A Taste of Love and Evil

by Barbara Monajem

  If he’d ever had a doubt that it was Constantine who’d sent those random telepathic knocks, starting a few years after he’d vanished from the Rez, he didn’t now. Jack knew from their childhood friendship that Constantine could plant thoughts in other people’s minds. Fortunately, Jack was able to recognize and block those thoughts if he chose. Occasionally there’d been dreams as well, horrific visions rife with hatred and fear. Then, shortly after Constantine’s ill-fated marriage, Jack woke in an agony of black, twisted misery, suffocating in hopelessness, certain he would never move, never live or love, never save anyone again. He hadn’t been going through the best of times, but Jack knew the feelings weren’t his. He’d steeled himself to refuse any more of Constantine’s thoughts, when all contact suddenly ceased. Until now.

  Constantine stared at him across the rooftops, unmoving, expressionless, as far as Jack could tell. Did he want further contact, or was he pissed off at this intrusion into his private rage?

  Jack couldn’t afford to ignore Constantine—hell, he didn’t want to—but Rose, God help her, was way out of her league with Titania. That was his first priority, so old-fashioned signals would have to do. In the ageless gesture of one helpless man to another, he indicated, with a wide swath of his good arm, the crazy, endangered woman pacing his rooftop.

  Constantine made a gun with his hand and got Rose in his sights. Pow. He spread his hands. Problem solved.

  Jack shot him the bird in response, but Constantine was already swiveling away.

  Rose was on the stairs. Jack followed. “Problems?” he asked.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  She hurried through the attic and bedroom. She’d already packed her suitcases and moved them out of Jack’s room to stand by the apartment door. She really was planning to leave. And she wasn’t afraid of Titania. Jack shuddered at this insanity, following her into the kitchen.

  She whirled. “I’m not on the phone anymore, so you don’t need to dog my every step.”

  “I’m going to make breakfast,” Jack said, suiting action to his words. He filled the kettle and started on a batch of oatmeal muffins. Rose just stood there, as if unsure what to do next. She peeked out through the gap in the curtains. She leaned against the wall, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She separated the curtains, revealing the pink wash of sunrise. Not as unconcerned as she pretended, then.

  Jack put the first batch of muffins in the oven, then opened the cupboard and took out an elegant little Rosenthal teapot, white with a whimsical golden top, with cups and saucers and a creamer and sugar bowl to match.

  “Oh!” Rose plopped herself down at the table and reached for the sugar bowl with reverent hands. “Magic Flute!”

  “That’s right,” Jack said, immensely pleased with himself. Trying to impress her, are you? You could have used the old Brown Betty. He ignored the nagging little voice, warmed the pot, spooned in his favorite Darjeeling blend, and filled the teapot with boiling water. He set a tattered wool cozy over it. So there.

  “What a shame to cover it. It needs its own custom-made cozy.” But Rose’s mind clearly wasn’t dwelling on a different kind of tea cozy. She clasped her hands together and unclasped them.

  Jack prepared the pan for the second batch of muffins, spooned the batter into the cups, and washed the dishes. Rose just sat there.

  Jack rinsed his face and hands—not that it helped the ranker areas of his body—and sat across from her. “The set used to belong to my mother. My parents have lived apart most of my life, and my dad sends her a couple of tea sets a year. I inherited her taste for tea, so she passes some of them on to me.” He filled their cups and offered her the sugar. “It’s a little ornate for my taste.”

  “Oh, no,” Rose said. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

  Inspiration thwacked him. “Would you like to have the set? It’s yours.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, all the pleasure draining away. “You don’t owe me.”

  Hell. “Damn it, Rose, that’s not why—”

  Her cell phone rang again.

  “Now what?” Rose snarled into the phone. Jack set down his cup, picked up the teapot, and moved it to safety on the counter.

  “Have I upset you?” oozed Titania. “I hope so.”

  No, that’s Jack’s privilege. Rose stood, grabbed her teacup before he could confiscate that as well, and paced out of the kitchen. Scalding tea slopped over the brim. She took a gulp, sucked up the pain, and continued across the living room past the oblivious Juma and back again, counting the steps until she could trust herself to speak.

