by Kit Tunstall
Her energy was lagging, making it difficult for Shaun to follow the sequence of events. Ahead, she saw Armand engage two agents, disarming them and sending them sprawling on the tile floor to clear their exit. The main doors beckoned, and she held her breath as they approached, expecting something to stop them since they were so close.
A harsh exhalation left her when they passed through the threshold and into the night. Wasting no time, Foster immediately levitated, as did Armand. She gripped his neck in a tight hold instinctively. Knowing he wouldn’t drop her couldn’t prevent the fear of falling.
As they flew across the night sky, the bright lights of the city spread out below them. Shaun marveled at how easy their escape had been. If she had been in top physical form, would she have had as easy a time escaping?
Foster began descending, and Shaun looked down to see their destination -- a tree-heavy lot in a community park. The play area was silent, and a lone streetlight provided only meager illumination. As soon as her feet touched ground, she slumped against Foster again while taking a deep breath. The outside smelled wonderful, especially after being imprisoned in that lab for the past two weeks at the mercy of Holmes and whatever procedure he chose to subject her to.
Armand took her from Foster, pulling her into his arms, as he whispered her name several times, his voice thick with suppressed tears. Finally, he drew back enough to look down at her, his face a mask of worry. “You are weak, ma belle.”
She nodded. “It’s the baby. She’s using every available resource.”
Foster pressed close to them, his hand cupping her distended stomach. “It’s impossible.”
Managing a small smile, she said, “I thought so too, but clearly it isn’t. I’ve seen her many times on ultrasound, so there’s no doubt she’s in there. Trust me, I didn’t go on a donut splurge.”
Her joke fell flat, the men too engrossed touching her stomach, where the baby obligingly kicked against their hands.
“Do you have any idea how rare it is for a vampire to find a genetic match, chérie? We’re fertile, of course, but unless our DNA is compatible, the mother’s immune system will attack the foreign genetic material, preventing the pregnancy from forming.” He rubbed her belly in a small circle. “I’ve only known one other vampire couple who were compatible.”
“My parents,” Armand said, his mouth finally closing. It had seemed to be locked in a semi-open position permanently.
Shaun’s eyes widened. “You were born to them?”
He nodded. “Jacqueline and I both.”
“I assumed one of your parents had been transformed and then did the same for the rest of you, to keep you alive always.”
“A logical assumption.” He shrugged. “There wasn’t anything known about genetics when they were alive, but Papa always assumed it was because he was Mother’s sire that they could have children. That isn’t the case, as we now know. It’s still a mystery why some strains of the virus are compatible when others aren’t. In fact, it’s rare for a sire to be compatible with their progeny, so it has nothing to do with the particular strain.”
“I don’t care how it happened.” Shaun put her hands over both of theirs on her stomach. “I’m just happy it did.” Taking a deep breath, she broached a topic she feared might be sensitive. “But which of you is the father?”
Armand and Foster shared a look before turning their attention back to her. “We don’t know. We might never know,” said Foster.
“We both are. Obviously, one of us is the biological father, but without our link, our shared dreams, we wouldn’t have found Shaun. There wouldn’t be a baby without both of us ... without Shaun.” Armand shrugged. “I don’t care who fathered her. She is my child.”
“My daughter.” A twinkle in Foster’s eyes showed his pleasure, but it faded suddenly. “You can’t do this, Shaun.”
Her brow furrowed with confusion. “What?” He had seemed happy about the baby, but his expression told a different story, as had his words that cut through her heart.
“No human has ever given birth to a vampire baby. You can’t possibly survive the process.” His eyes raked her from head to toe. “You’re drained, on the point of collapse just from nourishing her. You couldn’t survive the birth in your current state.”
She took a step back from Armand, somehow managing to stand on her own, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a little too late to change things now. I’m not aborting.”
“Don’t be angry, ma belle. Foster is only worried for you, as am I.” Armand had to clear his throat before continuing. “We do not want to lose you again, but we aren’t suggesting termination.”
“Then what?”
“You must transform immediately. The process will infuse you with strength, and you’ll be able to sustain our child and yourself.”
Shaun saw the worry in both of their gazes, could sense they were forming arguments to counter her inevitable resistance to the notion. It was almost fun to say in a light tone, “Okay.”
“If you don’t do it, you’ll die --” Foster broke off, blinking. “Did you say okay?”
She nodded, a smile twitching her lips. “I did.”
“I thought you didn’t want this.” Armand’s eyes relayed his confusion, along with a trace of hope.
Her head spun, and Shaun took a step forward, leaning against them to keep upright. “I didn’t know what I wanted, but I do now. I’ve had a lot of time to think while trapped in the lab.”
“We would have come sooner, but the dreams weren’t specific enough to reveal a location until last night.”
Shaun touched Foster’s lips, cutting him off. “I figured it was something like that, love. I never doubted you would come for me. I was only afraid it wouldn’t be in time.”
“Nothing can keep us from you.” Armand gathered her close. “Now, not even death.”
It was easier than she thought to surrender to the process. Although she had already decided to become a vampire so she could be with them forever, part of her had wondered if she would be able to so easily relinquish her humanity. As Armand and Foster held her between them, their mouths poised on each side of her neck, she found the fear fading. She wasn’t losing her humanity; she was only augmenting it.
