by Juliet Lyons
Twigs scrape my face and hands as I elbow my way through the bushes. When I finally break free, I run as fast as I can across the damp, spongy grass. My heart is pumping so loudly it blocks all other sound. With each stride, I expect to feel the weight of the stranger’s arms closing around me, dragging me down, but they don’t. Somehow, I make it to the opposite side.
The iron fence seems higher from the inside. In the yellow light of a streetlamp, I glance around me, desperately looking for something to stand on.
I luck out. Someone has dumped an empty plastic drum into one of the flower beds. I put one foot on it, and before I slide off, manage to kick my legs high into the air and over onto the street. My coattails catch on a spike as I leap, and for one awful second, I’m trapped. But then a shrill ripping noise cuts through the night as the material tears, and I’m free and stumbling across the street toward home. I dash straight up the steps to the main house, where my elderly landlady lives.
“Vera!” I scream, throwing myself at the solid, black door and hammering with all my might. I pray she isn’t having one of her deaf moments.
I keep pounding until a light goes on in the parlor window. But it’s too late. A hand closes over my shoulder.
Chapter 5
Silver
I freeze in terror. What a waste of Dad’s money those self-defense classes turned out to be.
“Silver, it’s just me,” a lilting Irish voice says at my ear, the hand dropping from my shoulder.
I turn around to find myself nose to nose with my vampire from New Year’s Eve, his bright-green eyes piercing mine.
I’m struck by several conflicting emotions all at once—anger, relief, and in a tiny measure, happiness. Anger wins out. On impulse, I slap him hard across the face, pointing with a white, clenched hand to the garden I’ve just sprinted across.
“I thought I was about to be murdered, asshole,” I hiss through my teeth. “I ripped my coat. My heels are ruined. All because you thought it might be fun to follow me home.”
He smirks, nonplussed, sliding his hands into the deep pockets of his navy peacoat. “I wasn’t following you,” he says, eyes twinkling.
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were just walking me home again. Except this time from fifty yards behind and without me knowing.”
Before he has a chance to reply, the front door flies open and my landlady, Vera, emerges in a long, silky, oriental dressing gown. She is wigless for once, a Pucci scarf twisted into a makeshift turban covering her head. In her right hand, she holds a meat cleaver.
“Step away, you rapist bastard!” she yells, holding the large knife shakily aloft.
I glare at the vampire, expecting him to either throw his hands in the air or take a step backward. Instead, his brows knit together and his mouth drops open. “Etta Marlow?” he asks, staring at her as if she just walked on water.
The meat cleaver lowers a fraction. “What’s it to you?” Vera demands, her voice losing some of its previous menace.
I roll my eyes. Of course he remembers her. He’s probably seen all her films.
“It is you!” he erupts, wagging a finger in her direction. “You’re Etta Marlow! You played Susie De Sousa in Girl Uptown with Gregor Lane. I love that movie.”
The meat cleaver drops to her side, forgotten, as she pats her turban, eyelashes fluttering. “Fancy you recognizing me,” she mutters happily.
“Excuse me, Vera,” I interject, “but there’s still a potential rapist on your doorstep here.”
Vera looks back to the vampire, who shakes his head, smiling. “A misunderstanding, Etta. I was making sure Silver here made it home safely. She got the wrong end of the stick.”
Vera, or Etta as she was once known, glances over at me. “Do you know this charming fellow, dear?”
I scowl at them both. “Well, yes, but—”
“Well then, you must come in, dear boy. I could show you my Oscar, if you like?”
The vampire looks as if he’s about to pee himself with excitement. “You mean the one you got for Days Like These with Vic Stevens?”
She holds out a thin hand toward him, gold bangles jangling on her wrist. “The very one, dear. Come, come in.”
I watch, stunned, as he takes her hand, green eyes lit up in excitement.
Before stepping through the door, he hangs back. “Ms. Marlow, I’m afraid it’s only courteous to let you know before I enter that I’m not human. I’m a vampire.”
Vera’s tinkly laugh echoes around the street like a bicycle bell. “Oh, you’re so sweet. Didn’t you know I’ve met dozens of vampires? They’re two a penny in Hollywood, darling.”
Following her across the threshold, he flashes me the cockiest of grins. “Coming, Silver?”
My jaw drops in disgust. I’m tempted to sulk off to my basement flat, but instead, I trail after them and slam the door.
We follow Vera along an elegant, gold-and-cream hallway into her immaculate, monochrome front room. Even though I’ve been here on numerous occasions, I’m always mesmerized by the sheer extravagance of the place—buttery, white leather sofas, cream fur rugs, one wall is painted black and white to resemble piano keys. It should look tacky, but somehow, it works.
“You two make yourselves at home while I go and make myself presentable,” Vera says. “Then I’ll dig out that old Oscar of mine.”
I know, of course, the Oscar will not have to be dug out of anywhere. It’s always on display in the den, alongside her film stills and other memorabilia.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she croons to the vampire before she leaves.
He puts a hand on his chest. “Forgive me. I should have introduced myself. Between the meat cleaver threat and getting slapped by Silver here, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I’m Logan. Logan Byrne.”
