NYC VAMPS (The Italians): Vampire Romance (Book Book 2)

by Sky Winters

  She headed that direction. She didn’t expect any of these people to ask her to dance, or speak to her; she was a stranger here, and a less than conventionally pretty one. But she could certainly kill a few hours listening to the man’s music. And so, on pretense of staying near the punch bowl, she stationed herself as close by as she could while staying unobtrusive.

  No one much noticed her as she sipped the wine-based punch and quietly listened. Sometimes he played dance music; sometimes he performed requests; sometimes he simply played something from his own memory as background for the conversations going on. Lucinda listened more to him than what the others talked about, which was all business, money, buying this, avoiding tax on that. Boring one-percenter talk so far from her realities that it both irritated and amused her. Better to focus on the man--er, rather, his music. Though he himself wasn’t hard to focus on either.

  What will I sing? she wondered as she watched him. He seemed to like Mozart a great deal. She knew some arias...including one that lesser singers didn’t even dare tackle. Lucinda considered, then lifted her chin, her resolve firming. Mozart wasn’t kind to his singers; in fact he had written one of the most famously difficult arias ever performed. It was one she had pulled out a few times in audition when offered free choice of song; once, she had broken into it in a fury when told her voice was nothing special, and left her critic gaping at her as she walked out. "Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen", song of the Queen of the Night from The Magic Flute, was not for amateurs. And with a Mozart lover on the bench, chances were he would know how to accompany it.

  I’ll do it. Let’s see anyone else win this one once I trot this baby out. In the back of her head she knew she was pumping herself up to leave no room for self-doubt, but...she really could do the song justice.

  A blonde in scarlet brocade and a golden quarter-moon mask had been eyeing her from the dance floor. The woman had made a business of dancing with a succession of men, walking away dismissively from each when each song was done, as if they were toys she quickly grew bored of. Now, staring at Lucinda with open skepticism, she went over to the pianist and hissed something in his ear.

  The man looked up in her direction; she caught sight of pellucid blue eyes behind the porcelain, and glanced away shyly. He spoke to the girl, who frowned petulantly and chattered at him some more. He shook his head, smiling gently, and spoke again, causing the girl to blink at him in shock. Then she smirked and eyed Lucinda a last time before walking back to the dance floor.

  The pianist was still looking at Lucinda, his expression unreadable behind the mask. She couldn't do more than offer a tiny, shy smile, glad the mask hid her blush. He smiled in return, and there was something oddly sad in it. Then he went back to playing, and she to watching him.

  Eventually servants in gold livery came out to take the names of the singing contestants. She gave her name and the name of the piece she was singing. The servant gave her a startled look and told her he had to check with the accompanist.

  This time the man at the piano looked at her in shock, and had to ask for confirmation. When he got it, he stared a few moments longer, then nodded slowly. The servant returned to her, and said quietly, "The Maestro knows the accompaniment. But he has offered to play with you on one condition--that you are willing to play last."

  Lucinda swallowed. The last performance was the one that everyone would remember most clearly. It was no dishonor to be asked to sing last; anything but, in fact. She wondered why he had made the request. Maybe she would get the chance to ask once he accompanied her. She nodded after a moment. "Please tell the Maestro that I agree to perform last."

  The contest went by in a blur of voices, faces, costumes, applause. Her ears could always pick out the Maestro’s playing, but Lucinda’s nerves drove her to distraction as the other nine contestants took their turns. The blonde was among them, her voice crystalline, angelic...but without a sense of rhythm, competing with the Maestro’s playing and making him chase her tempo. Lucinda would have felt badly for her, but she kept shooting spoiled-child glares at the Maestro, as if she somehow blamed him for her rhythmless performance. The Maestro however simply played along, absorbed in the music, keeping as best he could to the proper tempo despite the blonde's rushing.

  And then it was Lucinda's turn. And she drew a deep breath, and stepped forward when announced, and felt the Maestro's eyes on her as he played the opening notes. And her mind went back to every audition, every time that she out-sang everyone in the room but was shut out for petty, shallow reasons that had nothing to do with music.

  Instead of letting it hurt her, she used it all as fuel. German was a great language for expressing anger. And as she sang the first words, and conversations around the room died and faces turned to her, she fell into the role of the furious Queen of the Night and didn't look back.

  The music poured from her throat, flawless, full of rage, every note perfect in tone and timing. She put everything she had into her performance, and neither voice nor memory failed her. And somehow, that whole time as her strange accompanist played flawlessly along, she knew that he never took his eyes off of her.

  Applause slapped her ears, startling her. The performance had ended. In the crowd, Claudia smiled at her from behind raven feathers. Among the contestants, the blonde glared. And the Maestro had stood up behind her, and applauded along with the rest.

  She needed a breather after that. One of the servants led her to a dressing room in back, with dozens of masks hanging from the walls and the tops of the mirrors. They started at her empty-eyed as she sat down and tried to convince her heart to stop pounding.

