by Michele Hauf
Could Michael ever hope to tame the monster? He just needed control—a control she’d taken from him last night. Yet he’d not bitten her, much as she knew he had wanted to.
And though she’d had to use aggression to still the monster, even that had sent a rush through her. The forbidden danger of them engaging in sex, unprotected but for their frenzy, had excited her. Her inner wildness had been awakened. And she didn’t want to go back to plain Jane.
Plain Jane feared the ritual. Wild Jane wanted all life could offer, no matter that she must steal it during sex. Wild Jane was a witch. Truly. And she mustn’t deny her fate. She’d stepped into this mistake, knowing well what it could bring. Adventure. Excitement. Danger. Choices.
She must see it to the end.
“I wonder if it will remain?” she said of her newly emerged magic. “Or if I’ll need Michael to for ever make it so?”
It would be a poor consolation should she require the man to keep up her magic. Not that she didn’t enjoy making love to him, but she never wanted to depend on a man. For anything.
Scanning the sky, the sun emerging on the horizon, Jane figured about eighteen hours until midnight. The moon would be full and white. This night she must answer the call to immortality or forsake her own life.
How will you love him? If you do not exist?
Her father had a point. Was she willing to die for Michael? To never know him again?
“I love him. I can’t leave this world.”
But how to do it without losing Michael in the process?
Wait. Michael had found another vampire.
Sitting upright, Jane nodded. Why hadn’t she considered this earlier?
She’d call her father—and Ravin—and make arrangements.
“No, you can’t,” she muttered. “He cares about her. It would be so wrong to let jealousy get in the way. Oh, what to do?”
The fact that there wasn’t a phone in the house may just be karma trying to tell her something.
Chapter 22
T he new jeans fit him snugly. Especially across the crotch.
Jane had done this to him. Increased his strength. Calmed his monster.
So why was he considering going to Isabelle?
Because she had been hurt. She didn’t deserve to suffer.
She does not suffer, Michael’s conscience argued, only her ego has taken a bruising. But what was a week of sacrificing his blood in the greater scheme of things?
Everything.
“Not today,” he muttered. “I’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
Michael wasn’t going to let anything get him down today. Today was his birthday. The parties, the presents, the…well, what would it be this year?
He didn’t have a family, no mother to bake him a cake and throw him a party. The only thing close to being family, the band, was likely taking it easy right now, not even giving him a thought. As for presents, well there wasn’t anything he couldn’t buy for himself now.
But he still liked the idea of being surprised.
He stood in the doorway to the backyard, legs crossed and right shoulder pressed against the frame. He had yet to see Jane since rising an hour ago. Though he respected her closed workroom door. “Did she forget?”
Or had he done something again to scare her off, seeking shelter in her work? They had gotten pretty violent with each other last night.
An aching agony burst inside his throat. Jane was all he had. His only hope for some semblance of real family. Isabelle offered nothing but sensational adventure and a constant source of blood.
A source he couldn’t overlook. If he chose Isabelle, no longer would he have to take from mortals. His risk for murder would be reduced to nil.
Hmm…
Could Jane offer him that? Sure, the strength was great. He feared no monster, or even a vigilante witch (so long as she kept her blood to herself). And the sex magic was awesome. Soaring inside of Jane was like flying.
He’d done it, hadn’t he? He’d fallen hard for the woman.
What kind of fool had he become? Why couldn’t he resist her?
Was the vampire attracted to the magic inside Jane? Would he need to continue to have sex with her in order to keep the power he’d gained?
What a cruel attraction, that he should crave the one woman who could prove most deadly to him?
And what was he to her? He presented no danger to Jane. A little bite could easily heal. He increased her magic. She had no risks to be involved with him.
A relationship would not be easy. The very nature of the rock ’n’ roll lifestyle challenged most normal couples. Add to that the fact they were blood enemies?
To his right a crowd of crickets chirped at the night. The sun hadn’t quite set, yet the moon was visible above the oak tree that mastered the back of the yard.
The moon. It made a fine birthday present. If only he could share it, so wide and round and luminous. So far from heaven.
He wondered if he had ever had a chance at heaven before he had become a vampire. Probably. Michael Lynsay, pre-vamp, had led a fairly responsible life. He’d held a job as a DJ at a radio station, and had taught music lessons after hours. He’d had goals, pastimes, and dreams. He’d even gone to church—until his mother had died.
And he’d been baptized, which now proved his very bane, for he could not look upon the sacred or touch it.
Michael stroked the soft pink flesh where he’d been burned by Banks’s cross. Completely healed. Yeah, it was too late. Vampires couldn’t go to heaven.
Was the sacrifice worth it?
He’d grown up hoping some day he’d become a famous singer. His mother had indulged his desires, spending a fortune on voice lessons and entering him in local singing contests. You’re a natural, his voice teacher had often said. You’ll go far, Michael.
And he had. But what would he do in a few decades? He couldn’t take the stage forever. Someone would notice he never aged. That would be creepy, not to mention, stupid.
