Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  “This isn’t a date, Gideon.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t appreciate being railroaded into this whole help-me-with-the-party situation.”

  “I know.”

  “And I really hate the whole patronizing ‘I know’ commentary you have going.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” I sighed. “We need to talk, Tiff. And not about the damn party.”

  She sighed, deep and slow, and I couldn’t help but notice the rise and fall of her breasts, couldn’t help remembering how perfectly they’d filled my palms, how their texture and taste had rendered life to my deadened taste buds. How I wanted to feel that life flow through me again.

  “You’re right. We do have to talk.” She inhaled, deeply, and although I held my gaze eye-level, I still pictured the pull of her breasts against the fabric of her high-necked top. Still remembered the zap as my fangs punctured her skin and her essence flowed across my tongue.

  “What the fuck, Gideon?”

  I pulled my attention back to the fire in her eyes and shot her a grin. “Is that a question?”

  “Is everything a fucking joke to you? You bit me, for fuck’s sake. Bit me. You could have turned me into a fucking vampire.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “So, tell me how it works. Tell me how you think fucking me without telling me what you are is okay.”

  Chatter dwindled around us and I felt the jab of each and every stare. “Want to lower your voice?”

  “Why? The ambiance not loud enough for you now?”

  The situation was spiraling from bad to ball-breaking. Tiff wasn’t ready to listen, much as she’d asked me to explain.

  I caught Margherite’s gaze from across the bar. “We need a drink.”

  What I really needed was to avert the conversation before it ended in disaster. Before Tiff stormed off and I waved goodbye to all chances of mortality.

  With expert precision, Margherite weaved through the tables, delivering the half a dozen or so cocktails from her tray as she made her way towards us. No need for her crystal ball skills—my frustration had to be plastered all over my face. “Hey, y’all.”

  Tiff twisted her lips into what could have been a smile, if the light had reached her eyes. “Hi.”

  Margh flicked a cascade of red curls over her shoulder. “What can I get to tantalize your taste buds?”

  I turned to Tiff. “The Muddy Waters Mudcake is amazing.”

  She ran her finger slowly down the open page, her jaw clenched so tight it’d be a miracle if her teeth didn’t shatter. “I’ll have . . . the Stevie Ray Vaughan Slinger.” She slapped closed the menu and dropped it back into Eric’s arms.

  “The Ma Rainey Red Berry Sling for me, thanks, M.”

  “Sure thing, Big G.” She winked and smiled and sashayed back towards the bar.

  Tiff’s gaze swung from Margh to me. “Do you know every restaurant and bar owner in New Orleans.”

  “Not every.” I cocked a brow in response to the arch in hers. “There are benefits to living over three hundred years.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re three-hundred years old?”

  “Three hundred and forty-seven, to be precise.”

  She dropped back into her chair, scanning my face, no doubt looking for some indication—lines, wrinkles, grey hairs—something to show my life had spanned centuries. She swallowed. “You don’t look a day over two hundred.”

  Humor. It was an improvement on anger. I could work with that.

  I stroked my chin. “Oil of Olay.”

  Lagoon blue eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Nah.” I shot her a grin she didn’t return. But we were talking, and talking wasn’t walking away and shutting me out. It was a win, of sorts.

  And an opportunity to let her into my world.

  “Vampires don’t age.” I sensed her focus. On me, not the world around us. “We’re immortal, trapped at whatever age we turned. Mine was twenty-nine.”

  “When you were bitten?”

  I shook my head. “When I fell prey to the genetic roll of the dice.” I’d long since moved past the resentment, but that didn’t mean my reality no longer cut. I shrugged, failing to loosen the clamp in my shoulders. “Fate’s funny like that. It governs us all. Has the power to give love. Comfort. Happiness. An eternity of hell.” I leaned forward. “Two percent of humans carry a vampire gene. There are no rules governing when it switches on, but when it does, a new vamp is born.”

