“First first what?”
“Were you ever someone else’s first bite?”
“No, other than Elizabeth.” It’s the first time he’s mentioned her since I’ve been a vampire. His voice doesn’t catch on her name like it did years ago, and there’s no change in his pulse or body temperature. Lori has turned his life around.
I hold up a hand to swear. “I promise I’ll be gentler than Elizabeth was her first time.”
“You better be, or Shane’ll have to stake you.”
“You think he’d choose you over me?”
“It’s his responsibility as an Enforcement agent. Besides, I sign his paychecks.”
“Duty and money versus love and sex. He won’t have to think about it very hard.”
“Hopefully it’ll be a moot point.”
“Especially if my fangs don’t pop.” I fumble in my mouth, feeling my gums for any sign. “Itsch like dey ran aray up in by head.”
“Here. Try this.” He takes my hand in his own warm, warm, holy-crap-so-warm one, then places it on his chest. “Feel that?”
I close my eyes and let my fingers curl, relaxed, their tips resting on his shirt. His heartbeat pounds straight through my palm, leaving a hot glow in the middle. “Uh-huh.”
“That’s for you tonight.”
My elbow twitches in reflex to pull away, but he doesn’t loosen his grip.
“Not metaphorically,” he adds. “I’m not giving you my heart like in a song. That heart belongs to Lori. I mean, it beats for you literally. To save your body and hopefully your mind as well.”
Tears sting my eyes before they squeeze out through my lashes. David reaches up with his other hand to wipe one away.
“I don’t deserve you guys,” I whisper.
“Bullshit.” He pulls me close, resting my head against his shoulder, my nose to his neck. “Just listen to the music. Breathe me in. It always seemed to help Shane.”
The first breath comes as a shallow sob, but I press my lips together and focus on inhaling only through my nose. His scent fills my head, clean and crisp like a forest after a hard rain, with a hint of citrus underneath. I let it bathe my brain.
I close my eyes and lose myself in this tiny universe. Another hypnotic song starts, one I’ve heard on the indie rock station. The man’s flat, smoky voice curls around my brain, and the female harmony adds a comforting sweetness.
Oddly, lying here in David’s arms, I feel closer to Shane than ever. Like I’m holding his place. Like I’m him. It makes me feel like a vampire, since that’s all I’ve ever known him as. My fiancé has always had fangs, walked in the moonlight, and drunk the life force of humans to survive and thrive.
And now, so do I.
I lift my hand from David’s chest and move it to his face, cupping his chin, then the edge of his jaw, imagining his skin flushing red from my superheated touch. My fingers trace the fine hairs of his eyebrows, then travel down his nose.
David tilts his chin to bring his open mouth to my palm. I gasp at the heat of his breath on my skin. He’s so warm on the inside. I want to get there. Now.
Just like that, the fangs are out. I call Shane’s name.
He finds us like this, my head on David’s shoulder. I’m afraid to stop breathing the warm human scent for even a moment, in case I lose my nerve (and fangs).
“Ready?”
I sit up slowly. “Let’s do this.”
Shane situates me where I need to be, and quickly my tongue locates David’s vein beneath his skin. My fangs ache.
“Remember,” Shane says, “a human’s skin is thinner than mine, so don’t chomp on him the way you do me.” He pulls my hair from my face, back over my shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, slide your fangs into the vein, slow and smooth, and when the blood comes, pull out, again slow and smooth.”
I find the spot, close my eyes, and bite. My fangs break through. My mouth fills with liquid heat, like that of a jelly doughnut fresh from the oven.
David’s breath doesn’t catch—he must have made sure it wouldn’t, must’ve known any change would startle me. He could be screaming for all I know or care. My ears and mind are full of sound, ocean waves and erupting volcanoes.
Shane was right: there is something different here, a vibration in my fangs that goes out to all corners of my body and back. This blood will be different.
“Pull out, Ciara,” Shane whispers. “Nice and slow. Perfect.” He strokes my hair. “You’re perfect.”
