Just One Bite Volume 2 (11 page)

Then I felt his body go tense and his sharp teeth slid into my soft flesh.

I cried out as his mouth fastened to my throat, drinking in my essence. Athan pumped his hips, driving into me with sharp violent thrusts, pushing me higher and higher until at last the bubble burst and waves of pleasure flooded my body with pure sensation. Heat rushed to every corner of me and I floated, my body seemingly detached from the earth.

I felt his shudder of pleasure, and at last he raised his head and looked at me. Flecks of blue fire lit up his eyes and his razor sharp canines were glistening, wet with my blood.

My mind went blank, whether from lack of blood or complete shock I don’t know. A moment passed when I simply struggled for breath and to grasp exactly what had happened.

“Are you all right?” he asked me, cocking his head. His fangs had disappeared, making me wonder if I had imagined the whole thing.

I nodded, frowning. “I think so.” Athan stroked damp hair off my forehead.

“You’re a –”

“Yes.”

Denial pressed at my brain but at the same time, I knew it to be true.

He pulled out of my body then used the soft cotton of his shirt to dab at my throat. “Come now, my dear. You sensed there was something different about me the minute our eyes met.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I never thought…never imagined…”

“I hope I did not frighten you.”

I should have been screaming my head off. I should be running away. Freaking out. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t.

“No.”

Athan smiled. “Good. That is good.”

Reaching behind his head, he untied his mask and set it aside.

I gasped. “You. You’re the man. In the photo.”

He nodded. “Emily was my lover. She begged me for a keepsake.” He looked at his hands. “I should not have allowed it. Photos, records of any kind, are too dangerous. But I could deny her nothing.”

“The stele?”

“Mine. From my human life.”

My mind reeled. It was here. “Can I see it?”

Athan chuckled softly then cocked his head and looked at me for a moment before nodding. “I find I cannot deny your request either.”

I scrambled up off the sofa and tugged my gown on over my head.

Taking my hand, Athan led me to the back of the attic. He slid a panel aside and there, inside a secret compartment built into the wall, was the object I had been searching for.

It gleamed white in the light of my flashlight, looking as fresh and new and perfect as the day it was carved. And my lover, in all his glory, was rendered to perfection in stone. The impossibly masculine lines of his torso, his strong profile, the wave of his hair--it was an exact likeness of him.

“You understand now why I keep it hidden.”

I nodded. It would raise too many questions—questions about where it had come from and how it was so perfectly preserved. There would be no paper trail to prove he was the proper owner, and it took only one look to know that the man standing before me and the one born in marble were the same.

“It’s beautiful.”

Athan nodded. “My father was very talented. He sculpted burial monuments for the wealthiest families in my region. When my human life was ended, his grief drove him to work day and night until he produced this masterpiece. I saw it on the ridge bordering our family burial plot several years after my new life had begun and after my father died, I returned and claimed the stele. After nearly 2500 years, it is my one remaining link to my humanity.”

A shadow crossed his eyes. “I cannot allow you to expose my secret,” he said, nodding at the statue. “I wonder if perhaps you might consider changing your thesis topic. You may have full access to any other pieces in my private collection.”

I looked around, my heart beating wildly at the prospect of what other secret finds might be waiting. I could catalogue his collection, perhaps. And I could visit the stele whenever I wished.

Placing my palms on the cool, hard skin of his chest, I smiled up at him. “I would love that,” I said.

Athan wrapped his arms around my waist and smiled back, eyes flashing.

“Of course you realize that means you would have to spend a lot of time here. In my home. With me.” His head dipped.

I raised my face, eyes focused on his mouth, imagining the pleasure it would bring all over again. “Hours,” I whispered.

“Days.”

“It could take weeks or even months,” I said, anticipating long nights spent exploring the mansion’s secrets as well as every curve and angle of Athan’s fine body.

“Years,” he breathed, searching my expression for an answer.

“Years,” I agreed and his mouth possessed mine once more.

