She felt Leo throughout her body, she felt him completely, in an intense rush of pleasure that usually only came to her when she took blood. If she could have both…oh, if she could have both….
With that thought Abby came, the orgasm washing over her with unexpected ferocity. She cried out, she shook, and unable to control herself she lowered her mouth to Leo’s throat. A kiss, a lick, and then, as he found his own release, she extended her fangs and bit down.
Blood poured over her tongue, and she tasted not only that warm, nourishing blood, but the power of Leo’s pleasure. They were joined entirely, in mind and body, by blood and by lust. He pounded into her and she sucked at his throat, drawing his life into her, tasting all that he was. The world he lived in was filled with colors and beauty and life. She felt that life, she smelled and tasted it.
Leo took a couple of unsteady steps and rested her body and his against the back wall of her bar. He gasped; he panted; he did not release her as she continued to feed. One more sip, one last gulp. And then one more.
Abby felt the weakness that washed over him and she jerked her head away, removing her fangs from his delicious throat. She leaned in for a lick that would cause the wound to heal quickly, but she couldn’t allow herself more than that. What had she done? Instead of enjoying a taste she’d latched on and taken nearly twice as much as she should’ve. If she’d had less control she might’ve drained him while he was still inside her.
His breath came hard, he shook a little, but he held her. This was what he’d dreamed of, she knew. He’d fantasized about just such an encounter, but she wondered if he’d ever expected they would end up here, like this. She certainly had not. Tempted to distraction by a human. How awkward.
Abby knew what she had to do. For Leo, this encounter could not have happened. She would remember him for a very long time, perhaps forever, but he had to forget it all. It was easy enough. All she had to do was look into Leo’s eyes and push at his mind, and he’d forget. The conversation, the kiss, the sex…the fact that she’d drunk from his throat…the fact that he wanted her at all…all gone.
“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice husky. “I always knew you’d be amazing, I knew it from the first time I saw you. Now that I have you I’m not going to let you go. Take me home with you.”
“No.”
“Then come back to my place. It’s pretty much a shithole, but…”
“I can’t.”
“I want you again,” he said, his voice all but growling.
And she wanted him, much more than she should. She’d tried to turn his mind away from such thoughts, but perhaps that was impossible while they were still joined and shaking. An incredible thought crossed her mind. Could she keep him for a while? Could she make Leo a lover? Feed from him gently, take the pleasure he offered her, be not alone? With a human? Romantic bonds among vampires were not unknown, though they were fairly rare. Sexual partnerships were much more common, but they did not normally last more than a hundred years or so. And here she was actually considering forming such a bond with a mortal man?
What a terrible idea. In a completely illogical way she wanted Leo to forever remember what had happened here tonight, she wanted him to remember her, but if he did then he’d show up night after night, and she would not be able to resist him. At this rate she’d end up killing him within a month.
“Put me down,” she said.
He did, reluctantly, and when she stood before him she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. She stared well past the eyes, into the heart and soul and mind of him. Without words she commanded him to go home, to take a shower and wash the scent of her off of his skin. She ordered him to go to bed and forget what had happened. Reluctantly, more reluctantly than she liked, she commanded him to forget the way he wanted her.
This man was too tempting for her to keep, even for a little while; he was the kind of man who could ruin the orderly life she’d made for herself.
Leo pulled into the driveway of his rented house, foggy-brained and exhausted. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard before turning the key and shutting down the engine. Where the hell had the night gone?
He stumbled a bit on his way to the dark front porch, but quickly regained his footing. Should’ve left a light on, he supposed. Hell, he was exhausted, and the days to come weren’t going to be any better. He was determined to catch the man who’d killed Marisa Blackwell. No one should have to die that way. He was far from perfect, as his ex-wife had been so fond of reminding him, but he did his job well. Maybe he occasionally forgot a birthday or brought the job home with him, but he was who he was, and he couldn’t always leave that at the door. Catching bad guys and locking them away was his calling. Once he got his teeth into a case he didn’t let go. With that thought he instinctively raised a hand to his throat.
Inside the house he dropped the case file on a table in the hallway and headed for the bathroom, craving a hot shower as if it would wash the stink of the day off of him. He stripped unconsciously, bathed quickly and stepped out to dry himself off. His mind went to Abby Brown, as it too often did, and he realized that there was no reason for him to be so obsessed with her. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested, so he’d move on. The world was filled with women and Abby Brown wasn’t any more special than any other. He might as well just give up where she was concerned.
He crawled into bed and closed his eyes, and right before he drifted off his mind took a sharp turn. Abby Brown was special. She was the kind of woman who was worth fighting for. And he was willing to do battle for her.
Abby hadn’t been inside her apartment long when someone knocked gently on the door. Not Remy, she knew from the hesitant knock. Certainly not Leo, who should be sound asleep by now, dreaming of other, more suitable women. She answered the door to find Margaret in the doorway. The pretty girl looked over Abby’s shoulder as if she expected to see someone there.
