by Raven Hart
“I’ll light a candle for you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I had to figure Olivia was the most powerful female vampire in our circle. I was tempted to ask her to sacrifice a two-headed chicken or something while she was at it. “I can use all the help I can get in the love department.”
“Something tells me you’ll do just fine. What girl could resist that wavy black hair and those cornflower blue eyes?”
“Aw, go on.” No, really, go on.
“And that big set of…fangs. ”
“You have a pretty impressive set yourself, ya know.” Olivia was a willowy platinum blonde with gray eyes and a brick-house figure. And when she wasn’t riding you with that can-I-get-an-amen body like some crazy cowgirl, she liked to keep it swathed in leather and lace. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.
Flashing back to my night of wild sex with Olivia and her bodacious bod reminded me of another pro in the game of love—Eleanor.
“Oh, shit!” I yelled. “Something awful just occurred to me.”
“What is it?”
“Eleanor! She’s a vampire now. William just made her and is bound to her forever or something. Oh, man, Olivia. You should’ve told him about Diana when you had the chance.” The implications of William’s turning of Eleanor hit me like one of those cartoon anvils. Dooiingggg.
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. “It can’t be helped. That’s all the more reason not to tell him about his mortal wife.”
Now my headache was ferocious. I needed time to think. “Did your spies say anything about what this Hugo looks like? Does he have a cross-shaped scar on his throat, by any chance?”
“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I have to go now, O.”
“Very well. I suppose I’ve given you a lot to mull over. I’ll see you at the meeting. Or rather, you’ll see me—I’ll be tapping in via satellite to tell the assembly some of what we’ve learned about the hostile European clans. Now that Eleanor is part of the equation, there may never be a good time to tell William about Diana. Perhaps Eleanor will help William forget about his wife.”
And ’66 Corvettes might learn to fly.
This was just getting worse and worse. I remembered William’s implied bottom line about Eleanor: She wasn’t Diana. Five hundred years had passed and still he couldn’t forget her.
“Until I see you at the meeting, then,” I muttered. And thanks for sharing the love. I hung up and staggered out of the office and into the kitchen area next to the shop floor. The cement was cold on my already chilled bare feet and I shivered again. I grabbed a brew and brought the bottle top down on the counter’s edge with a slap of my other hand, and the cap went flying into the corner.
Just when William and I were making a new start, things were already turning sour.
After all those decades of his keeping secrets, we’d made a deal and he’d agreed to share with me all things vampire. Now, ironically, I’d be forced to keep secrets from him. I knew William and his temper well enough to know that when—not if—he found out I was hiding the existence of the love of his mortal life, he would never forgive me. Hell, he might even kill me. Or at least try. One of my oldest fears—one of my worst recurring nightmares—was someday having to fight to the death with my sire. That fear had started to disappear lately. Now it was back with a vengeance.
I guzzled about half the beer and flopped onto the couch. One stupid mistake on my part and I was toast. I had to use the strength of the voodoo blood to block my thoughts from William—the only thing in my favor was that he didn’t suspect anything, so he didn’t have any cause to use his best mind-intruding tricks on me.
So in a very real way, I was already in that dreaded struggle with my sire, only it would be a mental one and might have to last the rest of our unnatural lives. My only hope now was that the battle stayed in our minds and never got to be the knock-down, drag-out vampire battle of the century.
If I’d had a soul, I would’ve been begging God to have mercy on it. As it was, I could only drain the rest of the beer, stare at the ceiling, and wonder why I didn’t just hang up on Olivia when she’d started wheedling.
Olivia was pigheaded and impulsive and William, knowing what a loose cannon she could be, had sent her off to be head of the European Bonaventures. Now she was poised to ruin my life. In order to save her own skin, she’d put me and my relationship with my sire on life support because she broke her word to a master vampire.
To hell with that.