  Five thousand dollars. She kept checking her clutch purse to make sure that the prize money was still there. It was enough to get her out of debt and even a little ahead for once. It wasn't a recording contract or a part in a Broadway musical, but it was a success, and that had been a long time coming.

  "Miss?" called a soft male voice from the doorway. "Miss...Waters, was it?" The voice had a light German accent and sounded strangely gentle. She looked up--and saw the Maestro standing in the doorway. "I hope that I am not intruding?"

  "Um, n-no, you aren't. Please come in." She got up hastily, hands twisting together nervously.

  He smiled and stepped through the door. One long fingered hand reached up to his mask and removed it.

  Oh God. Did he have to be talented and beautiful too? His face was long and white, with smooth skin and pointed features that could have belonged to a man of twenty or forty. His lips were a narrow Cupid's bow, his blue eyes large and fathomless, and without the mask the contrast between his white skin and dark hair was a little shocking. She blinked at him, realizing that she had been staring, and looked away, blushing.

  "I am Yohan," he introduced himself, his tone almost...shy. "May I see your face?”

  She nodded mutely, not trusting her voice at the moment, and took off the silver band that held her mask on, then slid the mask down and away. She looked up at him, and all she could think in that moment was please don’t let me have been a klutz and smeared my makeup. It was nice looking presentable for a change. “M-My name’s Lucinda.”

  “Ah,” he murmured softly, and walked toward her. His eyes gleamed in a strange, compelling way, and she felt her body relax inexplicably under their gaze. “Hello, Lucinda. I had to come, you see, and compliment you in person. That was...well beyond the quality of our usual fare at these contests of Claudia’s.” He stopped a few feet away, just a touch nearer than was civil. Her heartbeat picked up, and she chastised herself inwardly for the gentle warmth that rose in her chest as he drew close to her.

  Lucinda knew better than to fall for a man like Yohan. Beauty, influence, talent, wealth...he had it all, and men like that felt entitled to certain things. Mostly, the same certain things required by Broadway casting directors. They were never seen with any woman who couldn’t have sustained a modeling career with her looks. She had given up on letting herself get crushes on beau
tiful, perfect-seeming men, because their shallowness invariably ruined their perfection--breaking her heart in the process.

  But why, then, did this one’s expression light up when he saw her face? Why was his manner growing more intimate as he looked at her, his body drawing just slightly closer to her, a look of fascination in his brilliant eyes? What was that about? And why did she simply relax more as he moved nearer, instead of her usual shyness kicking in and making her jumpy?

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she said sincerely.

  “What I need to know more than anything,” he said as he leaned on the makeup counter, practically standing over her, “is where on Earth Claudia managed to find you. And where I might find you again.”

  “I’m staying at the Continental,” she murmured, completely confused as to what his interest might be. She doubted he was going to offer to help her with her career; there was nothing in it for him. But the way he looked at her left her dizzy. What are you doing, Yohan? she wanted to ask, because even as she mentioned her poor-artist’s address, his gradual approach did not slow. Here, his hand, the fingers long and smooth and cool, just gently brushed the back of hers as it lay on the counter. There, he leaned a little closer, that strange brightness in his eyes only growing.

  “Ah yes. One of Claudia’s hopefuls, then.” He brushed her curls off her shoulder with one hand, his eyes practically glowing as they fixed on the pale skin of her neck. “Chasing the footlights.”

  Her heart contracted painfully at the reminder of all she had pursued and could not gain, and it must have shown in her face because he stopped, head tilting slightly.

  “...Why do you look so sad?”

  His confused tone sent silent tears down her cheeks, and she suddenly, inexplicably wanted to tell him everything. The struggle, the roadblocks, the discrimination. Her voice, which she had trained to perfection; her acting chops, which she had fought to make as solid as possible; her work ethic, which was strong enough that it was killing her--none of them were what determined success on Broadway. That song from A Chorus Line was right: good looks ruled over talent. Tonight, she had proven how foolish it all was. Tonight, she had a small victory, and five thousand dollars in her pocket. But it didn’t change the basic facts of life.

  Except that the basic facts of life didn’t make any allowance for what he did next. He bent down, his hand still covering hers, and brushed the tear away with his lips. She gasped, a jolt going through her, and held herself very still, mind whirling. The strange lassitude caused by his eyes was in his touch as well; when he nuzzled his way down the side of her cheek, her knees weakened and she had to lean on the counter. She couldn’t have pulled away if she had wanted to. She lifted her head slightly, not knowing if he was going to kiss her, but when he stroked her hair back it seemed to tug her head back gently as well. She closed her eyes, her head rolling to the side, into his supporting palm. Every inch of her skin was tingling now. When she felt his cool lips on the side of her neck, she whimpered, and slipped a hand up through his hair in encouragement.

  She felt a sting. His grip on her tightened and a low growl escaped him. She could feel his mouth move against her skin. His teeth were in her flesh. His tongue lashed against her greedily. He took her in his arms...and started to suck.

