Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Juliet Lyons

  It’s only now that I notice he must’ve gotten dressed while I was in the shower. He snatches his beige overcoat from the back of the leather sofa. “I’d better be off. I’ll call first thing in the morning. Try to get some rest.”

  As soon as the door slams, Vincent stands up and pulls me into his arms, and I sag against him, weary down to my bones.

  “Can we sleep in my room tonight?” I ask, nestled up into the hard ridges of his chest.

  Somehow I don’t like the idea of spending the night beneath that portrait—the ring watching over us like a bad omen.

  “Yes, of course,” Vincent says, placing a kiss on top of my head.

  He pulls me close again, rubbing my back in comforting circles as I press a kiss into the golden skin of his chest.

  We remain in the same position for a good ten minutes, locked together in silence, until eventually Vincent leads me across the apartment toward the guest room. He folds down the duvet, and I crawl gratefully between the deliciously cool sheets, my eyelids already beginning to droop, my body as heavy as lead.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says, tucking the duvet around me like a cocoon. “The door will be open the whole time.”

  I’m so weary, he could tell me he’s going to Beirut and I wouldn’t flinch. “Uh-huh.” My eyes fall shut. Everything will be okay in the morning, I tell myself. The last sound I hear before drifting off to sleep is water hitting the tiles, and the last image in my mind is Adrienne, her black hair whipped across her face as she disappeared over the edge of the rocks.

  * * *

  I dream of the dark landscape in Vincent’s life essence. Like Adrienne, I’m running, sprinting through wet grass toward the edge of a cliff. Fear makes me clumsy, slowing me down until my legs stop working completely. I grind to a halt. Above, in the dark sky, is a blood moon, casting the trees and everything beneath it in an eerie, red glow. I turn to look over my shoulder, telling myself it’s only Vincent, that he will never hurt me.

  David Moreau—or Jeremiah Lopez, as he was on our date—steps out from the shadows. “You have something that belongs to me,” he says in singsong tones, walking closer and smiling. Moonlight glints from his white fangs like sunlight on water.

  I look down to my left hand and see Vincent’s signet ring on my wedding finger. “It doesn’t belong to you,” I say, voice trembling with fear.

  Moreau smirks. “It doesn’t belong to you either. He’d have to marry you for it to be yours, and that will never happen.”

  I stare at the ring and back to Moreau, but he is gone. Karolina from my English class stands in his place, wearing her trademark white jeans, her designer brown leather bag slung casually over her shoulder. She extends a hand toward me. “I can help you, Mila,” she says, her dark eyes filling with blood. “I can help both of you.”

  The blood in her eyes begins to spill over her cheeks like tears, dripping onto her jeans like red paint on a white page.

  I scream.

  When I wake up, I’m thrashing around like an eel, fighting the covers and gasping for breath. Vincent leans over me, his hands gently gripping my shoulders like he did my first night here.

  “Mila, it’s a dream. You’re safe.”

  I stare into his face, heart thudding. His eyes glow like milky blue lagoons in the early morning light from the window. “I was dreaming about Moreau,” I whisper as he draws me close.

  He cradles my head between his jaw and collarbone, rocking me like a distressed child. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “I just want to forget.”

  We lie still and silent. It feels nice to be this close to him without having sex—calming. I could lie here for the rest of my days and never want for anything else. Not that sex with him wouldn’t be welcome, but my insides are feeling more than a little sore after the voracious session last night. I inhale, smelling apples in his hair and skin.

  “Did you use my shampoo?”

  He chuckles. “Yes, and the lemon body wash. Did you use mine?”

  I smile into his neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against my skin. “Yes, and I’m still in your shirt.”

  “I like seeing you in my clothes,” he says, pulling me closer. “It’s sexy.”

  I grin. “Was I snoring when you came out of the shower?”

  “A few snorts, and just the one trickle of drool this time.”

  I pinch his bottom hard. “You’re lying.”