  In spite of a humming background noise and the occasional static, Titania’s smug delight came through clearly. “Rose, do you have any idea who I am and what I can do?”

  Rose gripped her teacup. How to answer that? No way would she give up the advantage of Titania’s ignorance.

  As it turned out, the question was rhetorical, and this time silence worked in her favor. “Let’s just say I’m a very dangerous person,” Titania continued. “And that I’m as creative with punishment as I am with sex. Gino, find someplace fast! I have to pee.”

  Huh? She must be in a car, which would explain the hum. “Get to the point, or I’ll hang up again.” Rose took a swig of tea, burned the roof of her mouth, and glared at the pretty, hapless little cup.

  Titania gave a huge, fake, long-suffering sigh. “In spite of your insults, I’ve been kind to you so far. I didn’t tell Miles you stole the gown, and I convinced him to hold off on calling the cops. Gino, if you don’t find a rest area in a hurry, you’ll be sorry.”

  In a car on a highway. On the way here? Rose let out a breath. At least Miles was all right, safe by himself in Chicago.

  She heard the low rumble of a male voice in the background, so low even she couldn’t pick it up, and Titania’s raspy giggle. “That would be fun.” Then, abruptly: “Some other time. I’m in a hurry today.”

  “Get on with it,” Rose said. Jack was right next to her, eavesdropping as usual, or maybe he just wanted to protect his mommy’s cup so he could offer it to someone else he felt he owed.

  “Fine,” Titania said. “I’m getting bored with all this kindness, so I’ll lay it on the line. If you deliver that gown to Violet Dupree, I’ll tell Miles you connived with Violet to bankrupt him. He’ll be devastated. He has such touching confidence in you. I wouldn’t be surprised if the truth killed him.”

  Rose’s heart lurched. She set the teacup in Jack’s outstretched palm and mustered her cool. “How would that benefit you? You still wouldn’t have the gown.”

  “You admit that you stole it?”

  “I didn’t steal anything,” Rose said.

  “That’s just semantics. I know you have the gown and I know you’re bringing it to Violet. Why not be as frank with me as I am with you?”

  “How would that benefit me?” volleyed Rose. “I’m a practical woman, just like you. Breaking promises doesn’t pay off, so when I’ve made a promise, I keep it. As far as I’m concerned, you can take your ego trips, threats, and slavery fantasies and go fuck yourself.” She shut the phone again.

  “Anything I can do to help?” Jack handed back Rose’s tea.

  “No.” She had barely raised the cup to her lips when the phone rang again. Rose let it ring while she took another bracing gulp of tea. She flipped the phone open and snarled, “Already finished fucking yourself? That was quick.”

  Jack’s dimple flashed as he took her cup again. He set it gently on the table.

  Titania’s voice bit into that small moment of humor. “Listen, you stupid bitch. The second I tell him to, Miles will call the cops in Bayou Gavotte, and they’ll throw you in jail. Don’t fool yourself into thinking Violet will protect you. She’ll deny everything, pay off the cops like she always does, and keep the gown. My gown.”

  No, my gown. Rose dug a fang into her lower lip to stop herself from screaming the words out loud.

  A car door slammed, and Titania
said, “I’ll give you a couple of hours to think about it. Don’t think you can rush over to Violet’s place and then pretend you didn’t. I’m watching your every move.”

  Rose wrenched her fang out of her lip. “Oh, please,” she said, licking up her own blood. “I’m not afraid of you or your creative punishment or anything else.”

  “You will be.” Titania hung up.

  Rose closed her phone and turned it off. Poor Miles, so far away and all alone, believing that witch’s lies.

  “Rose,” Jack said.

  “What?” She barely managed not to wail, or scream, or cry. “Why can’t you mind your own business? Just because you have a rescue complex, it doesn’t mean you have to try saving me.”

  Jack recoiled. “Rescue complex?”