Wolf Bait

by Virginia Nelson

Riley

The whole world is only a click away. That was the big perk of being online most of your day. Everyone you wanted to get in touch with, everything you could ever want to buy, available at one simple click of the mouse.

As I sat in front of my laptop and sipped coffee, I checked my social networks. A writer’s worst enemy, I knew, was procrastination. Sadly, so was my brain dribbling out my ears to lie in a puddle on the floor, which was what I felt I was headed towards if I didn’t leave the bloodbath on the page for a few minutes.

Writing suspense is fun. Murdering off whoever ticks me off in any given day in brutally creative ways is probably the best therapy in the world. But when characters you are attached to, characters you have spent months trying to get into the head of, die in a way that is surprisingly horrible to even you, the author, it is like losing a friend. Probably that meant I needed a whole new kind of therapy but I self medicated with Facebook. 

Just now, I had hundreds of friends, again, one keystroke away. Sadly, I spent more time writing about life lately than living it myself.

Then everything changed with the link to bacon soap.

Blinking at the screen, I read the link again. 

Bacon soap. 

I had done research on pheromones and how scent affected men. Most stories have a love angle, after all.

Some angles are physically impossible, but still…

I knew men liked the smell of bacon. I choked in laughter. But who would buy soap that smelled of bacon? The same page also offered bacon mints. Mints?

But it got me thinking. Men 
loved
 the smell of bacon. What would be the male response to a woman who smelled like bacon? We spend hours showering, deodorizing, spritzing ourselves to smell good to, in theory, attract a mate.

But men aren’t crazy about the smell of flowers. How many men do you find in the park stopping to bury their snoots in a rose bush?

Fry up some bacon and they come running out of the woodwork.

I had the feeling it was an angle.

Looking around my empty apartment, I blew out a sigh. It wasn’t as if I was attracting many men from here.

Standing, I went to a mirror. The reflection that bounced back was almost startling in its averageness. 

I was medium height, medium build, with some non-descript hair color that couldn’t even have the decency to be either blond or brown. 

My hair was neither. The best adjective description even I could come up with was maybe a dirty honey.

Peering closer, I stared at my own gray eyes. Even they were mundane. 

But if I smelled like bacon…

I would call it an experiment…

Walking with determination back to my keyboard, I yanked my credit card out of my purse before plopping back in my writing chair. If nothing else, I was sure I could make some kind of story out of it.

Bacon soap and bacon mints…

And then I would go out. 

And see if anyone responded.

Basil

I had been a shapeshifter for longer than I cared to remember. The duality of my nature never bothered me. Not one of those whining men, made so popular by television and media these days, I wasn’t ever ashamed of what I was.

If you are a monster, you’re a monster. Get over yourself.

Raking a hand through my hair, I scanned the club. From the balcony, I could see everyone who dared come into my den. Foolish humans, scraps of clothing hanging negligently on their too skinny hides, slopped back drinks and tried to get laid nightly, filling my pockets in their desperation to find a mate.

I wasn’t looking for a mate. I had better things to do with my days. Money was power. Blood was power. Getting laid was something you did to fill a basic need, like eating. The rest of that garbled love crap that my pack had been spouting lately…

I rolled my eyes and was glad no one was near to see me. 

Grown men, men who had been around hundreds of year, whipped by a good lay.

Thank whatever god watched over the furry that I wasn’t an ass.

But then she walked in.

I smelled her before I saw her.

Bacon, the scent like fresh fried breakfast, wafted to my overly sensitive nose. In a club, it was just odd to pick up the scent of fried pork fat. But I trusted my nose more than I trusted any of my senses and I smelled bacon.

Tantalized in a way that made my stomach growl, my eyes scanned the crowd. Did someone bring in food? 

And then I saw her.

Hair glittering in the strobe like old gold and more clothes than anyone else in the crowd set her apart. She was dressed like a librarian. In a club.

I began to move toward the stairs before I had really thought it through.

Was she carrying bacon in her purse?

God knows, she could fit a small army in that horrendous bag.

