Authors: Karen E. Taylor

Crave (4 page)

BOOK: Crave

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“Cover yourself,” he growled, “there's someone outside the door.”

Chapter 4

M
itch did not bother to put his sweater back on; he bounded across the room and flung the door open with an incoherent snarl.

“Well, hello, you must be Mitchell Greer.” I instantly recognized the voice, high-pitched, but with a slight lisp and a reverberating huskiness that almost caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Wrapping the red brocade spread around me, I slid off the bed and went to stand next to Mitch.

“Vivienne,” I said, my tone wary and cautious, “it is good to see you again.”

Her eyes raked over me, mocking, yet caressing and she pulled me to her briefly and kissed my cheek. “But of course, when I hear my sister has returned, I wanted to give her a welcome.”

I introduced them. “Mitch, this is Vivienne. I don't believe you met her last time we were here.”

“Sister?” Mitch questioned, not taking his eyes from her. “Deirdre is an only child.”

Vivienne threw her head back and laughed her light metallic laugh. “I know that's how she would wish it, but sisters we are nevertheless. And,” her eyes focused on Mitch's bare torso, “I couldn't miss the opportunity to meet my new brother-in-law. But I have interrupted a
mÃ©nage Ã deux,
haven't I? I was so anxious to see you both, that I hadn't thought you might be otherwise involved. Please forgive me.”

Vivienne headed for the door, then turned with her hand on the knob. “One other thing,
mon chers,
the days are long here and the corridors are completely safe from sunlight, so after your, ah, sleep, you may wander around as much as you like. And should you wish to join me for a glass of wine, I'd be happy to have you both. Good day.” Opening the door, she walked out with a slow, sensuous stride. I reached over, closed and locked the door, then looked at Mitch.

“You can stop drooling now, Mitch.” I was only half joking. Vivienne was equipped with more magnetism than should be permissible and even I, who knew her for what she was and could never trust her, felt the effect of the utter sensuality she exuded. Mitch hadn't any previous experience with another female of our kind and I feared his response to her.

His face lit up with a boyish smile as his eyes searched mine. “Why, Mrs. Greer,” he drawled, enjoying the moment immensely, “I do believe you're jealous.”

“Now, why would I be . . . ?” I started, then returned his grin with a smile of my own. “Yes, you're right. I am jealous.”

“Good.” His smile faded with that one word.

“Good?”

“Yeah, it almost makes up for all the other men in your life.”

“Mitch, my love, there's never been anyone else since we met. You know that.”

He frowned. “Except of course for all the men you had in England while I was institutionalized.”

“Mitch, that's just plain cruel. I was not talking of food; I was talking of love. Surely you know the difference by now.”

“I try, Deirdre.”

I reached out and touched his cheek gently. “Yes, you do. And you are getting better. Now, speaking of love . . .” Dropping the spread I had wrapped around me, I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him to me.

“And food.” His voice was warm and husky against my hair.

“And food,” I agreed. “I believe you made quite an interesting proposition before we were interrupted.”

“So I did,” Mitch said and pulled me down to the floor with him. Rolling on top of me, he hesitated. “But I don't want to hurt you.”

“As if you could.”

Mitch's eyes lit with passion. He eased his jeans off and lay on top of me for a while, not moving. Then he began to nuzzle the side of my neck, gently at first with just his lips and tongue. His mouth traveled to my breasts, teasing each nipple with his front teeth, but not using his sharpening canines, not yet. I gasped when he reached between my legs, probing and stroking until I felt ready to melt. Time seemed suspended as he continued his ministrations, touching, licking, nipping.

Finally, not wanting to wait for him any longer, I reached down, guiding him inside me. And as he plunged deep within me, his mouth came down on my neck, his bite punctured my skin and I screamed, past caring about where I was and who might hear. He continued thrusting into me and I felt the blood rushing through my veins to answer his kiss. My own teeth sharpened and found his neck, pulling his blood into my mouth, savoring the rich and salty taste that was his alone.

The only sound in the room was our muffled sucking and the slapping of our sweaty bodies together. We continued for a long time, an eternity it seemed, making love and drinking from each other, constantly stoking our passion, continually renewing our strength. Then he withdrew his mouth from my neck and I did the same. He kissed me. The taste of my blood on his tongue was intriguing, enticing and I shuddered over and over as our bodies reached their endless climaxes.

