Tall, Dark & Dead

by Tate Hallaway

  * * * *

  I sat bolt upright when I heard the door creak open.

  The Vatican. I reached for the oversized sweatshirt I kept at the foot of the bed and dragged it over my head. A weapon, I thought. I need a goddamned weapon.

  Standing up quietly, I glanced at the athame on the altar. It was a cheap reproduction dagger I’d bought at the Renaissance Festival, and it was duller than shit. Though I loved the black-velvet-covered grip, the old thing could barely cut through the apple I sacrificed every year during my Halloween ritual. I had serious doubts it could damage a fully grown priest/assassin. Besides, the Order had turned the coven’s daggers against them. The prospect of the same thing happening to me seemed far too likely.

  So I dropped it in favor of the fist-sized sandstone rock I’d “liberated” from the Valley of Fire National Park in Nevada during my vacation there a couple of months back. It felt heavy and solid in my hands and serious enough to bash a head in.

  Even so armed, I hesitated at the door before opening it. I listened carefully. For a moment I thought I’d dreamed the noise until I heard cursing coming from the living room. Either the priests had extraordinarily foul mouths, or it was Parrish tripping over the pile of books I’d purposely left in front of the door.

  Leaving the rock on the altar, I grabbed Sebastian’s sweatpants from where I’d tossed them over a chair earlier today and stomped into them.

  “I didn’t expect you back,” I called as I made my way into the living room.

  “Ever?” Parrish had found a change of clothes somewhere, and, amazingly, looked trashier than usual. He still favored leather pants, but he now had on, of all things, a tank top that clung to his chest like a second skin. It was very nineties, and it should have looked ridiculous on him, but it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the muscles of his washboard stomach.

  “I thought you’d sell Sebastian’s grimoire off to the highest bidder and skip town,” I confessed.

  He acknowledged the possibility with a faint shrug that set the fabric of his shirt stretching along the hard planes of his pectorals. “I considered it.”

  I’d wanted to play it cool, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Is it safe?”

  “Yes,” he said, with a glance at a pile of leather in the corner that my brain eventually parsed as saddlebags for a motorcycle. “I even brought it back.”

  My apartment wasn’t the best place for the grimoire, especially since the Vatican would be back in the morning. Even so, part of me was relieved. I wanted it close.

  Parrish’s finger stroked the shaft of the sawed-off arrow. The soft, almost loving, caress he gave the wood sent goose pimples rising on my arms. “You’ve had some fun without me, I see.”

  I crossed my arms in front of my chest lest Parrish see the effect he was having on other parts of me. “I wouldn’t call it fun, precisely.”

  “No? From your note I’d guess you had a visit from our friends from Rome. Besides, this place stinks of spilled blood.” His mouth twitched up in an admiring smile. “How many did you bury this time, Garnet?”

  “None,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. Parrish made it sound like a game, but the Vatican could easily have killed Sebastian, like they’d murdered my friends before. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “You never disappoint, Garnet.” A seductive smile spread across his face. “I’d tell you how ravishing you look, but you wouldn’t believe me.”

  I laughed, feeling an old familiar warmth stir deep in my breast. Parrish had come back. His actions showed me what I had always known: he was trustworthy. I could count on him in a pinch. When the world fell apart, Parrish would be there to help pick up the pieces.

  Not like Sebastian. He’d proved to be something other than I’d expected tonight.

  “Baggy sweats turn you on, do they?” I said more than a little flirtatiously.

  He nodded, very seriously—far too seriously, in fact. “I’ve never gotten used to women in slacks. It’s so…revealing. Without a corset and petticoats, you might as well be bare, the way your body moves under that fabric.”

  I suddenly felt the absence of a bra keenly. To hide my consternation, I said, “Why are you working so hard, Parrish? You look like you’ve fed tonight.”

  Even though the room was mostly dark, other than the lamp I’d left on for him, his skin looked healthier, more natural. I suspected he’d spent his time away in the arms of some willing victim of his many charms.

