Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2)

by Telep, Trisha

  “Damn it,” he whispered through gritted teeth. He filled his mind with thoughts of cool metal, the ’Vette’s red curves, until the music faded.

  Had Ferrell followed him? The low murmur of voices came from up ahead. A human wouldn’t have heard them, thinking his footsteps were only wind in the branches.

  He hesitated. He wanted to be at the garage before the new mechanic but he still had to feed. If Ferrell caught him in his weakened state, it wouldn’t go well with him. He recalled his words to her. There is always another choice.

  Now that he knew where Ferrell and her gang nested, he knew he would have to come back and destroy them eventually.

  But not yet. He sighed and headed towards the outermost building of the pig farm.

  Dani didn’t have much trouble locating Martoni’s hotel. It was one of the few high-rises on the beach and swarming with security. She recognized one of Martoni’s bodyguards from the de-briefing before she’d left her current cell. It was rumoured that Martoni didn’t go anywhere without him, that his last wife had actually divorced him over it. Not surprisingly, the ex-wife had never been found, though of course no one could pin it on him or any of his people.

  She was supposed to be at the garage soon for her first shift, but a little surveillance on the way wouldn’t hurt. She parked her rusting Charade at a public beach access and hiked through the sand until she came up to the hotel from the back way. She missed her Lexus, but figured a beater was better cover. As she rounded the corner of the walk, she looked up to see four vampire females being ushered in by Martoni’s security guards. No one else would have recognized this, of course, but Syndicate witches could always tell.

  She chanted a spell of invisibility and hurried after them. Nothing but her shadow passed beyond the doors, down the carpeted hall, and into the elevator. She was gambling on the fact that Martoni wouldn’t expect any witch in her right mind to attempt this.

  The elevator doors slid back to reveal a warren of hallways and rooms. Bass boomed down the corridor. She followed the sour smell of the vampires to a room where several people – bodyguards and lackeys – attended the man himself near a fully stocked bar. The mirrors across from the door didn’t register her as she passed into the room.

  She got just close enough to hear what the vampires were saying, not enough to be detected by aural field or smell.

  “And you will give him to us?” the youngest-looking vampire said. Older vampires always looked fragile, their skin brittle and cracked as old paper. The one who spoke looked fresh and the way she overused her voice belied her youth.

  She handed Martoni something that Dani couldn’t see.

  “If this works, no problem. If it doesn’t . . . ” A tight smile quirked his lips.

  The young vampire frowned. “Try it and see. We keep our word.”

  “But if there’s nothing . . . ”

  One of the older vampires bent towards him. “Then your people are clean. Just try it,” she hissed.

  Dani backed towards the door. A flash from the thing in Martoni’s hand and all her magic sloughed off like snakeskin.

  Visible, clearly human, and standing in a room full of vampires, bodyguards and witch-haters, only one thing came out of Dani’s mouth.

  “Shit.”

  She ran.

  Not for the elevator, but for the stairs. She hurtled down them with the bodyguards hot on her trail. They didn’t stop to fire; they knew better than to waste precious time in a stairwell.

  When she cleared the stairs, she headed for the boardwalk where she could mingle with the crowd. As she understood it, the nullifier Martoni had used would only work within a few feet of him so she slid into a glamour easily. Her mind worked at where the vampires could possibly have gotten such a thing. Only one had ever been known to exist, and the Syndicate claimed to have it deep in a vault. Unless someone had stolen it . . .

  The guards hunted her everywhere, but realized soon enough they’d lost her in the crowd.

  Her body shook. So much power fluctuation would make her ill.

  She checked her wristwatch.

  “Shit,” she said again.

  At the garage, Drake flipped through his usual supply chain websites, wondering where the new mechanic was. The Corvette’s owner had evidently left a message with Warren asking about the car, saying that it “had better be ready in time for the show”. And he wasn’t the only one chomping at the bit. Ten classic cars and one truck were parked in the warehouse – all with issues to be solved by the beginning of next week. Drake didn’t even have time to worry about Ferrell right now.