When my fangs withdraw, David draws in a long breath and lets out a contented sigh. I guess I did okay.
“Drink like you would from a water fountain,” Shane says. “Don’t suck.”
I resist the urge to flash him an annoyed glance. I’ve been told that only a hundred and forty times.
As the blood flows into me, I let out a moan of surprise. It is different. More potent. My muscles are singing, urging me to run, leap, chase, pounce.
Bite. Bite again.
I tense all over. Shane pulls me away from David’s skin, slowly. “You feel that?”
I meet his eyes and swallow. “Scary.”
“Scary like a roller coaster? Not like an axe murderer.”
“I’ve never been chased by an axe murderer, but—”
“No. I mean, do you feel like you are one.”
I meet David’s eyes. They hold no fear. My muscles relax a fraction, and my fangs retract.
Shane lets go of me. “Keep going. Carefully.”
I lie between the two men and drink the slow, steady flow from David’s arm. Shane strokes my back and murmurs quiet encouragement. When I take a break, he leans forward for his own quick taste. David stares at the ceiling with the donor’s usual blissed-out expression—eyes soft, mouth half open, tongue stroking the back of his lower front teeth, side to side. I wonder why they all do that.
After fifteen glorious minutes, I lie back in Shane’s arms. With my bloodlust sated, the other sort of lust pounds at my skin, wanting my clothes to melt off, replaced by hands against me.
Time for our guest to leave.
Shane looks into my eyes, which are probably dilated with desire. “David, let me get you cleaned up.” He vaults over us onto the floor and, in one step, crosses to the desk where a roll of bandages and a box of wipes sit next to the remnants of David’s energy drink.
I close my eyes and revel in this unbelievable buzz coursing through me. I don’t dare move for fear of having a monumental orgasm on the spot.
“Ciara, I’ll see you at the office.” David’s hand comes close to my arm. The warmth of his skin radiates against mine, and he jerks back without touching me.
“Thanks. Really. Thanks.” I can barely control my breath. “Sorry I’m not walking you out.”
“I’ll do it.” Shane’s voice is low and husky. “And then I’ll be back.”
The moment the door closes, I’m on my feet, peeling off my jeans. They’re like a skin too tight, and they stand between me and the thing I want most.
I kick them off, along with my underwear. They fly onto the desk, where they hit—
David’s energy drink.
A quick knock, then a creak of hinges. David says, “Ciara, I think I left my—”
With a yelp, I toss the bottle at the door and dive behind the desk. Luckily, the bottle is plastic, so it doesn’t shatter when it hits him in the face.
“Ow!”
“Sorry. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. It sounds like he’s holding his nose.
This time when he retreats, I slip under the covers before taking off my camisole and bra. The pillows and bedspread still smell like David. Not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
Shane opens the door a crack. “Are you gonna throw something at me, too?”
“Just myself.”
He swings the door wide. “Under the covers? Are we on a soap opera?”
“Huh?”
“On soap operas, they always show people in bed with the sheets pulled up
to their armpits like that. At least, they used to.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, slowly enough to drive me mad.
“They can’t show people naked on network television.”
“When I was growing up, my mom used to watch soaps—she called them ‘her stories’—and for years I thought people only had sex in bed, not on the bed. It didn’t occur to me how sheets could get tangled in legs.” He sweeps the covers off me, like a magician pulling aside a curtain to reveal a marvel within. “That’s better.”
I flex my toes, then curl them as his jeans fall to the floor. “Soaps are misleading in a lot of ways. People are always coming back from the dead. Oh, wait, never mind.”
Shane hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer shorts, tugs them down to the rise of his hip bones, then stops. “How do you feel?”
I spread my legs, reaching one foot to nudge his thigh. “You tell me.”
He lets out a gasp, then runs his fingers along the arch of my foot, making me squirm. “You’re so warm.”
