Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  It curdled my stomach. But the bite of conscience didn’t absolve me of my sins. I was guilty as all hell, and I could only hope Tiff would be more forgiving than I’d be of myself before this whole sordid mess was over.

  I straddled my bike. “Hop on.”

  Again, that uncertainty, before she dragged her feet and joined me, without actually joining me. Inches separated us.

  “You’ll have to hold on.”

  I waited, hating the distance between us, knowing the void would only grow once she discovered the truth.

  Slowly her arms wrapped round my torso and I started the engine.

  All I could hope is that in time, she’d find it in her heart to accept me.

  Chapter 17

  Tiffany

  Fuck.

  My mind was a whirling dervish caught in a hurricane.

  What the hell just happened?

  I needed space. Distance. Time to process.

  I gripped onto Gideon’s waist, wondering how the hell I could have lost all sense of control so quick.

  My fantasy had been going so well. I’d controlled the play, Gideon following my bidding without question or comment.

  Hot. So fucking inferno hot.

  I’d been burning, fueled by desire and the knowledge that he was mine for the taking. He’d stripped and my mouth had dried like a leaf in the summer heat. He’d touched himself, stroked and squeezed.

  Fuck. I could have watched and come, just from the glorious sight of him.

  Then he’d touched me and all thoughts had fled. I’d wanted him, his touch everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his cock. I’d even wondered if fucking could be more than a one-time thing between us.

  He’d found that spot, that nervous center where shoulder and neck collide, and I’d gone wild. Ordered him to bite.

  That was the moment.

  He’d sunk his teeth into my skin, his cock into my flesh, and my mind had blanked. The light behind my eyes had flickered then come to life. I’d seen . . . something. What the fuck had I seen?

  My desires? My future? An alternative, dream-worthy reality?

  The vision—I had no idea what else to call it—had looked nothing like my life now and everything like the one I’d craved before I knew better.

  In the throes of passion, I’d discounted it as part of the fantasy, but now, with the return of post-orgasmic clarity, I wasn’t so sure. The images had seemed so real, so accessible. As if I could have reached out my hand and scooped them all up.

  Gideon’s bite had ignited something, something surprising, something surreal. And with hints of another life burned into my retinas, I couldn’t wipe the possibilities from my mind.

  I needed to get the hell away from him and fix what he’d broken. But first, I had to find out what the fuck he’d done.

  Every inch of my body burned. And whereas before the burning had been bliss-related, now it was an itch that no amount of scratching could relieve.

  The bike slowed and stopped.

  A sensor light flicked on and I looked up to see an old, red-brick duplex. “Where are we?”

  “Home.”

  I froze. “I’m not going in there.”

  “It’s just to talk, Tiff.”

  “I don’t care if it’s to play tiddly winks, I’m not going in.”

  He sighed. “You want answers and what I have to say needs to be said in private. It’s cold and dark out here, and I could do with a drink.”

  He shed his helmet, waiting.

  TSTL flared in my mind in bright flashing neon.

  Stupid bitch.

  Fuck. When would that damnable voice forever leave my thoughts?

  I stared at Gideon’s square as square shoulders, still waiting, still patient. With as much dignity as I could muster, I held my skirt in place and dismounted the bike. He watched me, his expression so sincere, so open and guileless. He’d been nothing but honest till now. Could my trust stretch past dinner to frank conversation?

  My gut said yes. But my gut had been wrong so many times before.

  But not with Gideon.

  Ping-pong thoughts battered my brain. I could trust him. But I didn’t know him. But how much did you know anyone?

  Gideon fucking Fang. The man was making me crazy.

  I needed to know why.

  I swallowed and prayed this moment wouldn’t add to my pile of already overflowing regrets. “You have five minutes.”

  “I’ll need ten.”

  I huffed. “Fine. Ten.”

  He nodded, dismounting his bike, leading the way up the cobblestone path. I blocked all thoughts of serial killers and rapists and madmen as I followed. Then we were standing on his rubber doormat.