  He gave me the barest twitch of a smile, and his eyes studied the floor almost as though he were embarrassed. When we were dating, I will admit I never liked the fact he had sexual or at the very least near-sexual relationships with his “donors.” I tried to tolerate it. I mean, he had to drink to survive. Parrish had usually blustered at my jealousy. The way he studied his boots made me think he seemed almost ashamed.

  “What’s wrong, Parrish?” I asked.

  He sat down on the couch with his arms resting along the back, opened in a welcoming, come-hither pose. With the barely there shirt accenting his muscles and the slight spread of his legs, he looked like a Playgirl calendar boy.

  Oh, shit. Now I knew who the gigolo we saw on State Street reminded me of: Parrish.

  Could it be? Was Parrish selling himself—or his bite— on the street?

  No, no way.

  But then I remembered what he’d said about leaving Minneapolis. He was out of money. He had… what had he implied? Some embarrassing incident caused him to beat a hasty retreat?

  “Nothing,” he said. It was unnerving that he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  I plopped myself down on the couch and settled in the crook of his arm. I wedged an arm around his back and gave him a bear hug. His skin was cold, like the wind that blew in over the lakes. He’d been outside, probably for a long time. The more he’d been exposed to the elements, the longer it took his body to warm up to room temperature. I wanted to ask him about it, you know, to find out if he’d been out doing something debasing in some alleyway, but it seemed unkind.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I asked instead.

  His voice was quiet and sad. “When your life is a series of fuck-ups, eternity can be a very, very long time.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? Well, maybe that’s what you and I have in common, Daniel Parrish.”

  He laughed. “Had a bad day, love?”

  “The worst.”

  “Me, too.” I could feel his body relax a little. His hand came up to play with the short spikes of my hair. “The pixie cut suits you,” he said. “It makes you look tougher. Wiser.”

  Jaded is what he meant, I thought. I looked more like a woman who’s had fate kick her in the teeth a couple of times.

  “Yeah,” I said, enjoying the feeling of his fingers massaging my scalp, the knots in my neck. “It’s easier to take care of.”

  “Hmmm. Smells good, too.”

  Irish moss. It was in the stuff I used to give it a little lift. I returned the favor and breathed in his scent: leather, sweat, and sex. Parrish was comfortably what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

  I guess that’s why I let him kiss me. His lips were chilly against my forehead, but they were smooth, firm, and familiar. I never forgot Parrish was a vampire. Strangely, I found comfort in that. His cruelty would never surprise me. He was what he was.

  When his lips touched mine, I pulled him in for a hard, bruising kiss. I wrapped my hands around his neck and levered myself around so that I straddled his waist. He looked surprised, but I could tell from the pressure between my legs that he was pleased with the new development.

  I probably shouldn’t start something like this, but I was still angry at Sebastian, and Parrish was oh so kissable. I pulled back and let my fingers roam through his hair.

  And he had such gorgeous hair. The color always reminded me of burnt sienna, a deep, rich red-brown. There was just enough of a curl to give it fullness. I twirled a lock in my fingers, feeling the silky smoothness.
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  “Do vampires have to wash their hair, or does this come naturally?”

  He blinked up at me for a moment and then laughed. “Your moods are mercurial.”

  “What?”

  “You’re easily distracted,” he said.

  “Am not,” I said with a faux pout, kissing him again.

  “Yes, you are,” he insisted between kisses. “It’s part of your charm. I often have to work exceedingly hard to keep your attention.”

  “So you like the challenge?”

  “I do.”

  To show me just how much he liked it, his hands found their way to the front of my shirt.

  His palms cupped my breasts, while his thumbs expertly teased the erect tips of my nipples. Not that he’d needed to do much to excite me at this point; warmth had arched along the fibers of my nerves the moment our bodies touched. When he pinched my nipples and gave them a slight twist, it was unexpectedly pleasurable.

  I forgot to breathe.

  “I command your attention now, don’t I?” Parrish smiled, and his fingers continued to pull and stretch.

