by Carter, Mina
She lifted her head and located the leader of the little thug gang. She looked him straight in the eye and tried to find something human in there. Something decent. It was a struggle but there was a flicker. Maybe? She carried on, hoping there was something she could reach.
“Please,” she said, “he doesn’t have anything to do with this. You can let him go; you don’t have to kill him. He can walk away and you never need to see him again.”
Jaron froze as he listened to Grace pleading. Grace. Begging for his life. His life, not her own. Time slowed, shrank to this one moment for Jaron as his guilt overwhelmed him. He could stop this, save her, but fear crawled up his spine and held him immobile.
Regardless of what happened, he would survive this. Unless they dragged him out into the sun or chopped his head off they couldn’t do anything that wouldn’t heal and he wasn’t planning on making it that easy for them. He was in no danger but she was begging for his life.
He felt a sharp crack in the middle of his chest. His heart, an organ he’d thought long dead, broke in two. He had no choice and he knew it. Either way he looked at it, he lost Grace. If he did nothing, his secret was safe. She died, but he’d live—a long, dismal life without the other half of his soul. But if he saved them, if he revealed what he was, she’d run from him in fear.
But she’d live.
He sighed as he looked up, his decision made. He would die, of course. Oh, not at the hands of these thugs but the instant Grace looked at him with terror in her eyes his life would be over. He would seek the dawn at the next sunrise.
“Forgive me,” he whispered and stood.
Grace frowned at his words, not quite sure why he was apologising. This wasn’t his fault, unless she’d slipped into some weird alternate reality and he was in league with Fayte. But if he was, then he wasn’t likely to be tied up. So why did he need her forgiveness?
She should be asking his forgiveness for dragging him into this situation with her insane cousin. Fayte had to be insane; no normal person would try to kill a member of their family…twice. Laughter, totally inappropriate laughter, started to bubble over from Grace’s lips, the hot prickle of tears behind it.
Grace tried to struggle to her feet. The gang of men had pulled their weapons—guns, knives, sticks—and Jaron was tied, unarmed. They’d kill him. “Jaron, no.”
He looked over his shoulder, his ice blue eyes sad. Sorrow, fear and longing all mixed into one. But not for himself. For her. Grace bit her lip, her tears welling over and silently flowing down her cheeks. He was going to die protecting her and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said again and turned back to the gang closing in on them, bloodlust shining in their eyes.
Then everything went freaky.
She watched in stunned silence as Jaron ripped the ropes from his wrists. The tattered remains dropped to his feet, shredded. Grace’s mouth dropped open at the casual display of strength. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, and his pale wrists were unmarked from even the slightest rope burn. How had he done that? Impossible.
“What the—?”
Any thought he’d been working on his bonds with a hidden nail file or something was blown out of the water as he rounded on the gang with a feral snarl. He dropped to a defensive crouch, keeping himself between Grace and the thugs.
Grace gasped, her eyes widening. The sound, the way he moved…like something out of a film. One of those sci-fi or horror films with special effects. He moved, sidling to the side as one of them tried to creep around to get to her. He glided, as if he were boneless.
Grace brought her bound hands to her throat. No human moved that way. No human could move that way. She watched as he launched himself at his attackers. Shrieks of terror echoed around the huge room but there was no escape from the whirlwind Jaron had become. He ducked and wove between the thugs, avoiding their weapons with ease. His low laughter underscored their shrieks, a symphony of death, as though he was mocking them. And he was. As Grace watched, he reached out negligently, catching one of the thugs, the big one who had threatened her.
Easily, as though he were dealing with a recalcitrant child, he pulled the man into his arms, whirling him to face Grace. For a split second, Jaron looked directly into her face, into her eyes. His face creased in pain for a moment before it smoothed out. The beautiful and blank face of a dark angel again. Grace sucked in her breath, knowing somehow that what happened next would change her life forever.
