Truly, Madly...Deadly (a vampire romance) (Night Fall Book 2)

by Delilah Devlin

  Emmy snickered. “So, you’re up at last? Should you be out of bed?”

  Something was up. Darcy frowned at her attempt to change the subject. “What’s going on here?”

  “We were just discussing the merits of organ meat,” Dylan said, then quickly pressed his lips together.

  Emmy jammed him in the belly with her elbow and smiled brightly. “And Quentin’s odd cravings.”

  “Emmy!” Quentin’s narrowed gaze looked just plain mean.

  “I think we’d better leave these two alone, darling.” Dylan grabbed Emmy’s elbow and herded her out of the kitchen.

  “Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” Quentin asked—too quickly.

  I’m tired of everyone changing the subject and talking in riddles. Darcy crossed her arms over her chest. “Everyone has been treating me with kid gloves.”

  “You were injured, love. Everyone’s been worried about you. Even Captain Springer and the team make it a point to stop in every day.”

  “And they talk in whispers when they think I’m sleeping.”

  “Right. I suppose you’ve been wondering about that.” Quentin straightened away from the counter.

  Darcy’s breath hitched. This was the first time she’d stood next to him since being shot, and she’d forgotten how tall he was. Even unconsciously, he was able to distract her. “Mmmm-hmm. I’m all better. What haven’t you told me?”

  “I don’t want you to be angry. We felt it was for the best.”

  Darcy drummed her fingers on her arm.

  “We didn’t want to impede your recovery.”

  Impatient for him to get to the point, she blurted, “Out with it.”

  “Alright,” he said, blowing out his breath. “But first, let’s go sit. You’re looking a little flushed.”

  She let him lead her into the empty living room and settle her on the sofa, fussing unnecessarily with the pillows until he was satisfied of her comfort. He’d been this way all week—ever since she’d been released from the hospital. Solicitous. Kind. Distant.

  “Have you changed your mind?” she whispered, not seeing any need to draw out this conversation. The suspense was already killing her.

  He squatted on his haunches in front of her. “Changed my mind?”

  “About turning me.”

  His gaze slipped from hers.

  Darcy felt her heart squeeze tightly. “I suppose you’re eager to leave now,” she said, although the words seemed to stick in her throat—behind the lump that threatened to choke her.

  “Leave?”

  “With the investigation over, I thought you’d be itching to get back to Seattle.”

  “It rather depends,” he said quietly.

  She knew her heart was in her eyes, but she couldn’t help the hope she knew was reflected in her expression. Her emotions were too raw to conceal. “What does it depend on?”

  “On you.”

  She swallowed. “You don’t want to turn me, do you?”

  “Not now.”

  “Because it’s dangerous?”

  “Because doing so wouldn’t be right.”

  Shaking her head to clear her confusion, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “Love, you’re going to have a baby.” His expression was stark, his jaw tight.

  “What?” Of all the reasons, that would have been last on her list. Pregnant? How—“Oh.” Joe. Oh, God. “Everyone knows?”

  “Yes, love.”

  “But the hospital—”

  “Captain Springer told them I was your fiancé. I asked them to let me tell you.”

  “My mother?”

  He nodded.

  “But, we’ve spoken on the phone every day.” My own mother kept a secret like that?

  “She thinks the child is mine. She’d have been on the first plane here if she hadn’t caught the flu.”

  Darcy inhaled a ragged breath. “Joe?”

  “He hasn’t called in. And I thought you’d want to be the one to tell him.” Quentin reached to pull away the pillow she clutched between nerveless fingers, and then closed his large hands around hers, warming them. “You don’t have to make any decisions now. You have a lot to think about. And there are some things I want to tell you.”

  Her eyes pooled with tears, but she nodded. Will you tell me it’s over? That you can’t love a woman with a child? Because I won’t give it up.

  “I never told you how it was I came to be…what I am.” He squeezed her hands, and his gaze held hers. “I was a spoiled, reckless young man. I left England in search of adventure, because I suffered from boredom. I’d never experienced a grand passion for anything.” He lifted his shoulders and shrugged sheepishly. “Except sex, that is.”

  A little smile curved her mouth. This she could well imagine. He was describing the Quentin she’d first met.

  “I never loved anything or anyone. I was a younger son, with no formal responsibilities, so my family was only too glad when I headed to the Caribbean.” He smiled crookedly. “My behavior was causing a bit of a scandal, you see.

  “Anyway, in the Caymans I met a dark, honey-skinned woman. Her appetite matched mine, and she taught me things—wicked, sexy things that bound me to her. I craved what she meted out. Even believed I was falling in love with her.”

  Darcy knew where this was headed. “She was a vampire.”

  “Yes. We spent weeks in her cottage next to the beach, and I never once questioned her aversion to the sunlight or odd cravings for raw flesh. For a time, her brand of sexual sorcery enslaved me. I pleased her, and she gave me the one ‘reward’ that was in her power to give.”

