She was everything he admired the most, and understood the least, about humans.
He’d liked her, before. Wanted her, before. But then she’d told him about the aneurysm, and something had hit him low and hard in the gut, touched him in a way he’d never been touched before, that a being as inherently frail as all humans were, and this one even more so, could be so damn courageous. When he had suddenly been afraid—he, Luca Ambrus, afraid—that she would refuse to bond with him, he’d known what had happened. He didn’t like it, but neither did he hide from it. They were bonded now. For the privilege of knowing her, having her, for the relatively few and precious days of her life, he would pay a steep price—and gladly.
Maybe his blood would help her, give her additional strength in case the aneurysm did burst, maybe even prevent that weak place in her aorta from ever getting any weaker. He hoped so, because he didn’t dare give her any more. Things had gotten out of hand during their bonding, and he’d taken more blood, given more blood, than he’d intended. She could be hovering close to the point of being turned, and she didn’t want that.
He didn’t know the exact point; no one did, when it came to turning someone vampire. The tipping point in every human was different, depending on a lot of factors. But he was a blood born, and his powers were intensified. Added to that, Chloe was a conduit, and God only knew what effect that would have.
She stretched and yawned, finally coming awake. Luca couldn’t resist the arch of her body, so sleek and female. He stroked his hand from her hipbone upwards, over the curve of her waist, the softness of her belly, to cup one of her small breasts in his big hand. His thumb swept lightly over her nipple, chafing it, and he watched it tighten as it turned a darker rose in color.
The light blush of arousal tinged her entire body. He looked into those soft brown eyes and something in him relaxed, because the anger that had been there before was gone. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and couldn’t even feel embarrassed that he’d sunk to using endearments.
“Luca,” she murmured, turning in to him and sliding her hand over his shoulder, around his neck. He still felt a sense of shock every time she knew him, but this time there was also a piercing sweetness at hearing her say his name. The heaviness of his growing erection pulled at him and he rolled on top of her, his mouth hungry on hers, her response as urgent as if they hadn’t had each other in days. Already there was nothing more natural than moving between her legs and sliding home into the clinging heat of her body.
One. Bonded. Beloved.
East Texas
Jim Elliott hadn’t been sleeping well for the past two months. At first he’d thought the problem was with the new vitamins his wife, Sara, had been making him take, so he’d started slipping the capsules into his pocket in the morning, making her think he was taking them but secretly dropping them into the trash when she wasn’t looking.
But he didn’t sleep any better once he stopped taking the vitamins. In fact, things got progressively worse. The disturbances moved from his strange dreams to when he was awake, from nightmares about very realistic, bloody battles, to seeing things he knew couldn’t be there. It had started with bits of light he saw out of the corner of his eye and had gradually turned into light-filled shapes that no one else could see. The shapes had become more distinct over time, and what he now saw was undeniably the figure of a man—a figure that came and went at all hours of the day and night.
He was seeing things that couldn’t possibly be, and dreaming about battles that felt too real. But hell, he’d never been in a battle. He was too young for Vietnam, then the military had gone to all-volunteer, so he hadn’t served during any of the Gulf wars, either. So why in hell was he having what felt like flashbacks to battles he’d never fought? They weren’t even modern battles, for crying out loud. Soldiers didn’t use horses and swords now, and while he knew which end of a horse was which, he didn’t know diddly about swords.
He didn’t tell anyone about his problem. Privately, he looked up the definition of schizophrenia, but that didn’t seem to fit. He was hearing voices—a single voice, really, but it wasn’t telling him to do weird shit, and he knew the visions he was having were visions, so that wasn’t schizophrenia. He didn’t know what the hell it was.
Beer had dulled the problem for a while, but he’d ended up being drunk more than half the time. That hadn’t helped the situation at all, because three weeks ago he’d lost his job. Dozing off at the bank and waking up screaming hadn’t gone over well, but when he’d started showing up drunk, well, that had been the kicker.
A week after he’d lost his job Sara had decided to go visit her parents in Alabama. Judging by the tears in her eyes and the expression on her face as she’d left the house, she wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. If he’d told her what was happening and asked for her help, she would’ve stayed, maybe. She was a good woman, most of the time. She thought the problems were a midlife crisis and out of control drinking. Sara wouldn’t walk out on a sick man, but if he was just a crazy drunk, that was another matter. So she was gone.
Just as well. Jim hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t been drinking, either, since alcohol had only made matters worse. And something odd had happened.
He couldn’t say why it happened, but it was like a switch inside him had been flipped. The fighting he dreamed about, the indistinct shape that came out of nowhere … he had finally accepted the truth: it was real. He wasn’t crazy, and his mind hadn’t been dulled or damaged by too much beer. There was a world beyond this one, a real world, and the man he saw was trying to contact him. He didn’t know why, or what would happen next, but he knew without a doubt that change was coming, and for some reason he didn’t grasp, he would be at the center of that change.
He’d tried, but he couldn’t think of a good way to tell Sara what was going on, though he missed her more than he’d thought he would. She’d think he had truly gone off the deep end. Maybe it was best to keep her in the dark, for now. He sensed that the farther away she was from him right now, the safer she was.
