Vampire Bites: A Vampire Romance Anthology

by Lori Devoti

  “He has property on Sicily, too?”

  “Na’ anymore. He sold it! Can you na’ continue this when we’re airborne?”

  “So…you just give them free access? To everything?”

  “They’ll find naught. Hold tight now.”

  She ignored the command. As another thing she wasn’t thinking over. “Why don’t you stay and at least give an appearance of fighting?”

  “His Grace does na’ believe in violence.”

  Jolie snorted the amusement and wiped at her nose, squinted and then shaded her vision as Evan crouched, preparatory to going beneath the blades, while still toting her. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She wasn’t watching. And she wasn’t holding tight. She was barely keeping from hysteria. The sun’s rays on her felt like she’d been out too long under an Alaskan Midnight Sun. Without sun-block. And if she got sunburned and then peeled, she was taking it out on Thoran MacKettryck’s thick hide. Just as she would making her fly in a little craft resembling an insect. And the ignominy of doing it while wearing a Victorian ball gown. Complete with silken stockings gartered into place and really stupid looking shoes. Without even her fanny pack.

  Oh. The man was paying.

  Chapter Seven

  The assignment went perfectly. Although Paris Socialite Patrice Burbenois’ blood contained more nicotine and vodka than Thoran wanted, leaving him buzzed and light-headed. Her drug-addicted daughter, who’d paid for the hit, hadn’t much sense left. A slight hint of what he’d do had sent the silly girl leaping from their eighteenth story flat, landing right at his feet. That had been messy.

  The assignment had still gone to plan. But he was still uneasy. Edgy. Thoran watched midnight black through his window, since no reflection marred the view and worried over the anxious feeling.

  He’d been crazed last night. All night. Filling his needs and assuaging his hungers and satisfying lusts he’d thought lost to him. All without much mention of what she meant to him. Forever. He should’ve told her. He should have left her with the knowledge that she’d given him more than he’d ever dreamt, envisioned, or dared hope. More than he could describe. That without her in his world, this endless existence meant nothing. Less than nothing! And now that he’d found her, he was completely at her mercy. Ever.

  Barnes walked into the cabin from the front, where he was supposed to be co-piloting. Approached Thoran to sit in a facing chair. Fidgeting.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s been an incident, Your Grace.”

  Full scale awareness came to life within him, over-riding the intoxicated feeling from feasting on Ms. Burbenois. Thoran stilled. Fanned his powers. Brought Jolie into focus. Frightened and yet miffed. Thoran stiffened, instantly taut and then he relaxed. She was safe. But still he itched to hold her close, make her one with him again. Fully.

  “The Campbell Clan has overtaken Castle Kettryck.”

  “Show them every courtesy. The lass?”

  Barnes had a shadow of a smile. It was instantly gone. “She’s with MacGruder and Mister Chen. Na’ by choice, I understand.”

  Thoran grunted.

  “They suggest the palazzo in Venice, Your Grace.”

  “Are they there?”

  “Just landed.”

  “Verra good. Give the order.”

  Barnes left him. Thoran settled back into the seat, closed his eyes and reminisced.

  o0o

  So, without asking, and just like that, Jolie got installed in a palatial room in one of the mansions lining the Grand Canal in Venice. There were gondoliers plying their boats up and down the waterway, strains of singing and music filling the air, tourist peopling every bit of ground worth walking on, and waves of sunshine glinted everywhere. That explained why she was holed up in this amazing bedroom behind sunshades the second Duke had installed throughout the palazzo. Of course he had. Since he’d been Thoran, and probably new at this immortality thing, he’d probably been as sun sensitive as he’d made her. Or something. Jolie sat on the edge of the bed, with her feet dangling in mid-air and looked at white plaster walls formed into fleur de lis patterned niches and alcoves. Gold trimmed every sharp edge, and it was probably real gold. The effect was breathtaking. Artistic. Unbelievable. Even the fireplace was a work of art, carved in white marble with a screen of gilt-work fronting the unlit fire pit.