  He tapped a keypad and pushed open the door, standing aside for me to enter first. If nothing else, his manners had always been impeccable. Like any respectable serial killer.

  He closed it behind us and my body jolted with the click. His ever-seeing gaze narrowed and I stepped back until I smacked into the wall.

  His hand returned to the door. “This locking mechanism is pretty easy to open from the inside. If you need to leave at any time, just push this lever.” He demonstrated and the door snapped easily open. His action warmed my still frosty body. He closed it again, and turned to me. “I’m making a drink. Want one?”

  My instincts screamed “say no.” “Sure.”

  I followed him through a hallway and down some stairs into an open plan living/dining/kitchen. Clean. White. Light. So not what I’d expected. Although, with Gideon, wasn’t that the norm?

  “Soy latte?”

  “You have soy?”

  “I do.”

  “Then a latte is fine.” I hovered just shy of the kitchen, the click of my boots on his pristine tiles echoing loudly in my ears.

  I’d given Gideon ten minutes, and demanded he tell me what he’d done. But now we’d entered normality—the bright lights of his kitchen—and left the craziness of the night behind, I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

  What kind of answer was I expecting?

  I had a helluva hickey on my neck and a vision of happiness in my brain. Easy explanation—I’d had great sex and was still harboring fruitless dreams. Yet, there was something more. I couldn’t explain it—how could I, when I didn’t know what the fuck to explain—but something had happened the moment his teeth had connected with my skin.

  I shivered, not wholly from cold.

  I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know what.

  “Here.”

  “Thanks.” I wrapped my fingers around the red ceramic mug. Maybe its warmth would go partway to abating the frost.

  “Want to sit?”

  Did I?

  ‘Uh, no.”

  I stood beside the large, white-stone breakfast bar, with a clear run to the front door. Just in case.

  He sipped from his mug and I sipped from mine.

  Awkward.

  I hated awkward almost as much as I hated more.

  Time to rip off the band aid and deal with the consequences. “What happened back there?”

  His mug froze midway to his mouth. A mouth that had pleasured me until I’d screamed his name. Multiple times.

  Cut that thought. Multiple orgasms were the last place my mind should be wandering.

  The skin on my neck was hot and tender and oh, so swollen. It didn’t feel like a normal hickey, but then again, sex with Gideon hadn’t felt like normal sex.

  He lowered his mug and his riveting gold eyes captured my gaze. “I’m a vampire.”

  I snorted, spraying soy and coffee all over his pristine island counter. “Yeah, and I’m a werewolf.” What kind of stupid-assed game was he playing? Anger accomplished what the drink hadn’t. My blood boiled. “Seriously, Gideon? What the fuck? This isn’t amateur hour on comedy night.”

  “I’d show you, but I don’t want to scare you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “How I pierced your skin.”

  He was deranged. He didn’
t seem deranged, but that only meant he’d learned to hide his madness behind a façade. I lowered my mug to the counter and measured the distance between myself and the hall.

  “I won’t stop you if you want to leave.”

  That he seemed to read my thoughts was more than a little unnerving. It only intensified my need to go.

  “But before you go, I need you to understand who and what I am.”

  “Why does what I know matter?”

  “Because I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you.”

  My stupid heart did a little flutter and flip, totally out of synch with my brain, which raged at his blatant manipulation. “For my blood?” It didn’t hurt to play along. If Gideon thought he was a vampire, then far be it for me to burst his barbaric bubble.

  “For you.”

  Okay, now my heart was full-on cartwheeling. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play me like that.”

  He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not playing, Tiff. This is real.”

  Yeah, right. Vampire and all.

  If he was throwing out fables instead of facts, I was wasting my time. I didn’t need him to tell me I had an overactive imagination, I just needed out.

  “You’re a vampire. Good to know.” I moved towards the entrance hall. “I should go now.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  It wasn’t a question, more a statement. And one spoken with regret.