“Hot, even.” I slide my foot out of his hand and up under the leg of his boxers. He groans at the touch of my toes, then closes his eyes for one long, savoring moment.
In the next, he’s naked in my arms, kissing me hard. He tastes like David, tastes like I do. I know he needs to repossess me, cover the smell of another man, even a donor, on my body and in my mouth. I’ll gladly let him.
He slips a hand down my side, caressing and clutching, then between my thighs. I press it close, already on the edge. With barely a touch, I’m soaring and spinning to the first of what feels like a hundred peaks.
My fangs are out again, and I reach forward to nip at his neck. He seizes in my arms, a growl rumbling in his throat beneath my lips. “Yes . . .”
I didn’t need his affirmation, but I respond by sinking my fangs deep into his flesh. Shane cries out, louder, and with his blood flowing into me, moves between my legs. I arch my hips to meet his, the fullness ready to burst all over again.
For hours, we fuck joyously, recklessly, with no calculated movements or artful acts, just two bodies needing to consume each other. We caress, we suck, we come, we start again.
We live.
Near dawn, we’re still making love, our limbs limp and languid. Shane is examining my face, maybe for signs of regret. “So you liked biting, then?”
“I loved it. Thank you.” I run my hands down his back and over his hips. “I love being a vampire with you. I want to be as good at it as you are.”
“It’s like anything else.” He lowers his head to kiss me. “Practice.”
David’s blood is still lighting me up from within, and every touch of Shane’s hands or brush of his lips feels like a sunrise.
There’s only one thing missing from this night, an absence I feel—we both feel, undoubtedly—every night. Maybe now that I’ve taken a big step toward being a real vampire, I can take the final one.
I arch my neck. “Bite me.”
“You sure?” he murmurs, but his hesitation is belied by his sudden twitch inside me. He wants this.
“Positive.” My blood is sparking at the thought of it. “It’s perfect timing. I’m totally relaxed and kinda numb.”
He presses his mouth to my neck, and I feel his tongue search for the heat of my vein. I squirm and moan beneath him, though I know I should hold still.
He slides his hand behind my head, gripping the back of my neck. My eyes fly open as I plummet into my worst memory.
My lips form the “W—” of the word “Wait.” Shane’s fangs break my skin.
“No!” I shove against his chest hard and fast. Shane flies across the room, slamming his back against the door. He slumps to the floor with an agonized grunt.
“Oh my God!” I sit up, brain spinning from adrenaline. “Are you okay?”
Shane lowers his head into his hands, his legs twisted under him. “Yeah . . .” The word is full of wince.
“I’m so sorry.” I get out of bed and kneel beside him. “I can’t believe I threw you across the room.”
“I can’t believe I bit you.”
“I told you to.”
“I should’ve known you weren’t ready.”
“I was ready. I mean, I thought I was.” I sit on the floor and curl my arms around my knees. “Will I ever be normal?”
“Your fear of being bitten is normal, or at least understandable, after what you’ve been through.”
“But I was afraid before Jim bit me. He just made it worse.” My breath comes faster. “I’ve never been normal.”
“Shh. Come here.” He takes me gently into his arms and leans back against the door. “We’ll figure it all out, I promise.”
The happy haze in my brain is long gone, and all I can feel is the fear. I don’t want to fade. I don’t want to die. Whatever it takes, I will be just like the rest of them.
The kitchen phone rings. Shane sighs. “Who the hell’s calling this time of night?”
“Can we ignore it?”
“It’s the landline, so it’s probably one of the other DJs.” He opens the door and hurries for the phone. I make my way to the bathroom to wash up. I may be a vampire, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy being covered in blood—my own or someone else’s—any more than humans enjoy being covered in food. Which is to say, I enjoy it a little, under the right circumstances.
“Deirdre, slow down.”
Outside the bathroom, I stop. “What’s her drama now?” I would eavesdrop, but I really need that shower.
Afterward, I leave the steaming bathroom, tucking the end of my towel under my armpit. Sitting at the kitchen table, Shane looks up at me, eyes full of dread.