  The low moan she heard was her own; the panting, rising into little whimpers as he drew on her, hers as well. His soft, purring growls rose to mix with the sound, almost blatantly sexual. He had to hold her up now; she couldn’t keep her legs under her and her whole body trembled. Every tiny pull seemed to spark pleasure nerves throughout her body; the warm, relaxed desire she had felt as he drew near now turned into a drugged trance mixed with near-orgasmic surges.

  Time slowed delightfully as she trembled under him. He lay over her now, half-pinning her against the counter, face buried in her neck while she held him. Now the tears that came to her eyes had a touch of relief to them, as she realized how long it had been since she spent any time in a man’s arms. “Don’t stop,” she whispered in his ear. “Please, don’t stop.” She had missed this so much. Her hands and feet tingled; her consciousness was starting to fade. She didn't care, as long as he never let her go.

  The door banged open. He released her and whirled to face the interloper, his growl rising to a feral snarl. Suddenly bereft of his cool weight over her and the delights of his mouth, Lucinda let out a soft cry of pain and disappointment. Yohan, however, was more vocal. “How dare you interrupt!” he raged.

  “Yohan,” Claudia’s voice came even and authoritative from the doorway. “Calm yourself now, or you will kill her.”

  He gasped, seeming to come to his senses, and turned to Lucinda, who still lay there, tears in her eyes at the interruption. “Ah, no, you are right, I...I almost--”

  “Now, see, this is what happens when you go too long without a lover, dear.” Footsteps. A second pair of hands, just as cool, pushed her head to the side and probed a stinging patch over her pulse. “You lose practice in self-control.” A thoughtful pause, while she still lay there, barely hanging onto consciousness.

  “Well, you’ve shot her full of your venom. I imagine she’s going to have some delightfully dirty dreams. And she’s perhaps a pint and a half low. But no harm done besides that. Good thing she’s in such robust health. She’ll be sleeping it off tomorrow, but that’s it.”

  “God, I could have killed her!” Yohan’s voice shook with horror and self-recrimination.

  “Could have, didn’t, it’s handled, let’s focus on what’s actually happening. Do you like her?”

  “Very much.” Yohan pulled himself together, but still sounded breathless. “But why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” Mischief tinged Claudia's voice for a moment. “Now, I’ll go get the car. Get ready to bring her out once I get it to the side entrance. And no more nibbling on her while I’m away!”

  The door slammed, and she heard high heels click away briskly. She drifted, feeling drugged and exhausted, unable to move as Yohan gently lifted her into his arms and settled her onto his lap. She lost consciousness as he held her, her last sensation that of his fingers moving in her curls, and a soft, cool kiss laid on her forehead.

  Chapter 3

  She gasped awake in her own bed, and sat up--weakly, a wave of dizziness hitting her that forced her to lie back down for a moment. Sunlight puddled on the floor from the window, looking obscenely bright. What time was it? She fumbled for her smart phone on her bedside table and nearly knocked it to the floor.

  The silk slip that she had worn under the costume yesterday still clung to her body. The costume was gone, but the matching clutch purse sat on her desk, with the prize money from last night’s contest sticking out of it. The gown, mask and shoes were missing as well. She vaguely remembered Claudia helping her into her room, and blushed. Did I get drunk?

  It was the easiest explanation she had for what had happened. She had won the contest, talked briefly to Maestro Yohan, acknowledged her immediate and ridiculous crush on him, and then…?

  She shivered, remembering his body pinning hers against the makeup counter. His lips on her skin. That wonderful, amazing pulling sensation that had left her trembling and begging for more. But she couldn’t tell if that was something that had actually happened, or if it was one of the spectacularly dirty dreams she had had last night. All involving Yohan. His body pinning her down, his mouth on her skin, those ecstatic growls. The experience was so bizarre that even lonely and crushing on him, chalking it all off to dreams seemed like the safest bet.

  But God, it had been so lovely to feel a man’s arms around her again. It had been years--so many that the last one had been not a man at all, but a boy, and she barely into her mid teens. After that she had been too shy, and now, she was perpetually too busy. But even though she had little experience in such things, Lucinda remembered now how much she missed being touched.

  Damn it. I swore I wouldn’t let myself get a crush on him.

  She s
tretched, muscles a little stiff, and sat up again, carefully this time. Someone had left a glass of water on her bedside table, and she drank it down greedily. Feeling a little steadier, she grabbed her phone and checked the time.

  It was almost noon.

  “Oh my God.” Panicked, she checked her schedule calendar, and felt her heart sink. She had missed half her shift at the cafe. She hated the job--the manager was a creep and she came home with pinch marks on her ass and thighs half the time--but she needed it, even with the prize money. Yet she had also been warned that if she missed a shift without calling, she was out….

  Tears filled her eyes. It was always something. Win a contest, lose a job. Have sexy dreams about a rich musician, wake up alone. Some days she felt she had no luck at all.

  Her phone rang and she checked it: Claudia. She answered immediately, trying to get the anguish out of her voice. “Hello?”

  “Hello, dear! This is Claudia. I must say, you made quite an impression yesterday evening. I had more than one person ask when you would be back.” She chuckled. “Including Yohan. So tell me, how did you sleep?”