  “Where is my damn grease monkey?” Drake growled. All he could find for the ’Vette was a Rochester fuel-injector, which was vintage ’59. If the owner was a stickler, Drake doubted he’d go for it.

  “Right here,” a female voice said.

  Though he heard no music, he swivelled with a tyre iron in his hand.

  “Whoa.” The girl held up her hands. “I come in peace.”

  Drake stared.

  She was as gangly as a boy, and probably easily mistaken for one due to her rough hands and nearly non-existent breasts. But her dark eyes sparkled and her long, dark ponytail swung behind her baseball cap in a decidedly feminine way.

  She came forwards, extending a hand. “I’m Dani,” she said. Though she tried to smile, Drake saw that it was feigned. She was pale and tired.

  Drake set down the tyre iron and shook her hand reluctantly. Her hand was pleasantly warm. “Drake,” he said.

  Her smile grew more genuine.

  “What?”

  “Not a name I would have picked for you,” she said.

  “Not the gender I would have picked for you,” Drake said.

  Dani’s eyes narrowed. “A new place and already I get the usual treatment. You didn’t get the memo I was a girl?”

  “Warren didn’t say anything about it,” Drake said.

  “I guess that could be good or bad, depending on how you look at it,” Dani said.

  “Guess so. Look, Miss Obvious, can you help me fix these cars or not? We’ve got a big show next week and I don’t have time to chat up somebody who can’t do her job.”

  She looked around and grinned. “Are you a betting man, Drake?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I bet you I can fix more cars than you can this week.”

  Drake laughed. “What’s the prize?”

  “If I win, I’ll force you to eat your prissy little attitude by making you take me out to the Lone Cedar. If you win, I’ll quit and you can hire someone who can do the job better.”

  “Deal,” Drake said to Dani’s retreating back. “You don’t want to shake on it?” he asked.

  She shook her head, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Nah. No time. Got to get to work if I’m gonna beat your ass.”

  Drake shrugged, suppressing a grin. Well then. He’d always liked a challenge.

  * * *

  Dani didn’t recognize herself in the gilded mirror. Her hair curled in golden ringlets about her forehead and temples, and a tight chignon sat heavy on her nape. Her face was a different shape and porcelain pale, her eyes marble blue. Her corset was so tight every breath was a shallow hitch against the laces. Dark-grey watered silk embroidered with burgundy roses clung to her bodice and spread into glimmering skirts. Heavy steel hoops and layers of petticoats weighed down her narrow waist. She wore nothing underneath.

  Her gloves rested on the foyer table beneath the mirror. She picked them up and slid them on without really knowing why she did so.

  She barely heard the jingle of a sword before cold arms slipped around her and cold lips nuzzled her bare shoulder.

  “Isobel, my darling,” Drake murmured against her skin, “the carriage is waiting.”

  She turned. He was in spotless uniform – dress greys with yellow braid and the special red cord that denoted the vampire brigade. The CSA logo was emblazoned on the hat he carried under his arm. His dress sword cu
rved at his side, the long tassels on the hilt trailing down. But he was still Drake – dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, exuding a lean sensuality that tightened her chest even more than the corset.

  A mischievous smile curved her lips; her tongue clicked against pearly fangs. “Let it wait,” she whispered. She ran a gloved hand over his coat, her fingers gliding over the braid and brass.

  She saw her hunger answered in his eyes, but he took her hand, nearly crushing it in his own. “This is your cotillion, my dear. How would it be if your chaperone ruined your debut?”

  She stepped closer to him, trapping his hand. She brought it to the curve of her silk-bound breast, where it rested like a longing bird. “Fine by me.”

  His mouth was on hers in an instant – hot, hungry, so shockingly mirroring her own need that she purred deep in her throat. He pushed her back until the table hit her steel hoops. He bit her tongue so hard he drew blood. Her music surrounded them like a symphony.

  “Here?” he breathed in her ear.

  “Here,” she said. She didn’t care if the servants or slaves saw. They’d seen stranger things in this household.