For strange and unfathomable reasons, my stomach flips. Logan. It suits him.
“Charming,” Vera says. “Don’t you go anywhere, Mr. Byrne.”
As soon as Vera disappears from the room, Logan collapses into one of the white leather armchairs and puts his crossed feet onto the cut-glass coffee table.
I’m still standing, one brow arched, arms folded across my chest. “So, Logan,” I hiss, “what the hell is this?”
He grins, dimples putting in their first appearance of the night as he gazes up at me. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re particularly beautiful when you’re angry?”
“Oh, cut the crap,” I say, ignoring the hot flush climbing my neck. “Why did you follow me?”
“Like I told Etta, I wanted to make sure you got home safely, that’s all. Though I’m a little confused as to why you have three houses.” He holds up fingers to count. “The one I left you at on New Year’s, the one Nathaniel dropped you at, and now this—cohabiting with an aged 1940s screen siren.”
“It’s none of your business,” I say, chin in the air. “And anyway, how do you know Nathaniel?”
He shrugs. “I know most of the vampires in London.”
I harrumph. “I bet you do.”
In the blink of an eye, he is towering over me, face inches from mine. I inhale his clean, masculine scent like a drowning person coming up for air, and as he leans closer, I find myself gravitating toward him—a flower reaching for sunlight.
He pulls the collar of my coat aside and peers into the gap. As his fingers brush my jaw, an uncontrollable shiver zings through me. I disguise it by stepping out of reach and batting his hand away.
“He did a messy job on your neck,” he says in a low voice.
“What’s it to you?” I snap.
Before I realize what’s happening, he closes the gap between us. One hand cupping my cheek, he bends over, lips brushing the place Nathaniel bit me, tongue gently swiping the puncture holes.
“That should stop the bleeding,” he
says, pulling away. “But you’ll still have a bruise in the morning.”
I rub my neck and look at my fingers. No blood. “So you can heal wounds? Just another of your unique skills along with beating up drunk men and following young women home for kicks?”
He sinks back into the armchair. “You’re a sexy girl, Silver. I’m glad we’ve met again.”
I snort incredulously, trying, without success, to forget the warmth of his hand on my face. “Well, you certainly made sure we did.”
“And of course,” he continues, pretending to examine a photo on the coffee table, “I’m hugely flattered I’ve managed to turn your head toward my kind.”
“You didn’t turn anything,” I say tartly.
He cocks a brow, gaze burning through my clothes like a laser. I feel a sharp twitch between my legs, as though he’s controlling my private areas by some invisible string. “Are you sure about that?”
Vera appears in the doorway, carrying a silver-trimmed tray. There are three flutes of champagne balanced precariously on top and, alongside them, her gold Oscar statue. Logan is out of his seat in an instant, taking the tray from her and putting it on the coffee table.
Though still wearing her robe, Vera has managed to pull on a dark, bobbed wig, a string of pearls gathered at her withered neck. “So kind, darling,” she purrs.
Logan takes it upon himself to hand out the glasses, winking as he hands me mine.
“To new friendships,” he says, holding his drink aloft and waggling his brows.
I raise my own, meeting his eye with a sneer. “And to those poor, sad weirdos who roam the streets of London, desperate for company.”
Vera looks between us in confusion before tossing back the yellow bubbles into her puckered mouth.
“You know who you remind me of?” she says to Logan, swirling her empty champagne flute in his direction. “Laurence Olivier.” Before he can respond, she dips the glass toward me. “Don’t you think Silver here is the spitting image of Vivien Leigh around the eyes? She has her spirit too, but don’t let that fool you, dear; she’s an utter softie at heart.”
“Vera,” I mutter. “He doesn’t care.”
“I do care,” Logan says, staring me down. “Tell me more, Etta.”
Vera eases herself onto a black chaise longue, arranging her robe over her legs. In spite of her age, there is a timeless elegance about her. She sits back regally, like Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile. “Silver is a lifesaver, my dear. My two sons live abroad. What can I say? I wish I had daughters. They have me rent out the basement for their own peace of mind, so they have someone here to keep an eye on me.”
“You can be quite a handful, Vera,” I say, smirking.
She flicks her hand dismissively. “Oh, you have to be when you get to my age. It’s either that or fade into the background. I like to mix things up a fair bit.” Staring into the bottom of her empty glass, she giggles. “Remember your first week living here, Silver? The police made that big fuss over me accidentally forgetting to pay for a jar of olives in Harrods. They arrived at the door to arrest me. Can you imagine? Silver gave this marvelous little speech about how London is one of the biggest murder capitals of the world and there they were, arresting a ninety-year-old over a jar of glorified pickles—wonderful girl.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Logan says.
I make a barf action by pretending to put two fingers down my throat. “Oh, please.”
Our eyes lock, and in spite of my irritation, a vicious shiver of want zigzags up my spine. He really is something.
By the time I manage to drag my gaze back to Vera, I notice her head is tipped back, her mouth is open, and she’s fast asleep.
