Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  My back pressed deeper and deeper into the couch with each thrust. He held himself on his arms, over me, grinning wickedly.

  Who dares?

  My fingernails dug deep into the flesh of his back, but Sebastian barely flinched. I bucked wildly beneath him, but I was completely pinned.

  Not for long.

  And then suddenly we were on the floor wedged between the couch and the coffee table. He was on his back, and I straddled him. Somehow, our bodies were still entwined. A nasty set of scratch marks marred his cheek. Oh, and I held his wrists.

  “I take it you want to be on top.” He flashed a weak smile to try to cover the obvious pain in his voice.

  Lilith.

  I let his hands go by way of apology and sat up so that I knelt over him. Moving slowly, I worked at rekindling the passion. It didn’t take long for Sebastian to figure out the advantages of this position. His hands covered my breasts, pulling and teasing at already taut nipples. In no time, we had the rhythm back.

  I lost myself in the motion of our bodies. I could feel myself getting closer, then, without warning, he pulled me down into a tight embrace. His teeth sank into my shoulder. It was a deep, hard, full-mouthed bite.

  Blood wasn’t the only thing that came out in a rush.

  The pleasure didn’t stop there. Sebastian kept moving inside me, while he sucked and licked at my shoulder. His need added desperation to each thrust, driving harder and harder. When Sebastian was finally satisfied, I’d been there done that a half-dozen times. He released me, and I rolled limp and panting onto the floor.

  “You suck,” I mumbled into the short nap of the Persian rug. My shoulder throbbed painfully where it lay under the weight of my body. I briefly worried about bloodstains on what was clearly an expensive weave, and then I giggled at my sudden fastidiousness.

  Sebastian pulled one of the blankets from the couch and wrapped it around me tenderly. Then he got up and left. I heard the door to the kitchen swing open and shut. Just like that.

  I’d have felt wounded at being thus discarded if I had any energy to feel anything other than just plain wounded. I might even have gone after him and told him a thing or two about how to treat lovers if any part of my body were still under my command. As it was, I felt about as sturdy as Jell-O.

  “You really, really suck,” I told the rug, my brain incapable of coming up with anything more vehement to say about Sebastian’s insensitivity.

  However, I had to retract my sentiment when he returned with breakfast. He helped me sit up and all but held the glass of orange juice for me to drink.

  “It helps with the blood loss,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I leaned my back against the couch. The plate, still hot from the microwave, rested in my lap. The heat felt good. So good, in fact, I wanted to just curl up in a fetal position around the warmth of it. That was when I realized how cold I was. “How much did you take?”

  “Too much, probably,” he said, embarrassed. My blood flushed his cheeks a bright red.

  “I look good on you,” I told him, tracing the blush with a clumsy fingertip.

  His gaze dropped to the plate. He picked up the bacon as though to offer it to me. “You should eat something. Or take a nap.”

  “Meat is murder,” I said teasingly, pushing away the bacon. Then I started giggling again a bit hysterically. I mean, it just seemed so pathetic. I wouldn’t eat something already dead, and yet he didn’t hesitate to have me for breakfast.

  Sebastian failed to find the humor. Or he was sincerely worried about my sanity, I couldn’t tell which. Very carefully he replaced the bacon on the plate and offered me more juice once I stopped laughing. He put his arms around me as I drank the rest of the glass and then, without meaning to, I fell asleep with my head against his shoulder.

  I dreamt of Lilith.

  At first, I was just running… from something, someone close, too close, just behind. I had to keep moving. A moonlit jungle surrounded me. Primate screams echoed though a canopy of trees. Thick, sharp leaves cut at my face, pulled at my body. A tangle of mud and vegetation sucked the soles of my feet, making it difficult to keep up my pace.

  Water dripped from broad palm leaves. The hum of insects filled my ears. Sweat clung to my skin. I felt like I was suffocating in the heat and darkness.

  I came upon a clearing with an apple tree… or was it pomegranate… growing in the center. Lilith reclined in a hollow of the tree, which had gnarled and warped over time into a seat, a throne. Above her head, ripe fruit and white blossoms hung.