  She worked at his trousers while he lifted her, skirts and all, onto the table. His eyes widened when he realized that nothing denied him access.

  “Isobel,” he breathed as he slid into her.

  Dani sat straight up in bed. Everything in her body throbbed, down to her very toenails. She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Jesus Christ,” she exhaled. Though she’d given up smoking right around the time she’d sworn off men, she felt in dire need of a cigarette. Or a man. Or both.

  She threw the covers off, realizing it was nearly twilight and she was already late for work.

  “Damn.” She fumbled for her cell phone as she crawled into her jeans and tank top.

  “Hi, Drake,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her breathlessness. “Listen, I’m running a little late . . . ”

  “It’s your second day on the job and you’re late already?” he said, his voice rising.

  She grimaced and held the phone away from her ear. Better than a cold shower. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Guess you just might win that bet after all,” she said.

  “Sure looks like it,” Drake snapped. He hung up.

  She clicked her phone closed and grabbed her greasy coveralls off the chair. This was not going to be pretty.

  The owner had agreed to the Rochester fuel-injection system with some grumbling. Drake had it express-shipped. “Two days,” he muttered. He looked over the engine and sighed. Best thing would be to get to work on another car. All he could see of Dani was her denim-covered legs and work boots sticking out from under a black ’70 Plymouth ’Cuda with a 426 Hemi. Its ghosted racing stripes glimmered in the shop lights.

  She had pretty much avoided him since she came in – embarrassed, he guessed, at being so late the second day on the job. But he caught her once in a knowing look, as if she’d seen some intimate part of his past that she couldn’t fathom. He’d scowled and she’d blushed. After that, she’d secluded herself under the ’Cuda.

  He started in on a ’72 Pierre Cardin-edition Javelin. He had been old when these cars came onto the showroom floor and he felt even older now as he remembered the original ads for these cars – a girl bounding up and down beside the Jav in a black and yellow leisure suit and matching scarf. He sighed, wiping grease off his fingers onto a rag. It looked like all this needed was a really good tune-up.

  “That’s boss,” Dani said over his shoulder. She was as silent as a vampire.

  Drake jumped. “How on earth do you do that?”

  “Magic,” Dani said, waggling her fingers at him. She grinned, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Some sense memory lingered around her.

  A name swam up out of her thoughts. Isobel.

  He growled.

  “Very nice Jav,” Dani said, eyeing the Chinese red-, plum- and white-striped seats. Cardin had gone a little nuts with the interior design.

  “I’m keener on her sort,” Drake said, nodding towards the ’Vette.

  “That girly old thing?” Dani said. She ran a hand over its curves. It was his turn to be embarrassed as he felt himself stiffen. Hers was a casual, almost condescending gesture, but something about the way her fingertips moved over the glossy, hard surface, the sense memory like a perfume lingering around her, stirred him.

  He turned away to hide it.

  “Nah,” she continued, “I need more chunk to my ride.” She returned to the ’Cuda. “Now this is an example of automotive perfection: 426 Hemi; Bassani X-pipes; Borla exhaust. That old girl couldn’t hold a candle to it.”

  “Wanna bet?” Drake said. He bent back over the ’Vette. After Isobel, he’d sworn that nothing could make him feel again. And since 1867, when she’d finally discarded him, he’d managed that quite nicely. How had this slip of a girl gotten him so wound up?

  He ground his fangs against his lower teeth when he felt her next to him, leaning to watch him tinkering uselessly with a hose.

  “You are indeed a betting man,” Dani said.

  “When I get that Rochester in, we’ll see what your ’Cuda can do,” he said.

  “And the stakes?” she asked.

  He met her eyes. This close, he saw they weren’t actually as dark as he’d thought. They were hazel, almost green now. Her lips were slightly parted, wet, a bit cracked. From the taut line of her neck, her stiff shoulders, the way her blood raced, he guessed that she’d not been this close to anyone in a very long time. He sensed that she was slightly embarrassed by her raw, gangly appearance, her tiny breasts, her thin legs. She had always been disappointed in her lovers; sex had been, for all its hype, ultimately less than what she’d hoped and yet such a basic need that she’d not fared well without it. And love? She didn’t even want to go there.