  “Vampirism is genetic?” Her surprise was no different than most of us who’d turned and discovered the cause. The fucked-up consequence to having the right gene and the wrong goddam luck. “So, it’s like eye color and sex?”

  “Yeah. A rare, recessive gene, which sometimes activates, and sometimes lies in wait, passing through generations until someone in that line turns.”

  “Fuck.”

  A less vigorous sentiment than the one I’d uttered when I turned, but it wasn’t far off.

  She swallowed, as if her new knowledge had formed a swelling deep in her throat. “So everything I learned from Buffy is crap?”

  “Not everything.” I grinned. “There really is a Hellmouth in Cleveland.”

  “How can you joke about it?”

  “What would you rather I do? I’ve had centuries to come to grips with my fate.” I swallowed. “And centuries to find my way out of it.”

  Margh returned with our drinks. Great timing. I needed the cool liquid to soothe the burn in my throat.

  Tiff watched Margh weave her way back to the bar, then she returned her attention to me. “There’s a way out?”

  “For some.”

  “How?”

  “Two marks make one, two hearts made whole. Love and essence combine, mortalizing the soul. Truth and honor abound, in this life and the next, mates of body and soul, the curse eternally vexed.”

  “What is it?”

  “A prophesy. The recipe for my redemption.” I searched for a reaction, something to indicate what she was thinking. I got nothing but an expression perfect for poker.

  “The curse?”

  “Madness and bloodlust.”

  “Mates of body and soul?”

  “Soulmates.”

  I could see the cogs turning in her mind, the realization when it hit. “You’re looking for your soulmate?”

  “I found her.” I caught her gaze, bottomless oceans of blue that could drown a soul if given free rein. She waited, unaware that complicated was the very least her life was about to become. “It’s you.”

  Chapter 23

  Tiffany

  For once, no words came.

  Soulmate to a vampire.

  What the fuck?

  It was some cruel joke. It had to be. More than him fucking me. More than his bite.

  Our conversation had turned light. Frivolous. Like the raspberries that tangoed across my taste buds and the lime that tickled my throat.

  I was still angry. At his duplicity. At the double puncture wounds still burning my neck.

  But his words made me feel something more. Not so much sympathy, as understanding. I knew what it was to be a victim of fate. A victim, by the simple roll of the dice.

  My father would not have been my father if my mother hadn’t left the slopes of Val d’Isère for the distant isles of New Zealand. My life might have played out differently. Perhaps Richard and I would never have met.

  Perhaps, I wouldn’t have born the scars that saw me find and fuck Gideon.

  Fate was a fucked-up motherfucker.

  I knocked back the remains of my slinger, barely mindful of the tart berries, the burn of ginger as it lit a fire in my stomach.

  My glass clattered against the scratched, over-scrubbed wood. I glanced at my watch and filled my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “I have to go.”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  “What’s left to say? You’re a vampire, I’m your soulmate, and you want me to save you.” I scrubbed my temp
le, but the pound inside didn’t lessen. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Plenty.” He shook his head. Weary. Three-hundred plus years’ worth of weary.

  I braced my heartstrings against the tug of that thought. “Well, I know all I need to know.”

  “Please stay. You don’t have all the facts, and once you leave, I lose my chance to explain.”

  “Tell me something. All this crap about wanting ‘more,’” I did that whole air quote thing, “is because you believe I can save you, right? It’s not about me or how you feel about me. It’s all about you.”

  He hesitated, and that hesitation said it all.

  My hand cut the air between us. “No bullshit. You promised.”

  He sighed. “Yes.” He reached out for my hand, but I pulled it back before he could touch me and turn me with that touch. He dragged his hand back across the table and sighed. “How can it be about more if you don’t let me in? I want to know you. I’ve tried to know you. How could I not, if you’re the one I’m to spend the rest of my mortal life with?”