  He chuckles again, kissing the top of my head. “Do you remember the first night here when you had a nightmare?”

  I groan. “The one where I made you babysit me? Yes, I do.”

  “God, it was like being tortured over a slow-burning flame,” he continues. “I wanted you so badly.”

  “I wanted you too,” I whisper.

  He smiles, planting a kiss on the end of my nose and exploring my face with his fingers.

  “I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t felt the same way.”

  “What woman in her right mind wouldn’t feel the same way? And don’t say your first wife. She was clearly a nutcase.”

  Laughing, he holds me tight against him. My eyes flutter closed in contentment.

  “What happens after?” The words spill from me without thinking, a slop of liquid from an unsteady glass.

  His hand stills in my hair. “After I’ve dealt with David Moreau, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  He continues to study me, his callused index finger drawing lines across the bridge of my nose. “Did you know these freckles right here make the constellation of Sagittarius?”

  “Vincent.” There is a hint of pleading to my voice. “What will happen with us?”

  His fingers drop to my chin and he lifts my face to meet my worried gaze. “The future scares me, Mila. More than ever before.” He pauses to brush his lips against mine. “Would you go away with me?”

  My breath catches. “Where to?”

  “Maybe to France for a while, to my house. Time moves fast and we won’t have the luxury of being able to waste too much.”

  Though he doesn’t say it, I assume he means the disparity between our life spans. Mine is like a leaf in summer, a victim of the seasons; his, as frozen as ice. “What about work?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’ll quit. I’ll never do anything that puts you in danger ever again.”

  “You can’t quit your job for me,” I say. “We’ll end up having to sell mangoes on the beach or something.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad,” he says, grinning. “Though I’m not sure there are any mango trees near my house.”

  We’re silent for a few seconds, each lost in our separate thoughts.

  “So, would you?” he asks after a time. “Go away with me?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, kissing him. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

  * * *

  I must have fallen back asleep because when I next open my eyes, bright light blooms around the edges of the blinds. I’m still lying in Vincent’s arms, my cheek resting in the nook of his shoulder and arm. I feel surprisingly calm considering the turn of events last night, as if it were all a dream and the night ended with the party and not the discovery of a body.

  “Morning,” Vincent says, kissing my forehead.

  I stretch, my bones creaking like loose floorboards. “Morning.” His blue eyes are alert and clear. “Have you been awake since we last spoke?”

  “Yes. How are you feeling?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “A bit sore,” I admit.

  He chuckles. “Why don’t I run you a bath and then make you breakfast? Take myself out of temptation’s way.” He glances between the gap in our bodies, where his rigid length prods my stomach.

  I place my hand over the bulge. “Seems a shame to waste it.”
>
  Vincent scoots backward, away from my touch, smiling. “That’s not going anywhere, don’t you worry. But you need a break from my constant pawing.”

  “Do I?” I ask, sliding a hand into his briefs and stroking his erection.

  In a flash, he leaps from the bed and stands by the door. I hear water pounding from inside the bathroom.

  “That was fast,” I say, cocking a brow. “Perhaps you’re going off me.”

  Before I can even blink, I’m flat on my back, pressed deep into the mattress by his luscious body. “In what universe would that ever happen?” he asks, working a hand under my shirt and circling a nipple, his blond hair falling in my eyes. “When you’re done with your bath, I’ll have breakfast ready.”

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  He smiles before blurring from the room, leaving me with my shirt rucked up in a compromising position. He is right about one thing though—I’m aching in muscles and body parts I never knew existed.

  I hobble into the bathroom and turn off the taps. Not only did Vincent manage to draw a bath in those few split seconds, but he also added some lavender bath oil. Stripping off the shirt, I sink into the deliciously hot water, letting it soothe my sore muscles.