  All these things he caught like the soft, confessional notes of a viola played behind a closed door. And then an image. Of him in his officer’s uniform, thrusting into Isobel, calling her name. The sound of the mirror shattering as Isobel’s head smacked against it, the table rocking wildly beneath them.

  His eyes widened.

  Before he could speak, the garage door exploded.

  Or, at least, that was how it sounded to Dani.

  She ripped her gaze from Drake’s. A piece of one of the garage doors had been torn apart and Martoni’s bodyguards stepped through, followed by the vampire women.

  Drake drew himself up beside Dani, his face as hard as iron.

  A young vampire female sauntered up to him. She glanced aside at Dani and an amused half-smile played about her lips.

  “You don’t mean to tell me you’d rather consort with witches than your own kind, Drake? Were you not the only potential sire on the Eastern Seaboard, I might change my mind about this.”

  Drake didn’t reply to Ferrell.

  An image formed in Dani’s mind. Sunset on a battlefield. Drake standing alone, looking out over the devastation, his uniform rusted with the blood of the fallen. Anger and resignation swept over his face. Just as they did now.

  The bodyguards moved forwards to either side of Dani. She tensed. She saw the flash of the nullifier in the hand of the nearest one. She would have to do this the hard way.

  “Wait.” Ferrell held up her hand. “Let the witch stay.”

  “Mr Martoni—” one of the bodyguards began.

  “—can wait for his prize while I enjoy mine,” Ferrell said. “I want her to see what comes to those who think they can defy us. And,” she said, walking up to Drake, “I shall enjoy your humiliation all the more.”

  Dani saw it before Ferrell did – the slight twist of the hip before Drake’s palm came up and struck the vampire woman squarely in the breastbone. There was a crack as she fell backwards into the arms of the old vampire crones.

  Dani dropped as one of the bodyguards reached for her. She swept her leg under the bodyguard as hard as she could, but it was like trying to sweep an iron
telephone pole. The bodyguard wobbled a little and bent towards her. While she smacked away the hand that held the nullifier, she punched up at him from below.

  The left lens of his sunglasses shattered. The nullifier slipped, sparkling, from his fingers and Dani dived for it.

  Ice-white eyes ringed with blue stared at her as the bodyguard ripped off the mangled sunglasses and threw them to the floor, even as his human glamour faded.

  Wendigo.

  Now that she had the nullifier, she could smell him, too – the gut-wrenching odour of corruption, the desecration of flesh.

  “We’ve got wendigo!” she shouted at Drake.

  She tried to summon her power, but it was like trying to start a car with a dead alternator. The nullifier had drained her too much. She’d need some time to recharge. She had to get away from them to do anything worthwhile. They were much stronger than any creature she’d ever had to fight without magic.

  The young vampire had recovered and advanced on Drake with a hard mouth.

  “The Yenko,” Drake shouted. He pitched the keys at her as the crones grabbed his wrists. Where they touched him, his skin turned white.

  Dani caught the keys and dived just as one of the wendigo smacked her with unsheathed claws. Her face stung.

  When she came up, she saw an ugly bruise blooming on Drake’s mouth. With a flourish, the young vampire ripped his coveralls, T-shirt and jeans from him.

  Naked and vulnerable, he knelt as the old vampires forced him down to the ground. Silver scars twined across his back, curling over his muscular thighs.

  “Now, say my name,” Ferrell said.

  She didn’t give him much time before she cuffed him on the side of the head again.

  He spat.

  She kicked him in the gut.

  “Ferrell,” he said.

  Dani took a step towards him even as the wendigos closed in.

  He half turned his head and saw her there. “Go, dammit!” he yelled at her.

  Ferrell yanked his head back towards her.

  Dani slid through the Camaro’s open window and started it, slamming it into gear as the engine revved.