He certainly couldn’t tell Jimmy, their only child, who was in his final year of college in Austin. The boy needed to concentrate on his schoolwork; he’d have enough reality to deal with once he graduated. Until then, Jim would have to handle this problem on his own. While he’d accepted whatever was happening to him as real, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of whatever this was. The violence in the dreams was so tangible, he sometimes woke smelling blood and aching from wounds that were not his own. And in those first few seconds of wakefulness there was a name on the tip of his tongue, a strange name he couldn’t quite catch. Something with a strong “R” sound.
He’d read somewhere that if you saw a ghost you could send it on its way by telling it to move on, or something like that. He hadn’t paid all that much attention, didn’t know if he had to call in someone special, or if maybe he himself could get rid of the ghostly figure he saw. Would that somehow bring the nightmares to an end? Ignoring the ghostly man didn’t seem to be doing a whole lot of good. Screaming at it—him—hadn’t helped, either. Even if it was real—and it felt real—didn’t he have a choice in the matter? Maybe he didn’t want to be involved with whatever the hell this was.
In the meantime, he drank a lot of coffee so he wouldn’t sleep, watched a lot of television to distract himself. When the doorbell rang just after midnight he was surprised but wide awake and still dressed, in an old pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt. No shoes, but hell, who cared? His heart quickened as he neared the door. Maybe it was Sara. Maybe she’d had a change of heart and come home, but he really hoped not; she shouldn’t be here until he found a way to be rid of the dreams and visions.
Besides, Sara wouldn’t need to ring, she’d have a key. That thought occurred to him just as he opened the door, then the blonde who stood there wiped Jim’s mind clean of all thoughts about his wife—about everything, to tell the truth.
Immediately he knew he hadn’t seen this w
oman around their small town, because he would’ve remembered her. She was young, tall, curvy, gorgeous, and dressed in next to nothing. The “next to nothing” part got his attention more than the rest of it. The denim shorts that hugged her hips were so tiny that if she turned around he’d surely see her ass hanging out. The pink T-shirt was form-fitting and cropped to show her stomach, and it was fine and firm. And she was so tall the high heels put her close to his own six feet. Who wore heels with shorts? Not that he was complaining, because it made her legs look a mile long.
A six-pack of beer hung in one manicured hand, and the car parked in the driveway behind his was a red Porsche.
She was a distraction at a time when he desperately needed one.
The woman smiled. “Shoot,” she said, her southern accent familiar, like warm honey. “I’ve got the wrong house.”
“Who you looking for?”
Something funny happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of that now-familiar burst of light. That was unexpected, because it had never happened before when anyone else was around. Jim briefly turned his head. The transparent man, so familiar now, held one hand up, palm out, in the universal sign for stop. For the first time Jim saw the man’s features, and it looked as if the man from that other world was shouting No.
No, what? No, don’t talk to this pretty woman who’d shown up in the middle of the night? She sure as hell wasn’t packing any kind of weapon; with what she was wearing, he’d have been able to see it. Besides, if she could afford a car like that Porsche, she didn’t need the little bit of cash he had on hand.
“I thought Harley Barrett lived here,” she said, giving him a slow, lazy smile.
Jim knew all his neighbors. He shook his head. “I don’t recognize the name. Sorry.”
“Oh, shoot, I’m totally lost,” she said, a pout on her full lips. “Is it okay if I come in and use your phone? The battery in my cell died, and I don’t think they even make pay phones anymore.”
Again the transparent man shouted no; Jim could easily read his lips, but he ignored the warning. That damn apparition had caused him nothing but trouble. It had cost him his sleep, his sanity, his job, and his wife, in that order. Thanks to the interference, Jim hadn’t enjoyed the company of another human being in weeks. He wouldn’t do anything with this girl, he was still married after all, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pass a bit of time in the company of a pretty girl who didn’t know that he had gone around the bend.
“Come on in,” he said, opening the door wider.
“Thanks, sugar,” the woman said as she crossed the threshold.
“I’m Jim, by the way,” he said as she passed by him, her eyes scanning the living room.
She spun around, another smile on her face. “I’m sorry, how rude of me! I’m Melody.”
“Melody. That’s a pretty name.”
“You’re cute,” she said, putting the six-pack on the end table by the couch.
No one had called Jim “cute” in a very long time.
“Do you like to party?” she asked. “Maybe I don’t need to call my friend after all. I mean, I’m here, and you’re cute, so …”
“I’m too old for you,” Jim protested mildly. “And I’m married.”
The transparent figure gave him a sad look, and faded away. Good riddance. For that, Jim supposed he could thank Melody; it was probably her mere presence that had made the figment go away.
“Oh, I bet I’m older than you are,” Melody said as she came closer. Jim didn’t move away as she wrapped her arms around him. Wearing those heels, she was tall enough that they were nose-to-nose, though he had quite a few pounds on her.
Jim laughed, and for a moment he wondered if Melody wasn’t a figment of his imagination, too; if the lack of sleep and the visions hadn’t actually driven him so crazy that he was having delusions that felt real. Things like this just didn’t happen to ordinary middle-aged men like him. It was like something out of a porn movie, or a Penthouse letter.