“We’ve got problems.”
14
He’s in Town
Typically, Shane’s statement turns out to be an understatement.
“All of Jim’s progeny?” I ask him after he’s started to explain. “Out for our heads?”
He points his pen at the legal pad in front of him. “Deirdre says that eight out of Jim’s nineteen remaining progeny are here in the United States, not including her. The other ten are in England, though they’re being encouraged to come help avenge Jim’s death. But these days—”
“Wait. Back up. How do they know we killed him? We didn’t tell anyone but the people at the station and the Control.” I stomp a bare foot against the linoleum floor. “Shit, it could be anyone.” Why did I tell Adrian? I barely know him. What if in his grief he told two friends, and they told two friends, and—
“It could be anyone, but it isn’t.” Shane grips his pen so hard, the plastic cracks. “Deirdre told them.”
“Why? How did they find her?”
“Apparently Jim told them he’d go to her place for sanctuary when he escaped. They were getting ready to go meet him there when he died. It took them a few days to recover from the pain.”
“Then they came after her.”
“First they accused her of staking him, and they threatened to kill her, then her son.”
I sit down hard. “Oh my God. No wonder she ratted us out.” I look at his notepad. “So how many and who are they?”
“Deirdre said six out of the eight came to her house. She didn’t get all their names, but there’s a Billy and a Bonnie. They seemed to be the top henchmen.”
“Henchpeople, since one’s a girl.”
“Sorry.” He covers his pained expression at my correction by rubbing his jaw stubble. “And of course there’s their leader, who is Jim’s firstborn, so to speak—
“—Kashmir,” we say in unison.
“You know him?”
“Regina and Noah told me all about him. Hang on.” I slide back my chair, making it squeak on the tile, then dash for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Making sure this is locked.”
Dexter follows, concerned by my urgency. Both dead bolts are turned, as well as the lock on the doorknob. Spencer once tested it to see if he could break in. He couldn
’t, so we figured the younger, weaker Jim would be unable to as well.
Now we have bigger problems than one vampire. Eight times bigger, to be exact.
“As I was saying,” Shane continues, “there aren’t many safe, affordable passenger ships across the Atlantic, so Deirdre doesn’t think the rest of Jim’s progeny will join up in time.”
“In time for what?” I pat Dexter’s head in an attempt to soothe him. Unconvinced, he adheres to my leg as I walk back to the kitchen.
“Thanksgiving. The ultimate vampire holiday. To Jim, T-Day was practically a religious occasion.”
By tradition, modern American vampires get together with their fellow undead on Thanksgiving (or T-Day as they call it, though no one will tell me what T stands for—it’s not “turkey” or “Thanksgiving”—and I’m starting to wonder if they even know). On T-Day, each vampire brings his or her favorite donor to the feast. A grand meal is had, with all the best human food. Then afterward, instead of eating pumpkin pie, the donors become the dessert. Whipped cream is optional.
Jim’s progeny probably mean to attack us when we’re understaffed. On T-Day, usually only one person is at the station, whichever DJ is on the air. The humans are with their families, and the vampires are with their donors.
“Deirdre says they plan to take a DJ hostage to draw the rest of us back to the station, at which point they kill us all.”
The last three words strike me so hard, I sink back into the kitchen chair, tugging up my towel. “Maybe they set the Halloween bomb at the Smoking Pig. The FBI told us they had no solid leads yet.”
“They might have set it. At least this time we’ll have more than a few minutes’ warning.”
“Assuming Deirdre’s telling the truth.”
He holds up the notepad. “She gave me details about all Jim’s progeny that she knows. See if they match what’s in those boxes under Jim’s room.”
“The best way to lie is to sprinkle in a liberal dose of truth. She might think when her details on these vampires check out, we’ll be more likely to believe the part about when and where they’re attacking.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Because if she double-crosses us, we end up dead. If she double-crosses Kashmir, her kid ends up dead. Easy choice.”
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