How would he fulfill his life? Would he have someone to stand at his side, to hold his hand, for centuries?
Like Jane’s parents.
By rights, Jane should be long gone. To put up with his antics took a strong woman. And yet, there must be something about him that she liked.
She gets magic out of the deal, vampire. Don’t fool yourself. She benefits greatly from this relationship.
Just a week of you serving me.
“No, it’s not worth it. Isabelle will heal. She’s not like my Jane,” he said, and smiled. But the smile didn’t last.
Where was she?
Wandering back inside, Michael lingered in the kitchen. There, on the center of the table, is where his mother had always placed a homemade chocolate cake with blue candles. He liked blue candles. Now the only soul who could ever know that was dead.
“Jane, Jane, Ja-ee-ane,” he sang under his breath as he neared the studio.
The smell of flame alerted him. And…flowers?
Doing a sharp right turn, Michael strode into the workroom. Stepping abruptly backward, he slid his fingers over the doorframe.
The entire room glittered with candle flame. Thick white and blue candles were placed everywhere, along the floor before the windows, on the worktable, and in every corner. Red rose petals carpeted the floor. Like a ballroom out of some fantasy story the women cried over at the movies.
And in the midst of it all, the belle of the ball stood holding something before her. A long simple red dress skimmed her curves and fell to the floor. Soft material, Michael knew, because it jealously clung to her breasts and hips. Copper-stained hair, full and thick, sifted across her face but didn’t hide those deep dark eyes. Smiling at him. Her entire body smiled. The faery tale had become reality.
“Happy birthday, rock star,” she said.
“I thought you’d forgotten.” He stepped across the room, careful to avoid a candle placed in his path. The urge to count the candles overwhelmed him, and he started tally
ing.
“Oh, no. Focus! Michael!”
“Huh?” The candles could wait. Maybe. There were half a dozen on the table, and over there—
“Michael.”
“Right. I’ll count later.” Redirecting his focus, he centered on her heartbeats. And he didn’t feel like counting those, it just felt good to know they were there, inside him. But could they ever become completely his? Like Isabelle’s heartbeats?
Unsettled, Michael looked about. “Jane, you did this for me? What the—?”
He looked over the small cake she held on her palms. It bore no candles, and didn’t say anything, but it was—“Black?”
“With glitter. I thought it would look sort of rock ’n’ roll.”
“Well, it certainly looks like something.” Something gothic and very, very strange.
Laughter shook Michael’s frame. It felt good. Damn good. He took the cake from her. Setting it aside on the table, he then spun her into his arms and did a whirl on the dance—er, workroom floor.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “I feel like some kind of prince.”
“Can I be your princess?”
“How about my queen? My dark queen. You look the devil’s little sister in this dress.” He kissed her quickly and darted a look downward. “Ja-ee-ane, I can see everything when I look down the front.”
“Then look some more.”
“Oh, I will. Damn, you are delicious.”
“Probably not as tasty as the cake.”
“Screw the cake, this is what I want to eat for my birthday.” He nipped her collarbone and followed with a lick at her chin. “And all those rose petals…how many do you think there are?”
Jane jerked him back into her eyesight. “You want to count something? Try years. How old are you, birthday boy?”
“You tell me how old you are, and I’ll spill the beans.”
“I’ve given you a clue. Besides, a woman never reveals her age, nor does a gentleman ask.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman.” And in proof he drew a wet trail with his tongue up from her breasts to under her throat.
“You’re a cad. Mmm, but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“So the lady admits to liking her boys bad?”
“And wild. You said you wanted to dance with me, so let’s dance. I brought in some music from the car.”
“You actually listen to music?”
“Yes, I listen to music.” She switched on the CD player. “Though you may not approve. It’s Niyaz.”
“I’ve heard of them. Indian fusion sort of stuff?”
“Persian.”
A mixture of Turkish stringed instruments and a haunting female voice permeated the room, and Michael decided it was cool. “Doesn’t matter what’s playing, so long as I’ve got my girl in my arms.”
He spun her out and the two did a few more spins before magnetically connecting to one another and then the only option was a slow sway.
Want surfaced, but riding the tease would prove immensely more satisfying than taking her right now. This night was meant to be seduced to infinity.
Over the top of Jane’s head Michael looked to the darkening sky and could pick out a few twinkling stars. He held his woman in his arms. A black birthday cake sat nearby. The world glittered below him. What more could a vampire ask for?
“How much?” Baptiste watched as the witch deposited the bound body into the trunk of his rental car.
She turned and sneered. The steel studs on her leather wristbands looked sharp, and oh, so painful. “Too much for you, vampire.”
“I refuse to take charity.”
“Oh, yeah?” She slammed the trunk shut. “Then let me offer you a taste of my blood. It’s not charity, I promise. Think of it as a gift.”
He recoiled violently.
“Chill, old man.” Ravin brushed her palms against each other, cleaning off traces of blood. “This is for your daughter. You’re just lucky I like Jane, or you’d be ash right now.”
“I believe it,” he murmured. “Thank you. I owe you, Ms. Crosse.”
