invisible lines and such.” It hit me. “You were a Vietnam vet.”
“And other wars. Many more.”
“As a general?” We hit a pocket of nothing, dropped abruptly. My body dropped but my stomach stayed up for a second, zinging back like a snapped rubber band. I clutched the armrest, forgot about opening the shade. It was a good thing I couldn’t see out.
Nikos didn’t seem to notice. “I was more often a foot soldier as the need for anonymity grew. Twyla, are you going somewhere with this?”
He knew me so well already. “The way you talked to Jones-it sounded personal. And your fear of crowds has to be recent. You couldn’t have fought in a phalanx otherwise.”
He sighed. “And you’re just going to keep digging around my ramparts, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” My smile faltered as we rumbled over midair speed bumps.
“ Vietnam was different. Even in WWII they put us on ships to come home. We had time to discuss what had happened. You’re right. The ‘invisible lines’ as you call them, the hate of crowds, came only after Nam. Maybe dioxin impurities in Agent Orange did me permanent damage, though it’s rare for my kind not to heal.”
“No. You have PTSD.”
He stared
at me as if I’d gone mad.
“Post traumatic stress disorder. I had to go to all sorts of training on it when my brother first went over to Iraq. Have you ever seen a good psychiatrist?”
He blinked. “To diagnose one of my kind? No.”
“Then I’ll call my brother. He’ll be able to recommend a few. I’ll get several names. Maybe there’s one who knows about you v-guys.”
“But-”
“No buts, Nikos. This isn’t something I want to fool around with. We need to get you healthy and happy.”
His eyes warmed. “When we are married, my life will change in more ways than one.”
“Marrie-” The plane hit a huge void. My stomach dropped out my toes. “Who said anything about marriage?”
“Healthy and happy? You dream of happily ever after, do you not?”
My cheeks heated. I never admitted that out loud, never thinking enough of myself that I deserved HEA. “Well, maybe. But I’m a strong, independent woman, as you pointed out. I don’t need to get married to be everything I can be. Especially now that I’ve found I’m good in a crisis.” Although this was shaping up to be a new crisis, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
“Yes. Strong and independent.” Nikos started purring, which worried me. And his sable eyes took on a distinctly persimmon cast.
“What?”
He glanced at the closed door at the back of the short cabin. Maybe it led to the restroom.
“Oh.” Cautiously I took off my seatbelt and got up, holding the seat back in case the plane pulled any more rollercoaster moves.
Nikos passed me, hooked two fingers under my neckline and bra strap and towed me in his wake.
“What-?”
He opened the door and I stared, not at a compact toilet but at wall-to-wall bed. “You can’t mean…we have turbulence. It’s dangerous. I need to keep my seatbelt on.” I lurched back toward my seat.
He hooked me again, nearly took my sweater off. “I could secure you with my ties.” His purr increased.
“Nikos, no. I’m strong and independent and-” I was sailing through the air. I landed on the bed with a whump, a very naked vampire landing on top of me. I put out hands to stop him. My palms smacked against rock-hard muscle covered in hot velvet.
“Don’t worry, love.” He leaned forward to kiss me. His weight bore me to the mattress, pinned me there. “I’ll keep you safe.”
And then, before I could say another word his mouth captured mine.
His kiss was the charge of a Spartan general, phalanx of lips, teeth and tongue ramming my resistance, spearing hot into my defenses.
But I was a strong, independent woman. I was not going down without a fight. I grabbed his shorn head and kissed him back, sparring with his tongue, darting my own fire into his dark spicy mouth.
The plane hit a pocket of turbulence and the bed stuttered under us, reminding me this was insane. I pushed elbows against mattress to lever Nikos off. It was like levering against a wall.
“Stop squirming,” he growled.
“Yeah? Or else what?” I should have remembered what happened to Xerxes.
Note to self: never challenge a Spartan.
Nikos reared to his knees over me. Damn, he was huge, the rising power of his abdominals flaring into mountains of chest. He was bowed over slightly so his head didn’t hit the ceiling of the cabin.
Breathless, I started to scrabble off the mattress. He contained me simply by squeezing me gently between his muscled thighs.
Then he seized the neckline of my v-neck sweater, one side in each hand, and ripped it in two. I’ve heard there’s a trick to tearing a phonebook in half but believe me when I say he used all muscle, no finesse in shredding the garment. I saw every jerk and bounce of his huge pecs, the sudden powerful bulge and flare of his lats, the sliding mountains of biceps as he tore the sweater open.
My breasts, encased in a lace demi-bra, were revealed.
His purr resonated through the cabin. He reached forward, cupped a breast in each big hand. He tested their weight, began to fondle them.
“Hey, Mr. Macho.” I grabbed his wrist. “What happened to admiring the strong, independent woman?”
“Woman,” he repeated with satisfaction. “All woman.” He grabbed one breast and held me firmly as he lowered his head. His breath heated the sensitive skin a moment before his mouth latched onto my nipple and suckled. I gasped.
He played the other nipple with his fingers as he suckled. “Strong, yet exquisitely sensitive. Responsive. You’re competence wrapped in seduction. I love your breasts.”
