About a Vampire (7 page)

“But . . . he's my husband. I shouldn't keep something like this from him.”

“You'll have to,” he said simply.

“But—­”

“He'll just think you've had a nervous breakdown and are crazy. That's what you thought when I told you about us, isn't it?” he pointed out.

Holly felt herself flush guiltily. It was exactly what she'd thought. That he was a madman. It seemed he wasn't so mad after all. He had turned her. Did that mean she really had hit her head and fallen on scissors? She peered down, her hand moving slowly across the skin exposed above her towel as she wondered where the scissors had gone in.

“Is the turn why I can't remember anything that happened?” she asked finally.

“I don't know,” Justin admitted. “It shouldn't be from the head wound since that's healed.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and then he added, “Or at least the visible part of it is healed. Marguerite did once say that the turn can continue long after the turnee is up and walking again. That it takes care of the big things first and then continues on to the smaller, more time-­consuming repairs over time afterward.” He shrugged as if that wasn't important. “If the nanos are still working on the inner repairs, you could yet regain those memories.”

“What are nanos and who is Marguerite?” Holly asked at once.

Justin opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, “Look I'll explain those two things and anything else you want to know, but not here, not now, and not with you standing there in nothing but a towel. Now let's go in and get you dressed. Then we can go somewhere and talk about anything and everything you want.”

“Why can't we do it here?” she asked at once.

“Because your husband can't know about this,
and
,” he added firmly when she started to speak, “Because I don't have any blood here for you. And unless you want to do your first practice biting session on your husband, I suggest we go somewhere where I
do
have blood for you.”

“Why would I practice biting at all?” she asked, alarm creeping into her voice. “Back at the hotel you said we don't feed on mortals anymore.”

“I said it was against the law except in emergencies,” he corrected. “The time may come when you're miles or hours away from bagged blood and may be in desperate need. Maybe you had an accident, or your supply was destroyed. If anything like that happens, you'll need to know how to feed off the hoof without killing the donor.”

“Off the . . .” Holly peered at him with horror as she grasped what she thought he meant. “Seriously? You call it that?”

Justin sighed impatiently. “Off the hoof, takeout, two-­footed fast food—­call it whatever you want so long as you learn how to do it properly and without causing harm to the mortal you feed on.”

“I would never—­”

“Never say never,” he interrupted solemnly. “Now, can you please get dressed?”

Holly would have liked more questions answered, but now that she was aware of her scantily clad state, she was self-­conscious. Getting dressed seemed a good idea. Nodding, she moved past him and slid inside, aware that he was on her heels as she crossed the kitchen. That didn't surprise her, but she was a little surprised when he trailed her upstairs as well. When he then tried to follow her into the bedroom, she stopped dead and turned to hiss, “I can manage on my own from here.”

“What if he wakes up?”

“So?” she asked with irritation. “He's my husband, he's seen me dress before.” Well, not really, she acknowledged. Mostly she took her clothes with her into the bathroom and dressed there, or used the closet door as a shield. She wasn't comfortable being completely naked, even with her husband. He might notice the cellulite, or a stretch mark, or her muffin top. That was also why she insisted on the lights being out when they had sex.

Much to her relief, Justin backed off and let her enter the room alone. Tiptoeing now, Holly crossed to the closet and pulled out work clothes. She had agreed to talk to Justin mostly because of the promise of blood. She wasn't thrilled at the prospect of having to consume blood, but she didn't want to risk not having it and running around biting ­people willy-­nilly. Sadly, Holly wasn't sure whether she would have bitten James or not, but certainly she'd had some strange thoughts going through her head as she'd eyed the pulsing vein in his neck. Kissing it had been her first thought, but that had been followed by the idea of licking it like it was a lollipop. Holly had never had the urge to lick his throat before or any other pulsing vein on the man. She couldn't say that she might not have licked and then bitten into the vein. All she'd been aware of was that she was terribly hungry and he'd smelled soooo good.