When it was over, he rolled from me with a sigh. “You know,” he said, finally, his voice low and breathless, “that has got to be against the law.”

My laugh was shaky. “Yes, but we are, after all, consenting adults.”

“Even so.”

I snuggled into his side and he rested his hand lightly against my hip.

“I hope we didn't disturb the rest of the Cadre.” He sounded smug and unconcerned.

“Like hell you do. You wouldn't have wanted Vivienne to miss out on what a great catch you are.”

“Deirdre,” he slapped me playfully on the thigh, “I like you like this.”

“Like what? All sweaty and sticky?”

“No, jealous. It makes me feel wanted.”

I gave him a little push, got up from the floor and stared down at him. “You should never have any doubt about that. But for now, I need a shower. Would you like to join me?”

“Hot water?”

I remembered the one shower we had taken while he was still human. The temperature of the water had been extremely uncomfortable for him. But it was not so now. I smiled at him, “Boiling, of course.”

“Great.”

We slept undisturbed until early the following evening. Mitch woke first and by the time I opened my eyes, he was already completely dressed, sitting on the side of the bed. “Good morning,” he said and kissed the end of my nose. “Did you sleep well?”

I stretched slightly and yawned. “Yes, actually, I did.” I gave a little smug smile. “The plane trip really tired me out.”

“Only the plane trip, huh? Well, if that's what it takes to get you a good day's sleep, I guess we'll have to fly every night.”

“Fine by me.”

He reached toward me, then over me, and picked up the phone from the bedside stand. I gave him a questioning look.

“I'm calling Chris,” he said, his expression changing to worry, “I thought he'd want to know we were in town.”

“That's a good idea, tell him I said hello.” I got up from bed, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, allowing him as much privacy as was possible. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, and inserted a pair of contact lenses. When I came back out, Mitch was unpacking his suitcase, hanging up what little he had brought with him in an ornate carved armoire. He stopped and looked over at me.

“Chris wasn't home. I left a message and this number. Do you think that'll be okay?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? But I'm sure if it's not, someone will let us know.” I went to my own case, opened it, and pulling out some underwear, my black leather jeans and an ivory tunic sweater, began to get dressed.

“Personally, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that the entire setup here was wired, phones and all, with Victor being so extremely security conscious.”

“That may be true, but you can't really blame him. He takes his responsibility for the Cadre very seriously.” I glanced over at him while I zipped up my pants. “The same way you would, if the job were yours. The two of you are very similar.”

Mitch threw his head back and laughed. “That'll be the dayâMitchell Greer, the grand-exalted Pooh-Bah of the Cadre.”

“You never know, my love. Another couple of centuries and the position might be open.”

“I doubt it,” Mitch said, “Victor's just too damned pompous to die.”

I shivered at his words. “Please don't talk about it. I just barely survived the death of Max with my sanity intact. God knows what would happen if Victor . . .” Suddenly, I wanted to weep. I sat down on the edge of the bed, curled my legs underneath me and put my hands over my face. I felt him move to me and stand by my side. Gently, he laid his hand on my shoulder.

“What's wrong, Deirdre?”

Shaking my head slightly, I moved my hands down my face and clasped them together under my chin, as if in prayer. Then I looked down at them, flexed my fingers and dropped them in my lap. “I don't know, Mitch. Maybe it's just the atmosphere hereâit's so confining, so old. Maybe it's being called back here and being coerced into killing another vampire. Damn it all, I don't want to do it. I don't want to see Larry Martin ever again, and when I do, I have no real desire to kill him.” I jumped up from the bed and paced around the room, searching for something, I didn't know what. “I need a window, I need to see outside. I'd go crazy if I had to live here for long.”

He stood, staring at me for a while. “Well, maybe you can't kill him, but I can.”

“I don't want him dead.” The desperation in my voice filled the room.

“How can you say that, Deirdre? I guess that after all he's done, you'd just like to invite him over for a drink. How could you have any sympathy for him at all? You should hate him. Have you forgotten what he did to Gwen, what he tried to do to you, what he did to me?” Anger crept into his voice, overlaying the concern for me and the confusion caused by my statement.