He didn’t look at her again, seemed to not want to look at her, his gaze fixed to a spot just above her right shoulder. Then he leaned down, his eyes closing as his hands tightened on the man struggling in his grip. One hand clamped across his forehead as Jaron pulled his head back, exposing the line of his throat.
Jaron bared his teeth.
Bared his…fangs?
“Ohmigod!” Grace had seen enough vampire films to know what she was looking at. The impossible. Vampires didn’t…couldn’t exist. Even as she thought it, things started to click into place. His absences during the day. He wasn’t dedicated to his work; he’d been avoiding the damn sun.
Jaron bit down. His teeth sliced through the skin of his victim’s throat like a knife through hot butter. The guy jerked and twitched as Grace watched in stunned silence. Jaron didn’t open his eyes as he drank. She could almost hear the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed.
A moment later, Jaron released the man and the corpse slid to the floor, like a puppet with its strings cut. Jaron looked up at her, flinching as he almost met her eyes, as though he was afraid to look at her. He looked away at the last minute. Then he was moving again and the rest of their captors didn’t stand a chance.
Grace looked away from the carnage. She curled into a ball against the wall, as Jaron tore through their abductors. Literally. Strangled screams of pain were followed by wet splashes and dull thuds as bodies hit the floor. She tried to keep her gaze averted, tried to make sense of what was happening around her.
Blood sprayed up the wall next to her, a hot, wet, vivid scarlet spray. It slid down onto the floor next to her in heavy drops. Drip…drip…drip. Like a leaky faucet. The tap in her bathroom had dripped like that until Jaron had called someone in to fix it. Fayte had never bothered. Grace snorted; well she wouldn’t have, would she, if she was planning to kill Grace anyway? Grimly she clung to that thought, ignoring the fact that not ten feet away her lover was tearing people apart with his bare hands.
Was she going to be next?
Silence fell over the warehouse. Only two sets of breathing. Hers and Jaron’s. His wasn’t even labored; she suspected he didn’t need to breathe, that he was only breathing as part of his human disguise.
“People tend to notice if I don’t.”
Grace flinched as he spoke, his voice far closer than she expected. His feet came into her field of vision, expensive Italian leather shoes. A speck of blood marred his toe. Grace couldn’t help but stare at it. He’d ruined his shoes; that stain would never come out.
“You ruined your shoes.”
“What?” His voice held confusion as he squatted beside her, his knees coming into view now. Grace felt rather than heard him move. He extended his hand toward her and she flinched, expecting him to grab her at any moment, sink his teeth into her neck and kill her.
“Grace, please, I wouldn’t do that.” His voice was agonised, as though he could see the image in her head. Startled, Grace looked up, directly into his blazing blue eyes. “You can read my mind.” Not a question, but a statement. Another realisation as things made more sense now.
Jaron nodded, his hand falling away. “Just the surface thoughts; I don’t go any deeper.”
“God, no wonder you were so perfect. You knew exactly what I wanted because you could see it in my mind.” Grace slammed her head back against the wall, irritation and embarrassment surging through her. No wonder he’d been able to seduce her so easily, been able to get around her normal reserve. S
he’d wondered at that. Wondered what it was about him that allowed him to judge her responses and know when to push and when to back off. He’d been reading her damn mind.
The little part of her mind that was prone to hysteria yammered that there was a vampire crouched not three feet away but she ignored it. If Jaron wanted to kill her, there wasn’t anything she could do to stop him.
“Please, Gracie, look at me. Despite what you’re thinking, I’m not going to hurt you. I-I love you.”
Jaron had lived centuries but he’d never been this frightened. He sat, crouched in front of the woman he loved—the human woman he loved—who’d just found out he was a blood sucking fiend from beyond the grave.
She wouldn’t look at him as he untied her and her flinch cut him to the bone. If he’d been capable of bleeding, he’d have bled out onto the floor there and then. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Believe me; I didn’t want it to end like this.”
He risked a glance back at her to find her looking at him, her green eyes confused. “What did you just say?”