  Rose flapped a hand. “At least it leads you to help people, but you don’t really like what you’re doing, and when it comes to me, you have to force yourself just to be civil. I’m not saying you don’t mean well—you do, of course you do—but you don’t genuinely care.” She retrieved her cup and swallowed the rest of the tea in one gulp.

  “Of course I care. I wouldn’t be wasting my time on all these idiotic women if I didn’t care.”

  He was immediately sorry, because amusement lit her eyes. “I rest my case. Thanks for the offer of breakfast, but I have to run.”

  “No,” Jack said. “You don’t. Not until we’ve had a little talk.”

  She set the cup on the table. “About what?

  He took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to like this, but rescue complex or not, he did have to take care of her: regardless of how she’d first gotten into this mess, she knew nothing about Titania, or she’d be terrified. “About Violet Dupree, and why you need to think carefully before getting any more involved with her.”

  Her amusement faded. Her fangs peeked out. “What do you know about Violet?”

  “Enough to know that she has dragged you into one of her vampire feuds. You need to leave town and set up somewhere far away while you have the chance. I’ll relocate you and deliver the gown to Violet in your stead.”

  “You can’t do that. The gown is nowhere near finished. It has to be fitted, and—Damn it, how come you know so much?” The tips of her fangs gleamed.

  “What is it for, a Mardi Gras ball?” Jack asked. “There’s plenty of time for Violet to find someone else to finish the gown. Your safety is far more important.”

  “You know way too much for my liking.” She poked a finger into his chest. “How come? Huh?” Her fangs were down now, close, sharp, and bloody distracting.

  Memory tugged at his loins of succumbing, utterly and completely, to Titania’s allure. The pierce of her fangs, followed by such a rush of pleasure that…

  No.

  “If it was that dangerous, why didn’t Violet say so?”

  All it takes is control, he told himself. Just tell her what you know. “Maybe she didn’t want to scare you by telling you, but she sent me to that hotel to make sure you were safe, and that you got to Bayou Gavotte in one piece.”

  “Oh, really?” Rose sucked up her fangs, walked away to get her handbag, and returned. “Then why didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Because I didn’t know what was going on. Violet was the only person who knew I’d gone to that hotel, and although I didn’t think she had a reason to want me dead, how could I know for sure? I spoke to her last night, and I don’t believe she was behind the shooting, but—”

  “You spoke to her? When? You didn’t tell me that, either.” Her voice was cool, but the tips of her fangs peeked out again.

  “I haven’t had much chance, Rose. You were asleep until a while ago. Now, listen. I didn’t tell Violet I’d seen you, because I wanted you to weigh your options. Violet should be flogged for endangering you, and she doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

  “I have to leave. Now.” She took a business card from her handbag and held it out. “Tell Juma—”

  “It would be better if you stayed,” Jack said.

  “Better for whom?” She marched into the living room and tossed the card on the bed beside Juma. “Why should I believe a word you’re saying? For all I know you’re double-crossing Violet. Maybe that’s why you’re so set on keeping me here.” She poked him again. “In fact, that seems all too likely. I made a commitment to Violet, and I will not let her down.”

  “I’m not double-crossing anyone.” Jack put his back to the door and crossed his arms. “It’s not a good idea for you to leave just yet.”

  Rose’s fangs slotted fully down. She bore down on him, fists clenched. “You’re going to try and stop me?”

  “Of course not,” Jack said, maintaining his position. “I’m concerned for your safety, that’s all. If you’re determined to deliver the gown, it would be prudent for you to stay here, where no one can see you or your very conspicuous van, until I get you another vehicle.” He paused. “In any case, Violet’s unlikely to be awake. She works till all hours at her club, so she won’t be up at dawn.”

  “I don’t suppose the streets are swarming with thugs at dawn, either.” Little jabs of allure sizzled toward Jack. “Why would I be in any danger?”

  Jack shrugged, fighting to ignore the fangs, to stave off his attraction. “I don’t have any specifics. I just think—”

  “Move over.” Rose shoved at him.

  He didn’t budge. Her fangs called to him, her allure tantalized and teased, and his stubbornness was morphing into simple stupidity, but he didn’t care.

  Rose blazed. “Get out of my way!”