  She was naked. Long, serpentine twists of white-gold hair partially hid shriveled, dry breasts. Her hips were narrow and slender, almost boyish, yet her pose exuded sexuality and seduction. “You were careless,” she admonished me, her voice a hiss. “Perhaps I should not have spared him.”

  Sebastian.

  No, I wanted to say, you did the right thing; he’s a good guy, but my mouth felt full of cotton, and I found I could only shake my head mutely.

  “He takes liberties with us,” she said, twirling a tight ringlet of hair in her fingers. An owl screeched overhead. “We will take something from him in return.”

  “No,” I started, “I don’t want to play this game. You’re not—”

  But she was already fading into the mist of dreamworld. Beating wings brushed at my ears as the sun of the waking World stabbed at my eyes.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” I continued for my own satisfaction. “So not.”

  The sun continued to shine cruelly through the dusty window in a broad, blinding sheet. I pulled the covers over my head and groaned. My shoulder twinged. He did take liberties with us. What time was it? Noon? I had the sinking feeling I was supposed to be at work several hours ago. I started to sit up to look for a phone, when the world spun around, and I fell back to the couch, feeling faint.

  Where was that bastard, anyway?

  If he’d abandoned me again, there’d at least better be a note and some hot coffee, or there’d be hell to pay.

  When I found the energy to sit up again, I found half of what I needed tucked under the orange juice glass. It took me a moment to translate Sebastian’s almost feminine, curling cursive, to read: “My dearest Garnet, very sorry, but transmission couldn’t wait. Will be back at noon. Coffeepot is on. While I await our reunion, I remain, your humble, loving servant, Sebastian.”

  Okay, so I wouldn’t kill him right away, if only because I found the “your servant” part charming.

  I drained the dregs of the OJ, even though it was tepid and clung fuzzily to the back of my throat. Stumbling into the kitchen, not even bothering to try to find my clothes, I helped myself to as much of the pot of coffee as I could drink. Though my stomach lurched at the sight of soggy, wilted remains of the peppers, I ate all of the egg concoction Sebastian had started earlier. On top of that, I added two cartons of yogurt and a bowl and a half of frosted-something-crunchy with milk.

  Then I had another cup of coffee.

  Somehow the caffeine and the calories did nothing to improve my mood. Usually, this was my favorite part of a relationship: the first morning after. This was the time I tended to gather up sentimental memories: the quaintness of the red-and-white-checked tablecloth, the glow of the sun on the polished oak of the cabinets, the god-awful crooning of Toby Keith on the radio… and the complete lack of a lover sitting across from me. That last part made me especially grouchy.

  And now there was no more coffee.

  I put my head down on the table, remembering the other reason I never let Parrish bite me. Not only did the mark sting like a sonuvabitch, it wiped me out. I felt like I got the ugliest hangover from a party I wasn’t even invited to.

  Meanwhile, Sebastian ended up with so much energy, he hadn’t stayed around and waited for me to wake up. He was off merrily rebuilding the whatcha-ma-dingee.

  At work, no less. Somehow I could forgive him more if he’d gone off to putter in his garden. No, he took off for town, for a jo
b.

  I started to build up a good angry burn, which might have fueled a trip all the way upstairs to the shower, when the back door opened.

  A very pretty boy stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting naked in the kitchen. His features were delicate, almost Asian, and he had long, silken black hair that, though it was cut short above his ears, artfully fell in front of his eyes. Something about him looked familiar—the cut of his jaw and the slope of his nose?—but whatever it was, he reminded me of Sebastian, actually.

  He wore a deep purple silk shirt and black fitted jeans. The shoes he wore made him look European, since they were black and polished. He was slender to the point of being reedy and awkward. I guessed him to be about seventeen.

  I watched his expression as I tried to hide my nudity under the table. His gaze was measured, distant, jaded—like somehow he’d already seen his share of naked women sitting at kitchen tables. He appeared to have no concern for my discomfort but took me all in, pausing with some interest to linger on the bruise/bite on my shoulder. That made him smile. I couldn’t say it was a friendly smile. There was something about the cruel turn of his lips that made him look downright mean.