  “Oh, yes,” I said. My body rocked against his as he kneaded my flesh. The hollow between my legs ground into the hardness of his erection. My fingernails dug into the skin of his broad shoulders.

  “Good,” he said, giving me a tweak painful enough that I cried out. “Because I have something I need to tell you.”

  “What?” I asked breathlessly. Releasing my white-knuckle grip on his shoulder, I tugged my sweatshirt off over my head. The cool air on my naked flesh made me shiver.

  “I’m jealous of Sebastian,” Parrish murmured into my skin. His hands moved lower to grip my buttocks, while his mouth covered my aching nipples. He sucked hard enough for me to almost wish his fingers were still there.

  Almost.

  “Sebastian who?” I said between moans. At this point I wanted him so bad it was starting to hurt.

  I felt his laugh vibrate against my rib cage.

  He pitched forward, and we tumbled onto the floor. Or rather, I fell, and he pounced. His lips locked on mine; his cock, still restrained by his jeans, pressing me to the floor. His kiss was deep and probing, and I responded unthinkingly, passionately. I pushed hard against him, sliding along the shape of him until I dragged out a fierce, low growl. Propping himself up on his hands, he lifted himself from me long enough for me to work the buckle of his belt and unzip his jeans. With his help, I squiggled out of my pants.

  Parrish chuckled darkly at my anxiousness.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  It took me a moment to register that Parrish had no underwear on. I got his pants down as far as his knees, and then considered them his problem. I had other things on my mind. My hand stroked the smooth hardness of him, drawing out a shuddering moan from him.

  I was so ready that he slid deep inside in one smooth stroke. Even so, my breath caught on his shoulder. My own heat insulated me from some of the shock of the coolness of his flesh. Luckily, Parrish didn’t give me much time to contemplate the wrongness of feeling the strength of his erection versus the clamminess of his body. When he started moving urgently, my body responded in kind. Kisses smothered my lips, my hair… my throat.

  When his mouth covered the space behind my ear, I tensed, expecting to feel the sting of fangs. Though he didn’t bite, I twitched as he continued down the line of my neck. Once he reached my shoulder, his lips came back up to nuzzle beside my ear again. “Do you want me to bite you?” he asked, punctuating the question with a hard thrust.

  Maybe some quivering part of my inner thigh did, but after watching Sebastian rip into Feather tonight, the only answer could be, “No.”

  Plus, there was something about how Parrish phrased the question that felt wrong, like it was some part of a rehearsed script.

  I managed to say it again, stronger this time: “No.”

  His fangs had already descended, and I could feel the tiniest prick against my neck. Just when I was ready to fight, he stopped. Pulling back to look me in the eye, he sounded stunned at being denied. “You said no?”

  “Yes.” Then I realized how confusing that might be, so I reiterated my point: “I said, no.”

  Parrish nuzzled my neck with his nose. “No, really?”

  “Really. No.”

  “You’re already bleeding.” The disappointment showed in more than his voice. He’d stopped moving.

  I started noticing the icy temperature of his body where it pressed inside me. “Excuse me if I don’t trust you to be satisfied with just a taste.”

  Parrish laughed and then kissed my lips hard. He wrapped his arms around my waist tightly, protectively, the way I secretly loved to be held. Into my ear, he grunted, somewhat painfully, “Garnet, you always leave me wanting more.”

  I wanted to continue having sex, but it was clear Parrish’s interest had cooled, shall we say. With some effort, we disentangled. The space between my legs ached with unspent passion. Parrish looked deeply pained, but he resolutely lay beside me on the floor, letting our bodies touch. One of his hands roamed the curve of my shoulders. Calloused fingertips trailed along the taut skin over my rib cage, slowly moving toward the mound of my belly. I shivered again, only this time with more heat.

  His lips hovered over the tiny puncture wound he’d left on my neck. “Your beauty is unparalleled, my love,” he whispered in my ear.

  It was such a sweet, poetic thing to say. My brain was still fuzzy from the sex, so without thinking I said, “You’re such a big romantic, Parrish. How can you stand to do it for money?”