  After soaking for ten minutes, I step out and grab a towel, noticing a few dots of blood in the fluffy white fibers as I dry off. The Band-Aid covering the bite marks on the back of my neck has come loose, and it whirls in wild circles around the drain. I pluck it out and throw it in the trash before returning to the bedroom, wondering if there might be one in my handbag.

  I’m rummaging around in the pockets when I stumble across the purple business card Karolina handed me after class on Thursday. I stare at the writing, Witchcraft & Psychic Services, remembering how she said to call her if I ever needed anything. Was it a coincidence that I also dreamed of her saying she could help us? Though how could she possibly help? The thing I want more than anything is for Vincent to grow old alongside me—that, and to ease the burden of his past. It isn’t right for a good person like Vincent to go through life believing he’s unworthy of love. Even if I’m not the person to give it to him, even if his heart always belongs to Adrienne, he deserves to be happy. His life essence should be joyous, not that terrible scene on the cliff top.

  On impulse, I wrench my phone from my bag and tap in the number on the card. Then I write:

  Karolina, it’s Mila. Can a vampire’s life essence change?

  Hearing a spoon banging a pot out in the kitchen, I guiltily drop the phone and card onto the bed. If I ask Vincent about the possibility of his life essence changing, he’ll think I’m upset about what I saw and never bite me again. Besides, he has bigger things to worry about at the moment. We both do.

  The door to the lounge opens and Vincent’s smooth voice calls out, “Mila, your eggs are ready.”

  “Just coming,” I call back.

  Flipping open the lid of my suitcase, I pick out some underwear and a simple yellow T-shirt dress and throw them on before trailing through to the kitchen.

  My scrambled eggs are waiting for me on the kitchen island along with a large glass of orange juice. I’m so entranced by the sight of food, the enticing whiff of toast, I don’t notice that Vincent has turned pale as parchment, his whole body frozen in tension as he stares at the screen of his phone.

  When his gaze meets mine, his blue eyes are dazed.

  “What is it?” I demand, the eggs forgotten.

  “It’s Ronin,” he says, his voice strangled. “He’s sent me an address for Moreau.”

  Chapter 16

  Vincent

  Until the text from Ronin, I’d been trying to keep things as normal as possible. Yes, there’s been another killing and the horrific realization that all this is personal, but Mila is unharmed and still in my arms in spite of everything. For a few hours, I convinced myself all would be well.

  The single line of text on the screen changes everything.

  Flat B, 55 Francis St, N22.

  A thin sheen of cold sweat breaks out beneath my collar. I set the phone down on the countertop as if it’s a loaded gun.

  “You should eat your eggs before they get cold,” I say, motioning to the plate.

  Mila is ashen. “When?” she asks in a hoarse voice. “When will you go after him?”

  I glance quickly to the bright rectangle of the window. For once the gray mass of London is bathed in a watery, yellow glow. It will be well past nine before the sun dips below the horizon.

  “Tonight,” I say. “I can’t go in daylight because it will impact my speed.”

  “You were fast enough just now when you ran my bath,” she points out.

  “It’s different indoors. The light in the bedroom is dull. I’ll need a fast approach.”

  She nods, chewing her bottom lip. I cut the short distance between us, cupping her face in my hands. “I’ll be fine, Mila, I promise.”

  “Really? Can you be utterly, one hundred percent sure? Because while there’s even the slightest chance you won’t be, I’m sick with worry.”

  I lean my forehead against hers and close my eyes. Fearlessness brings power, an edge deadlier than any weapon and something I once possessed in abundance. Throughout my time with the police, I’ve never had anything to lose. I threw myself headfirst into every confrontation with the dogged determination of an ox.

  I open my eyes to stare into her upturned face. “Did anyone ever tell you your eyes are the exact shade of early autumn leaves? When the sun comes low through the trees and turns them to bronze?”

  She smiles. “I’ve dated men who think it’s romantic to belch my name during dinner, so no, Vincent, no one has ever told me that before.”

  “You should be told a lot of things. Every day. Did I ever tell you about the night we met?”