“So I see. And feel.” I shuddered as he nipped lightly, the sharp edge of teeth scoring the stiff bud. His thumb and fingers worked the other nipple, rubbing and plucking it in tandem with his nibbling. All the while his thighs cradled my body, and his erection pulsed long and hard on my belly.
Natural machismo, yes. I’d wanted to break that before it crushed me to dust. But now…thousands of years had honed his masculinity, which included boldness and dominance-but also protectiveness and honor. It made him who he was, the Nikos I loved…damn. I loved him.
This take-charge lovemaking was part of him. Part of what made Nikos the sexy Spartan he was. So why fight it?
Yeah, why fight insanity? ’Cause I must have been nuts to even think of giving in.
And yet…if insanity in small doses was simply genius…I lay back and put my arms above my head. “Love me, Nikos. Take me here, now.”
His purr thundered in the close space. He seized my wrists and pinned them to the bed, holding me captive.
And then he stared deep into my eyes. Soul-searching deep. As if reading my truest intentions, my most basic needs. As if, despite all his ego-crushing dominance, he was only interested in what was best for me.
Whatever he saw made him slowly smile, and disappear in a puff of mist.
Seconds later he reappeared in the doorway, filling it, his erection jutting. Two ties dangled from his hand.
Okay, I invited it. But was I ready for this? Was I ready to make love with a vampire, join the mile high club, and have my first experience with being dominated all at once?
Nikos sprang onto the bed like a leopard bringing down its prey. He caught my wrists and wrapped a tie around them, looped it between, twisted and knotted it with quick, sure moves to form shackles.
Well. Ready or not, I was getting it.
He tore off my jeans and bound my ankles while I was still getting used to having my hands fettered. Then he leaped to hands and knees over me, leering down at my bound form. “Now. What will I do to you?” He smiled, slowly, his lids lowering suggestively. “Ah, yes. Anything I want.”
What would Nikos’s eyes look like, heavy-lidded with desire? Now I knew. They looked hotter than a furnace. Blazed brighter than the heart of the sun. Slowly I tilted my head back, offering him the soft skin of my throat.
He made a deep, possessive sound and dropped his mouth to my neck. Kissed along the ridge of tendon, nipped the line of my jaw. Sucked little love-nips along the side, licked the small hairs. I shivered.
His sucking got more raw. Harder. My blood leaped to meet his mouth, my pulse starting to throb. His tongue rasped the flesh, stoking my need. I arched my neck to offer everything he wanted, anything he wanted, forgetting he could take all that and more.
Nikos hadn’t. He licked my throat until I was in a frenzy, scored sharp need with his fangs. But he didn’t bite, despite my silent urgings. “Not yet, love. We have two hours. I’m going to use all of it.”
The plane swooped, my belly with it. Two hours of foreplay? Butter me and throw away the twist-tie, ’cause I was toast.
But what could I do? My hands and legs were bound and my body was penned in by several hundred pounds of male muscle. When Nikos seized my breasts in both hands and suckled me through lace until I was sore and moaning, I was helpless to stop him.
“I could thrust down your throat,” he purred. “I could push my cock into your ho
t mouth, stroke deep enough to touch your tonsils and you’d have to take it.”
“I could scream. I could bite. I’m not completely defenseless.”
“Mmm. Your white sharp teeth on my shaft. Your screams of pleasure in my ears.” His cock expanded. “You’re never defenseless, my strong, capable love.” He grabbed my bra with clawed fingers and shredded it.
“You owe me a thirty-dollar bra, Spartan.” My voice was breathless. “And a fifty-dollar sweater.”
“And how much for the panties?”
“Wha-?”
Too late. He’d slashed my string bikini panties in three places. They were nice panties, too, with a little heart charm dangling on one side, now lost in the bedclothes.
“Hey…what am I supposed to wear when we land?”
“Me.” Nikos’s purr was so loud it was almost deafening. He turned me on my side and plastered himself to my rear, legs supporting mine, erection nestled against my buttocks, ripply abs lining my spine. Nibbling on my earlobe he added, “Inside and out.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
His arm banded my hips, his fingers seeking my vulva. “You don’t have a choice.”
I tucked my pussy out of reach. “I always have a choice.”
He thrust his hand between my tightly-closed thighs. I expected him to complete his conquest by driving his hard fingers into me, but he only massaged the tender flesh of my inner thigh.
“You have a choice,” he agreed. “But I can help you decide.”
His hand was so warm, so exciting. He rubbed his hips against my behind, his cock stuttering against me, arousing me more. His mouth plundered my ear, breath hot.
“What happened to my conquering Greek?” I was panting.
“Ancient Greeks also employed guile,” he murmured in my ear. “Trojan horse?”
“Inside of which were conquering Greeks.”
“You’ll have to open the gates to my enticements first.”
“You’ll have to entice harder.” But I arched into his questing hand. His palm slid up my thigh in response, fingers circling nearer my sensitive labia. When they brushed the ends of my public hair I strained against him.