He still did, Holly thought, glancing to the sleeping man in the bed as she stopped at the closet. She could smell him from there, a distance of at least eight feet. That was new. Allergies had plagued her from childhood on and left her sniffling most of the time. She'd always been the last to smell anything, including skunk. Now she could smell her husband from across the room.

“Weird,” she muttered, and firmly turned her back on him to consider what she should wear. In the end, it wasn't a hard choice. Holly didn't have an extensive wardrobe. She had a pair of black pants, a pair of navy blue pants, two pairs of jeans, half a dozen T-­shirts in various colors and four blouses, one white, two cream, and one red that she had received from her mom for Christmas and hadn't yet had the courage to wear. Holly snatched up the red one now and her black pants, then walked over to the dresser beside the bed.

Laying the clothes on the foot of the bed, she opened the drawer and pulled out some standard white cotton panties. She tugged them on under the towel, noting that they fit a little loosely. Thinking she must have grabbed an older stretched-­out pair, she shrugged and next grabbed a bra. It was also standard white, and Holly finally dropped the towel, surprised when she had to grab the panties to keep them from sliding right off with the towel. Jeez, they were really loose.

She'd probably lost some water weight while unconscious the last two days, she decided, but then glanced down at herself. As a rule, Holly avoided actually looking at herself. She didn't like seeing the lumps and bumps and the muffin top. It was depressing as hell and made her feel unattractive.

She didn't see any of those lumps and bumps now though, and her usual muffin top was missing. Her stomach had the slightest roundness to it and she definitely had hips and a waist. She would never make it on the runway where stick figures walked in high heels, but . . .

“Damn, I look good,” Holly breathed as she actually braved appraising herself in the dresser mirror. She had the figure of a movie starlet of old, Marilyn Monroe and women of her ilk, who looked like women and not like flat-­chested boys as seemed to be the rage now that thin was in.

This was not the loss of some water weight while unconscious for two days. This was a full body remodel. There wasn't a spot of cellulite or even a pimple. Her skin was like porcelain, and her figure perfection.

“Damn,” she breathed again, hands rising to slide over her stomach and then down over her hips. This was . . . awesome! Grinning, Holly quickly tugged on the bra she'd retrieved, noting that it still mostly fit, though she had to do it up at the tightest fastenings rather than the loosest now.

Still smiling widely, Holly turned to the bed to collect the blouse and pants and then paused as James chose that moment to murmur in his sleep. He followed that up with turning onto his back, and tossing the sheets and blankets aside so that he lay sprawled on the bed in only a pair of boxers. It wasn't the sight of him in his drawers that made her halt, but the wave of James-­smell that rolled over her. Not that he stunk: he
had
taken that shower just before lying down. That wasn't the smell that crashed over her like a wave. It was something else, a cocktail of strange scents she'd never smelled before yet seemed somehow familiar. Her senses were obviously a bit keener than before, and Holly suspected what she was smelling was pheromones, hormones, skin and that coppery something that had smelled so yummy earlier. Tinny and . . .

“Crap,” she muttered. It was blood. She could smell James's blood. How the hell could she scent it through his skin? And why was the aroma so damned delicious all of a sudden? She'd never even noticed the odor of blood before or that it was especially attractive. She certainly had never enjoyed the taste on the rare occasion when she'd stuck a cut finger in her mouth. Now . . . damn, but her mouth was watering at the scent of it and she was fighting the urge to crawl up the length of her husband on the bed. She could actually see herself sinking her teeth into several hot spots on his body along the way—­behind his knee, his thigh, his groin, his wrists, inner elbow, his neck. They were all spots she was pretty sure housed major veins or arteries . . . and Holly had no idea how she knew that.

She'd like to think it was knowledge from some long forgotten anatomy class she'd taken, but the truth was that, like heat seeping through a part of the wall where the insulation was thinnest, those spots were where she could sense the smell was strongest and where most of his body heat seemed concentrated. It was where the veins were closest to the surface and easily accessible.

