Biting Nixie

by Mary Hughes

  “Stop interrupting,” Julian snapped, temper obviously starting to fray. “If you would just listen—”

  “And anyway, it’s your fault, Mr. Head-fapping Hoag. You asked.”

  “I didn’t ask. I simply said…oh, what does it matter what I said. I just thought you might like to visit Boston. With me. Maybe meet—”

  His condescending, superior gorgeous friends, I mentally finished. “Julian Emerson, you can just take your snobby bitch crew and…and poke them up your prostrate, you…you ignoranus!”

  Julian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Please do not interrupt.” His words were clipped. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “And calling names won’t help. It makes you sound like a child.”

  “I am not a child!” I could have screamed. Instead of meeting my anger, Julian was getting all superior, looking down his nose at me. His condescension made my blood boil. Here I was, losing it, and he only got more reserved. It pissed me off even more. “You always treat me like a fucking child!”

  “Enough. We’ll continue this discussion at your place.” His tone had gone ice-cold. His eyes were glacial. He straddled the Harley and put his helmet on. Nodded stiffly at the seat behind him. “Where we can indulge in temper tantrums in private.”

  We, meaning me. This was what I hated most about fucking stifling Puritans, whether they be German mothers or frigid Boston attorneys. They made me look like a stupid, overreacting bitch. My anger turned lava-hot. “Fuck you, Lawboy. I’ll walk.” I tossed him the helmet.

  Julian caught it one-handed, grabbed me with the other and flung me onto the motorcycle. “You are not walking anywhere alone at night.” Jaw rigid, he stuffed the helmet onto my head.

  “You’re not my keeper, Emerson!” I tried to yank the helmet off but somehow he’d already fastened the chinstrap.

  “You know what you need, little girl? A good spanking. Sit down.”

  “Don’t you dare!” I gasped. “I’m not a little…!”

  “Then prove it. Sit. Still.” Julian slewed me a red violet look, and kicked into gear.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I yelled at him the entire ride home. Half of what I said was carried away by the wind. But he got the gist. I know that because the instant we reached my townhouse Julian hauled me off the motorcycle and kissed me, just to shut me up.

  There was something about sex when you were in the middle of an argument. Something wicked. Gloves were off. You were mad at the other person, madder at yourself—and you didn’t care who got hurt.

  So I bit Julian’s lip, hard enough to draw blood. Surprised, he loosened his grip. I used the opportunity to grab him by his tie and drag him through my door. There, I pushed him onto the floor. Buttons popping, I ripped away his shirt and tie. He was wearing an undershirt, but I tore it out of his pants and shoved it past his armpits. With my crotch on his rapidly heaving belly, I leaned down and bit his nipple.

  Julian’s eyes went blood-red. He arched under me. I palmed his pecs, those huge sleek mounds of muscle. I licked my way across the valley, bit the other nipple. He snarled, reached under my coat and ripped my shirt in two. Half-sitting, he tore bra, shirt, and coat over my head, baring me to the waist. Immediately he latched onto one breast and suckled, hard. I would be sore later but right now it felt like fire from heaven.

  His sit-up made his belly a hard, rippling washboard. I was in Japanese schoolgirl mode, knee socks and a pleated skirt and nothing else, not even a thong. My damp crotch scrubbed over his washboard, and my clit swelled in instant response.

  Julian grabbed my breasts with both hands, fondling me like a rag doll. He left one hand pumping and tangled the other in my hair. Holding my head trapped, he took my mouth with his.

  This was no gentle kiss. Julian’s mouth dominated, demanded. I was just as forceful, tongue plunging into him like a pile driver. We kissed like two wrestlers vying for mastery, driving to conquer. He flipped me onto my back, ripped my skirt from my hips, and returned to kissing me, his body crushing mine to the floor. Pushing hard I rolled us over, broke off the kiss. Throwing my leg over his torso, I faced his feet and tore off his pants. His erection snapped up, into my face. It wept his arousal, visibly pulsed with it.

  Well, I had to, didn’t I?

  Without turning back, I rammed my head down on Julian’s stiff cock. My lips tightened around the shaft. My throat opened, sliding his head past rippling cartilage.

