“I—see.”
“I spent most of my vampire years in Los Angeles and Austin, but I’ve always thought of this as home.” He made a sweeping gesture that took in the whole city. “I think my wife’s family’d been in Washington since the place was built. Her dad was in the military—my kid took after his granddad.” Andrew shook his head. “But then, I wasn’t there.”
“You were one of the original hippies, I take it?”
“Definitely. I clashed a lot with my wife’s father. But he decided that I was from a ‘good’ family and that I’d eventually straighten up and give up playing music in beatnik clubs.” He chuckled. “I did move off the folk circuit—but never mind my aborted career. We’d been married nearly two years when Rose put the bite on me. Of course that changed everything—but I kept trying to get home.”
Sara’s heart ached for Andrew. He must have loved his wife very much to be able to fight off the blind devotion that came with sharing blood with a vampire. She wanted to kiss it and make it all better. But it had happened a long time ago, and she had no right. Besides, he was in the wrong. She tried with all her might to believe that he was the one who had no right to cheat on his vampire mistress. Even if Rose was a silly woman who hadn’t known how to appreciate him. If Sara had been in Rose’s place she would have tied this wandering minstrel to her bed if she’d had to.
“What an interesting idea.”
Sara blinked in surprise at his picking up her thought, but didn’t have the grace to be embarrassed. “Out of my head,” she ordered the vampire, making a shooing motion. “Go on.”
“I’m beginning to think you’d look fetching in dominatrix gear.”
Sara refrained from voicing the thought that came to her. If he caught it, he gave no indication. It amazed her how the man—vampire—could be so angrily glum one moment, and so cheerfully teasing the next. The way he treated her, and let her treat him, was also amazing. “Your son,” she urged.
“Michael. Michael Andrew Falconer, born July 15, 1960, died—sometime recently, I think. I was Rose’s creature when he was conceived. It’s worried me that somehow I passed along some psychic shit to him, but I don’t know. I’ll never know. I saw him as much as I could when he was little. I tried to keep track of him from a distance as he grew up, but the time came when Rose had to change me. The transition from fledgling to sane strigoi took a couple of years. I was sent to California. I vaguely remember a long car trip. I adjusted to being what I am, was even happy with my life. When I finally got around to checking on my kid, I found out he’d followed his grandfather into the service. Found out my wife had cancer. If she’d had the least bit of psychic ability I might have been able to help her, but she had no part of the curse that got me into my current lifestyle. So I went on with my life until the depression hit a couple years ago.” He shrugged. “Been going downhill ever since.”
Sara kept her concentration on his son. “How do you know he’s dead? Did you read an obituary or—?”
“I’ve seen him.”
Okay, maybe Andrew was as crazy as he claimed to be. “Seen him?”
“His ghost.”
“Ghost?”
“You believe in vampires, don’t you?”
“Only because I know some personally.”
“Werewolves? Demons?”
“But—”
“But you don’t believe in ghosts? We’ve discussed my seeing them before, remember?”
They had, hadn’t they? Had it only been last night? She nodded. “In the park.”
“Yes. I told you I didn’t recognize who I saw. It took me a while to realize it after the first time I saw it, but now I know who the specter has to be. Vampires lie a lot, Sara. Please remember that.”
It was something they did for their own protection. “Are you lying now?”
“No.”
The word could easily have been a lie. She had to remember that he was seeking permission to die. Why not lie to a mere slave if it advanced his scheme to get himself eaten by the slave’s mistress? Why not make out with the slave to rouse her mistress’s anger? He had nothing to lose, and what happened to a slave didn’t matter. “Bastard.”
She felt his surprise at her suddenly turning wary and angry. If that surprise turned to anger she might be in for a hell of a bad time. And it would be her own fault. What sane person knowingly let herself be alone with a vampire? She hadn’t told Olympias where she was going to be—she was even disobeying a direct order to be here. She’d even forgotten her duty to monitor the phone for messages Olympias was waiting for.
All because she was attracted to someone? How could that have happened?
“I am such an idiot,” she muttered.
“Where are you going?” he asked when she got up from the bench.
“Home,” she said. “If you’ll let me.”
“If . . .”
She waited with her back to him, and her shoulders hunched tensely. Then his hand was beneath her elbow, his sadness engulfed her. He guided her in dense silence, thick as a cold winter fog, back through the garden and onto the sidewalk fronting the narrow Georgetown street. The cold fog stayed wrapped around her, even after he hailed a cab, helped her into it, and closed the door without saying good-bye. Odd, how she wanted him to say good-bye.
At least she had the presence of mind to give the driver her address, and she took out her cell phone to check for messages as the cab pulled out into the street.
He had the most gorgeous back Olympias had ever seen, perfectly muscled, wide at the shoulders and beautifully tapered down to a narrow waist and lovely little flat buttocks. Oh, yes, Lora’s bunny was very nice from the rear, she thought as she stood across the bedroom and watched him finish undressing. He stood in front of light gold drapes covering tall windows. The contrast of the gold material enhanced his fair coloring.