Cutting through the crowd, I found her. From behind, she looked even less attractive. The skirt she wore was too long, falling to an unattractive length that made her legs seem bigger than they probably were. Her shoes were… 
sensible
. That was about the best adjective I could apply to the ugly brown things that covered what looked to be small feet.

Her hair was the big attraction from this angle. Hanging in waves nearly to her waist, it was a golden fall of waves far longer than was currently in style. It looked like she hadn’t bothered to get it cut rather than any artful or womanly attempt at loveliness. 

The hair and that ass.
Even with the worlds ugliest skirt wrapped around it, she had rounded curves that begged you to dig your fingers into them.

And she reeked of bacon.

Sniffing, I moved closer. Turning so I could be near her at the bar, I tried to catch a look at her face.

When she angled her head to laugh nervously at the bartender, my breath caught in my throat.

She was breathtaking.

Lips so full my mind immediately moved to what they would feel like on my skin curved up and I felt a hot stab of lust shoot straight to my dick.

Eyes the color of shadows or the pelt of some sleek gray cat, framed by dark lashes, glittered in the light and I wondered if they got dark when that pale face of hers flushed with passion.

What was wrong with me? She was some strange woman in the bar. I had never felt drawn to anyone like I was this one 
bacon
 scented woman.

And then I caught it. Under the bacon, I picked up another scent. It was like warm vanilla. Vanilla spiked with cinnamon. You had to be close, as I now was, to pick it up because of the bacon permeating everything about her but I could smell it.

That scent drew me in a way that I wasn’t comfortable with. But I knew one thing.

I wanted her.

And I am the kind of man who takes what he wants.

Riley

Okay, I thought to myself. Here I am. In a club.

I tried to calm my pulse as it hammered in my ears nearly louder than the thumping throb of the music.

I felt like an idiot. This wasn’t my kind of place. I was safer, smarter, to stay home in front of my keyboard where I belonged. 

I had almost decided to run out of there and say the hell with the bacon experiment when I realized 
he
 was staring at me.

Since he was probably the most attractive man I had ever seen, I immediately glanced over my shoulder to see who he was staring at. Because obviously, this hot young man was not staring at me.

Glancing back at him, I was again pinned by his yellow eyes. My breath came out in a whoosh when I realized he 
was
 looking at me.

Or glaring at me. I wasn’t sure which.

I have written a romantic tale or two. None of them started with the hero glaring at the woman he desires enough to slay dragons for.

Well, then again, it’s not like I expected the bacon soap would really work…

“What is your name?”

Again, I shot a look over my shoulder; sure he was addressing someone behind me. I hate that… when you wave at someone and they weren’t waving at you or answer someone who had no clue you were even there—

It happened to me a lot.

Nope. He was talking to me. I cleared my throat. “Riley. Riley Perry.”

He continued to glare at me and I shifted on my barstool, uncomfortably. I sucked again on the straw on my drink and had to blink back tears as the alcohol burned my throat. Wow. Strong drink.

Could I possibly look any cooler than cringing at my own drink? Thirty loomed over me and I suddenly felt terribly old.

“Why do you reek of pork fat?”

My eyes widened as the man came closer and sniffed at me. “Reek?”

He waved one hand, which I noticed was huge. I pictured that hand on my body and my pulse sped. 
Yeah, not in this lifetime, Riley girl.

“It is very…” He paused as if trying to come up with a word and I studied him. The man was delicious and my body was reacting to his proximity in a way it had not ever done before. “Strong.”

I blinked. Well hell.

Standing, I moved to leave. I had to get out of there. I was an idiot.

A hand caught my arm and the momentum swung me back to land against a chest like a wall. I was washed in his scent which struck me as somehow wild. Something woodsy.

I sucked in another breath and chewed my lip to look up at the striking man. Trying not to notice how his body was hard against mine or how much heat it seemed to generate, I hoped words would pop into my head. Something clever. My heroines always had a snappy comeback. Of course, no one ever told them they reeked.