  If this was the life of the undead, it wasn’t living up to all the hype. It was boring. Lonely. There wasn’t anyone to talk to that understood. Nobody. Jolie had always been a clock watcher. If this was her eternity, watching the clock and waiting for time to pass, she’d just as soon be really dead. She sighed, and pitched a slipper across the polished floor where it slid until it collided with the first one, sending that one right under the drapes.

  “Score!”

  The slight jubilation felt flat. Unexciting. Dull. Thoran had been conspicuously absent all day. Through her exploration of this palazzo, all four floors of it since the lowest one was submerged and closed off; through the long, drawn-out affair that was sup…including a steak she’d sent back four times before accepting one so bloody raw, the maid serving her had shuddered. Still His Grace was absent. Sentencing her to this. He had no right to turn her into this, and when she saw him…

  “You’re na’ turned yet, love.”

  Without a hint of warning Thoran was there, standing in the arched nave shadowing the door, taking her breath and her senses and making it difficult to find words. He was attired in his usual Highland kilt thing and looked perfectly at home in all this Baroque elegance. Jolie cleared her throat.

  “Then why is everything so…weird?”

  “You’ve been given a taste. Should you wish, that will be all. You’ll hover like this. A-tween two worlds.”

  “That sounds pleasant.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost. He smirked slightly.

  “‘Tis said to be the best of both.”

  “An eternity of this? Oh…please.”

  “Half-turned is na’ immortal. It lasts at most…a century. Fades slowly with time. Most hunters are in this state. It makes them extremely dangerous.”

  “Why me, Thoran? Huh? You could’ve had any woman. You’ve had centuries to pick one, and yet, no. Not you. You have to pick me. Why?”

  He shrugged, moving all that muscle under that plaid kilt, ruffled shirt, black jacket. Reminding her fully of everything under there. Jolie had to look aside or her tongue wasn’t going to work at all. She gazed at the shaded window to his left.

  “I was told you might come into my world. I prepared for it. Wondered over it. Pleaded for it. And then it happened. You’re here. I doona’ ken why, but I doona’ fight it. I embrace it.”

  “Just stop right there.”

  He didn’t obey like Lee Chen had. Thoran was at the bedside, right in front of her, moving his glance for the slightest bit to the mass of mattress behind her. And then back to her.

  “We’re talking here, Thoran. Right now. You and me. You’re not touching me until we have an understanding. You ken?” She used the Scot term as if it was normal.

  He folded his arms, looked down at her for eons of time, and finally nodded. Jolie licked at her lips, catching his glance to the motion. It made him tremble before he stilled, narrowed his eyes, and then shuttered any sign of emotion.

  “I’ll start. What…do you want of me? Exactly.”

  “You’re my mate. I need you. I’ve na’ had a woman in nigh four hundred years. Until last night. And now given a taste, I want more. Legions more. Endless amounts more.”

  “You want sex? Is that it?”

  He set his jaw and glared at her, sending glints of silver through slit lashes. “I doona’ speak lightly of last eve. It was an amazement I’ve never known, or if I did I’d forgotten.”

  “You should’ve just stopped at the ‘never known’ part.”

  His lips tipped into a slight smile. “The love act that you call sex is na’ what I want, A Chroi. I want so much more. I want you. I need you. With me. A
t my side. Forever.”

  “Forever?”

  He sighed hugely, moving all that mass, and damn her, if her eyes didn’t widen just a bit at the view.

  “I was told of you. If I was truly lucky and the fates charitable, I was told you’d come. My mate. My other half. So I prepared. For centuries I’ve stocked all my homes with clothing of the highest fashion of the period. Just for you.”

  “Well…that explains this ridiculous dress.” Jolie picked up one of the top layers of ruffle on her skirt. The ruffles sat just below the waist that pinched and made it hard to breathe because she wasn’t wearing the whalebone corset with it. She absolutely refused.

  “You look beautiful,” he replied.

