by Michele Hauf
She kneed him in the groin. He winced, but it affected him little. The need overwhelmed anything else he felt. The scent of her frenzied him. Jane’s pulse filled his veins and tromped through his head. She was everywhere.
“You don’t want to die,” she managed, “not this way.”
“Unless you’ve a stake, I don’t think I’ll be treading the grave this night.” He tugged on her nipple, hoping to draw her from the protest and back into arousal, and yet, if only he could push this skirmish to real fear. “I can hurt you, Jane. I will hurt you if you do not obey.”
Pinning down her wrists near her shoulder, Michael lunged in for her neck. As he tasted her skin, so taunt against her throat, he closed his eyes to the exquisite experience of breaking virgin flesh. Every part of him craved the blood. Adrenaline coursed through his body, stinging his every nerve ending with an erotic stab. He never denied himself a thing.
Tonight would be no different.
“I’m a witch,” he heard her mutter.
And like that, his fangs retracted.
Chapter 9
“N ot exactly a witch, but witch’s blood runs in my veins.”
Michael eased a hand alongside his crotch. He ached, and needed satisfaction—both sex and blood. But he was no fool.
Pushing off the bed, he swung back into the pace, stomping some because it just needed to be done.
“Not a witch, but you have witch’s blood? What kind of story are you playing, Jane? If you don’t want to have sex—”
“Sex? You were going to bite me!”
“It’s a part of sex!” He beat the wall behind him with a fist. Kicking and beating on things always alleviated the frustration, but he was pretty sure no amount of physical destruction was going to simmer it tonight.
“I’m serious,” Jane said. “My blood is poison to vampires. And look at you. A vampire! This is completely nuts.”
She thought so? It wasn’t every day he tried to bite into a succulent neck and the victim screamed ‘witch!’ “How do you know about vamps and witches?”
“Sit down.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I prefer to stand.”
“All right.” She tugged her top shut and when she fingered the empty buttonholes, Michael quickly said, “No. Leave it. You can talk like that.”
She bristled at his demand, but, after running a finger along the open hem of the shirt, she left it as it was. Though her hair spilled over her shoulders and down her chest, her breasts were revealed, the rosy curve of a ruched aureole showing on the one side.
Michael folded a leg and sat on the edge of the bed. Because he needed to hear this. And, it was difficult to stand too far from the one thing he wanted to dive into. Yes, he still wanted what the monster needed.
“You’re a witch?”
The desire to push her back onto the bed and tear off her clothes struggled with his need to listen. There was nothing to stop him from taking her.
Except the truth.
“My birth name is Jeanne Rénan,” she said, pronouncing her first name with a French accent and making it sound like Zhaun.
Hell, another bloody Frenchwoman?
Michael had spent some time in France. The one great love of his life had been French. But he hadn’t picked up the French tinge to Jane’s voice. Make that Zhaun.
“My father, vicomte Baptiste Rénan, is a vampire.”
She pressed a finger to his lips as a huff of breath expelled from his chest. “There’s more. My mother’s name is Roxane Desrues, and she is a witch. Remember when I told you I was born in ’81?”
He nodded silently, taking it all in. A witch and a vampire as parents?
“I was born in eighteen eighty-one, in the city of Paris. I am neither a witch, nor a vampire. I can sense magic when there is a witch present, but I can’t perform magic, speak a spell or cast a charm. Though, there is magic within me. The world often reacts to that magic, which you may have already noticed. Your mood lifts when I’m around?”
He nodded. “When first meeting you I—Hell, is that why I’ve been so attracted to you?”
“That’s simply your body reacting to what it wants from me. Vampires are compelled to witch’s blood, I’m sure you know.”
Yes, but also compelled to their death, for witch’s blood was poison to a vampire. Bloody hell, he’d been but a stab of his tooth away—from death.