At the mention of her name, I was reluctantly swept back to the night that we had found Gwen dead, staked to my bed, her dying blood coating the room around her. I remembered the night Larry attempted to drive a stake through my heart at the Ballroom. I remembered Mitch after his last, almost fatal encounter with Larry; my fear of losing Mitch to death was what had forced me to perform his transformation. I had good reason to hate Larry and hate him I did, desperately, with a fervor beyond any comprehension. His death would be just and deserved. But, another part of me wailed, he was part of me, part of my life, and my blood flowed in his veins. We were bonded together like mother and child.

I gave a choked sob. “God, Mitch, don't you understand? When I killed Max, he didn't dieâhe stayed with me. That was bad enough and I loved
him.
But if I had to live with Larry inside me, I wouldn't be able to handle it. I'd rather walk out right now and wait for the sun.”

“But if I were to kill him, he probably wouldn't . . .” his voice trailed off.

I walked over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “The true fact of the matter is that no one knows what will happen. No one, not even Victor.”

“But didn't Victor tell you that what happened between you and Max was a rarity, that his possession of you was unusual?”

“Now look who's taking Victor's side. I wouldn't like to trust my life and my sanity to his assumptions, thank you.”

He ran his hands down my arms and pulled me to him. “Then what do we do?”

I looked up at him with a half smile. “Damned if I know, my love. If we're lucky, we won't be able to find him at all. Hopefully, he's already left town.”

“Larry, leave town?” Mitch gave a small snort. “I wouldn't bank on itânot when he's having such a good time.”

“No,” I said sadly, “neither would I.”

We stared at each other for a long time, needing no words, then he kissed me, leisurely, passionately, as if our love was the only thing that mattered. And when our lips separated and he moved away from me, I sighed.

Mitch smiled. “So, shall we go?”

“Where?”

“Where else?” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The only lead we have and I wish to hell it had burned to the ground years ago. The goddamned Ballroom of Romance, of course.”

Chapter 5

T
he Ballroom had not changed. I am not sure why I had expected it would. The line to get in was probably shorter than in previous years, but from the noise of the crowd within, it was obvious that the place was still quite popular. Not recognizing the doorman, I gave him my name and asked to speak with Fred. Mitch studied the doorman intently, trying, I thought, to ascertain if he was one of our kind. I tilted my head slightly at him as we entered and Mitch responded with a slightly sheepish smile. There was no way of telling, it seemed.

“Miss Griffin,” the doorman turned around and smiled at me, “Fred's expecting you. We have your regular table reserved.”

I must have stared at him openmouthed. This same event could have occurred last year or five years ago. How many times had I heard similar words from similar doormen? Had everything changed so little? It seemed my life was an endless coil, beginning and ending here. Sensing my confusion, Mitch took my arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “That'd be fine,” he said, “thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Mitch leaned over and whispered after we were seated. “You seem sort of disjointed.”

“I want out of this, Mitch. The situation, the city, everything. How many times do I need to go through this?”

He nodded as if he understood. “But this time you have me around, and I won't let you down.”

I touched his cheek. “I know you won't.”

“Ah, so here's the happy couple.” Fred's voice cut over the dance music as he sat down at the table. “It's nice to see you both again. Under better circumstances, I hope.”

“That depends,” Mitch's voice was cold, “on whether you still have your gun and whether you plan to strong-arm us again.”

“I think we're on the same side this time, Greer. No hard feelings, huh? You didn't exactly do me any favors last time we met, either. I'd spent quite a lot of time worming my way into the Cadre's inner circle and it only took one look from Deirdre to drop me back down. I would have handled her a little differently had I known.” As usual, his tone was nasty and malicious, but he shook his head a bit and managed to give us an almost friendly smile. “But, Victor tells me that if I help you it will give me a chance to gain back some ground. So, what exactly can I do for you?”

“Larry Martin.” Mitch's voice was low, persuasive. “We need to find him. Fast.”

Fred shrugged. “Yeah, he's been around. And all this time we thought he was dead.” He gave me a shrewd look. “Can't quite figure that one out. Care to enlighten me?”

“Occupational hazard.” Mitch's tone allowed no argument. “So, has he been here tonight?”

“No, not yet,” Fred looked at his watch, “but it's still early. I expect he'll be hungry.”

