by Martha Woods
I do, telling Faye about how I met Vincent while on a case. I tell her about the nightmares, about the girls suddenly appearing in my waking hours, how Vincent can’t read my mind. She is quiet through it all, casually taking out a deck of tarot cards that she begins to shuffle as I continue to speak. She doesn’t handle them like they are a deck of playing cards, instead just slipping cards in and out of the deck at random, her tattooed fingers playing across them. It is almost a loving caress. When I finish my story, choking out finding my dog in pieces in my apartment, she spreads the cards on the counter.
“Pick one,” she says.
I try to tamp down my skepticism. Of all the things I’ve discovered to be true recently, tarot cards seem an odd place to draw the line. But still, it seems a bit absurd. It’s as if every new facet of this world I discover, my rational mind has to push back against it. I have to remind myself of what we’re up against before I push my disbelief aside.
I hesitate, then move my hands over the cards until one of them seems to glow under my palm. I don’t feel anything different, not an energy or a pull or anything, the card just looks like it needs to be drawn. I take it and flip it over. There are two people intertwined together in the center of the card. In Roman numerals it reads six, and at the top, it says “The Lovers.”
“You are being protected by two that feel deeply for you, but be careful, because if they don’t work together, it could be the death of you,” Faye says. “Pick another.”
Again, I let my fingers move aimlessly over the cards until I feel that strange glow again. The next card I flip over features a horned man, surrounded by fire, holding a chain. The Roman numerals for fifteen are on the top, and it reads “The Devil.”
“This werewolf is going to tempt you away from your protectors. Be aware of this. He can be very persuasive,” Faye says. “Now the last one.”
Again, my hands move over the cards. My hand hesitates over two, but I pull only one and flip it over. On the card is a woman with her eyes covered by a cloth. In one hand she holds a sword, in the other a scale that looks evenly balanced. I recognize her, but I read the card anyway. The Roman numerals for eight lie at the top of the card, and it reads “Judgment.” Or, as we know her in my line of work, Lady Justice.
“You have been called forward to be the truth seeker, no matter the damage that is done. Remember that judgment is a double-bladed sword and always blind. These girls have called you forward to be executioner, and they will not leave you until this werewolf is dead. I will equip you as best I can, but there is little you can do until you are ready to be fully awakened.”
“What do you mean fully awakened?”
“When you are prepared to see all the things that hide in the night. When you are ready to face the nightmares, because they will not stop coming. You are now a beacon, but you are still partially blinded,” Faye says.
I swallow. Nope, my life will never be normal again.
“What can we do to stop him?” Damon asks.
“She will be your guide. All she has to do is call on the girls, and they will come. Do you know any of their names?” she asks.
“I do. One of them is—” I begin.
“Don’t call her now,” Faye snaps. “I don’t like unwanted spirits in my store. Call her tonight and she will lead you to the werewolf.”
“Does she have to go?” Damon asks.
“You can’t see what she does, so unless you want to be caught unaware, the girl goes,” Faye says, folding her arms across her chest. “Let me get some vials of holy water.”
I’m starting to get a little irritated with her for calling me “girl.” I might be new to all this, but I’m not a child. Still, I don’t have much of a choice but to listen to her.
She disappears behind her bead curtain and comes back holding four small vials sealed tightly with cork. They are filled with clear liquid. Holy water. I take one and shake it, looking at it and expecting it to be more than what it appears.
“That won’t save you either; just an extra measure,” Faye says.
“I’m not sure I like this plan,” Damon says.
“It’s the only one you’ve got. But if you don’t like it, don’t do it. I’m just here to advise. He wants her badly, though. They always want us,” she adds.
“What do you mean by ‘us?’”
“You’re like me, just blind,” she says and forces me to meet her gaze. I feel shivers run down my spine. Me, a witch? That’s laughable. And definitely not a path I want to walk.
“Well, thanks for the information,” I manage to get out, rubbing my arms. I want out of this shop. Everything she has said to me has my head spinning, and I just want to be away from it all.
“Thanks, Faye,” Damon says, holding out a hand to her. She bats it away and just nods her head.
“I’m here for the guild if they need anything, no thanks needed. The balance needs to be kept. Now get out,” she says turning to go back into her little room, where I imagine there is some cauldron full of magic potion waiting for her. Damon takes my hand and leads me out of the store and towards his truck.
“How is it a witch has holy water; doesn’t that need to come from a Priest?”
“Faye is something like that, she can bless things. The supernatural can’t pass through her doors.”
“How did you find her?”
“She found us,” Damon says.
A chill goes up my spine again as we begin to pull away from the little shop. While I watch it disappear in the rear-view mirror, my head spins with all that Faye has said to me. So much for just being a forensic investigator. Science isn’t going to explain this.
Chapter 11
We pull back up to the apartment complex after driving for the most part in silence. I keep thinking of the lover’s card. Faye said that there were two who felt deeply for me. Does that mean that Vincent has feelings for me too? Or is he just attracted to my blood? I don’t know what to think about Vincent; he is an enigma to me. I know I am physically attracted to him, and I’m grateful to him for taking responsibility for putting me in danger, and for trying to protect me, but I don’t think my feelings go beyond that. After all, he has been stalking me. And the circumstances of our first meeting are less than appealing.