“No, you don’t. In fact, leave town as quickly as you came, or I might forget who you’re related to.”
“Deal.”
“Could you dance with me forever, Jane?”
“Mmm.” She snuggled against his chest, relaxed in his arms. Everything between them had synched, their movements, their breaths, even their heartbeats. “No question about that.”
“Think about it,” he whispered. Eyes closed, he nuzzled into her freesia-scented hair. The world had slipped away. He had taken flight. “Forever. With me. Loving, living, singing, laughing. Could you do it?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Michael.” He didn’t like it when she pulled her warmth away from him. “Want some cake?”
“I don’t do cake, you know that. I just…I could imagine it. The two of us, forever. Don’t worry, I’m not asking for a commitment. I just want you to know, I could be true to you.”
“Oh, Michael.” She stroked his hair, swishing it over the top of his ear. “Forever is a very long time. And very much a commitment.”
“Your mom and dad have done it.”
“Let’s just dance, Michael.” She twisted her fingers into the ends of his hair and refit her body against his frame. “Hold me.”
She fit him perfectly. Not once in Michael’s life had he ever felt as though he required protection, or the quiet strength of a woman’s presence. But Jane made him know that it was okay to have it.
This birthday was the best. He may even eat some cake, just to prove he appreciated her efforts.
“I could do it for a while,” she suddenly offered. “But don’t ask me to commit to forever. My forever may be entirely different from your forever.”
“You said you were immortal. What makes us different?”
“I have to renew that immortality. You, well, you’ve a very long time to walk this earth.”
Immortality renewal? Right. Something about when the great Protection had been cast to make all witches blood poison to vampire, and in turn, the witches had sacrificed their immortality. So they had a way to get it back?
“You will renew it, yes?” He leaned back, seeking the gaze she kept elusive. Could he invade her faery tale? She was afraid, he could feel it coursing through his veins. Afraid to live forever? “Jane, aren’t I worth living for?”
“Of course you are. But am I worth the risk?”
She drew away from him in a fluid, but decisive move. Brushing back her hair, she glanced around and let out a heavy sigh. The candles had begun to drip down their sides and streams of blue and white wax trickled across the floor.
“You are always worth the risk, Jane. I’d risk my life for you.” Not about to let her off so easily, Michael tilted up her chin. “It’s my birthday, so I get to make one wish.”
She shrugged. “If you believe in wishes.”
“Jane, my wish is that you will renew your immortality—whatever it takes—so, no matter what happens between us, I’ll always know you’re around. Here for me. Even if you only want to be friends.”
“You could suffice with something so minimal as mere friendship?”
“I wouldn’t like it. But I understand your reluctance to commit to a guy, hell, a vampire, for so long. But you’ll always be the only one for me, Jane. Believe me. You live inside of me.”
He pressed his fingers over his heart. Not a stage maneuver designed to draw maximum adulation from the females. Never before had he been so sincere.
“You’re the first woman I haven’t drank blood from, and yet, I feel this immense connection to. Jane, I just need you.”
He hugged her, and she submitted, not an ounce of reluctance in her bones. A good thing, for Michael knew she yet struggled with all that he had just offered. He’d meant it, and he’d walk the world for her to prove it.
And that felt rapturous to him.
&n
bsp; “Jane?”
Dredged up from their embrace by the sound of a man’s voice, Michael turned, Jane still close and tight in his arms. Baptiste Rénan stood in the doorway. Hadn’t that man left town?
“We’re celebrating,” Michael said.
“An hour, Jane,” Baptiste said, and left.
“An hour until what?” Michael asked. He tried to catch Jane’s eyes, but she’d found a nook on his shoulder and had laid claim to the post. “What’s your dad doing here?”
“Nothing to worry about. Probably he wants to say goodbye.”
“I thought he left once already.”
“We should have some cake,” she suggested. “Even if you just lick the frosting.”
“Is it chocolate?”
“It is.” Jane blew away strands of hair from her lashes. “I’ll run down and get some plates.”
As weird as the moment had become, Michael couldn’t help but think it was only going to get weirder. “What’s up, Jane?”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you having a wonderful time?”
“I was. But your father put a sour taste in my mouth. Is he in the house?”
“Probably outside. I told him to give us some privacy tonight.”
So she knew he would be hanging around.
“I feel strange doing this, knowing he’s sitting around waiting to say goodbye to you. Why don’t you invite him in—”
“Michael, really, it’s not a problem. I’ll be right back.”
She swept out of the room so quickly, three or four candles were extinguished in her wake.
Standing in the spiraling smoke of the executed candles, Michael, head bowed, struggled with the eerie tingle screeching up and down the back of his neck.
Something wasn’t right. He could taste it.
Relax, man. Enjoy your birthday. It’s nothing that her father is here. He is her father.
Striding over to the windows, cautious not to knock over the finished pieces, he searched the grounds below, but couldn’t see a thing, for there were no yard lights. And yet, a glimmer in the distance caught his eye. Way back there, at the end of the vast overgrown garden. Looked like a blazing fire.