Mitch stood up and grabbed the lapels on Fred's jacket. “You knew he was coming here, picking up people and killing them, didn't you? Why didn't you try to stop him?”

Fred brushed at Mitch's hands, shrugging when he couldn't remove them. “I had no orders about him whatsoever. Why the hell should I get involved?”

Mitch gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his hands. “Why the hell, indeed.” He sat back down at the table. “Get out of here,” he muttered between his clenched teeth, “you make me sick.”

Fred raised his eyebrows and gave a low laugh. “No problem, Greer.” Then he looked at me. “Quiet tonight, aren't you, Deirdre? Shall I have a bottle of your favorite wine sent over while you wait?”

“That would be fine, thank you, Fred.”

I watched him walk away from our table and surveyed the room, my eyes darting back and forth over the dancing forms. “I think I may sell this place, Mitch. Who needs it?”

“Good idea,” he agreed, giving me a boyish grin, “or like I suggested earlier, burn it to the ground.” He ran his fingers through his gray hair and grew instantly sober. “Maybe we can arrange for Fred to be inside at the time. And a few others I can think of . . .”

Mitch's voice trailed off when the waiter arrived at our table with the wine and glasses. After he left, I glanced around uneasily. “Mitch, you shouldn't say that here, or anywhere. Someone might take you seriously.”

“I am serious, Deirdre. Unfortunately, I'm still too much of a cop to put my thoughts into action. But so help me God, if this situation puts you into any sort of danger, or hurts you in any way, I won't rest until the goddamn Cadre is ground into dust.” His eyes flashed at me across the table. “And,” he said, his voice full of determination, “I'm just the man to do it.”

I reached over the table and cupped his cheek gently in my palm. “I know, my love, but it won't be necessary. I'm a big girl now and can take care of myself.”

He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I won't take the chance of losing you, Deirdre, not after it took me so long to get you.”

“We'll do this together,” I began, then stiffened as one of the dancers I had been idly watching turned and met my stare. His mouth twisted into a smile, a smile that at one time had seemed to me to be innocent and trusting. Now it was merely a grimace, an evil, tormented gesture from a damned soul. Through the darkness that hung over him, I could finally see him clearly. The smell of death coated him. Even the familiar scent of his cologne, one I once thought enticing and alluring, could not disguise the odor of decay and rotting flesh that engulfed him and the air surrounding him. And I, who thought I'd experienced every possibility in my unnatural lifetime, realized that I had never been faced with true evil until this moment. The dark sins that had haunted Max were nothing compared to the utter grotesqueness of the inhuman creature now boldly meeting my gaze and slowly crossing the room to the table where Mitch and I sat.

“Deirdre,” Larry said when he came close enough to be heard over the band, “and Mitch.” His eyes widened slightly, as if he were not expecting Mitch to be here. Of course, I thought quickly, Larry'd believed Mitch was dead. But he did not allow this surprise to interrupt his flow. “Mother and, ah, Father, so to speak. I have so much to be grateful to the both of you for. Your bullet,” he nodded at Mitch, “and your blood, Mother.” He reached out and stroked my cheek, grinning at the shudder he caused. “The combination of those two things gave me everything I ever wanted. May I join you?”

Without waiting for our assent, Larry pulled a chair from the table, spun it around and straddled it, leaning himself toward me. “I wondered when you would get back in town, you might even say I was expecting you.” He laughed, a low, sinister and mirthless sound. “I knew they'd send for you to clean up your dirty laundry.”

I sat silently for a moment, staring at him, trying to determine exactly where his radiated evil dwelled. His physical looks were unchanged; he was still a blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered young man, handsome and innocent in his appearance. Even as he sat talking to us, I caught the interested glances some of the girls in the club directed his way.

The differences in him were subtle, but obvious when I looked closer. Now his mouth was drawn out, tightened in pain or anger. His eyes moved about nervously, betraying a manic attitude; his voice had acquired a malevolent edge. When he spoke, his tongue darted out of his mouth, like a reptile's scenting the air for prey. Underlying my repulsion and disgust, however, I could still feel the strength of the blood bond between us. And the realization that I had somehow given birth to this monster made my stomach wrench and the bile rise in my throat.