  “How can I believe you when you’ve kept things—critical things—from me? Like the fairy-sized fact you’re a frigging vampire, for fuck’s sake.”

  “I did that because you weren’t ready. If I’d revealed I was a vampire in the sterility room, how do you imagine that would have gone down?”

  “I’d have relegated you to the looney bin.”

  “Right.” He quirked a brow. “And now?”

  “I’m relegating myself to the looney bin.” I tipped my head, trying to see past the normal. Only, he was far from normal. A mere glance raced my heart, a mere touch heated my blood. A mere bite made me feel and see things beyond my wildest imagination. Yet, I couldn’t look at him without the memory of those fangs. I shuddered. “You’re not real.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  “Not you. Vampires.”

  “I wish you were right, but unfortunately you’re not.”

  The helplessness of his words flattened me beyond belief. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

  “It’s been more than three-hundred years since I turned, and I still don’t know what to do with this. All I know is that fate has chosen you for me, and fate has brought us together now. It’s up to us to figure out the rest.” He reached across the table, the tips of his fingers stopping just shy of my hand. This time I didn’t pull back. “Stay and have another drink. Let’s talk. Pretend we’re two random people getting to know one another.”

  “I have to go. I have plans.”

  “And we both know that’s a lie.” His green-gold gaze pierced mine. “No bullshit swings both ways, Tiff. Can we at least both pledge from this moment on for nothing but honesty between us?”

  My mind whirled. There was no “us.” There was just me, a mortal, and him, a vampire. He wanted forever and all I’d wanted was a simple, no-strings fuck.

  This was totally fucked.

  I was fucked.

  Because I looked into his eyes and I wanted to believe. In two hearts becoming whole. In destiny. In something bigger and better than what I had now.

  In the vision.

  It was just a drink. Just conversation. Anything beyond that would be my choice.

  What that meant for Gideon and his future, couldn’t, wouldn’t, factor.

  I ignored the guilt. Guilt had led me to where I was now. Guilt over the implosion of my life, my family, my disastrous relationship with Richard. I’d vowed never to allow guilt to govern my decisions again. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—open myself up to the aftermath that invariably came. I’d survived once. No guarantee I’d survive next time round.

  It was just a drink.

  It wasn’t a date.

  It was a fact-finding mission to discover all I needed to know before I could make my decision and move on.

  I crossed my arms, crossed my legs, crossed my heart, hope to die if I ever made the wrong decision again.

  “Order me a Bessie Smith Breeze and tell me why you’re so sure I’m the one.”

  *

  Vodka and cranberry tripped across my tongue.

  I couldn’t deny I was drawn to Gideon. I’d been drawn since the moment my eyes clapped on him. I’d believed it was sex—or the promise thereof—but what if it was more?

  “You have a birthmark on your neck.”

  My fingertips brushed the familiar raised, slightly rough skin just shy of his bite. “And?”

  “I have a mark the mirror image of yours.”

  “So?”

  “Together our two broken hearts will become one.”

  Something clicked. “The Prophesy.”

  “Yes. The Prophesy.”

  “And the essence.”

  “That’s our joining.”

  “You mean sex.”

  He nodded.

  “And what about ‘the curse eternally vexed’ part?”

  “Vampires are cursed, but not in the way you may think.” He shot me a wry grin. “You mentioned Buffy before. Well, in simple terms, real vampires are more like Angel and less like Spike. They’re sane, they’re basically good, and they don’t harm humans. That is, until ‘The Change.’”

  “The Change?”

  “The vampire gene mutates, turning Angel into Spike. Turning good into evil.” He tensed. “And once you turn, you can never change back.”

  It was like he’d dropped a ten ton weight on my shoulders. “So, if we don’t ‘bond?’”

  “Sometime in my future, I become a monster. Mad. Bloodthirsty. A killer.”

  The words left his mouth, soft and low, but I heard them all the same. My blood chilled. What kind of a monster was I if I refused him? Knowing what I knew now. Could I condemn anyone—him—to an eternity of hell?