“I’m alone,” Abby said.
“Oh. I was sure I smelled a man.” She looked at Abby and her eyes went wide. “But that’s none of my business. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” Abby stepped back and gestured for Margaret to enter.
“I’m worried about what you asked us about tonight.” Margaret wrung her hands. “The poor dead girl who was in the bar last night, Marisa. I hate to think that maybe one of us killed her.”
“So do I.”
“I mean, she was human, but she was pretty nice most of the time. She left good tips. Most of the young girls don’t leave good tips at all.”
Abby sighed.
Margaret sat on Abby’s long, sunset-colored sofa. The reddish-orange was bright, a flash of color in a world where to watch the sun set was impossible. The young vamp didn’t need to rest, not anymore, and yet there were times Margaret seemed to forget that she was no longer human. In time, all that was left of her humanity would fade, and she’d be happier for it. Not yet fifty years old, Margaret was still learning.
“It could’ve been another human, I suppose, and if a vampire did the deed he could’ve been, you know, passing through. But I was wondering, if there’s a rogue vampire, won’t he come to us eventually? Won’t he be drawn to us the way Charles and Dalton were?”
“Possibly.”
“He could just as easily kill one of us, couldn’t he?”
“I suppose he could, but no vamp, no matter how hungry he might be, would feed on another vampire if there was any other choice.” Immortality and invulnerability did not go hand in hand.
“But some vamps do…”
“Our blood is cold,” Abby said sharply. No vampire should have such fear as this one did. “It would nourish but would not be particularly tasty. Vampires only kill other vampires when there’s a feud of some kind, a slight or an insult.”
“But vampires do sometimes feed on one another during, you know, sex.”
“That’s different.”
“I know.” Again, Margaret fidg
eted.
“Don’t worry,” Abby said. “If a rogue comes to us, he comes. He or she, I should say. However, if the vampire who killed Marisa Blackwell is truly rogue he’s already moved on to another town and another victim.” The creature who’d sucked Marisa dry wouldn’t come to Abby’s place hungry for pigs’ blood.
“I hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not Remy.”
Abby had to fight to contain her smile. “Remy can take care of himself.”
“Yeah, he can.” Margaret dipped her head. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t say anything, but I admire you. You’re my hero, really you are, and to see you take up with a human, it breaks my heart, it truly does.”
“That’s none of your business,” Abby snapped.
“I know that, but I had to warn you. I’m not the only one who sees the way Leo Stryker looks at you. Charles commented on it tonight, right before he left. He said it wasn’t fitting for a vampire in your position to be so soft on a human. Using them is one thing, but to truly be friendly just never works. Maybe Charles is jealous, I don’t know, but he doesn’t like that cop at all. And unless you scrub the smell of him off your skin I’m not going to be the only one to know that you’ve taken it a step further.” She looked up and wrinkled her nose slightly. “He’s not like the others, the humans who are so easy to manipulate. We all see it, so surely you do, too. I like it here. I don’t want to leave, not yet. If you end up killing a cop we’ll all have to disappear in the night, and that will cause a stir. That was the first lesson you taught me. Be invisible, you said.”
“I’m not going to kill Stryker.”
“How can you be sure?” Margaret fidgeted on the sofa. “The first guy I slept with after I turned, I swear, I couldn’t help myself. I sucked the poor fella dry before I knew what I was doing, and it was so damn good. I thought I’d do better the second time around, but it didn’t work out too well. Not for him, at least. That’s one of the reasons I’m determined to confine my romantic relationships to those of my own kind, from here on out.”
Meaning Remy, of course.
Abby walked closer to the blonde on the couch. “I am not a fledgling who can’t control myself. I have no intention of killing anyone, least of all a cop, nor do I intend to let him, or anyone else, get too close.” She leaned down and placed her face uncomfortably close to Margaret’s. “And my personal life is none of your concern.”
As soon as Abby backed away, Margaret jumped up and headed for the door. “Sorry. I really do have the best of intentions. I think you and I could be friends eventually. We have so much in common, after all.”
Abby had friends across the world, but none so young or naive as this one.
When Margaret was gone, Abby stripped of the clothes that still smelled of Leo, only to discover that she herself smelled of him even more strongly. In this one instance, Margaret was right. Leo was different.
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Chapter 3
L eo woke with a killer headache. If not for the fact that the murder investigation was so new, he’d call in sick—and he never took a sick day. Lying in bed, barely awake and trying to still the pounding in his head, he wished he could get the image of the dead girl out of his mind. He’d seen the bodies of murder victims before, but they hadn’t been anything like this one. Marisa Blackwell had been mutilated, she’d been ripped apart. Swear to God, it looked as though someone had chewed her up and spit her out.
Headache or not, he had people to question today, and he’d be picking up those sketches from Abby Brown. If the sketches were crap he’d bring an ABI sketch artist into her bar and they wouldn’t leave until she gave a decent description. Budding Corner didn’t have much of a police force; much of a police force wasn’t called for, on most occasions, but the Alabama Bureau of Investigation had made their resources available for this case. In a couple of days, ABI investigators would arrive to take over the case, if he didn’t solve it before then. As much as he appreciated good help, Leo wanted the murderer in custody before someone arrived to take the case away from him.