I sat up and threw the beer bottle against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces, the force of it showering me with shards of brown glass from across the room. Olivia could twist in the wind for all I cared. I made up my mind in that instant.
I was going to tell William. I was going to tell him everything. I’d save myself.
And when he decided to charge over to Europe to confront this Hugo guy, I’d go with him. I’d rather die in a good, clean fight with the bad guys. I’d rather die at William’s right hand than be done in by my best friend over a bunch of female stupidity. Besides, hell, we might just kick their skinny Russian asses.
William could deal with Eleanor however he saw fit. It would be hard, especially for a person like her. As the old cliché goes, El was the hooker with a heart of gold, at least when she was human. As an immortal, who knew how she’d be? But that was none of my business. She and Diana could duke it out over William if that’s what it came down to. In fact, that might be fun. I hadn’t seen a good old-fashioned hair-pulling, eye-gouging catfight since two camp followers went at it over me back in the War of Northern Aggression.
And William could deal with Olivia as he liked, too. That did make me feel a little guilty, especially since I’d just promised her I’d keep her secret. But too bad—I was going to look out for number one for once in my long, long life. They say it’s a woman’s option to change her mind. Well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. As soon as the sun went down, I’d head back to William’s place and come clean.
Satisfied that my decision was the right one, I was finally able to relax, free my mind, and drift back off to sleep. The sleep of the dead.
William
The rumble of the cabin cruiser vibrated below us as it cut through the waters at the mouth of the Savannah River, past Fort Pulaski and the Tybee Island Lighthouse and into the ocean.
“Oh, William, this is so beautiful,” Eleanor said, leaning back against me. The breeze off the ocean lifted her long, loose hair and it wrapped around my neck and face like tendrils of silk. She smelled of sunset, saltwater, and magnolia, and I felt nearly drunk in her presence. I had not foreseen how our connection would be magnified by her making. Anywhere our bodies touched sizzled with awareness, a doubling of the power I’d felt when she was mortal.
“It’s your turn to find me a swan,” she said, a smile in her voice.
“No swans tonight, sweet.” We’d both fed on stored blood before leaving the house, but I knew the hunger of a fledgling. Only warm, living, beating blood would do. I lowered my mouth near her ear. “Tonight you must kill, take it all, drink the last drops of a life.” I had not hunted humans since my efforts to distract Reedrek, but tonight had to be special, something more than the poorer parts of the city could offer. Filet mignon rather than fast food.
Eleanor was silent for a moment and I wondered if she was upset by the prospect of ending a life. But after a contented sigh, she relaxed against me, bowing to my will.
We were headed north, away from the city, and away from the state for that matter, since the Savannah River marked the boundary of South Carolina. We cruised out beyond the fringes of land toward several islands that separated the rivers and the sea. Hilton Head is the most famous of them, followed by others with names like Daufuskie and Fripp. We were headed for a place called Hunting Island. Never let it be said that the undead don’t have a sense of humor. The night air was cool—too coo
l for an abundance of human activity. Winter had settled over the south, and though the cold was mild to my immortal constitution, most mortals would be huddled close to home rather than venturing outdoors near the ocean. Unless they, like us, had dark business to do. Scarcity made the hunt all the sweeter. We had darkness and a fast boat—we could hunt to our hunger’s content.
“Are you happy?” Eleanor asked suddenly.
Since the question didn’t sound like an inquisition, I told her the surprising, unaltered truth. “Yes, sweet. I am.”
Eleanor turned in my arms, and her delighted smile lit something warm inside of my cold chest. “You’ll never be sorry. I swear it.”
As pleasant anticipation spread through me, Melaphia’s unfortunate sentiment settled in my thoughts like a shock of cold water. Be careful what you wish for…
In the human world, some spoke of bad luck or fate being their adversary. In actuality, it was usually their choices that put them in luck’s sights…and in ours. As we slowly circled Hunter’s Island, we spotted a small knot of men huddled near a broken-down dock. They had built a fire in an old fuel drum—not a good choice on this night. Especially when someone was about, like myself, who could smell their evil intent.