  I grabbed my cell and with a couple of clicks, I ordered an Uber. I’d get out, go home and forget tonight ever happened.

  “Sure, I believe you.”

  He shook his head and took one step, then another towards me. “Just remember, regardless of what you’re about to see, I would never hurt you.”

  I backed towards the door. Something made me wary of turning my back.

  Our gazes locked. Green eyes turned to gold, and as I watched, his skin blanched, his teeth slowly, gruesomely, beginning to grow. Sharp canines. Like a wolf.

  Like a vampire.

  Thunder roared against my eardrums.

  I didn’t wait for further explanations or to see more. I turned and ran. Not once did I look back.

  Chapter 18

  Gideon

  For the first time in three centuries my lifeless blood chilled my soul.

  I retracted my fangs and ran to the door.

  I almost opened it. Almost.

  My hand stalled on the cold handle. What more could I say? Tiff wasn’t ready to hear how intrinsically we were bound and I wasn’t ready to relive her distaste.

  It cut. Like no other hurt, it cut like hell.

  Her reaction was understandable. She’d just discovered a figment of her nightmares was real. And not only that, she’d had wild, mind-blowing sex with him.

  I had no idea what to say to bring her down from that.

  I turned and wandered aimlessly back towards the kitchen. I tossed the dregs of my coffee and contemplated making another. What was the point? It wasn’t as if I could taste it or draw comfort from its aroma. Both were dead to me.

  As dead as my aching heart.

  That was a new one.

  I needed to do something, but until I knew what, I was stuck in a turbine.

  Mozart’s symphony no. 5 pealed out from my pocket. I snatched out my cell. “Tiff.”

  “Who?”

  Not Tiff. Of course it wasn’t. I was an idiot to think she’d contact me so soon.

  “Damon.”

  “Gideon.” He coughed, cleared his throat. “Who’s Tiff?”

  Something twisted in my chest. Not my heart. “A scientist at Hagen.”

  “That the same chick you took to Jet’s?” Of course he’d heard. Rumors were like fodder when you had multiple lifetimes on your hands.

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard you guys were pretty cozy.”

  “And?”

  “Why shouldn’t you get some on the side?”

  It didn’t sit well, letting Damon think Tiff was no more than a diversion. But first smell of more and he’d pull me out. Because the mission took priority, even over saving my soul.

  The needs of the many . . . yada, yada, yada.

  I knew I could balance both, but Damon would be harder to convince. My track record wasn’t as shiny and unblemished as I’d like, regardless that the slip had been two centuries earlier. The man had the memory of a steel-reinforced lock box.

  “Got any yet?”

  An unfamiliar tightness clenched my chest. I’d never been one for fuck and tell. “Nah.”

  “Well, there’s still time.” I pictured his toothy smirk, the salacious light in his eyes. He still hadn’t found his soulmate, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying the entire female population while he searched. Some of us weren’t so indifferent.

  “That said, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, the mission comes first.”

  It was another dig, another reference to a time I’d allowed my emotions to rule my judgement. I’d since learned—through repeated, pertinent reminders—the error of my ways. But the bastard never let up. Back then, he’d become coven leader, gaining a stick up his ass and losing our friendship in the process.

  I bit my tongue, once again swallowed apple pie with a side-serving of humble, and gave him what he wanted. “Of course.”

  I pictured his satisfied smirk. The satisfaction that once again he had me sitting up and begging with merely a word.

  “How’s things with the smelly scientist? Best buds yet?”

  “Getting there. I’ll be ready.” I scrubbed the kinks from my neck and tipped my head left, then right. “Any news on d-day?”

  “About a week. You’ll need clear access to the antidote.”

  “I’ll have it.”

  Silence yawned down the line.

  “Don’t fuck this up, Gid. Whoever this Tiff is, don’t confuse which head takes precedence when the time comes. There’s more at stake here than keeping your dick happy and your essence well fed.”