In spite of the details of the gruesome case that filled his thoughts, his mind turned to the pleasure of seeing Abby Brown again. Why the hell did he so look forward to spending time with her when she’d made it clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him? A niggling thought teased him. She wasn’t worth the trouble. She really wasn’t all that good-looking or special or tempting. There were better women out there, women who would give him the time of day. A moment later he rejected those thoughts. The divorce had messed him up more than he’d realized, that was the only explanation. He’d been newly single for two years, transplanted here in this small town for a little more than three months, and instead of getting on with his life he’d gotten fixated on a woman who’d made it clear he was not her type.
Why was he so certain she was wrong about that?
Messed up or not, he wasn’t waiting until tonight to get those sketches. He knew where Abby lived, after all.
His rented house, the one he kept telling himself was temporary even though he’d made no attempt to find another place, had two small bedrooms and one ancient bathroom. Still, there were a couple of benefits to the place. While he remained in the city limits, barely, the house was remote. He’d never lived in such a quiet place, and he was discovering that he liked the silence. On this crisp autumn morning he heard a few birds, a chirp that might be a chipmunk, and now and then he heard the wind rushing through the trees that surrounded the house. Peaceful moments had been few and far between before his move to Budding Corner.
One other benefit was that the shower had great water pressure. He stood beneath the spray for a long time, letting it pound his face and chest as he thought about the day to come. This morning he had paperwork to take care of, calls to make to the state forensics lab and to the ABI, and there were a couple of Marisa’s friends he still wanted to talk to. After that, he was going to drop in on Abby Brown. He smiled. She wasn’t going to like him showing up unannounced, but that was too bad. He had the high ground, here. This was a murder investigation, after all.
Logic made Mike and Jason the prime suspects. If Marisa had been drugged, strangled, beaten, raped or any combination of those sad possibilities, that’s where he’d concentrate his investigation. But there was something about the way Marisa had been murdered that screamed of more than the usual sickness. Something darker. He was going to pursue the two men Marisa and Alicia had met in Abby Brown’s bar, but they weren’t the end of the investigation. They were just a small part of it. What had made Marisa Blackwell tick? Why had she spent so many work nights at a—apologies to Abby—seedy bar? Marisa had a job answering phones in a small car dealership, so her mornings started early enough. Alicia’s hours at a downtown boutique were more flexible, but still, these girls had jobs. If Mike and Jason had been the ones to kill Marisa, why had Alicia gotten off without a scratch? No, there was something else going on.
Leo drove past the Sundown Bar on his way to the station. The neon lights were off; the parking lot was empty. His eyes shot to the building where Abby lived. It wasn’t much to look at, but he was in no position to make judgments in that regard.
The police station was located in one of the newer buildings in Budding Corner, but it wasn’t much to look at, either. It was as square and boxy as the blustery mayor, and had about as much personality. The people who worked there were nice enough. They were dedicated to their jobs, if not the most brilliant among law enforcement. They were good, down-home folks who were well-intentioned, but not exactly what anyone would call razor sharp.
Maybe that was why Leo hadn’t made any but the most casual of friends in the past three months. He didn’t fit in here; he wasn’t one of them. In fact, he felt most at home in Abby Brown’s bar. What did it say about him that he was most comfortable in the company of a woman who was a constant source of rejection?
He dismissed Abby Brown from his mind as b
est he could, and set about working the case. When it came to his personal life he wasn’t particularly sharp himself, but when it came to asking questions and separating the truth from the bullshit, he was a star.
When the doorbell rang, Abby ignored it. Now and then people got lost, or a man in an unattractive uniform made a delivery to a wrong address. Eventually whoever it was would go away. She was nicely settled on the long reddish-orange couch that dominated the great room where she spent her sleepless days. Since she was alone, and since her skin was so sensitive, she didn’t bother with clothes. Why should she? True, her flesh was all but invulnerable, as long as she stayed out of the sun, but with her heightened senses came an increased sensitivity to touch, to the flow of fabrics across her skin. The caress of silk, or of a properly used hand, was heavenly. The rasp of coarse material or an unskilled touch was bothersome.
Her incredible sensitivity also made sex beyond pleasurable. Until last night, she’d denied herself. How would she continue to deny her urges when the memory was so sharp?
This apartment was her haven. When she wasn’t in the bar she spent most of her time in this great room. There was also a huge bedroom she rarely used—which at this moment seemed a real pity—and a fabulous kitchen that was a waste of space. There were also two largish guest bedrooms. Not that she had many guests, but she knew vampires all over the world and some of them, a rare few, she called friends. It didn’t hurt to be prepared for company, even if she only had a guest every fifty years or so. One never knew when a friend might show up looking for sanctuary.
Holiday with a Vampire III Page 3
