Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (33 page)

Believe me yet? Put down the gun, Sylvia. I’m not here to hurt you
.  The voice didn’t come from a single source. It was like it started inside my own mind.

“You’re a
 
ghost
 
! You’re
 
dead
.” My voice was high and  tight, nearly a squeak. OK, fine, I was scared. But whi wouldn’t  be?

“Not a ghost . . . a vampire.”

There he was again, now sitting on the counter over the dishwasher. I turned the gun, hands shaking so hard I wouldn’t have been able to shoot if I wanted to.

“There’s no such thing.” My head started shaking back and  forth, tiny little movements that made my teeth clatter when  they touched.

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Tim snorted and rolled his eyes. “No vampires, but there are ghosts?” He smiled broadly, lifting his lips high to reveal extended canine teeth that came to sharp points. “These say otherwise, Syl. Trust me, I might not like it, but I know what I am.”

I  started to lower the gun as my brain slowly wrapped around the concept. “But your funeral . . . the urn . . . ashes to ashes.” My words didn’t make much sense, but he caught the gist of it.

His brows raised and he shrugged. “Not me in the urn, I’m afraid.  Jolie said she grabbed me right after the memorial sevice.  I feel sorry for Mom. I’d tell her, but . . . well, you can imagine how well that would go.”

So many questions, but my mouth was nearly still too dry to

talk. “Jolie?”

“My sire. The one who turned me. You probably remember  her . . . that little blonde hooker over on State Street? The kid we  hoped had made it back home.” He paused and then sighed.  “She didn’t.”

My heart started returning to normal. This really was Tim.  He was opening up, trying to let me in on whatever had been happening to him these past two years. “But why would she kill you? I thought she liked you.”

“She
 
did
 
like me. That was the trouble. She remembered  me.” He must have noticed that my brows dropped in confusion,  because he  tried to find the words to explain. He moved his  hands, looking like he was searching for the right thing to say.  “See, death is exactly what you expect it to be. The body starts  to decay. The brain doesn’t work right when we come back. All  I felt, all Jolie felt was rage. After all, we were murdered. That’s  the last thing we remember. Anger, rage . . . and the hunger.

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Damn, Syl. You can’t even imagine what it’s like. But Jolie . . . she was such a sweet kid. She didn’t have it in her to be a

predator. She  needed someone to take care of her. Didn’t matter  if it was parents, or a pimp, or a cop who was nice to her. She  thought she was in love with me. And who knows . . . maybe  she was.”

I set the Taurus on the counter and reached back to lift myself onto the  countertop. We used to sit like this for hours, ignoring the chairs conveniently nearby. I realized abruptly I wasn’t afraid any more. If he’d been going to kill me, he already would have.

“So she killed you because she had a crush on you?”

Tim nodded and hopped down off the counter. The floorboards squeaked when his weight hit them. But how then could he disconnect? Become smoke and float? It didn’t make sense. “Yep. Sometimes, something is strong enough inside to remember from your old life. Most of the vamps out there are like rabid dogs. They hide, they feed and they sleep . . . forever.” He paused and then got an angry look. “At least, that’s what
 
used
 
to happen. But things are changing. That’s why I’m here.”

I waved my hands. “Not fair switching subjects until I have a handle on this. So, Jolie kills you, leaves you in the alley for me to find, but keeps track of you? Why wait until after the service? Why not just take you from the alley?”

He grabbed a chair and spun it around before sitting splay-legged on it and leaning his arms on the back. “Like I say . . . she remembered. Somehow she managed to keep her head enough to know that a cop can’t just disappear without a huge manhunt. I don’t  know where she got the body to replace mine

in the casket on the way to the crematorium, but she did. She  wanted me to be
 
me
 
when I woke up and it’s probably the only

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reason I’m sitting here. It’s like amnesia. No memory at all of  who you were before crossing that line into death. But if you  can just
 
remember
, it  all comes flooding back. Well,” he  amended with a tip of his head, “not
 
all
, or it wouldn’t have  taken me two years to show up back here.”

Something was tickling the back of my head. “So how did you remember? Are you the one who’s been making the crank

calls to me?”

He nodded, and flushed with sudden embarrassment. He was dead. He shouldn’t blush. “Yeah. I wanted you to know, but should have realized you wouldn’t recognise my voice after this long. The trouble was that until just last week, I couldn’t even remember your name or where you were. It’s not a quick process. It’s like a head injury. You remember some things but not others. It’s frustrating as hell. But Jolie actually had a friend do it for her, for weeks before she turned me. She was actually a vamp for months and we didn’t know it, Syl. Don’t know how she managed that, but I felt like an idiot when I realized it. I mean, here I am trying to convince her to go home to her folks, when she’s been dead for months.”

Jolie . . . that tiny blonde waif, was smoke and teeth and . . .

dead? “So you remembered you were a cop?”

He nodded. “She had videos of us responding to calls or coming out from dinner. She tried really hard to catch only me in the shot, and even had friends get shots of her touching myarm or making me smile at a joke. Everything she could do to convince me we were in love when I woke up.” Tim shook his head sadly. “It almost worked too.”

It made such sense. When you have physical evidence staring at you, pictures of yourself, why wouldn’t you believe it?  I couldn’t help but wonder what made him see the truth. “Why didn’t it?”