Their teeth pierced her skin simultaneously, bringing a brief flash of pain that quickly turned to sweet warmth, like a heavy drug flowing through her veins, spreading from the bites. They sucked her blood in concert, their hands roaming over her body, awakening a different kind of heat, one she would be happy to quench with them once she was strong enough.
Their mouths left her neck, and Armand was the first to bring his wrist to his mouth, slashing the vein with his fang. Shaun pressed her mouth to the wound, sucking the blood and swallowing as it flowed into her mouth. It started out a veritable river, but quickly slowed to a stream, before drying up completely. As Armand withdrew his arm, Foster’s wrist was there to take his place, and she repeated the process until his wound closed, and he dropped his hand to his side.
A floating sensation filled her head, and the warmth flooding her body began to burn slightly, like the sting of an over-exercised muscle after an intense workout. It wasn’t exactly painful, but didn’t incite any excitement in her. Instead, the sensation quelled her burgeoning desire completely when it turned to fire eating through her, as convulsions racked her body. She cried out, and they lowered her to the ground. The soft grass provided a cushion for her as she spasmed under the onslaught. Foster and Armand stayed beside her, their hands gripping hers, their eyes mirroring her pain.
Abruptly, the burning stopped, replaced by a feeling like ice coursing through her veins. She had barely registered the sensation when it faded to more of a refreshing sensation, like a cold drink on a hot day. Her senses had increased in sensitivity dramatically, and she could smell blood nearby, but experienced no hunger. “It’s not like I thought it would be.”
“How so?” Armand pushed hair off her forehead, his eyes stil
l reflecting a measure of concern.
“In our training, we were taught newly converted necros attack the closest source of sustenance, but I’m not in the grip of bloodlust. I feel much as I always did, actually, except stronger.”
“Yet another thing they got wrong,” Foster said.
Moving slowly, Shaun sat up, gauging her strength as she did so. Although still on the weak side, already renewed vigor filled her. For the first time in days, she didn’t seem to be hovering at death’s door. “What now?”
“We run,” said Foster, his lip curling.
She sighed. “I guess we have to leave behind the house on the cliff.”
“Yes, ma belle. Such is our existence.” Armand got to his feet at the same time as Foster, and then they both assisted her to a standing position, making sure she was steady before relaxing their grips. “It is frustrating, but you will still find life can be happy and worthwhile, even while there are those in the world who would kill us on sight.”
“I never doubted I would be happy with you.”
Foster chuckled. “Never, chérie?”
Shaun squirmed. “Okay, maybe in the beginning, when I thought you were just going to drain me dry.”
“Or fuck you to death,” Armand interjected.
“That too.” She lowered her voice to a husky rasp. “It turns out, that wouldn’t be a bad way to go.”
“You will never have to fear death now,” Armand said.
A sad smile crossed her face. “My darling, we still have to worry about dying, with the NCA out there.”
“That’s always a possibility, but we don’t dwell on that.” Foster put his arm around her, drawing her closer. “Instead, let us think about the future, and the ways we will love each other.”
“And our child.” Armand touched her stomach.
“Thank you for finding me.” She spoke with heartfelt sincerity, finding it impossible to express the jumble of emotions flooding through her. Gratitude, relief, fear, and joy all blended together to form a disorienting cocktail. The only way to cope with it was to filter out everything but the joy.
“It was our pleasure, ma belle.” Armand kissed her.
“And now, the pleasure will be mine ... forever,” she said with a mischievous grin before offering her lips to Foster.
As they held her between them, making her feel safe and secure, Shaun decided to try to adopt Foster’s policy of not dwelling on the threat from the NCA. Instead, she would embrace her new life and the two men who had completed her. She no longer doubted they were her soul mates. The concept wasn’t ludicrous. How could it be, when they fit together so perfectly, when they were the missing parts of her, and she was the same for them?
Kit Tunstall
Kit Tunstall lives in Idaho with her husband and dog-children. She started reading at the age of three and hasn't stopped since. Love of the written word, and a smart marriage to a supportive man, led her to a full-time career in writing. Romances have always intrigued her, and erotic romance is a natural extension because it more completely explores the emotions between the hero and heroine. That, and it sure is fun to write.
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Read on for a tantalizing glimpse of
Maslow’s Needs
by Sheri Gilmore
Available Now from Loose Id
Maslow’s Needs
Shit! Nolan hadn't attacked her. Drayden looked at her bandaged hands, then back at the cuts and scratches on her face. He frowned. If his brother hadn't done this to her, who had?
She watched him with a narrowed gaze, and he knew he'd given too much away. When she eased away from him to stand, he registered the loss of her warmth. His lips tightened. He couldn't afford to get involved in a sexual relationship with a woman right now, especially this one. He shifted his hips to release some of the tension in the crotch of his jeans, but the second she turned away from him he caught a glimpse of her ass.