Melody laughed, too. She put her mouth on his throat, and his thoughts scattered. Screw it. Sara had left him, after all, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t maybe been heading for a divorce anyway. For the first time in a very long time, he was content. He was aroused and surprised, holding a beautiful woman, a beautiful stranger, in his arms. Melody took Jim’s hand, lifted it, guided it to her full, firm breast. She sure felt real enough.
An unwilling comparison surfaced, because Sara was sorta flat-chested. Jim had never before fondled a breast like this one. Okay, he wouldn’t have sex with her—he owed Sara that much, and the girl really was too young for him—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t touch, just for a moment.
“There’s no reason this can’t be pleasant,” Melody whispered against his throat.
A sharp pain stung him in his neck; he instinctively gasped and tried to pull away from the girl. He dropped his hand, no longer mesmerized by one large breast. Melody was surprisingly strong, and she held him tight, very tight. After that quick flash of pain, there was nothing but warm pleasure. Jim’s eyes closed as all his strength seemed to flow out of him. He touched her breast again, fondled it, but after a moment he found he didn’t have the strength for even that, and his hand fell to his side.
Soon Melody was holding him up; his legs wouldn’t support him. He heard a sort of slurping sound, soft and steady, and everything around him started to go gray.
Then she lifted her head, and with his fading vision Jim saw Melody’s smiling face before his. Sharp fangs were extended, and her luscious mouth was stained with blood. His blood.
“See there, sugar?” she said softly. “That wasn’t so bad …”
In Austin, Jimmy Elliott came awake with a start. Someone had called his name, but who the hell—? He looked around the dark bedroom of his apartment, then down at the girl sleeping by his side. Kate was sound asleep, breathing deeply and evenly, her short dark hair standing on end, as it did in her sleeping and waking hours.
Looking at Kate made him forget about thinking someone had called him. It was just a dream, was all. Kate, on the other hand, wasn’t a dream, at least not in that sense. One day soon he was going to have to introduce her to his folks. They’d been dating almost a year now, seriously and exclusively for the past seven months. He loved her; he had no doubt about it. She was the one. As soon as he graduated and had a job, he was going to ask her to marry him.
Jimmy was about to graduate with a degree in mechanical engineering. Kate kept changing her major, but she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be a ghost-hunter. Okay, so they didn’t exactly have a clear and easy path ahead of them. They’d make it work. He liked that she pulled him away from the solid, logical world of engineering. They balanced each other; he’d keep everything in order and running, and she’d make life fun.
He’d been holding off introducing Kate to his parents because she was what his dad would call a flake. She believed in things that couldn’t be seen; she owned her own tarot cards and a freakin’ crystal ball; she was positive the two of them had been lovers in a former life. At first he’d thought all that woowoo crap was a quirk he could live with, as long as it didn’t get out of hand, but he’d seen some freaky stuff in the past few months that had kind of made a believer out of him. The tarot cards were too often right on the money, and one night a few weeks back Kate had gotten some very specific information about a lost earring, using a small crystal dangling from a string to contact her spirit guide.
Finding the earring, which had been lost in the couch cushions for weeks, was a cute trick, but there was more—some of it not so much fun. War was coming, according to Kate’s cards and the spirit guide. Unfortunately, the information she was able to get about this war hadn’t been nearly specific enough. As far as Jimmy could tell, there was always a war somewhere, so he was less impressed with that. Any damn fool could say “there’s war coming.” The thing was, though, Kate wasn’t a fool.
She kept te
lling him that he had a sparkling aura, that he was a psychic of some sort. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Wasn’t a sparkling aura kind of, well, gay? She’d said a hundred times that she’d be glad to help him discover and hone his talent, but he was putting that off even though he suspected that maybe she was right. There were times when he just knew things. He’d take a different route for some reason, and later find out there’d been an accident on the road he usually drove. He’d instinctively grab his weatherproof jacket on a perfectly beautiful day, and it would come in handy when a sudden rain shower popped up that afternoon.
All his life, but particularly in the past year, he’d been told he often reacted a moment sooner than he should. He’d start to turn around a split-second before someone called his name, or brake just before the kid on the bicycle or a dog ran in front of his car. He’d ignored those oddities all his life, but Kate wouldn’t allow him to continue to turn a blind eye.
The truth of the matter was, Jimmy didn’t want to be different. He didn’t want to hone any talent that made him a freak.
He lay beside her, staring into the darkness. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t shut off his brain again. He’d known for weeks that it was time to go home for a visit—past time, really. Something was going on there. His mother always called him a couple of times every week, but lately her voice was strained, and for the past couple of weeks she’d been calling from her cell, not the home phone. She’d finally admitted that she was staying with her parents for a while. What was going on? He hadn’t talked to his dad for more than a month, and that wasn’t normal. His mother assured Jimmy that his dad was okay, even though he hadn’t been answering his phone.
There was definitely a problem at home. Jimmy wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was, didn’t want to get involved. His mom and dad were adults, and they’d been married twenty-five years. They’d work things out themselves. Every couple had their bad times, he supposed. He’d give them some space, for a while.
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