  “I’m not even wearing those pontoon things that are needed to hold this skirt out on both sides. I’ve never seen such a waste of material. When did you purchase this closet-full? During the Revolutionary War?”

  “Late eighteenth century, I believe.”

  “Exactly. And it looks it.”

  “But it does fit you, does na’ it? Perfectly?”

  Score one for the vampire. Jolie shut her lips together, stretching them over what felt like out-sized canines.

  “It won’t work, Thoran. I don’t believe in vampires. And I have a step-family. I call them sometimes. On my cell phone. They call me, too. And—and…I like the daylight. I don’t like blood…at least I never used to. And I’m really not fond of murdering for my meals.”

  “There’s ways around all of that. You can feed from me. Exactly as you did last night…all night.”

  Jolie shivered. It wasn’t from the thought of blood. It was the memory of last night and the reaction he was raising in her skin from just being near. It wasn’t fair! She swallowed in order to make her voice work. “Well then…you have to factor in that we just met. I don’t even know you. We could have incompatibility issues. Monetary troubles.”

  “Monetary?”

  “I like to shop.”

  “I have enough for spendthrift notions,” he replied.

  “But can you make the malls stay open all night?”

  “I’ll buy them. Whatever you want, I’ll gain it for you. I love you, Lass! Does that mean naught?”

  Jolie tipped her head. “There’s no such thing as love at first sight.”

  “Just as there’s no such thing as vampires?” He asked.

  Score two for MacKettryck. Jolie lowered her chin slightly in order to look up at him through her lashes.

  “Real compatibility takes years to develop. I’ve seen the ads. Searched the sites. Real love takes time.”

  “We’ll have time. Trust me.”

  “I don’t know…Thoran. I really feel for you. I do. I’m all tossed up inside. I don’t like the feeling. And I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Sounds like what I suffer. But unlike you, I doona’ fight it.”

  “I mean…I have a family. I may be an orphan, but I have an aunt. Two uncles. What will they say about this?”

  “They’ll mourn, Chroi. And then they’ll get through the grief of your death. As all mortals do.”

  “I have to die, too? This just keeps getting better and better.”

  He tipped a look at her, branding through her skin and right to her heart. She didn’t realize that stupid vacillating muscle could twist like it was. It still didn’t mean a thing. Love didn’t exist except in literary stories. It couldn’t exist…and surely not with an undead thing.

  “I’ll arrange a plane crash. Quick.”

  “They all know I hate flying.”

  He blinked. “Motor car accident, then. You pick the vehicle. I’ll have it set up.”

  “I can’t believe I’m considering this. I can’t.”

  “I love you. And you love me. ‘Tis fated.”

  “Why can’t I just visit them occasionally? Pop in from my worldly travels?”

  “Ah.” He put a finger up. “You dinna’ deny it.”

  “What?”

  “Loving me.”

  “Come on, Thoran. Give me a break. I’m trying to talk here, and you keep muddying the water.”

  “Jolie. Lass. I love you. I need you. I’ve waited for you. I doona’ wish to wait another moment. You do love me…doona’ you?”

  There it was again. He just wouldn’t let it go. What she’d been fighting and worrying over and ignoring. And it wasn’t even a fact.

  “You’ve frightened me, man-handled me, forced me to wear horrid clothing, imprisoned me.”

  “I do na’ sound a good catch with such attributes.”

  “Actually, you’re perfect. Everything I dreamt about in a man, if I’d known what to dream of…if you were, you know, normal.”

  “I canna’ change what I am. All I can do is promise to love you, for eternity and beyond. I promise. It will na’ be so different. And I’ll be there to show you the way.”

  “What if I don’t want to be shown?”

  “It’s na’ an easy thing to learn this by yourself, Chroi. Trust this.”

  “I haven’t decided, Thoran. I have to think. With all the time you’ve had, surely you can grant me a little of it?”

  “What can I say? What should I do?”

  “Move away from me and give me breathing space. While I can still breathe with live lungs and think with a living brain. That would be a good start.”

  He stiffened. “Did last night mean…naught to you?”