  He was about to throw up his arms in disgust—seriously, he was thinking about it; really, he was intending to step aside—when she got right in his face and the allure locked him in. He couldn’t, really couldn’t, couldn’t possibly drag his eyes away from her hot delicious mouth, her tiny sharp fangs, her tongue ready to tangle with his.

  Through drooping lids he watched her eyes close. Their lips touched. Ahhh. His hands dropped to his sides. His fingers itched and stretched and yearned toward her. He sucked in her heat, breathed back hot and hard in response.

  A nagging voice in his head piped up. You’ll be sorry.

  Shut up, said another, a voice with clear authority. This is Rose. You have one chance. You have to get this right.

  He dabbed his tongue against hers, parried her response, thrust past her defenses, and raked his tongue across her fangs. She shuddered and opened to him with a mew of pleasure. He pressed his advantage, testing, tasting, exploring that sweet mouth, capturing her tongue and slipping away, nipping her upper lip, dabbing, teasing at her fangs. Her handbag slipped from her shoulder to her elbow, from her elbow to her hand, from her hand to the floor.

  Jack ran his tingling fingers across her hips, feinting with his tongue as he slid his hands under her shirt to pinch at her waist, fondle the edges of those glorious breasts, feather past the taut nipples. Oh, love. A distant terror ran through him, but he pressed on, taking the kiss deeper, stronger.

  Rose pulled away, growling softly, and lunged back at him in a flurry of lips, fangs, and tongue, her hands clawing into his hair, her everything jammed lush and pliant against him. In a surge of relief and lust he urged her on, sucked and licked and pulled at her lips, lifted and dragged her across his erection, ran his fingers gently down her butt and harder back again, up the crack of her ass. She moaned and writhed against him.

  Breaking the kiss, Rose ran her fangs down his cheek and sank them into his throat. Oh, God. Heaven. If—

  “Jeez, take it to the bedroom, will you?”

  Hell.

  Rose jerked her fangs out. It hurt like the devil, but Jack sucked up a groan more of despair than pain and moved his arm quickly upward to hide her face, shifting Rose slightly so Juma wouldn’t see. “Sorry,” Rose gasped, sucking her fangs back into their slots. She took two shallow, shaky breaths, swiped her healing tongue across the tiny, stinging cuts on Jack’s throat, and licked her lips clean of his blood.
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br />   She took a few steps back, and Jack turned away to get his own mess under control. The last thing he needed was some teenybopper goggling at the rapidly healing cuts on his throat or the remains of his erection. Damnation. Although, if he had even a small fragment of common sense, he’d be thankful the dumb chick was here.

  Rescued from the maw of heaven. Uh…of hell. Right.

  He got his breathing under control and retreated to the kitchen. Better than standing there hopelessly, helplessly, tongue lolling out and gaping at Rose. One point in his favor: he’d definitely got her going.

  Not a major accomplishment, with a vamp, said a nasty, practical little voice.

  “Juma, I apologize,” Rose croaked. She ran a hand over her face and cleared her throat. “That was so rude of us.”

  Juma yawned and sat up. “No problem. Bedroom, like I said.”

  Rose adjusted her clothing. “As a matter of fact, I was about to leave.”

  “That was some good-bye kiss,” Juma said—and then, in a sudden panic, “You’re going? Where?” She sat up in a hurry, taking in the suitcases by the door. “Don’t leave me!”

  Rose sat beside Juma on the futon. “I have to deliver the dress to my customer, sweetie.”

  “You don’t have to take your suitcases to the customer,” Juma said. “You were trying to sneak out before I woke up. I should have known. You’re like all the rest. You make promises and then you break them.”

  Rose put her arm around Juma. “I’m not breaking my promise. I will not desert you. I packed my suitcases because that bedroom is Jack’s and I don’t want to share it with him.” She picked up the business card and gave it to the girl. “Jack is making some excellent arrangements for you, but if you’re not happy with them, call me and I’ll come get you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Juma shrugged Rose’s arm away. “You’ll just say you’re too busy, or you don’t have a place for me to stay, or that I belong with my fucking family.”