  Julian roared. His fingers bit into my buttocks, convulsed as he flooded my throat with hot cum. I half-swallowed several times, working him mercilessly. He roared through all of it, an almost endless rush of climax.

  I started to get off. But as my mouth opened, Julian’s fully erect cock hit me in the face again. I stopped, mouth agape.

  Julian, taking advantage of my momentary shock, shoved me back onto the floor. He rolled his hips over my face, thrusting his cock ruthlessly down my throat again. His strong hands gripped my thighs and spread my legs wide. Plunging between, he ravaged me with his hot, steamy mouth.

  I went dizzy with arousal. His cock drove repeatedly down my throat. His tongue stabbed into my slit, while his mouth sucked me wetly. His fangs, full-length, pressed hard and sleek against my labia, which felt very slick and swollen by now. I writhed, but his hands held me down firmly for his plundering.

  My ears were ringing. My eyes were tightly shut, my chest heaving. My belly felt hot and distended. My body arched helplessly into Julian’s muscular strength. In the fight for domination, I was about to lose. I held back as long as I could, making him work for it, making him use every century of his experience.

  And then I could hold out no more. Waves of contraction and release hit me, hot as sin. Powerful as the surf. Terrible as love.

  I experienced a little moment of blankness. Switched off, just for a second. No sound, no sight, no sensation. A warm, soft cocoon enveloped me, completely outside of time and space.

  Reality snapped back. I heard my heart thudding. Felt Julian’s heart pound against my belly. Warm, wet fluid slid down my cheek, and I realized he had lost it, too. I opened my eyes. His legs were spread on either side of my head. His butt was in front of my face. Julian, I thought dazedly, had an absolutely gorgeous ass. I worked to lift one hand, found it incredibly heavy. Finally I managed to skim a finger over taut muscle.

  “Again?” a dark voice murmured against the inside of my knee. Even cooling from climax, his breath instantly heated my skin.

  “Eventually.” I nudged him half-heartedly. The floor was hard and cold on my back, but my front was deliciously warm.

  He sighed, rolled off me with a grace and surprising technique that brought me up with him, cradled in his arms. “Bedroom?” he suggested. His eyes were already warming to violet.

  “Weren’t we arguing?”

  “Let’s skip to the part where we make up.”

  “I think we already did.” I smiled and raised myself in his arms just enough to suckle his earlobe.

  Toward dawn, just after Julian left, a man broke into my bedroom.

  The guy must have been waiting for it. Before Julian’s side of the bed even cooled, mist swirled through the wall. Dark mist, curling out like clouds of smoke. The mist floated in, snapped into a man.

  A red-eyed, skeletal man. A man with very long, very sharp fangs.

  “If you’re looking for Julian,” I said, more boldly than I felt, “he just left. You can probably catch him if you scoot now.”

  “It is not Emerson I seek.” The man’s voice was hollow and lisping, like a fifties radio with too much treble. “It is you I seek, Dietlinde Schmeling.” On the you he pointed one long, pointy finger at me.

  One claw.

  From the voice I knew that this was the infamous Lord Ruthven. For one second I was scared. Then I remembered Julian saying Ruthven was a bit melodramatic. Over the top. Like a musician’s makeup. The voice, the claw, was all part of the Ruthven act.

  Besides, Ruthass used my daggy name, again.
That was like a red flag to a bull. “Me? What do you want me for, Deep Throat?”

  His eyes narrowed and went ruby-red. “I am Lord Ruthven. Fear me, Dietlinde Schmeling. Fear me, and flee. Flee from the city, lest I destroy you.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I would, Ruthie, but I’ve got this festival thing to run. Maybe you’ve heard of it? The crunk-fest to raise enough kiss-ass-cash for Chicago’s leet?”

  The creep frowned, ever so slightly. Apparently being second in command of a gang didn’t make him fluent in street language. “Do not fool with me, Dietlinde Schmeling.”

  The last refuge of the incompetent. If you don’t get it, make threats. “Not fooling with you, Ruthie. Just explaining why I can’t flee in terror. At least, not today. Talk to me again on Monday.” And, heart thudding just a little, I turned my back on him and pretended to go to sleep.

  He roared. “You will not ignore me, Dietlinde Schmeling!” Claws raked my shoulder, tearing away the covers. “You will fear the name of Lord Ruthven!”