  With a click, Damon was gone. But I couldn’t stop staring at my cell long after the call ended.

  There had to be a way forward, to win Tiff and save the world. It sounded ridiculous—so superhero in spandex and tights—and frigging impossible. Any way I looked at it, I ended up screwing her and screwing us. And not in a good way.

  That didn’t stop me wanting to pursue her with every fiber of my being. Selfish? Yeah. I never said I was a saint. I’d searched for a way out my whole vampire life. Now I’d found it, I wasn’t about to give up easy, regardless that it had happened now. Unease shivered along my spine. Call it bad timing or bad luck—the label didn’t matter, the outcome was still the same.

  I was about to betray the one person who could save me.

  Chapter 19

  Tiffany

  It had to be a prank.

  If only.

  Thoughts swirled, along with every bite of pancake that threatened to revisit if I didn’t get my shit together.

  I fucked a vampire.

  The wind wailed, angry, unrelenting, whipping through my hair, fighting me every staggering step down his dark, semi-deserted street. A storm was brewing, an army of blustery clouds obliterating the sky, hacking away at any residual ambient warmth.

  A dog howled from a nearby backyard. Shivers skittered down my spine, accompanied by visions of werewolves. Another imaginary being that shouldn’t be allowed to escape the pages of fantasy fiction.

  Was I losing my mind?

  Vampires were myths. Legends. Creatures of nightmares, not earthbound and living in Louisiana. They didn’t stampede into my life and seduce me into the best frigging sex ever.

  I quickened my pace, pushing forward, increasing the distance between me and the lying sonofabitch.

  He’d bitten me. A vampire bite. Did that mean I’d become one too?

  Normal brain function became a thing of the past the moment I saw those teeth. The change in his expression. Those ey
es. I hadn’t stuck around to play show and tell.

  The skin on my neck still felt hot and tender. More than a mosquito bite, considerably less than a snake.

  I didn’t feel different. Post-orgasmic bliss wasn’t a precursor to vampirism, right? And I had no sudden desire to start drinking blood.

  Why did that thought make me shudder, in a not wholly bad way? Had Gideon done that just now? Would I know if he had? Was that to blame for the intensity of my orgasm?

  Expert Google was overdue for a consult. I’d check the moment I walked in my front door. Although what truth could Wikipedia and the entirety of the internet tell me when vampires weren’t real?

  Shivers rippled through my chest, mushrooming up and out to every part of my body. The air was frostbitten, but this chill gripped my insides, like gnarly roots gripped the earth that sustained them.

  Gideon had promised no bullshit, then bullshitted me anyway.

  Was I destined to become the physical or emotional punching bag of every blood-sucking bastard—pun so totally intended—in our fine and far-reaching United States?

  Casual sex had stalled that slippery slope.

  I stumbled. Pain ricocheted through my big toe as I froze, pebbles scattering out across the sidewalk and onto the road.

  Clickity fuckity click.

  My subconscious cowered in the dark recesses of my mind as a lightbulb flared. Was internal sabotage to blame for leaving me orgasmically challenged over the past three years? Had that super-controlling part of my brain influenced my partner choices and, ultimately, my disastrous sexual encounters?

  Realization washed over me like a frigging monsoon.

  If I’d been deliberately choosing the Peters and Pauls of this world, how the hell had Gideon made me break precedent? Did vampires have some voodoo superpowers to catch and captivate their victims?

  Fuck.

  Victim. There was a word I’d sworn to forever oust from my vocabulary.

  How did he do it?

  I was so fucking angry. At him. Myself. Both scrabbled for first footing. He’d ruined everything. Because how the hell could I revisit what we’d just done when he was . . . what he was?

  Some higher power was lolling up in the clouds, laughing his fucking brains out. It was comedy hour in New Orleans. Dole out great—multiple—orgasms, then snatch them away.