“And, thanks to my father’s blood coursing through my veins, I can feel a vampire through the shimmer common only to another vampire. Though, it didn’t occur to me that sexual arousal also feels much like the shimmer.”
She looked confused. This night was becoming a nightmare.
“I’ve walked this earth for one hundred and twenty-five years, Michael. And you are the first vampire I have ever kissed. That is…if you don’t count kissing my father on the cheek.”
He deserved credit for holding his jaw in place, and not dropping it to the floor. A struggle between amazement and horror worked at him. Clenching his fingers into claws, he tensed them, watching the veins pop.
“I’ve an uncle, on my mother’s side, who is a—”
“Warlock?” Michael tried.
“No, male witches are not common in my family. The magic tends to leave the men alone. Besides, a warlock is a traitor, not a witch. Anyway, my uncle Damien is a vampire too, thanks to both my mother and father. The entire tale is long and a little twisted. Suffice to say, I’ve grown up in the company of supernatural beings.”
“Which is why you’re not afraid of me.”
“Not at all. And I know that frustrates you. You crave the adrenaline, yes?”
“You know too much…” he murmured.
“It’s a guess. Were you trying to frighten me the other day when you leapt out from the hallway?”
Wisely, Michael remained silent on that little incident.
“Well, you did scare me, but I’ve this reaction to fear that sends me giggling. Might be because of my upbringing. If your relatives are vampires and witches, there isn’t much that can scare a person. I mean really scare me. Though elves can do it with ease.”
Elves? In all his years, he never met, let alone heard, of an elf.
Michael pressed his palms onto the bed behind him and leaned back, away from her. It felt so far a distance. He wanted Jane back upon his lips. There, at his mouth. His. For good or for the very worst.
And yet, how could he even imagine touching her again? They were not meant to be anywhere near one another. True witch or not, if she spoke the truth, and witch’s blood ran through her veins, she was poison to him.
“We’re enemies” is all he said.
Witches and vampires had never mixed, and the witch—while offering some pretty extreme boons to the vampire—such an offer came with a deadly price tag. Death by blood.
Michael had never met a witch before, but he knew enough to avoid them like the black plague.
He abruptly stepped off the bed and paced toward the windows. Below him a thick bouquet of lilacs gave off a deceptively innocent fragrance.
“You tell me true?” He glanced over his shoulder. Jane still sat on the bed, a porcelain doll on the vast piece of furniture. This time she didn’t wield a knife, yet her words cut him just as deeply. “You had no idea what I was?”
“Of course not. I would have never allowed things to go this far had I known.”
“Really? And yet you say you can recognize the shimmer. That sensation only another vampire can feel when he touches his own kind? I’ve touched you before tonight. You must have known. Maybe that’s what you wanted? To lure the vampire into your sexual trap and then—bang—one bite and you’ve claimed yet another prize to your belt.”
“Yet another? What are you saying? That I’m a slayer? Michael, I had no idea. And you must admit it is rare one of the dark holds such a public position.”
The dark. It is what the witches called the vampires. And they, in turn, called themselves the light. Bullshi
t. Anything that could bring his death with a tiny drop of blood was nothing but bad, no light involved whatsoever.
The muscles in his arms flexed as he wrenched them back and forth before him, working out his unsettled aggressions. What to do with her now? The game plan had been completely crossed over and scribbled up into a fine mess.
He paced before the window, unwilling to return to the bed. She seemed docile enough, but it may be the witch’s way. But he wasn’t going to run. No, that wasn’t his style. Facing down a challenge and showing it his teeth—now that’s the way he lived his life.
Like he’d shown the monster his teeth?
“So let me get this straight. You’re not a vampire, though, your father is?”
“I have never craved blood, nor do I need it to survive, as I know all vampires are wont.”
“Have you ever been bitten?”
“Once, by my uncle. That is how we came to learn I’m not pre-destined to vamp out.”