  “So, explain why we’ve had sex, twice, and you weren’t saved.”

  “It’s not just about sex. The ceremony requires trust and commitment. I bite you and we make love, with no impediments.”

  “You mean no condoms.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not just say that?”

  “The Prophesy is ancient and it is what it is. The words, the intent, the effect. It was written in the blood of the first, to be upheld till the last.”

  “More prophesy?”

  “There’s an entire diatribe of it. I could spout you sayings until your head spins, but it all boils down to one thing—if a vampire fails to bond with their soulmate, they’ll live forever lost in a haze of madness and bloodlust. That is, unless their coven finds them and performs a mercy killing.”

  The chill turned to frost. I shook my head, shaking that thought. Shaking the vision of a crazed, bloody Gideon, a stake piercing his non-beating heart.

  Bile scoured my throat. The idea, the consequence of my decision, was too, too awful. How could I ever escape from it?

  Yet, much as every word made me cringe, I had to know one more thing. “Tell me what it’s like.”

  He leaned back in his seat—sprawled—watching me through hooded lids. “What what’s like?”

  “Life as a vampire.”

  He closed his eyes for just one second, then his gaze bored into mine. “Long. Lonely.” He inhaled, long, slow, then exhaled on a hiss. “Immortality sounds great, until you realize what it means. Leaving your old friends and family for fear they’ll discover what you are. Making vampire friends, knowing that one day The Change could tear them from your life. Living in fear of losing the last traces of your humanity as The Change comes for you.”

  Every word cut a little closer to my heart. I tried to smile, but the twist of my lips told me I’d failed abysmally. “So, nothing good.”

  “That’s not completely true.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Not everything was bad. I’ve formed a part of history. I’ve been there. The rise and fall of Napoleon. Mozart playing in Salzburg. Gold rushes. Inventions. The first flight. Man’s first walk on the moon. Wars. Victories. Tragedies and triumphs. I’ve seen them all unfold, fi
rst hand.” His gaze turned inward to another place, another time. “I shook hands with Martin Luther King. Rubbed shoulders with Abraham Lincoln. Shared a drink with JFK. I kissed Marilyn Monroe and debated physics with Marie Curie.”

  A tiny smile twitched his lips. “But I have to say, one of the highlights is being immortalized on television. Spot any resemblance?” I shook my head as he turned his face left then right. “One of Buffy’s original screenwriters was a vamp and she tailored Angel’s character around me.” He grinned. “True story.”

  More jokes, when this situation was about as funny as a firefly caught in a web. The more they resisted, the more entrapped they became.

  A sip of my drink. Another. Nothing helped clear the lump in my throat.

  He watched me and more than anything, I wanted to hide. To escape from that all-seeing gaze.

  His expression softened. “Enough about me.” He sipped from his drink but never once let his gaze stray. “What was it like growing up in The Land of the Long White Cloud?”

  Iron claws clamped my chest. Of all questions to ask, this was the one I’d never answer. And where before I’d distracted with sex, now I had to employ other diversions.

  “Cold. I prefer the warmth of Louisiana.”

  “Do you still have family back home?”

  “None that I know of.” That much was true. My father had long since vanished and my mother . . . well, he’d seen to it that I never knew her past my fifteenth birthday. “I haven’t been back to New Zealand since I was seventeen. This is my home now.”

  “Why Louisiana?”

  “Why not?”

  “You had fifty States to choose from, yet you chose this one. Surely, you have a reason.”

  “Why couldn’t I just close my eyes and point at a map?”

  “Who plans their life playing pin the tail?”

  Me. But perhaps that revelation was more telling than I’d like. “No one.” I topped up my empty glass from the water jug in the center of the table. “It seemed like a laid back place to live. Was I wrong?”

  “No.”

  I wanted to shrink under his scrutiny. But that, too, would be telling. “We should discuss the party.”