“So,” Larry said, returning my look, “what exactly did the Cadre ask you to do with me?” His tone was one of amusement as if we were exchanging pleasantries or jokes.

“They told us we could kill you.” Mitch's voice held no lightness, only a bitter hatred and Larry turned away from me and directed his gaze on Mitch.

“Did they?” Other than a quick intake of breath and a slight quaver in his voice, Larry's assurance never faltered. “Now that's an interesting development. I thought that the killing of another vampire was a definite no-no.”

“Believe me, Martin, they'll make an exception in your case. As for me, I've already killed you once. I'd like nothing better than to do the job right this time.” Mitch gave a little grunt and ran his fingers through his hair. “But Deirdre doesn't want you dead. God knows why.”

“Why, Deirdre,” Larry reached over and touched the top of my hand, “I didn't think you cared. I'm touched.”

I pulled away from him abruptly, wiping my hand on the leather leg of my pants. “I don't care, Larry. I just don't want to be involved in your death.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Either way works for me. So what do we do now?”

I was amazed at his compliance, almost as much as the calm assurance in my voice when I answered him. “If you agree, we go back to Cadre headquarters and arrange for a hearing.”

“Just like that, huh? And who guarantees my safety when I get there?”

“I will, Larry.” My eyes met his and I knew he could read the truth in them. “I will guarantee your safety, if you accept the Cadre's decision.”

“Done. But let's finish the wine first, okay?” Larry called the waiter over, asked for another glass, then turned his chair slightly so that he could watch the dancers while he waited. “I guess,” he said, his voice soft now, almost wistful, “that asking you to dance is out of the question.”

I could feel Mitch tense, but caught his eye and shook my head slightly. I had a responsibility here, one that I had shirked before, one that was mine alone. For although it had been Mitch's bullet that allowed the blending of my blood with Larry's, it had been my presence and my life that originally set him out on the dark path he now walked. I had left town to pursue my own selfish interests, knowing full well of his twisted rebirth. I should have stayed to teach him, to comfort him. Perhaps if he would accept me now, it was still not too late for me to show him a better way.

“Larry,” I said, standing up and taking his hand in mine, suppressing a shudder of distaste, “I would be happy to dance with you.”

So I led him to the dance floor; he put his arms around me and we began to dance. The defiance and the cockiness that he had earlier displayed vanished; the evil air he exuded was still apparent, but was now subdued by a sadness, a solemnness. He held me almost reverently, as if I were delicate and breakable. Even though aware of Mitch's watchful stare, I finally relaxed in Larry's arms; he must have felt the easing of my tension, he tightened his hold on me and sighed.

Slowly we circled the dance floor, saying nothing, not even looking at each other. Every so often, I would catch Mitch's eye as we went around and I would nod to him and smile. Mostly my attention was centered on Larry and the conflicting emotions he was causing in me. The loathing and the disgust at his murderous actions still existed in me, but at war with them was the feeling that had been caused by his earlier greeting of me as “Mother.” It was trueâI was as much his mother as Max had been my father and Larry had been as much betrayed, abandoned, and left to his own resources as I had been. But the biggest difference was that I had known of his existence and had chosen to do nothing to help him.

The band started another slow song and I felt Larry's grip on me change. I looked up at him and he gave me a small smile, but looked away from my direct gaze. “Deirdre,” he said, and his mouth quivered, “I want to tell you what happened to me, how I have been fighting for survival. Will you listen, I mean, really listen? Will you try not to judge me too harshly?”

I swallowed hard. “I'll try, Larry, I really will.”

“Can we go somewhere private, do you think?”

“Well,” I hesitated, “I doubt that Mitch would stand for that. At least here he can see us.”

Larry nodded. “Yeah, I understand. He should probably join us anyway, even though he hates me.”

“You can't really blame him for hating you, you know.” I smiled a bit to ease the tension. “You did try to kill him, after all.”

“And he tried to kill me,” Larry said, the madness seeming to return briefly to his voice. “But I guess,” and he sighed again, deliberately controlling his temper, “that probably just makes us even. And here we both are, alive and well, no harm done.”

Although I thought that point was extremely debatable, I let it go. “Shall we see what kind of shape Fred's been keeping Max's office in?”

“Sure.” He dropped his arms from me and stood back. “And thanks.”

BOOK: Crave

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