If he attempted to put a logical spin to her confession he’d never succeed. A child born of a witch and a vampire. How was that even possible? Without the sharing of blood, no vampire could ever truly commit to his mate. Blood was the world. Procreation did not come about without making love and the blood.
“And not a witch,” he said. His words were quiet, thought through before he voiced them. “But your mother is? Does she cast spells and ride a broomstick?”
“No broomsticks, but certainly plenty of spells. Witches aren’t what you see at Halloween. She doesn’t cackle over her cauldron or worship the devil.”
“I know that. I’m not an idiot.”
“Our lineage traces back to Druidic times. There is true magic in my mother. She was born that way. Only I cannot command it, as my mother does.”
Michael nodded, taking it in.
“I wish I could. I’ve tried, believe me.”
“To be a witch?”
“To tap into the innate magic within me. I’m cursed to forever walk the line between the two.”
“Have you never wished for the vampirism?”
“No,” she said in a dreamy sigh-like manner. “I’ve always related to my mother more than my father.”
What luxury, to have both parents. Michael had not a father to relate to, for he’d left his mother to go to war before Michael had been born. World War II. His boots and dog tags had arrived in a small box on the eve of Michael’s fifth birthday.
“I have their immortality,” Jane offered. “Though that was in part due to a ritual my mother and father insisted I partake of when I was in my twenties.”
Interesting. “So you weren’t born immortal?”
Jane rested her elbows on the foot of the bed frame behind her. Her nudity completely forgotten, she could not be aware of how alluring she was to him—or how frustrating.
“Not sure,” she replied. “How does one know such a thing unless it has occurred before and been documented? My father insists his daughter live a long life, and he is ever troubled I should die before him. So my parents encouraged me to take steps to ensure it would be so. I’ve the skin and strong bone structure of a twenty-year-old woman, yet my mind is very old.”
“An old soul,” Michael said. “I’ve always imagined you otherworldly. Not of this realm. And now here you are, peeling back your mask.”
“I didn’t wear it to hide from you. If anyone was hiding something—”
He put up a palm to stop her. “We’ve both had secrets. I don’t normally come out and introduce myself as a vampire to everyone I meet. It’s unnecessary, and frankly, dangerous. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“I do. But then I have to wonder, just now, you were going to bite me. And then what? Toss me aside after you’d enthralled the memory from me? Kill me?”
“No!” He fisted the air. “Don’t ever accuse me of that, Jane. That is not something I will do. Ever.” And yet, that last word came out as but a whisper.
“I’m glad,” she said. “That puts you leagues ahead of the majority of the dark.”
“Not that I’m incapable of it, mind you. I could snap your neck before you had a thought to bite your lip and spit at me, know that, witch.”
“I’m not a witch, Michael, but…” Her sigh rifled across his bare back.
Michael flexed his shoulders, working at the stinging ache that rose between his pecs. “But what?”
“When my uncle bit me, that was the first time we realized I wouldn’t change. But my uncle is also immune to witch’s blood, because his sister was significant in transforming him. And we’ve never chanced upon a vampire who would agree to test the theory of my blood being poisonous. So I don’t know if my blood is deadly to a vampire. I can never know, until it is too late.”
“Why don’t you kidnap an idiot vamp off the street and test it?”
“Oh, Michael, that’s awful. I’d rather not know than harm an innocent.”
“Which means, no blood from you for me.” Michael sighed.
Jane wandered to the doorway to stand, back propped and legs stretched before her. He paced the floor, not sure what to say. There wasn’t anything to say. He stopped before the bed. The impression of her body lumped the comforter. Her lingering scent drew him down, so he lay back on the bed and crossed his legs at the ankle. The warmth of her crept into him on a sigh.
The ache in his gut certainly was not the blood hunger. Rather the monster stood in the corner now, tail between its legs, cowering at this new information. But Michael wasn’t about to cower.
“I’ve a walking death cocktail sharing my home,” he muttered. “Way to chill the libido, Jane.”