She still wore the black jeans she'd been wearing at the club. In the dim light he hadn't been able to make a good appraisal, but had known she looked good. He'd seen the way the other men had watched her, like a pack of wolves. He snorted. Some of them were! His club serviced not only the vampire community, but otherkin also. All goth peoples were welcome, as long as everyone followed the rules -- the main one being, Don't munch on the cowans without an invitation.
Her hips swayed, and his mouth went dry. The denim fit her skin like a glove. She had one of those pear-shaped asses a guy just wanted to --
She turned; he glanced up. Her hands went to her hips.
Drayden smiled, knowing he couldn't deny he'd been staring at her ... assets. He shrugged. “What can I say? I'm human.”
“Are you?”
Tension filled the space between them. Their eyes clashed.
He could see desire and wariness in hers. “I'm as human as you.”
“You're not ... vampire?” Her head cocked in an angle of challenge.
“Yes.” He nodded and stood, slowly. He could see her muscles tense in preparation for defense. He wanted to ease her suspicions. He would give her as much information as he could. “But I'm human, and I'm also witch.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Like Konstantinos?”
His jaw clenched at the mention of the man who had been her escort that night. He'd seen the other witch in action before with other women -- goth women, who knew the score. Drayden felt a rush of resentment that she would compare him with the writer-musician. “I am not like Konstantinos.”
Her eyebrows drew down. “Then you're a different kind of witch?” She looked at him, and he saw the confusion in her eyes. “I-I didn't realize there were different kinds --”
Her confusion had allowed him to move closer. One more step and he stood directly in front of her. His fingers found her chin, but he made sure he didn't touch the cut he had cleaned. He lifted her face to his.
Her pupils dilated with surprise.
“There are different kinds of everything in this world, just like there are in yours. What I meant was that I don't sleep around with a different woman every night.”
She pulled away from his touch. Her lips compressed into a thin line. “You said that earlier, and I told you it wasn't your concern.”
“He's gone and left you here alone.”
“So?”
He smiled and stepped in closer. “So, you must not be the flavor he wants at the moment.”
She tried to shove past him, but he exerted his strength and didn't move. He caught her upper arms and pushed her back against the wall. Her strength amazed him. Even with her wounds, he had to tighten his muscles and dig his boots into the carpet to prevent her from breaking his hold.
After a few seconds, she relaxed and his weight fell into her. The gush of her scent as their bodies met assailed his nostrils. Once again his cock hardened. This time he didn't stop her from knowing he was aroused. The way they stood, he knew she could feel the outline of him against her abdomen. He pressed closer.
She jerked back, but couldn't go anywhere. Her head hit the wall.
“How long have you two been together?”
“A week.”
“Has he fucked you?” The flame of jealousy he'd experienced earlier at the thought of them together returned.
Her entire body stiffened. He watched her skin flame from the neck of her shirt to the top of her forehead. He heard her words, angry and tense, scrape through clenched teeth.
“That's ... none ... of your ... damned ... business.”
He smiled at the sound of her southern drawl, especially on the word damned. The accent might be slow, but the effect on his libido had him craving to hear her say a few more naughty words for him ... in bed. “Oh, but it is.”
“Yeah?” She shoved him. “How do you figure?”
He caught her wrists below the bandages and forced her arms above her head. The sweater she wore rode up to reveal the smooth texture of her skin.
With a groan, he caught both wrists in o
ne hand. His free hand moved to caress her beneath her rib cage. Her breath hissed in his ear. Her hips bucked, but he pressed closer, holding her in place. “I don't steal other men's women.”
She stilled at that and raised her head. Their gazes met, once again, and locked. He circled his fingers, letting his fingernails brush the sensitive nerves lying just below the surface, one by one across the flat line of her belly. A surge of power engulfed him at the sight of her throat convulsing on a swallow.
“Are you one of his women?” His hand had lined up directly over her navel. He curled the tips of his fingers and his nails scraped her skin, harder, tugging lightly on a navel ring. He paused in surprise and delight. The detective had a wild streak. His fingers twitched. A tremor passed through her body.
“He has so many, what difference would it make if I am?”
He dipped his head to nibble the sensitive area behind her ear. He nipped her earlobe. With the tip of his tongue, he circled the rim of her ear, then let his breath fan the dampened area with a whisper. “I don't like to share.”
She bucked her hips again, and he had to tighten his grip on her wrists. The flat of his palm pressed into her abdomen with the ends of his fingers submerged below the waistband of her low-cut jeans. He could feel the coarse hair of her pussy against his fingertips.
“Are you, Jessi?” He flicked his tongue along her jaw.
She groaned. “N-No!”
“Good.” He dipped his head and took her mouth with his at the same time he slid his hand deeper into the crotch of her jeans to cup her mound. Warm, wet heat spread beneath his fingers, but he didn't try to enter her. Without the proper precautions, his nails could hurt her. For now, he'd let her move against the pressure of his hand to bring her release.
His tongue slid against and around hers. He sucked her bottom lip, bit her top one. And the entire time, she gave as good as she got. Her little moans and whimpers shimmered down his spine, making him want to sink his cock into her, deep and hard. The hum in his ears intensified, but he ignored the sound he knew indicated a psychic link. He'd felt the connection with her before. She had a highly developed system that she seemed unaware of.