“I said I didn’t want it to end this way.” He rose to his feet, not bothering to conceal the fluid grace in his movements anymore. A small smile touched his lips. She’d have made a wonderful vampire, so beautiful and elegant. Pain raked through his chest, like someone had dumped a bucket of hot coals onto his dead skin. It hurt to even look at her.
He turned to go. Dawn would be here soon; he’d just go and wait for it. That way he wouldn’t have to move once the sorrow that yawned like a chasm in his chest claimed him. He started to walk away, his footsteps measured. Dead man walking. He finally knew how that felt.
“Jaron, stop. I didn’t mean that part.”
There was a scuffling behind him but he didn’t turn around, just stopped and turned his head to indicate he was listening.
“What did you say before that?”
“What? That I love you? Pathetic, isn’t it? The hunter in love with his prey. You can scream now; I won’t hold it against you.”
“Why would I scream?”
Her small hand touched his shoulder, surprising him. He hadn’t heard her move. With his blood in her, she was vampire silent. “If you’d wanted to kill me, wanted to drink my blood, you’ve had plenty of opportunity before now. But you haven’t. I figure I’m probably safe.”
Jaron laughed, the harsh sound reverberating around the empty space. “Oh sweetheart, you’re far from safe with me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shook his head.
“Why today? Why today of all days are you being so damn stubborn?” he asked, every line of his body rigid with tension. All he wanted to do was haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless, claim her as his own. Bury his fangs in the soft skin of her neck and wash away the taste of the thugs blood with the sweet ambrosia he knew flowed through her veins. Hold her close to him as she drank directly from him, not from a vial.
“Coward,” she taunted softly. “Face me and tell me you’ll hurt me. Look me in the eye before you bite me.”
Jaron’s control snapped. A low growl rumbled in his throat as he rounded on her. His hand lashed out and caught in her hair, wrapping the flame red curls around his hand as he dragged her flush against his hard body. He yanked her head back, his lips hovering over the creamy flesh of her throat as he crouched over her.
“And now, Gracie?” he asked, grinding his pelvis against hers. He was already rock hard, just the thought of sinking fang had him rigid. Ready to fuck her. Fuck and suck, the preferred method of lovemaking for a vampire. “Sure I won’t hurt you now?”
Her hands were on his shoulders but to Jaron’s surprise they weren’t pushing him away. Instead she was…stroking him? She ran her palms over the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders as if she couldn’t get enough of him. She couldn’t look at him, not with the way he had her hair wrapped in his fist, the way he held her body rigid. Her back was as taut as a bow between his hands. It wouldn’t take much to snap her spine; human bones were so fragile.
He released the pressure on her hair bit by bit, keeping his hand in the silken curls but easing up so she could look at him. Her eyes were dark as they met his, her hands still soft and relaxed on his chest.
She smiled a soft, mysterious and feminine smile that did things to Jaron on a primal level. Woman, the eternal mystery. She was in his clutches, a vampire she’d just seen ripping five men apart and she was smiling?
“I’m sure. You won’t hurt me, you won’t bite me. You’re just a big teddy bear.”
Jaron bared his fangs and snarled a little but it was all bluff. She was scared; he could see that, sense that. But behind it all was the unshakeable belief that he wouldn’t hurt her. She trusted him. Humbled, he closed his mouth and his fangs receded to little more than points. The urge to bite her, just a little nip, a tiny taste, still remained, but he was in control.
“Me big scary vampire, of course I want to bite you,” he told her, sliding his hand around and lightly tickling along her ribcage. Ticklish as all hell, Grace squirmed against him and giggled.
It broke the mood, as he’d intended, so he stopped and gathered her to him. His eyes were serious as he sought hers.
“Grace, I want very much to bite you. I want to lay you down and make love to you; I want to feel you tight around me as I slide my fangs into your throat. I want to feel you come as I drink from you. Then I want you to ride me, and do the same to me. Drink from me. ” He drew in a shuddering breath at the thought. “I want you to drink from me, not a vial anymore.”