  “I see you’ve met my father,” he said. “Is he around?”

  Third House

  KEYWORDS:

  Visitors, Delinquency, Improvisation

  “I’m sorry,” the pretty young man continued, though he sounded anything but. “I should have called first, but I’m sure you know how Papa is with phones.”

  He let himself all the way inside the kitchen. Leaning a hip against the doorframe, he crossed his arms in front of his slight chest. There was something about the man that reminded me of a cat. Perhaps it was the deep golden color of his irises or the way sunlight occasionally appeared to refract a green glow, mirror like, from the center of his pupils. Maybe it was just the languid threat of his posture.

  “Do you think you could give him a message for me? That is,” he paused to chuckle slightly, “if you plan to see him again.”

  Oh, what a piece of work.

  “He’s at the garage,” I said, trying to affect a casual tone while hiding my chest under the kitchen tabletop. “Go tell him yourself.”

  I tried not to make my words sound too much like go fuck yourself, but I could see by the sharp rise of his eyebrows that Sonny Boy got my meaning.

  Other than that slight acknowledgment, however, he gave me no indication he was fazed by the situation, my nakedness, or my anger. He continued to lean there, relaxed, while I blushed furiously. “Ah,” he said, feigning concern. “The lies begin so soon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was just at the garage twenty minutes ago. None of the guys had seen him all morning. When did you two… ah, part ways?”

  “You mean he wasn’t there? He wasn’t at Jensen’s?” Suddenly I remembered how focused the Vatican agent had been on finding out more about Sebastian’s day job.

  “That’s usually what—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped, standing up, my nakedness ceasing to matter. “We have to find him. Now.”

  * * * *

  I told Sonny Boy to cool his Keels while I rounded up some clothes. I’d thought about going to look for the washer and dryer, but there was something about a vampire’s basement I just didn’t want to explore. Even in daylight.

  So instead I checked on my mini upstairs, finding it hanging neatly over the shower curtain rod along with my panty hose. Dampness, however, still clung to both.

  I headed to Sebastian’s bedroom with the intention of borrowing another pair of sweatpants and possibly a shirt. Besides Vivian’s room, there were two closed doors. The first one I tried was locked. Who locks a room in their own house? Very Bluebeard/Dorian Gray, I thought. The other opened to what I assumed must be his bedroom. I crept over the threshold, feeling like a trespasser in his sanctum sanctorum.

  No, I thought, that would be the door with the lock.

  I’d had the fantasy of the four-poster bed with the gauzy canopy, but Sebastian had more utilitarian tastes. The bed was king-sized and unmade. Though the sheets appeared to be plain white cotton, Sebastian had a soft-looking maroon comforter and tons of pillows. A dressing table with a triptych mirror rested against a wall. Several large windows had been thrown open to the morning breeze, and curtains fluttered in the manure-scented air. Ah, farm life.

  No coffin, at least. Maybe that was in the locked room. Part of me wanted to check under the bed for it or for sacks of Austrian dirt, but the clock was ticking. Sebastian could be fighting for his life right now.

  Finding his closet, I rummaged quickly through his things. Grabbing the first T-shirt I found—a campaign shirt for Jimmy Carter—I pulled it over my head. Then I borrowed a pair of dark green sweatpants out of the bottom dresser drawer Sebastian had conveniently left open. I’d noticed several interesting things in my quick perusal of his room: the man had an opera coat and a jewelry chest. I smiled; there was a little bit of the literary vampire in him, after all.

  I came downstairs to find Sebastian’s son perched on the arm of the couch. He’d taken the opportunity to dispose of our dirty linens. I tried not to think about hot, naked Sebastian flesh, but a blush rose to my cheeks as I stalked past Sonny Boy to retrieve my boots from where they’d sat near the fire all night.

  “That’s certainly a look,” he said, checking out my butt.

  I still had no underwear. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Ah, your witty repartee stings me,” he said.