“It’s not my problem, Michael. If you can’t control the urge to bite me when we become intimate, then deal with it. I’m fine either way.”
“You’re fine because you’ve nothing to risk!”
“I almost had sex with a bloody vampire,” she raged.
He had never suspected anything strange about Jane. Just thought her a natural beauty in touch with nature and a bit of a fuddy-duddy behind the thick plastic safety glasses. And gorgeous. Hell, why were the gorgeous ones always the most troublesome? “So, you’re not keen on vampires? But if your father is one…?”
“I didn’t say I’m not keen on them, I’ve just…never been with a vampire before. As you can imagine, it’s not every day a vampire engages a witch in small talk that then leads to having sex.”
No, but once, long ago—thousand of years—witches and vampires had been allies. Until the vampires had begun to enslave the witches for the strength and power having sex with them could give them. And to drink their blood? Then the vampire could take the witch’s very magic into him, and use it to cast spells. As the witches began to protest, a war broke out. Many more witches died than vampires. And so a great Protection spell had been cast to ensure all witches’ blood worked like poison to the vampire. The two factions had been enemies since.
“Yes, we were so close. And yet, you stopped me.” He turned onto his elbow and studied the porcelain doll propped in the doorway. “You could have let me go on with it. Then you would have known for sure the effects of your blood. We may have continued to have sex, I would have bitten you—no dead vampire. Or, you could have learned you’ve most powerful death in your veins. You resisted the opportunity.”
She shrugged. “Clean-up would have been a bitch.”
Michael smirked. He couldn’t help himself. He shouldn’t find that comment at all amusing. The levity was welcome.
And that was her skill, wasn’t it? Jane had the ability to lighten him, to make him step back and take a look at the world in new ways. Was it the magic within that she’d said made others react to her?
The idea of being controlled by magic, without his permission, didn’t sit well with him. Though, if she had no control over it…
Closing his eyes, Michael listened to the beat of Jane’s life. Constant, her heartbeats. She had entered him. And even with this devastating infor
mation about her, he honestly didn’t want to push her out of his blood.
She is light. Take it!
He lunged off the bed and stepped over to embrace her. It felt right moving into her space, touching her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
Gliding his hands through her hair, he leaned in and drew upon the intoxicating aura of Jane. Yes, inviting, not a bit changed since he’d learned she was the enemy. Still composed of lilacs and cherry wine.
He felt…invigorated, actually. Almost stronger than before he’d begun this day. He’d not realized it until now, but he felt a buzz, like he did when he walked off stage and the adrenaline raced through his veins.
Was it because of Jane? Because he so boldly challenged death by now embracing it?
“Please, don’t stand so close,” she murmured. But her actions were opposite as she clung to his hips. “Nothing’s changed, Michael. I still want you. But it would be dangerous. We can’t risk it. You can’t risk it.”
Thinking of his safety, was she? Jane was like one of those huge round windows in Notre Dame. So exquisitely complicated.
“Shouldn’t that be my choice?” He tested the waters with a quick kiss to her lips. The monster did not stir, but it stood there, in the shadows, observing. “Jane, I won’t hurt you, but—Do you have a cross?”
“What? I—no. I don’t subscribe to that religious symbol. Crosses were basically banned from the house when I was growing up. I wouldn’t use one against you anyway.”
“Just a little one. It’s all you need. You don’t need to believe in it, all that matters is I once believed and was baptized.”
“No, absolutely not. You’re not thinking right, Michael. Is it the blood hunger? Are you dizzied by the pull of my blood?”
“Oh, Jane, I can control the hunger, I’ll have you know.”
“Then why the exile? I’m guessing you didn’t walk away from the spotlight to spend the summer gardening. Why are you here, Michael?”
“There is a reason. I’m…” Could he tell her? Sure, he’d been the one to force them out of their roles as strangers, but this was more intimate than sex, this sharing of one’s personal ordeals. “Do I have to tell?”