  I sat up abruptly. “Trim the nails, Ruthven!” Huffing, I checked out my shoulder. Four thin red lines marked my skin, one oozing a little. “Oh, great. I just got some new blood, and now you’ve let it out.” I gave him a raised eyebrow. “Julian will not be happy about this.”

  Beast Boy smiled, not nice. “Emerson will do nothing, not after I finish with him.”

  “Don’t you threaten Julian, you creep!” I lost it. Jumping out of bed, my hands went for his throat. I forgot I was naked.

  Ruthven’s eyes widened, and changed to a simmering blood-red. “Very nice.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Hands off.” I yanked my robe off the footboard of my bed. “Because if you touch me, Julian will be pissed. And so will I.” I threw the robe on and tied it tight.

  “It matters not. I will get my way in the end. I always do.” Ruthven stalked closer. “The only question is, will you do as I say? Or will you die?”

  “Threats,” I sneered.

  “Promises. You will fear me, Dietlinde Schmeling. For I am Ruler of the Night. I am Undead.” He stretched menacing claws toward me.

  “Ruler of the Night, huh? Now, that’s a problem.” Jumping back, I evaded his grasp. Smiling sweetly, I continued edging back.

  “It is not a problem. It is power.” Ruth-vain stalked after me.

  “You might want to reconsider that.” Without warning I snapped open my drapes. Dawn flooded the room.

  Ruthven choked on a scream. His eyes squeezed shut and he took two stumbling steps back. His arm raised in front of his face, as if he was blocking a blow. Little wisps of smoke rose from his skin. “This isn’t over, Dietlinde Schmeling!” Turning, he fled from the room.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I taunted, a little cocky. Vampires weren’t so almighty infallible. And this Lord Ruthie guy wasn’t such hot stuff.

  I admit it. I was pleased with myself. After all, my showing this time was much better than the last. I didn’t always need hulking great Julian Emerson to save me. Smug, I pulled out my cell phone to call him and give him the 411. And maybe to gloat a little.

  The line didn’t even have a chance to ring before Julian answered. “Nixie?” His voice was a little hoarse, but I’d made him yell a couple times last night. Kinda loud. “Is something wrong?”

  So I boasted about what had just happened. Julian listened without interrupting, which I wasn’t expecting. But his reaction at the end more than made up for it. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Ruthven is no fledgling, to be taunted without fear of repercussion!” He added, almost muttering to himself, “Why did it have to be Ruthven? Of all of them, why him?”

  “Don’t be so upset, Julian. You’re the one who said he’s more bark than bite.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He was so language-challenged. It was kinda cute, actually. “A real drama-llama. You know. Melodramatic.”

  I heard some Boston-accented sputtering. Finally Julian said, “Melodramatic doesn’t mean Ruthven’s not dangerous!”

  “But I beat him. Last I saw he was running for the hills.”

  “Ruthven was running for shade. Which means he’ll be somewhere close!” Julian added several words, vehement enough to be cussing, but no words I’d ever heard. Weirdly, they sounded a little like Latin.

  “Julian…what do you mean by ‘close’?” The hair on my neck stood up, thinking of that creepy vampire somewhere…close.

  “He’s probably in your basement. But that’s not important now.”

  “Excuse me?! I think a vampire in the basement might be very important!”

  “No. Happens all the time. The problem is that this time it’s Ruthven, and he’s been challenged by a pint-sized chew toy! Damn. I can’t get there. Butler’s out with the limo.”

  “Wait, wait…this happens all the time? There are vampires in the basement and nobody knows!?” I couldn’t help it, my voice went high and squeaky. It is a measure of how much the idea of vampires in the basement freaked me out that I completely ignored the chew-toy comment.

  “Well, where do you expect them to be if they’re in a human’s house when dawn comes? Fuck. Ruthven’s there and I’m stuck on the other side of town!”

  “Stop, stop! What do you mean, inside a human’s house? You mean humans invite vampires into their homes?”

  “That’s just an old wives’ tale, Nixie. Vampires can break into homes as easily as humans. Easier.”

  “Burglars, right? You mean vampires steal money? And…small electronics and stuff?”