Lora was going to hate her when she found out Olympias had him first—but, Lora hated her anyway, and Olympias didn’t care. It wasn’t as if she was going to bite the boy. She’d fuck his brains out, but he’d still be a virgin in the morning.
She smiled with anticipation and took a step forward. He turned as she moved, and she saw his eyes widen with surprised pleasure. She’d shed her clothing much quicker than he had. His appreciation permeated his emotions as well as his expression, and showed in his physiology as well. His skin was flushed, his breathing sharp, and the man was hard. She moved to him and showed her pleasure at his appreciation with her touch. His chest was only lightly furred, and his belly nicely flat. His was a mature body, strong and fit, and sensitive to arousing touch. Exploring warm flesh and taut muscle was a treat. Her own arousal grew as she absorbed the building waves of pleasure she brought him.
It was Mike that moved them to the bed, lay her down and took a long, languid time slowly exploring her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. He seemed to know instinctively how arousing she found fingers stroking her scalp and through her hair to be. He took his time to tease his tongue around the pearl and diamond studs she’d forgotten to take out of her earlobes.
He was, quite simply, a superb and considerate lover, taking pleasure from giving pleasure. Even if he had not been the most psychically gifted mortal she’d ever met, but only a mere mortal, Olympias would still have delighted in the experience. That he was gifted as well as giving made the pleasure purer, sharper, enough to strongly tempt her to draw blood and move their lovemaking to an even deeper level.
She managed to control the impulse, though she had to fight to do so.
Lost in sensation, she scratched his back when he entered her, drawing the faintest scent of blood welling below the surface of his skin. The slight pain blended into his pleasure, driving him higher. Their lovemaking grew fiercer after that, her reactions feeding his, and he drove harder into her, with her urging on the quickening pace of his thrusts.
Sharing an orgasm with him was the first memorable moment of the new century, and she murmured, “Thank y
ou,” when she came.
That’s worth repeating, was Olympias’s first coherent thought as she emerged from lovely, blissful exhaustion. It had been a long time since someone had made her feel like a woman—since she’d let someone make love to her, she reminded herself. The sex had been a mutual, consensual, activity, but only because she’d allowed it to happen that way. And why do I feel the need to remind myself I’m really in charge? A deep yawn spoiled what would have been an ironic smile. Aren’t I a little old to need to remind myself that I’m not really vulnerable?
Mike was a warm, dozing weight on top of her, totally relaxed, oblivious to the presence of the monster in his bed. She liked it that way and stroked fingers gently through his short, light brown hair, willing him to cover her flesh with his for a while yet. He was sweaty, but she liked the masculine, musky scent of him.
There I go with that monster crap again. Being a ruthless, selfish, hard-hearted bitch doesn’t necessarily make me a monster. I gave up believing in strigoi propaganda, she reminded herself. She sighed, remembering that she no longer believed in many of the Laws she enforced, and added cynical to her list of her own faults.
She really was tempted to wake him up and do it all over again. It was hours until dawn, and holding him made her horny.
She thought it might be nice to bite him, keep him as a boy toy she could visit once in a while. No need to go so far as to make him a companion, of course. Just feed him a drop of magic elixir and own him for the rest of his natural life. That was her preferred mode of operation, though she hadn’t taken a sex slave in centuries. Of course, this bunny was not slave material, too much talent for that. He’d understand quickly enough that there was more he could be. He wouldn’t crave companion status the way slaves like Gerry and Sara did, he’d demand it as his right. And companionship was—
Exactly what Lora wanted with Colonel Michael Falconer.
“How’d I manage to forget that?” she whispered, and chuckled, knowing that Mike himself had erased her memory of everything but the way his touch brought her to life. Fortunately she’d only forgotten for a few minutes. “Shh . . .” she murmured when he stirred and began to lift his head. She stroked his cheek, where a faint trace of stubble tickled her palm.
His head shifted to pillow on her breasts, and her fingers went back to stroking his hair, while she stared at the ceiling and tried to decide what to do about him. She could easily break his neck, Olympias supposed, which would deny the pleasure of his company from herself and Lora both. It was easy, but what possible good would it do? She could keep him for herself, or she could give him to Lora. Lora did have first claim, she should be fair about that.
Why?
Because I’m off the idea of having companions, she reminded herself. Companions went away. At least slaves merely died, one could mourn their mortal passing and not have to answer the phone to find out how happy they were with new lovers and new adventures. Goddess, but that grew old!
All right, then, Lora could have him.
Except, Olympias remembered, she still didn’t know exactly what top secret thing it was Colonel Falconer did for a living. She still needed to figure out his connection with the ghosts she’d seen in the park last night. She was certain that there was a connection. Until she found out everything there was to know about Falconer she couldn’t make any decision at all.
And what better way to find out his ghostly ties than right now while he was completely relaxed, with all his defenses down? All she needed to do was slip inside his pretty little head and ransack his mind while he was sleeping. All she needed to do was close her eyes.
“Excuse me, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“No,” the tall woman answered, looking deeply into his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
Falconer looked around in disgust. He was back in the damned park. Couldn’t he escape from the crazy memories of the place?