“Want me to fix you something to eat?” Damon asks. We’re in the lobby, and there is nothing I want to do less than go back to my empty apartment. I still imagine I can see blood in there, and smell that awful odor that shouldn’t have come off a newly dead body. What was that smell? It disappeared by the time I returned to my apartment earlier today, but I imagine I can still detect it, as if it’s clinging to the inside of my nostrils.
“Amy?”
I realize I haven’t answered him. “Food, yeah. Food would be good.”
He leads me into the elevator, and up to his apartment. I feel like I’m in a trance. Before I know it, I’m sitting at his kitchen table and he’s pulling ingredients from his refrigerator.
“Stir fry okay?” he asks.
I nod my head and watch him cook. It feels so right to be here, despite everything. But then I look outside and see the sun is going to set soon, which makes my stomach turn into little knots. I don’t want it to go down. I’ve never been afraid of the night, but then, I never knew what actually lurked inside of it before. I don’t want to think about it now, but I know I have to.
“Are we going to go over a plan with Vincent?” I ask.
Damon lets out a long sigh as he begins to chop the chicken angrily.
“He said he’s hunting Elric as well,” I say. “It can’t hurt to have extra backup. And the cards said—”
“I know what the cards say. Hunters just don’t work with vampires. And who’s to say he won’t turn on us once the other werewolf is taken care of?”
“Because he’s intrigued by me,” I say.
“That doesn’t keep me safe,” Damon mutters. “And he’s already expressed ample interest in making you like him.” He thro
ws the chicken into a wok along with some spices. The smell of it makes my stomach rumble. I haven’t eaten since this morning. I don’t have a response for Damon, so I let the silence engulf us and just watch him cook. Cara always says to go for a man who can cook, or at least one who is willing to try.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask.
“No, I like just watching you sit there,” Damon says, giving me a dimpled smile. “Let's enjoy the daylight while we can. The monsters won’t come out for another hour or so.”
I nod. The meal doesn’t take very long to cook. He serves me. It smells delicious and I take a tentative bite once I’ve blown the steam off. The chicken melts in my mouth. Not only can he cook, he’s damn good at it. I wolf my food down unceremoniously and Damon laughs at me.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” I say around a mouthful of food.
“Hungry for anything else?” he says, his voice a notch lower, almost a purr. My cheeks flush red, and I look down at my near-empty plate.
His hand comes out and grabs hold of my knee, and I look up at him.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to embarrass you or anything. And I know you’ve been through a lot…”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I am.”
The words come out as a squeak, but this could be my last night alive. I’m about to call on some dead girls to show me where a killer shaman werewolf is hiding, then act as bait for him. The sun is fading quickly; soon I’m going to have to face these demons, and I don’t know how prepared I can be. I want to feel Damon’s arms around me, I want to melt into him.
He stands and scoops me up in his arms, and I can’t help giggling a little. There is a tremble in his muscles as if he is doing his best to control himself.
“Amy.” My name comes out a sigh. He looks down at me, and I’m in a trance staring up at his eyes. “You don’t know how badly—”
I cut him off by wrapping my arms around his neck and drawing him down for a kiss. I don’t want to talk anymore, I just want to feel. I’m tired of always being afraid, of feeling pain, of being confused. In his arms things seem right. As if I was always meant to be in them. I have been dreaming about being with Damon, and it’s like my dreams are coming true inside this nightmare.
He lays me gently on the bed, pulling away from me. I sit up and watch him slowly begin to remove his shirt. I take in the sight of all those muscles; I look at the various scars he has been hiding underneath his clothes. Each one must tell a different story. I crawl to the edge of the bed, grab the hem of his jeans, and pull him close. I press a kiss against his lips before trailing my mouth downward. I kiss each one of those scars, bringing a little hiss from his throat. He’s trembling under my touch.
“I’m going to lose control if you keep that up,” he says, his voice a low growl. I don’t stop, letting my lips lead me, trailing my tongue over a long scar on his lower stomach. He grabs me then, pulling me up and pressing my lips to his, allowing me to feel his hunger. He pulls my shirt up over my head and unsnaps my bra in what feels like one movement. He pushes me back against his bed, kissing me and letting his hands explore my bare skin. His chest is flushed against mine, and I gasp. The mere touch of our skin together is setting me on fire. I run my hands over his back as he begins to kiss down my neck, raising himself enough so he can kiss lower on me. One of his hands gently massages my breast while his mouth starts to work on the other, gently bringing my nipple into his lips. He applies a little bit of pressure with his teeth, and I’m wiggling underneath him. I feel him chuckle against my skin as he presses kisses between my breasts, and then his mouth takes the other in between his lips. My back arches up for him to take more in his mouth. His tongue flicks back and forth; a moan escapes my lips. His hands move towards to my pants and fumble with the button before pulling them off, along with my panties, in one fluid motion.
I’m naked now, and he stands up to stare down at me. He has already seen me nude before, but this time it feels like he is devouring me with his eyes. There is nothing but lust and want in his gaze. I wiggle a bit beneath it, and he presses me back against the bed again. His hand is moving down towards my sex, parting the lips.