  “Some of that, yes. But mostly they steal blood.”

  “Blood!”

  “Of course. Surely you’re not that naive? Not all vampires live in civilized households. But this is all utterly and idiotically beside the point. How fast can you get to the Strongwells?”

  With vampires-in-the-basement motivation? “I’m there already.”

  “You’d better be,” Julian said, and hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  In the end, I couldn’t leave without Oscar.

  I rationalized it, telling myself I’d need my instruments for tonight’s gig. In reality, the thought of my baby, alone in the house with a crazy vampire, scared me shitless. Besides, Ruthven was playing Toastie-Os the last I saw him. He’d have to hang out in the basement a while to heal, right? Maybe an hour or two?

  I had forgotten it took Julian less than three minutes to recover.

  It was more like five minutes before I was ready to go. Finally, Oscar in one hand, clarinet over my shoulder, I ran through the living room to the front door.

  A black cloud rose in front of me. I screeched to a stop.

  The mist resolved to Ruthven, fire-free this time. “You aren’t going anywhere, blood-bitch.”

  “That’s what you think!” I swung Oscar’s case hard. I was scared, I was desperate, and I was willing to bet all my chips that one hundred-seventy pounds of vampire couldn’t withstand a full-bodied smack from a Strat case.

  Lord Ruthie decided he didn’t want to play Las Vegas odds. Fast—almost too fast to see—he moved behind me. Grabbed me by the neck. I turtled. Snatched at his fingers to peel them from my throat. Jerked my hands back in shock. My fingers felt like I’d shoved them down the garbage disposal.

  His were crowned by inch-long claws. My blood dripped over them.

  I nearly went all trembly-shocky again. Nearly did the great digestion ejection. After all, I was still pretty new to this whole vampires-are-real thing.

  Then Lord Ruthass said, “You are now mine, Dietlinde Schmeling. You will become my helpless blood slave. You will do as I say. Everything I say. I look forward to your submission.”

  “You what?”

  My whole life people have been trying to make me conform. Do this, Dietlinde. Do that. Why can’t you be more like that nice Anna Versnobt? Sometimes the whole of Meiers Corners seemed bent on jamming my round peg in their square hole.

  I tried to fit in, for my parents. Failed often and m
iserably, but at least I tried. I tried for my friends. I even tried, sometimes, for Vice-principal Schleck.

  But for Ruthven? Who’d this jerk think he was?

  My stomach settled, my mind cleared. All I had to do was get out the door. I was small and human, slow compared to superhuman.

  But I wasn’t helpless.

  Ruthven stood directly behind me. With the difference in our heights, I was in effect under him, like a set of Russian stack-dolls. Without warning I launched myself upwards.

  I caught Ruthven good, the top of my skull crashing into his jaw. Even with his supernatural reflexes, he couldn’t avoid getting a nasty crack. Oh, sure, it hurt me, too. Stars of pain exploded in my head. But Ruthven got the worse end of the deal. Skull trumps jaw, every time. Even vampire-hard jaw.

  The surprise blow gave me only a few seconds. But with my training, that was long enough. I back-kicked Ruthven in the stomach. Feeling his gut implode and hearing a satisfying wet retch, I yanked up Oscar and tore out the door.

  Julian was pacing the foyer of Bo’s apartment building when I got there. The door was propped open despite the chill of the day—and despite the bright sunshine. Little wisps of smoke came off Julian’s face and hands. I thought it was vampire reaction to the light, but he might have been just that pissed.

  He saw me and was instantly there, sweeping me off my feet into a great hug. Little flames began to dance on his skin. He ignored them. “What the fuck took you so long?”

  “I ran into a ‘spot of trouble’.” I was grinning like an idiot. “Let’s get you inside before I have to find those asbestos gloves.”

  “You’re enjoying this!” He held me at arm’s length and gaped at me. His eyes were red, his face plated as if he was fighting. At the same time his skin was flaming and he was gasping, as if it was hard for him to breathe.

  “I’m not enjoying it.” I pulled him toward the door. “It’s just nice to know you can lose your cool once in a while.” Especially when I actually was keeping mine.

  “I lose my cool, as you put it, far too often around you.” We dragged each other into the foyer. I dumped my instruments while Julian doubled over, panting.