Realizing she was licking her lips, Holly forced her gaze away from James and picked up her blouse to quickly tug it on. It was as she buttoned the blouse that she became aware of a soft thudding sound coming from somewhere in the room. Pausing, she glanced around, trying to find the source, her perplexed gaze finally shifting to the bed. Tilting her head, she stared at it, listening. Yes, it was definitely coming from there.

What the devil was it? She wondered and knelt to peer under the bed, but there was nothing there that would make that slow, steady sound. Still on her knees, she raised her head and peered the length of the mattress and her husband's body on it. The sound seemed to be coming from somewhere by him. Without thinking, Holly found herself crawling onto the bed from the floor, and then moving up over her husband on her hands and knees, ears straining and nose working as the tinny smell cried out to her. The sound was loudest when her head was over his chest and she paused there, listening for a moment before she realized it was his heart. She could hear his heart beating . . . pumping all that lovely blood through his body, she thought. Vaguely aware of a shifting in her jaws, she lowered her head. That lovely slightly tinny smelling, rich red—­

Holly squawked when she was suddenly grabbed around the waist and lifted off the bed. James murmured sleepily at the sound, but didn't wake up, she saw, before she was carried from the room. The moment the door closed behind them, she was unceremoniously dumped on the hall floor and cloth fell over her head.

“Dress,” Justin Bricker ordered grimly.

Holly pulled the cloth off her head, recognizing the black pants she'd laid on the foot of the bed and never got around to donning. Raising her head, she scowled at Justin. “You could have just said something instead of acting like some barbarian and snatching me up. I wasn't doing anything.”

“Your fangs were out. You were about to bite him,” Bricker said grimly. “Now dress, or I just might let you bite him. Then you can explain why you did it to his corpse.”

Holly scowled at him briefly, but then stuck her legs out on the hall floor and quickly tugged on her dress pants. She had to wiggle her butt on the floor to get them up over her hips. She stood then to do them up, tossing him the occasional scowl as she did and then stared at the pants themselves when she noted how they now hung on her. Like her panties, they were too big, of course. They would have to do, though. Everything she owned was the same size.

“Here.”

She glanced up to see Justin holding out her belt. “Where did you—­?”

“Your closet,” he interrupted and when she opened her mouth to ask when, he said, “We're fast. I nipped in and back while you were gawking at your pants.”

Holly just stared at him. She'd only looked down for a matter of seconds. Surely he hadn't “nipped” in and out that quickly?

“Put it on and we can go get you blood. Bagged blood,” he added dryly.

“Bagged?” she asked with a grimace. The thought of bagged blood simply didn't hold much appeal, not like the smell of James had just now.

“Yes, bagged,” he said dryly and then his lips quirked. “Save a man, bite a bag.”

Holly shook her head at what she supposed was intended as a joke and turned her attention to threading the belt through her pant loops as her mind wandered. She hated to admit it, but she might have been going to bite James . . . and she should be very ashamed of that, she knew. Instead, she was disappointed that Justin had stopped her. How bad was that? Apparently, she wasn't handling this whole vampire/immortal thing well. She did need the training. At least she did if he could teach her to control herself. She also, apparently, needed the blood he said he would get for her. She didn't want to bite her husband. Well, part of her did, but the still human part knew it was wrong and didn't.

That thought made Holly sigh unhappily. She was thinking of herself as not quite human anymore. But Justin had said she was alive still and had a soul, so surely, she was still human . . . wasn't she?

“Let's go.” Justin turned and started downstairs.

Holly stared after him briefly, and then heaved a resigned breath and followed. In truth, she didn't feel like she had much choice. It seemed obvious she couldn't stay here without risking feeding off her husband, possibly to death. That thought made her wonder how much blood was too much to take. Would she be able to tell when she should stop? And if so, would she be able to stop when she should?