  Parrish looked stricken. I covered my mouth as though to shut the barn door after the horses had gotten out. His jaw twitched as he recovered his composure. He stood up, his eyes locked on mine as though daring me to take in his powerful, magnificent, naked body for a moment. Then he stalked into the kitchen. I heard him rooting around in the refrigerator. “I’m starving,” he announced.

  “Uh, help yourself to anything you find,” I said, pulling myself back up onto the couch, feeling stupid and mean. I hate the way my mouth and brain refused to work together. I hadn’t meant to bring it up, especially now that I knew it was true.

  I heard bottles clinking.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. “Really sorry, Parrish. It’s just… it’s not like you, is it? Normally, if you were hard up for cash, you’d knock over a bank or something.”

  I heard a small chuckle. “You can only do that so many times,” he said. “A smart thief is judicious.”

  Locating my sweatshirt on the arm of the couch, I pulled it over my head. I waited for Parrish to say more. Around my knees I wrapped the brown-and-white afghan I picked up at an estate sale for fifty cents.

  Parrish sauntered back into the living room. He’d helped himself to a super-green smoothie from my fridge, and then joined me on the couch. He threw an arm around my shoulder, like there was no tension between us. Despite myself, I snuggled into it. Parrish’s body temperature might be unsatisfactory, but he still had a comforting solidness about him.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t sell Sebastian’s grimoire,” I said.

  “I suppose you are,” he said. Peeling off the top, he took a long swallow. He made a face. “Ugh. This tastes like wet sod.”

  “That’s because it is. I think the main ingredient is wheatgrass.”

  “It’s unhealthy,” he said, setting it carefully on the floor.

  “You drank it. Aren’t you going to get sick?”

  “Until the fangs retract, I can eat or drink anything I’d like without major consequences, remember?”

  Interesting. I hadn’t realized they were still out.

  “You could have sold the grimoire to the Order.” I continued, with a glance at the arrow stub in the wall. “They seem pretty determined.”

  Parrish removed his arm from around my shoulder to pick up his leather pants where they lay half under the couch. He stepped into them without standing. “
I didn’t contact the Vatican, Garnet. How could I? I know what they are to you.”

  “But, if you needed money… ?”

  “You think I’d sell you out for the Pope’s gold? You must not think very highly of me.”

  He stood up to tuck himself in, zip up his fly, and buckle his belt. I knew what I was supposed to say, but our respective positions put me in the wrong frame of mind. I couldn’t help but imagine him doing something like this in some dark corner of a sleazy street. “You’d rather sell your body?”

  Parrish put his hand on his narrow hips, looking extraordinarily available and sexy all at the same time. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

  That surprised me.

  When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “The exchange of money for sex is the oldest profession. People have done it since the dawn of time.”

  “People, sure. But you?”

  His expression, which had started to grow hard, softened a little. He turned away, his eyes scanning the room as though searching for his shirt. I knew exactly where it was. His tank top was under my leg. I pulled it out and offered it to him like a white truce flag.

  “I wouldn’t think Madison would be a big enough town for… all that,” I said. “I mean, you’re careful about doing too much thieving to alert the police. Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

  He took the shirt from me with a shrug. “You know the phrase ‘Don’t do the crime, if you can’t do the time?’ Armed robbery is a felony. What I do… even if they have a law against it, wouldn’t be more than a misdemeanor.”

  So, it wasn’t precisely his body he was selling. Even though I still wasn’t happy with the situation, things had become infinitely more tolerable. If someone wanted to pay Parrish to bite them, well, that was their problem.

  “But… why?”

  “The job satisfaction is enormous,” Parrish said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “No, seriously,” I said. “It just doesn’t seem like you, Parrish.”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “I’m flattered. However, perhaps you would be surprised to discover how difficult it is for a man such as myself to find honest work. I have no letter of introduction, no resume that does not include the words ‘highwayman’ or ‘bank robber,’ and an inability to search for employment during the daylight hours.”