I allowed the boat to coast in until the bow scraped sand, then I leaped into the knee-deep water to help Eleanor down. Three of the men seemed frozen in place, probably wondering whether they should trust their eyes. The last one reacted, reaching for a sturdy limb from the firewood pile, but did so in slow motion.
“Good evening,” I said in my most hospitable manner. Just because we were there to kill them didn’t mean we couldn’t be cordial. I took Eleanor’s hand and led her forward into the light. “We have a slight problem, and I wonder if you might help us?”
On closer inspection, the men were dressed better than I’d expected, and there were three ATVs parked behind them near the trees. These men were not homeless; they had other reasons to be out on the edge of nowhere on a cold January night. They were up to somethin’, as Jack would say.
And so were we.
For a moment the sight of Eleanor lit by the firelight took the words out of them. She who must be obeyed smiled, then turned her Gypsy eyes in my direction. Sizzling hunger and a willingness to play showed in her expression, sending a delectable wave of longing through me. She was waiting for something as well—my permission.
Finally the large one with the wooden weapon spoke. “Why didn’t you just call the Coast Guard? You must have a radio on that fancy rig.”
“Ah yes, a radio…” I was beginning to enjoy myself. It wasn’t often I allowed myself to dawdle over meals. “Unfortunately, we’re not interested in the Coast Guard.”
Take this one, I whispered to Eleanor’s mind. He wants you more than the others.
“My lady here—” I brushed back Eleanor’s mane of hair. “—likes you.” I nearly lost my concentration at the sight of her graceful, bare neck.
His gaze left me for Eleanor. I could not see her expression, but I imagine it was enough to bring a mortal man to his knees, because he began to sink downward. She stepped forward in time to remove the tree limb from his hand, tossing it into the water with a splash.
I turned to concentrate on the other three. Leave this place. Run away. Run away now.
“Donny—” one managed to grit out.
“Leave him to us,” I said aloud.
“But what about the shipment—”
“Go. Now,” I ordered, setting their minds on fire with fear. “And don’t come back here, ever.” They scrambled toward their transportation. One briefly considered digging out a weapon but I chased that notion out of his head with a grisly vision of spurting blood…from his own neck. The sudden roar of the engines was annoying on such a peaceful evening, but necessary. In a short time they had faded into the distance.
I returned to Eleanor. She was standing behind the man who was to be her first victim. Her hand pushed possessively through his hair as one might pet a large dog.
“He’s all yours,” I said.
She didn’t move right away. “I remember watching Olivia…in my dungeon,” she said, then licked her lips. Seeing her warming to the kill made me understand why a mortal could not deny her anything. “She tied hers up and fucked him.”
I experienced a tiny shiver of jealousy, but it passed. As far as fucking went, she knew what she was about. It was her former business, after all. On this first kill, I would not deny her any business, or any pleasure. “Do you wish to tie him?”
Lids half closed, she stared down at her prize. “No.” She brought her gaze to mine. “I want you to hold him.”
Instead of angering me, the pure sexual tug of the image she’d placed in my mind caused my cock to twitch. “Whatever you wish.” I took the unfortunate’s arm and raised him to his feet.
“Take this off,” she ordered, pushing at the jacket he wore. He made one feeble effort to pull away; but then Eleanor began charming him, whispering how much she wanted him. She flung the jacket away. He followed in a daze as I brought him to the nearest tree. With his back to the bark, I drew his arms around the trunk so that I could hold his wrists with one hand.
Eleanor’s smile was aimed at me rather than the man between us. She pulled his shirt free, baring his chest. A low moan rose from him and he began to tremble as Eleanor paused to delicately sniff his neck.
“I smell a woman on you,” she said. “You’ve already had some fun tonight.” She closed her eyes as though meditating or, heaven forbid, saying grace before a meal. Then she tsked.