  The catch in his voice stung, pained, and then started a ripple effect right to her eyes, blurring him with tear wash.

  “It was…amazing, Thoran. Truly.”

  His smile was blinding. As was the slightest sheen of moisture atop his eyes. “I could have turned you last night. You ken?”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I wanted you to have the choice.”

  “What will you do if I exercise it now…and say no?”

  He tensed and stood taller somehow, pulling his head back slightly as if to withstand a blow. Jolie’s heart palpitated at the sight, before assuming a staccato rhythm.

  “Is that your choice?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper and he looked aside, blinking rapidly. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was fighting tears. But that was ridiculous. Undead things couldn’t possibly feel, could they?

  Of course not, Jolie. They’re dead.

  “Would you let me go?” she asked.

  “I doona’ ken.”

  “Then why ask it? Why not just force me?”

  “Because I love you! And that changes everything!”

  “You really…love me?”

  His chest was moving with a force that matched hers. “Of course I do! ‘Tis the last thing I expected and the worst thing imaginable. ‘Tis also the best.”

  “Thoran…I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ve my word I’ll do naught to hurt you. Ever. If you doona’ want me, I’d abide your wish. But I canna’ say I’d succeed.” His voice broke and lowered to a deep throb of sound. “You’d need something to stay me from you. A crucifix about your neck perhaps. Worn without ceasing until mortality takes you. You’d need it at all times to hold me away. You doona’ ken how it is. Knowing you’re in the world and yet unable to have you would be worse than this living death. And then watching you age and die? When I could stay it? Lass, you doona’ ken how it would be. I’d be cursed to eternity without you. It would be more than I can imagine. Worse than it has been already.”

  There was silence after he finished. It pulsated in waves she could sense enough to see. He’d moved back from her to the edge of the drapery, pushed it aside until he reached heavy glazed glass, and then he just stood there, sideways to her. He didn’t look to be breathing.

  Stupid Jolie. He’s dead. He doesn’t need to breathe.

  Her heart hurt. Her head hurt. Everything hurt. If this was love, it wasn’t nice. And it certainly wasn’t the bliss those Medieval poets promised.

  “When were you turned, Thoran?” It
wasn’t loud, but he heard it.

  “The year was 1615. April 12th. At dusk.”

  “How?”

  He didn’t answer at first. His fists were in knots at his side and every bit of him looked taut and prepared. He was riveting, stunning, wholly fascinating, and made every bit of every cell yearn for him. He started talking, giving the words to the window, without inflection. While the shaded sunlight put perfect features in profile for her.

  “I was in battle. ‘Twas a senseless one, but they all are. We fought a rival clan over a bit of reaving. I was fain crazed, using my claymore in one hand, an ax in the other. I was na’ losing. I took every enemy. I was invincible. Deadly. Hollering each victory as the man fell. And then I took a head blow. I recall seeing the field beneath my nose before I met it…and then I knew naught. When I woke, I was angry. Enraged.”

  “Who turned you?”

  “Angus Campbell.”

  “Why?”

  “He was feeding and went too far.”

  “What is too far?”

  “Draining the blood until the heart stops.”

  “That’s it? That’s all it takes?”

  Thoran shook his head. “Nae. Vampire blood has to be received as well. It must be taken during the death throes. Exactly then.”

  “So…you drank his blood. Right?”

  Thoran slit a glance to her. “I woke a-fore he finished. I dinna’ ken what was happening. I already told you of my anger. I dinna’ go easily. I fought.”

  “You fought…a vampire?”

  “Aye. I fought. But at the first slice of my dirk and the first taste of fluid…I was lost. I craved what only he could give. I went insane with it. Mad. Raving. And after changing me he laughed! The entire time I raged at him, cleaving and killing him…and re-killing him, he laughed. Taunting me. Tormenting. Until I gave up trying to exact revenge. And then he left me. Alone. To fend for myself.”

  “You seem to have done very well.”

  He was still looking out the window. “Mortals see what they want to see.”

  “Yes,” Jolie answered softly. “We do.”