  “Vincent, stop. You just said everything would be okay and now you’re acting like you’re off to the trenches.”

  “There was a moment,” I continue, “when I might have gone after him. A split-second decision I could have made. Burke and Davies were right behind me, and I knew you’d be safe. But I didn’t because you were falling to the ground and I wanted to catch you. I wanted you in my arms. So he got away. That’s what matters of the heart do, Mila. They cloud your thinking and put people in danger. I tried to fight it. I was determined not to be the one to protect you, because I knew I couldn’t hold back. But the truth is, you’re not the only one who fell in that alley. I fell too. I’ve been falling ever since. The odd thing is I always thought I had nowhere left to fall from. That’s what you’ve done for me, Mila. You’ve drawn me from the ashes and brought me back to the living.”

  Mila’s eyes are moist. “Brought you back to the living and now there’s a chance you might…”

  I shake my head vigorously. “I won’t let it happen. I promised to keep you safe and I’m a man of my word.”

  A single tear slides from a corner of her eye, leaving a silvery trail as it rolls down her cheek. “I don’t care about being safe unless you’re here to be safe with.”

  I fold her into an embrace, wishing we could stay cocooned in each other’s arms forever.

  “Tell me something really terrible you’ve done, Vincent, so I’m not left here thinking you’re the most wonderful man on earth.”

  I give her a wry smile. “You mean aside from driving my first girlfriend off the side of a cliff from fear?”

  She shakes her head. “We talked about that. No, I mean something dodgy, like cheating or telling a woman she’s too fat.”

  I chuckle, raking fingers through her hair. “I don’t mind so much when a woman grows portly.”

  “Ah! I knew you were a secret feeder,” she says triumphantly. “But no, I mean an occasion where you’ve cheated or behaved dishonorably, and not back when you were rich and spoiled either.”

  “I’ve ne
ver cheated,” I say truthfully. “But there is something.”

  Her eyes widen, the smile dropping from her shiny face. “What?”

  I take a breath. “The night we met, I was so aroused by you I thought maybe it had been too long since I’d had sex. Lee was goading me about it. I called a woman I slept with once. I knew she’d be willing, and I did the deed. I used her.”

  Mila looks crestfallen. “Oh.”

  “Then afterward I went home and slept with your jacket on the pillow beside me. So, there, dodgy and creepy.”

  “Did you bite her?” she asks.

  “No.”

  She sighs. “The jacket thing takes the edge off.”

  “When I went to the bar to collect it, I told the barman you were my girlfriend. And I enjoyed it.”

  She smiles. “Sick bastard.”

  I smile back. “I think maybe I bought that television so I could sit and stare at you unhindered.”

  “Strangely enough, I’m finding all this endearing rather than weird.”

  Before bringing my lips down on hers, I say, “Then it must be too late for us both.”

  * * *

  Later when Lee returns, we call Burke for a conference call. Before any plans can be made to swoop in on the flat, the possibility that this is nothing but a ruse must first be addressed.

  “What would Ronin get from providing a false address and colluding with this David Moreau?” Burke’s voice asks from the speakerphone.

  I shrug at Lee, whose eyes swivel in my direction. “Revenge for betraying him is the only motivation I can think of, but even that’s unlikely. Ronin McDermott is a lot of things—womanizer, overlord—but he’s no cold-blooded killer. He wouldn’t put petty revenge over the life of an innocent woman.”

  “How did he get the address in the first place?” Lee puts in, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  I sigh, my eyes darting to Mila, who is over in the kitchenette making tea. I didn’t want her to have to hear any of this, but the alternative—have her out of my sight and reach for any length of time—is too risky. “Ronin has a vast network of vampire acquaintances. Besides, he told me himself Moreau had been to the club. Someone must have spoken to him while he was there. I could call Ronin to find out, but if it’s a ruse, he’s hardly going to own up and yell, ‘Gotcha!’”