“Damon,” I plead, and he continues his caress. He slips a finger inside of me, and I’m like putty in his hands. I can see him rising in his jeans and I close my eyes to just let the pleasure overwhelm me.
He leans down against me and kisses my cheek, nuzzling his face against mine. I can feel the scratchy stubble and slowly open my eyes to gaze up into his.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he says. He steps back and removes his jeans so I can take in all of him. I can see where the scar my tongue had been on before leads. I can see how muscular his legs are, and also the scars they bare. His member is hard and looks like it is straining. I swallow. He looks large, but I can also feel how wet he has made me.
“Bad time to ask, but are you on birth control?” He strokes himself idly – I’m mesmerized.
“Yes,” the word is barely out of my mouth before his naked body is pressed against mine. I move my hips against his sex, and he positions it to enter inside of mine. He moves inside of me slowly, filling me up. I let out a gasp when he is sheathed entirely in me.
“Amy,” he says against my ear. We rest there together, our breathing labored, just enjoying the feeling of becoming one. I can’t think of anything else but the feel of Damon inside of me. It is better than any daydreams I had. He begins to move slowly, pushing his arms up so he can stare down at me. I look up at him, moving my legs a little wider to give him more room to move inside of me.
My legs move to lock above his hips so I can push him deeper. We both begin to pick up a rhythm as he moves in and out. My breaths come out shallow; I forget how to breathe because all I can concentrate on is the feel of him in me. With each thrust it is like he is burning away all the negative emotions that have been pulling at my brain, instead filling it with pleasure. We find a rhythm together, moving faster, I can feel my climax building inside. I’m saying his name, and he’s moaning mine. My orgasm hits me, and I’m clinging to him, my nails raking down his back. I feel him spill inside of me with one last thrust before falling down on top of me, his breathing labored. I can hear his heart racing as fast as mine. We lie there like that, waiting for our bodies to calm down before he slowly slips out of me and lies down beside me. He pulls me to his side, and I rest my head against his chest. My mind is a whirlwind, and I can’t keep the silly grin off my face as the endorphins overcome me.
“You okay?” Damon asks.
I turn and press a chaste kiss on his lips before snuggling my body against him again.
“I haven’t felt this good in a long time,” I say.
He laughs at me, running his hands through my hair and tossing his head back in a sigh.
“Come on, let's get a shower. And not to put a damper on the mood, but we’ve got a werewolf to kill.”
I frown as he helps me out of bed. The moment of bliss is fading as I realize it is dark outside. I follow him into the shower, where he takes care to touch me any way he possibly can. We kiss each other, hold each other, and let the hot water beat down on top of us, trying to make the moment last as long as possible.
Chapter 12
We are barely out of the shower and only half-dressed when there is an angry knocking at the door. It sounds like whoever is knocking is about to break down the door and could easily do it. Damon’s hair is still wet, and he’s not fully dressed, but he walks casually to the door, holding his gun, and looks through the peephole as I towel dry my hair and watch from the bedroom door.
“It’s Vincent,” he says, not sounding pleased.
“Well, let him in,” I say, surprised Vincent didn’t decide to go through Damon’s balcony like he had mine.
Damon opens the door and Vincent is standing there, looking pissed. He lets out a hiss, showing his fangs at Damon before he spots me and tries to make himself look more human.
&nbs
p; “I see you two have been keeping busy in a time of crisis,” he snarls.
“Jealous?” Damon says, always there to poke the bear with a stick.
My cheeks flush because I know that Vincent is completely aware of what Damon and I were just doing. He still just stands in the doorway without barging inside like I expect him to.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” I ask.
“I can’t,” he says, the frustration showing on his face.
“My door has runes on it; nothing supernatural can enter. Faye blessed the door for me so I don’t have to worry about uninvited visitors,” Damon says, not hiding the glee from his voice.
“It’s most annoying.”
“Could your apartment keep Elric out?” I ask.
“Yes, but that doesn’t keep him from harming others,” Damon says with some reluctance. He knows what we have to do, and neither of us looks forward to it.
“We need to talk and form a plan,” I say. “I think that means we need to go into my apartment.”
I don’t want to go in there. Damon comes to my side and squeezes my hand. I towards the door and Vincent, who is looking as arrogant as he can manage. He won’t look me in the eye, and I’m at once okay with that and also slightly disturbed. Somehow I feel sorry for Vincent, and I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t feel badly for a vampire, but something deep inside of me wants to reach out and embrace him. He’s not doing a good job of hiding all his emotions, and I can sense an undercurrent of jealousy beneath his masked face.
“Does he keep the nightmares away?” he asks quietly when I come close to him.
“We weren’t exactly sleeping in there,” I say, trying to be cheeky, but that damn blood rises to my cheeks. Vincent’s hand hovers at the door like there is an invisible force field there. He wants to touch me; a part of me wants him to. Damon is suddenly behind me, putting his arm around my waist, drawing me to him as if marking me as his property. I don’t like that. I pull away, walking through the door and brushing past Vincent.