“What happened here?”
“You know.” He turned to look at her closely. Dark as the night was here under the trees he could see her clearly. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, strong, stubborn jaw. “You were here. It was you.”
Her look flashed fire that sent a bolt of pain through his head. “It wasn’t me. You don’t remember me. Who are you? Who are the ghosts?”
He took Olympias into his arms. “How could any man forget you?”
“That’s flattering, but—”
Falconer awoke with a start, a headache, and with the terrifying realization that he was being held down, pinioned in a steel embrace. “Hel—” he started to shout.
“Mike?” a woman’s voice whispered in his ear. “What’s the matter?”
Falconer realized he wasn’t fully awake and worked hard to bring the world back into perspective. He was being held, wasn’t he? He’d—brought a woman—home. That was it. She was in his bed, holding him. Comforting him from a nightmare?
He managed to get his panting breath under control enough to gasp, “ ’S okay. I’m—” He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He must have gone to sleep as soon as they—the lights were still on and—
He became aware of warm, naked flesh pressed to his, helping to chase both loneliness and confusion away. He was in his room, in his home, and the woman with him was Olympias. “I can’t remember your last name,” he said, the first inane words that came to him spilling out of his mouth.
“That’s because I didn’t tell you my last name,” she answered with gentle amusement. “We’re both in a secretive business,” she added.
He remembered now, they’d met at the appropriations party. They both lived in the world of spooks and classified information. “I was having a bad dream,” he confessed to her. “I don’t remember what now.”
“It’s better to ignore the nightmares,” she advised.
He wanted to tell her that he normally did his dreaming while he was wide awake. But that was classified. He couldn’t tell her anything. She’d understand that.
“If you want to talk, I’m willing to listen,” she said.
Falconer eased away from her and turned onto his back. She’d caught his thought, hadn’t she? Of course she was psychic. It made sense, in the way they’d come together, in the way they’d been so in tune when they made love. Whatever agency she worked with was involved in some form of psychic research. It was possible she’d made sure to meet him to find out about the Walker Project. It was possible they’d come together because they were alike. Why they’d met didn’t matter.
“I want to make love to you again,” he told her.
Soft fingers brushed his cheeks. “I imagine you’ll get the chance.”
He turned his head to look at her. She was sitting on the side of the bed. He might have reached out, but he sensed she was already far away from him. “But not now,” he said. She stood and began to dress as he spoke. He sat up and watched her, mesmerized by the grace of her movements. He considered it, but did not try to persuade her. He knew that she would not stay the night. “You’re going.”
“I have to. I’m not a morning person,” she told him after she slipped her short black dress over her head. “It would not be possible for me to drive home during early rush hour.”
He looked her over from her tousled hair to the spike-heeled black pumps she’d just put on. Her makeup was wrecked. It made her look quite the wanton, and younger than the sophisticated woman he’d brought home. He did not want to let her go, but could not summon even the simple word stay. He almost felt as if she willed him to silence. She did blow him a kiss, and he could have sworn he felt her lips brush his.
“I know where you live,” she told him. “So there’s no need for you to ask for my number. See you soon,” she promised. She turned to the door, and was gone.
Falconer went to sleep almost thinking it had all been a dream.
Chapter 9
SHE WANTED TO see Andrew again. Sara knew that by the time she got home, even though she’d been furious, hurt, and feeli
ng like a fool when she left him. It was wrong to want to see him again, stupid, she didn’t know what she was thinking, but she still wanted to see him again. She sat down on the hall stairs, with the dog’s head in her lap, and fought the urge to cry after she checked for phone messages. Crying was not an acceptable way for either a grown woman or Olympias’s chief slave to act.
“This is all wrong.” When Bitch lifted her huge head off Sara’s lap to look at her, Sara went on. “My life was so much less complicated a few days ago—dissension among staff, tension with the local vampires, emergencies from around the country—easy stuff. What am I going to do now?”
Bitch cocked her head as though she was listening. For an instant Sara almost thought she saw a glimmer of sympathy in the hellhound’s big brown eyes. More than likely Bitch was thinking about chasing bunnies, getting a treat, or simply wanted out. Sara rubbed the animal’s velvety ears, but Bitch turned away from her and sprang to her feet. A moment later the door opened and Bitch bounded down the hall to greet Olympias as she entered the house.
“Down!” Olympias shouted at the dog.
Sara ran forward to grab Bitch by the collar and pull her away from Olympias. “Sorry.” Olympias leaned against the door, her head tilted back. She was even paler than normal for a vampire, her face drawn and weary. “What happened to you?” Sara asked. “You look terrible.”
Olympias mumbled something that might have been, “Barely made it out.” Then she took a deep breath and looked at Sara. Was that fear in her dark eyes? She was definitely shaken. “What happened?” She blinked, then ran a hand through her hair. “I had a great time. Until the last few minutes.”
“Did someone attack you?”
“Not consciously.”
“What happened? You were only supposed to go to a party.”
“I met Lora’s bunny at the party, and survived the experience—just.”
Laws of the Blood 4: Deceptions: Deceptions Page 12