Grace’s breath caught, surprise evident on her face. “The herbs. They weren’t herbs at all, were they? Am I a vampire? Bride of Frankenstein or something?”
Jaron chuckled, but desire clouded Grace’s eyes as she lifted her hand and smoothed a gentle finger over his lip. He caught it as she pushed the lip back to get a look at his fangs, curiosity and wonder on her face.
“Careful, just one cut is enough.” He warned her. “No, you’re not a vampire yet. You’ve taken my blood, which is the first part of the conversion. For you to be fully turned I have to take yours.” Another shudder racked his body, his cock pulsing in the confines of his pants.
“You want to.” Grace guessed the truth. Everything had taken on a somewhat surreal quality. She stood here in a vampire’s arms, blood marring the walls around them and they were calmly discussing how much he wanted her to drink his blood. Shouldn’t that be the other way around, him bending her over and muttering ‘I vant to suck your blood’?
Jaron bit his lip, the sharp fang pushing down on the full flesh. He looked down at her with a combination of need and longing, the fine tremble in his body evidence of his iron control.
“Yeah, I want to. I want you, Grace, forever.”
She nodded slowly, realising she had the real power here.
“Always,” he murmured, obviously picking thoughts out of her head again.
“Oi you, stop that.” She slapped him on the arm, giving him a look of mock fury. She knew what she wanted, the yammering in the back of her head silent under the force of her will.
He grinned. “What’s it worth?”
“Pevert. You have a one track mind. Or is it two tracks for a vampire. Sex and blood?”
He pulled her closer, his hand gently running up the length of her spine. “With you, both. Blood exchange is part of lovemaking for us.”
Grace nodded. She looked deeply into his eyes so he could read and see her decision. “Then do it; bite me, Dracula.” she said, tilting her head to the side and baring her neck.
“Grace, you don’t know what you’re saying. If I do this, you’ll become like me—a creature of the night. You’ll be giving up everything. Your dancing. Everything.”
“I can still dance. We’ll find a way, Jaron. I want to be with you. Always. Please. Do it.”
Jaron shuddered and closed his eyes as she offered him everything he’d ever wanted. All the arguments about why he
shouldn’t swirled in his brain and disappeared under one startling truth. She knew he was a vampire and she wasn’t bothered. There was no fear in her eyes…apprehension, yes, but not fear. And she didn’t look at him as though he was a monster.
As he smiled, the wounds Julia had left on his soul disappeared. He leaned down and licked her neck. A quick brush of his tongue against her silken skin over the pulsing vein. He pulled back with regret and looked around. “Not here, though, you deserve better.”
He bent down and the next second she was in his arms, cradled against his chest as he strode from the place of carnage and death. “I’m going to take you home. Then make you mine. Forever.”
***
The park was dark, some of the lamps that usually lit the path out for some reason. Probably vandals, Fayte thought to herself, gathering her coat closer around her slender frame. She’d grown skinnier over the course of the last few months. Since she’d tried and failed to kill her famous cousin for a second time. Since she’d been forced to go into hiding.
Bloody Grace. How had she done it again? That woman had more lives than a fucking cat. And those thugs she’d hired. Bloody useless.
In the darkness, Fayte narrowed her eyes as hate consumed her again. She’d manage it, one day. She just had to get herself settled again, make some money, and then she’d try again. She’d try harder next time, plan better. Get better people for the job.
“Hello, Fayte.”
Fayte whirled at the voice. A low, sultry, vaguely familiar voice. There was no one behind her. She shook her head. Must be hearing things, or maybe it had been the wind in the trees. Then a figure stepped from the shadows. No, a figure formed out of the shadows.
“What the f—?” She back-pedalled, her eyes wide, not sure she was seeing what she was seeing.
The woman stepped into the light, illuminating her familiar features. She smiled, but her teeth were wrong. Too sharp at the corners. “Time to pay for your sins, Fayte...”
Fayte screamed. It was the last sound she ever made.