Just when I thought she’d chosen a new kind of exquisite torture for us both, she surprised me.
“And you hurt her, didn’t you? Like you always do.” She opened her eyes, a hardness in her gaze. Her newly minted fangs were extending as she added, “So sad. But I don’t believe she’ll miss your…attentions.”
Then she bit him.
The smell of hot blood and the strangled sounds of struggle tightened my jaw, teasing my own fangs into extending. I could hear the man’s panicked heartbeat, feel his muscles straining. Hear the sucking…
After a good long drink, Eleanor drew back, her beautiful face and chest spattered with blood, strands of her hair stuck to her skin. Then, pressing herself forward, she pulled my face down into a sloppy, blood-filled kiss. I sucked at her mouth, catching the fervor of her bloodlust. She brought us both back to his neck and I bit down for a deeper taste.
We both sucked until the frantically beating heart under his skin began to slow. I drew back.
“I thought you wanted to fuck him?” I asked, breathing hard, taking the moment to regain my composure.
She ran a hand down my belly to massage the hardness I made no attempt to hide. With a bloody smile she said, “I’d rather fuck you.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Since the first night we met there’s only been you.”
Although I’d never admit it, her words produced a gratifying flush of possession in my bloodlust. “Finish it then.”
Eleanor shrugged out of her gossamer blouse and unfastened the soft skirt she was wearing, not stopping until she was naked in the firelight. The victim was too far gone to care. This show was purely for me. Humming with pleasure, she leaned into her meal again and I took the opportunity to use my free hand to arouse her further. So the running blood wouldn’t go to waste, I rubbed the wetness on her nipples and between her legs. I would have sucked it off her skin if I hadn’t been assigned to hold the body upright. She didn’t need sucking just then, only my hands and my will. Her first orgasm of the evening coincided with the final few heartbeats of her kill.
Letter from Eleanor, a Vampire
Life is a bitch, and then you die—especially if you’re unlucky enough to be born female. I’d learned that lesson early on from the men in my life—from my father, who thought his sons were masters of the universe and that daughters were useful around the house as long as they were quiet and pretty, from my first boyfriend
, whom I stupidly married to get away from my father. The two of them had done their damnedest to convince me that women were second-rate and not worth the bother. So I’d worked to help put my husband through college, not even taking the time to dream of earning my own degree. One night my prince charming came home and demanded sex. When I said no, that I wasn’t interested in going to bed with a sloppy drunk, he locked me in the bedroom and proceeded to show me the difference between a sloppy drunk and a mean drunk.
Screw that. While I was packing to leave the next day, I received a dozen roses and a note that said Sorry. I shoved the roses one by one down the garbage disposal, picked up my bags, and left.
My ex and my father predicted I’d come running back in a few weeks. I ran, all right, but in the opposite direction. Screw that became my motto. I already knew how to finance an education, so I chose a university and put myself through school working as a bartender with occasional extracurricular activities. I determined early on that I could trade sexual tutoring with selected professors for a more “in-depth” education. One of those professors jokingly suggested I should use my MBA to run my own “tutoring” business, and so a madam was born. To be precise, a mistress. Most people who consider themselves normal would be amazed at how many of their friends and family are willing to pay good money for a little pain. Or a lot of pain.
Most life coaches tell people to choose what they love and make it their business, and I have to agree. I found that I love serving up pain to men who go home and pretend they are the masters of their universe. And now I’m mistress of my own universe.
Four
Jack
I was in the garage kitchen, pouring myself a second cup of coffee, when my cell phone rang. I knew it was William before I unholstered it. Damn. If we talked he’d hear in my voice that I was hiding something, and then he’d use his mental mojo before I had a chance to tell him in my own way. I let it ring and waited a few minutes to see if he left a message.
“Pick up Werm and come to the house at midnight,” his voice message demanded, and with that, he hung up.