“Looks like your time with Hollywood royalty is up, fanboy,” I say.
He looks across at the chaise longue. “She was a real beauty in her day, you know? It wasn’t all makeup and tricks like it is nowadays. She was the real deal.”
I follow his stare to Vera’s sleeping face. “I’ve seen most of her films. She has me up here all the time.”
“It’s good of you, Silver, to spend time with her like that.” His voice sounds different; some of its cockiness has faded away.
I shrug. “There’s no kindness to it. She’s a hoot. Besides, I don’t have too many female friends.”
“I wonder why that could be,” he murmurs.
A silence descends while we both watch the sleeping Vera. After a bit, I get up and pull a throw from the back of a chair, draping it across her fragile, birdlike frame. Turning back to Logan, I say, “Tell me why you were following me.”
His green eyes flick to mine. “I told you why. I was seeing you home safely. Dating vampires—it isn’t for you, Silver.”
If it’s one thing I particularly hate, it’s people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. I lift my chin. “What business is it of yours?”
All of a sudden, I’m in his arms and bent over backward, as if we’ve just finished dancing the tango. I try to straighten up but am powerless. I realize with both joy and horror just how strong he is.
He lowers his mouth to mine, our lips nearly but not quite touching. “You know, if it’s vampires you want to date, I’m available.”
Heart thudding in my chest, I swallow loudly. I can tell by the smug glint in his eye he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.
I narrow my eyes in defiance. “No thanks. You’re not my type.”
He laughs, low and throaty, tightening his grip around my waist, and I mold into him like liquid metal. “I was your type a few weeks ago,” he says, brushing the tip of his nose over my cheek and shooting a throb of desire straight to my groin. “Don’t you remember how badly you wanted me? I could taste the arousal in your blood.”
As if to prove a point, he places a soft kiss in the hollow below my ear, and with it, the last of my resolve melts away. I twist my head, lunging for his lips, but a second before they collide, he lets go, depositing me onto a sofa.
“Maybe we should pick this up when you’re not still reeking of Nathaniel,” he says, a devious smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Get out,” I hiss, getting to my feet. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Yes, you do,” he says, hooking thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re just afraid of not being in control. Face it, Silver, you want me so bad it scares you.”
“Ha!” I say, stalking past him and into the hallway. “You’re the one who showed up tonight, remember? Personally, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not I see you again. That’s why I led you to the wrong house New Year’s Eve.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Because. I. Don’t. Care.”
He follows me into the hall. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” I say, snatching open the front door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go home, and I’m not leaving you alone with a vulnerable old lady. Who knows what you might do.”
In a blur, he whips past and stands at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the gatepost, one foot on the brick, just like that first night. “If it’s all the same with you, I’ll see you in safely,” he says, watching as I shut the door and flounce down to the street.
He catches my arm as I stomp past, the warmth of his hand burning through my sleeve, as if touching bare skin. “Silver,” he says, turning me around. “Stop.”
Although I don’t usually take orders from anyone, I freeze, my gaze irresistibly drawn to his pulsating, green eyes. They look larger outside, lit up by the silvery light of the moon, and as I stare into them, the pupils dilate like a cat’s in darkness. A hazy feeling creeps over me. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“Silver,” he says softly, his grip on my arm tightening.
I wait for him to speak, though I have no idea what it is I’m waiting for him to say, but there is only silence.
A frown line appears between his dark eyebrows and he drops my arm, looking over my shoulder into the distance. “Good night, Silver.”
The fog in my brain clears and I’m annoyed at him again for dropping me on the sofa. I tut my tongue loudly, cutting him a scathing look before hurrying down the steep flight of steps to my flat. At the bottom, as I rummage in my bag for the key, I glance up to the street, half expecting him to be standing there, looking down at me. But the street is empty. I shove my key into the lock and let myself in, slamming the door as hard as I can behind me, hoping, wherever he is, that he heard it.
* * *
Logan
I hear the slam of the door from two streets away and smile, thinking how sexy she looks angry—those huge, gray eyes flashing like knives beneath dark, slanted brows, rosy lips twisted up tighter than a bud in spring. I wanted nothing more than to crush my lips to hers, take that sweet tongue in my mouth, and spend all night exploring every delicate fold of her soft, delicious body. I thought my bloodlust was long dead, but now I’m not so sure—I would suck on her like a Popsicle if she’d let me.
Only Nathaniel’s scent prevented me from losing control altogether. Despite having lived a long life, the sharp sting of jealousy is a new sensation. Like I told Paulo the other night, I’m not in the habit of giving my heart away, not used to desiring someone so intensely that the idea of them in another person’s arms makes me want to lash out like some wild animal.
Smelling another man on her, a vampire, took my inner gentleman to some dark, locked-up place. I took a violent, sadistic delight in having her at my mercy and then ditching her on the sofa. Though now, of course, I’m left wanting her more than ever.
I shudder and look up, realizing I’m already outside my apartment in Marylebone. A freight train chugs past on the railway opposite, its wheels squealing along the tracks, slicing into my thoughts like nails on a chalkboard.