  Plunking down on the couch, I pulled on my boots. I wiggled my toe experimentally; the interior was only a little squishy with residual moisture. It would have to do.

  Sebastian’s son shook his head slightly, as though in disbelief. “Tell me again why I’m following the orders of Daddy’s newest little chew toy?”

  I swallowed my anger with some difficulty but managed to explain through clenched teeth, “Someone is trying to kill your Sire, you insensitive jerk.”

  “Sire?” His mouth curled up in a mocking smile. Throwing an arm casually over the back of the couch, he leaned in closer to where I sat struggling with the damp buckles of my boots. “Girlfriend,” he drawled. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but my father can take care of himself. He’s not exactly easy to kill.”

  “What would you know about it?”

  “Dhampyrs traditionally hunt vampires.”

  I tried to hide my confusion by frowning at a particularly stubborn strap.

  “You have no idea what that is, do you?” He put a hand to his chest, feigning concern. “He did… that is, you at least know what my father is, don’t you?”

  He ended his sentence with that irritatingly smug chuckle again.

  “Of course I know what he is,” I snapped. I just don’t know what you are. I thought I had. When he’d said Sebastian was his father, I assumed he mean through blood, as in his Maker or Master or Sire or whatever vampires were calling the one that transformed them these days. Thanks to Sebastian I’d gotten used to the idea of vampires who walk around in the daylight.

  So, Sonny Boy was not a vampire? Was he saying he was a dhampyr? And what the hell was that? I began to suspect it might have something to do with being a vampire’s biological son, but that still didn’t give me a clue.

  I gave Sonny Boy the mystical once-over. His aura was a strange muted green-gold, like his eyes, extending several inches from his body. Squinting harder, I saw flashes of silver. A very active aura usually meant magic. Since he implied he was a dhampyr, I guessed that probably accounted for it. The fact that he had an aura at all meant that, despite his attitude, he had a living, beating heart somewhere in there. Hard to believe.

  I wondered if Sebastian’s son was older than he looked. He’d have to be if Sebastian was the age he claimed. Vampires couldn’t have children after they died, could they? I’d never heard of it.

  Maybe this kid was lying. Sebastian had acted all freaked out when I
read in his palm that he had no children. Then again, I thought, giving Sonny Boy a sharp glance, if this jerk was my only offspring, I’d want to disavow him, too.

  I looked up expectantly when the front door swung open. To my great relief, Sebastian walked in with an armload full of groceries. He smiled to see me, but when he registered the presence of Sonny Boy lounging on the arm of the couch, Sebastian’s expression darkened noticeably. His jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something, but instead Sebastian refused to look at Sonny Boy. He said to me, “I brought in some supplies.”

  “Thank the Goddess you’re all right,” I said, standing up.

  “Your new friend seemed to think you were in mortal danger, Papa. We were both terribly worried.”

  Sebastian put his bags down beside the door and hung up his coat. His back was to us as he said, “I’d really hoped my wards would keep you away from my house and my friends, Mátyás.”

  Now Sonny Boy had a name: Mátyás. I had to say that the thick, Slavic sound of it fit his Euro-trash look.

  Mátyás ignored Sebastian’s jibe. To me, he said, “My father finds it clever for people to have to be invited into a vampire’s home.”

  “I wasn’t invited,” I said.

  “Perhaps not explicitly, but you probably had something of his like… say, his business card?”

  “Mátyás,” Sebastian cut in sharply. “Garnet does not need a lesson in magic from you.”

  Maybe I did. Wards. I’d thought so, but now I knew for certain. They must have been extremely well-crafted in order to be subtle enough that I didn’t catch more than a whiff of them.

  “No? So you found yourself another little Witch, did you? Is she Romany, as well? Mama would be so pleased.”

  Sebastian flushed. I couldn’t tell if it was with anger or shame. “You will not speak of your mother in that tone.”

  “Of course,” Mátyás said, his tone dripping with false acquiescence. “As you wish.”

  Breakfast churned uncomfortably in my stomach. I wondered if I should sit down, but I didn’t want to seem even more like a spectator of this train wreck of a father-son reunion.