  “Eternal life,” Darcy whispered, fighting the burning in her eyes.

  “Yes. Only, once I’d changed, I recognized her dark seduction for what it was, and she ceased to hold power over me. And I was damned to walk the Earth at night—forever seeking relief from my never-ending boredom.”

  Tears finally slipped down her face. “And now?”

  “I tried to tie you to me in the exact same way that witch did to me. With my own brand of dark seduction.”

  “Because you were bored and you could?” She had to know what was really in his heart, however much it hurt.

  “Because I love you, and I don’t ever want to let you go.”

  Darcy closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. When she opened them, she stiffened and his worried expression prompted her to ask, “What do you fear?”

  “That one day you’ll wake up and discover I’ve bound you with desire.”

  Darcy nearly snorted. She was all right with that. But he was serious. “Would that be so bad?”

  “It is if there isn’t true love in your heart, as well,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

  Darcy pulled her hands from under his and reached to cradle his face between her palms, her heart bursting. “I love you, Quentin. For however long I live, I will always love you.”

  Quentin’s eyes squeezed shut. “And I will love you for all my life.”

  Darcy’s heart raced, and her hands smoothed over his broad shoulders. “Love me, Quentin.”

  “I do,” he breathed.

  “No, love me. Now.”

  His eyes popped open. “I see. Your shoulder?”

  “Aches like the devil, but I have a deeper ache somewhere else.”

  “I think I have just the cure,” he purred.

  “Hurry.”

  Quentin stood, swept her into his arms, and strode to their bedroom. There, he laid her on her pink-flowered sheets and swiftly, gently, removed her clothing, and then tore his own from his body.

  Darcy grinned. “A little anxious, are we?”

  “We have suffered an entire week of purgatory, madam.”

  “Poor baby. Is that why you slept on your side of the bed?”

  He stalked toward the bed, his expression intent, his gaze locked on her open, welcoming cunt. “I was afraid I’d hurt you if I so much as touched your soft skin. I’ve been going mad.” />
  “Come to me,” she said, opening her arms.

  He stretched his body over hers, braced on his arms, careful not to jostle her shoulder. “My need is fierce. I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want gentle. I want you to fuck me, Quentin,” Darcy moaned.

  “Oh love, invite me into your solace.” He nudged her portal with the smooth, broad head of his cock.

  Darcy’s pussy glazed the tip with her creamy invitation.

  He entered her with a single, endless glide, and then held himself still.

  Releasing a sigh, Darcy closed her arms and legs around him and held him tight. “No one will ever fill my body, or my heart, like you do.” She circled her hips on his cock, screwing them both to distraction.

  “Christ, you’re not making this any easier.” He moved then, flexing his hips to drive into her, surging, pushing her up the bed with each hard stroke.

  All her love poured from her body, bathing his cock with welcome.

  Quentin groaned and leaned down to take her lips in a searing kiss, eating her mouth. “I won’t ever let you go. You’re mine.” His hips moved faster, and his thrusts grew sharper. His face tightened, but didn’t transform.

  Even in the throes of passion, he protected her.

  “Please, please. Harder. Oh, come deeper!” Darcy clawed his back, pumping her hips against his, seeking the sweet release his body promised.

  Quentin reared back on his haunches, hooked his arms beneath her knees and drove deep, pounding relentlessly into her, lifting her hips from the bed with his powerful thrusts.

  “Yes!” she cried out, and writhed beneath him, her channel convulsing around his shaft.

  Quentin shouted and his hot, liquid release poured into her.

  As the last spasms of her orgasm milked him, Darcy reached for him again. “Hold me.”

  Easing downward, he covered her, once again holding his weight above her on his elbows. He rested his forehead on hers while he gasped for breath.

  Darcy soothed him with her hands, caressing his moist, sweaty back. “Will it always be like this for us?”

  “Always. I promise.”

  “Even when I grow older?”

  He lifted his head and searched her gaze. “I’ll love you when you’re old and wrinkled and frail. And I’ll always think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever held.”

  Darcy sighed and settled her hands in the small of his back. “I have a child to rear. School and PTA meetings. I’ll need to be with him during the day until he’s old enough not to need me.”

  “Do you think my love is so shallow that I won’t wait?”

  “I’ll grow older. My body will change.” She wrinkled her nose, trying to inject a little levity into the most important conversation they would ever have. “My boobs will droop. People will wonder what a handsome thing like you is doing with a soccer mom.”

  Quentin’s hand caressed her breast tenderly. “These little gems will remain perky into your dotage, madam.”

  Her heart twisted, and her throat dried. She had to tell him. “I may choose never to turn. What if I want to grow old and be a grandmother?”

  Quentin’s eyes misted. “I’ll hold you every night and love you gently until the day you die, and then I’ll watch over our child and her children. I won’t ever stop loving you, Darcy.”

  Tears streaked down the side of her face, and she sobbed, clutching at his shoulders. When the storm passed, she sniffed and gave little laugh. “Look at us, blubbering like babies.”

  He smiled tenderly and smoothed the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips.

  “You know, I have the oddest craving for Cookies N’ Cream.”

  Quentin closed his eyes, a look of intense euphoria on his face. “Yes, with liver chasers.”

  Darcy’s face stretched into a grin. “Was that what you were hiding in the kitchen? Sympathy cravings?”

  His frown didn’t dim her mirth. “It’s not funny. I’m afraid what other indignities the next nine months will hold.”

  Darcy laughed. “I can see you in the delivery room. We’ll need two beds.”

  His wide-eyed expression held horror. “Do you think so? Bugger me!”

  She grew serious again. “What about Joe?” she asked. “Can you share our child with him?”

  “I’m resigned that he’ll be a part of our lives, if he wants it. But I will not share a wife.”

  Wife? Blood pounded in her ears. Afraid she might start crying again, she said, “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “No. I’m telling you what will be.”

  Warmth suffused her cheeks. “I like it when you get all mastery.”

  His eyebrow rose.

  The smirk she loved tipped the corners of his mouth.

  “Oh, I can give you mastery, love. Shall I show you?” He loomed over her.

  Her palm against his shoulder, she held him back. “One more question first.”

  He waited, his expression alert.

  “Will our son be born in Vero, or in Seattle?”

  The smirk deepened. “Seeing as we both work for the SU, I think that question is already answered.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You and Captain Springer have been doing a lot of talking while I was out.”

  “We’re like this,” he said, crossing his fingers. “Besides, did I ever tell you how much I detest the cold?”

  “Some team members won’t be very happy about a vampire joining the team permanently.”

  “Three vampires, love. And Max will just have to get over it.”

  “Three?” Her thoughts went to the new arrivals.

  “Emmy’s determined to be a doting aunt. And Dylan and I have a mind to institute a governing council of vampires to help keep the peace.”

  “So, I’m marrying a politician?”

  “You’re marrying a Master. Think you can handle it?”

  Her hand crept around his cock. “I already am.”

  About Delilah Devlin

  Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred forty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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  From Knight in Transition, Night Fall series, Book 3

  The small sign in the café window read: Welcome Vampires and Sanguinarians! (No blood products provided—none permitted on premises! The Management).

  Joe Garcia snorted. Every human in the place was a walking, breathing blood product—a portable soda fountain for the Fanged Ones.

  He pushed through the glass door and tried to dampen the hope that rose in his chest, causing his heart to beat faster and his hands to sweat. Thus far, he’d met only disappointment in his long search. This might be just another dead end—the last one he could afford before his cash ran out and his credit card was maxed.

  Professor Carlson was his last hope.

  Inside the cafe, enticing aromas assailed him. The smell of roasted coffee beans, which had been his life’s blood in another existence, was overlaid with the tangy scent of the real thing—the warm, viscous red stuff. The latter reminded him he hadn’t fed this evening, and hunger gnawed at his belly, making him edgy and irritable.

  And something else enticed him. Something dark and sensual perfumed by a female musk with a tincture so unique it immediately sent a curl of heat to his groin.

  He walked past the c
offee bar without acknowledging the barrista’s greeting and wound his way through the tables, ignoring the human appetizers. His gaze was fixed on a menu board at the entrance of a roped-off area in the back that read, “Vampire Survey Here”. An arrow pointed down to a table laden with a stack of pamphlets.

  He brushed past the table, searching the back of the restaurant for his quarry.

  “Sir, are you here ’bout da survey Professor Carlson is conductin’?”

  Joe turned toward the voice flavored with a deep Louisianan accent. A pleasant-faced girl with black corkscrew curls all around her head sat at a table near the cordoned entrance.

  He bit back the rude retort that immediately came to mind and answered, “Yes. I need to speak with her.”

  “Well, you’ll have to complete a screenin’ survey first,” she said pleasantly but firmly, holding up a stapled document.

  Joe sighed and accepted the papers. What the hell? Five more minutes wouldn’t kill him.

  “Do you have a pencil?” she asked. When he shook his head, she gave him a superior smile and extended a short, sharpened pencil.

  Joe didn’t like her attitude one bit, so he reached for her hand, running his fingers over her palm before taking it.

  Her smile slipped and Joe could well imagine her thoughts. Another vampire wannabe was hitting on her. He smiled and let her see his teeth.

  Her eyes narrowed and a single brow rose. She wasn’t impressed.

  That actually gave Joe hope he was in the right place after all. His sharp fangs hadn’t fazed her.

  “You can take a seat with the other guy,” she said, indicating the first booth along the back wall.

  Joe walked over and slid across the vinyl seat opposite a young man dressed in black leather and sporting no less than five facial piercings. The piercings glittered like tinsel in the dim light, and Joe wondered how the kid could stand leather in May—New Orleans was already sweltering, even at night.

  Turning over the top page of his survey, Joe quickly scanned the questions. He hoped like hell they were only meant to screen out the weirdoes and pretenders. Otherwise, he was screwed.