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His eyes moved from staring at the table to locking with mine. The depth of those green eyes was so intense, so hypnotic, that I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He stood fluidly, with an animal grace that he’d never had before. It didn’t even seem like he walked closer to me  –  no, more like glided. He wound up inches from my knees. When he placed a hand on either side of me on the counter, effectively blocking me in,  I felt my heart in my throat. “I remembered
 
you
.”

I suddenly felt afraid . . . not of dying at his hand, but something else entirely. “You . . . but we never.” I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat refused to move. I shifted uncomfortably on the counter, watching a tiny smile twitch his lips at my reaction. “There was never anything between us, Tim.  We were just partners. You’re not remembering it right.”

He leaned closer and I backed up in response, hitting my shoulders sharply on the cabinet pulls. “Then why can I remember the taste of your tongue . . . remember the curves of your body so strongly that it makes my hands ache?” He seemed to sense what I was feeling, whether from the way I was squirming or tapping my fingernails on my jeans. He leaned closer, until I could smell minty mouthwash over cinnamon toothpaste. “Tell me, Syl.”

“It was just one kiss, nothing more. We were drunk.”  Something we swore we’d never talk about again. He waited,  unmoving, his eyes watching my every move. I stared at  his  neck as it disappeared into the dark silk of his shirt. I’d thought  it black, but it was brown, the same rich colour as his hair. There  wasn’t a mark on his neck. No scar, not even a scratch to show  where the wound that had killed him had been. “It was –” God,  what to say? That it had been amazing? So intense that one kiss  had terrified us both? “After a drug raid that went bad. We lost  Bobby Tucker that night and it shook us both. We’d drawn  straws to see who would handle the door ram.”

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He was nodding  now, brows furrowed. “I remember. It was a competition to see who could take out the door with one blow.”

“More than two and we had to buy a round. So Bobby

always tried for one. But the door was wired.”

Tim reached up and ran a slow finger through my hair. The shiver and sudden butterflies in my stomach should have made me leap down off the counter and try to get away. But I couldn’t seem to move. “Your hair got singed in the explosion. Had to trim a lot of it off that night.” His eyes focused again. “You liked it when I cut your hair. You kept the look.”

It was my turn to nod. “You handled the scissors pretty good, even drunk.” I remembered him laughing, joking around, flourishing them, hand on hip, like a temperamental French stylist.

His hands reached up suddenly and glided through my hair, triggering muscle memory that made me clench my hands into fists the same way I had that night. It had felt good . . .
 
too
 
good, and it had tipped our relationship into something new.

He didn’t say a word, just lived out the memory. Gentle fingers became steel bands that locked on my head and pulled me forwards to his mouth. I couldn’t stop him . . . or myself, any more than I had the first time.

Soft, but hungry, his lips and jaw devoured me, tongue searching, twining around mine. I felt my hands reach for him without permission, slide across his warm neck to let loose the band that held back his hair. Silk. I’d always wondered what his hair would feel like if left to grow long.

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I ground my mouth against him with a moan that ended in a whimper, surprised and terrified at how much my body wanted this. He couldn’t be a vampire. It was all some sort of mistake.  Tim was really alive and here and wanting me, no longer tied to the rules of the department. No longer in  fear of suspension or dismissal.

He nudged my knees apart and I let him until he was pressed against me so tight I could feel his erection throbbing urgently. No blood? No life? Not possible. Even my tongue could find no trace of the sharp-pointed teeth he’d showed me . .  . until I flicked my tongue against the roof of his mouth. There they were  –  slender and solid, ending with a sharp point.  Retractable. They were freaking
 
retractable
. His hands had moved to my breast now and my nipple hardened so suddenly that I jumped, felt my tongue move forwards abruptly, impale itself on the sharp point of his tooth. It wasn’t any more painful than biting it accidentally, but when the copper penny taste filled our mouths, Tim tensed.

He pulled back from the kiss, his  bottom lip painted red, and a new look filled his eyes. He swallowed hard and pulled his hand out of my hair to wipe his hand across his lip.

Tim stared at the smear of colour for a long moment. He shuddered and reached down to wipe it on his pants. “I’ve only fed once today, Syl. You have to be careful.”

Blood. Vampire. Fed. A sudden surge of horror switched off my libido. “You
 
killed
 
someone tonight, before you came here?”

He shook his head quickly, and moved his other hand from my breast to rest on my thigh. “We don’t have to kill, except in combat or to bring someone over. We only end up taking about a half-pint, less than someone would give at the hospital. Most people barely notice. They just wind up a little woozy.”

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Now I was getting angry. “But  you
 
attack
 
people? Steal

their blood?”

He smiled then shrugged, apparently comfortable in his role, not the least embarrassed. “Not steal. More barter. We get blood in exchange for pleasure. An erotic high that’s better than  Ecstasy. There’s no lack of willing donors. Trust me.”

The horror settled into revulsion. This wasn’t the Tim I

knew. He’d been one of the few on the force who had been a  gentleman. No one-night stands, no string of leggy girlfriends.  He’d been waiting, he claimed, for that special someone. But  now . . . “So just how many
 
erotic barters
 
have you had in two  years? My voice came out sounding more hurt and angry than  surprised.

He sighed. “If you mean sex, then none.” Then he tipped his head. “Well, one. Before I realized what Jolie was  up to. Like I say, she nearly made me believe her. But I gravitated towards criminals. It took me a while to figure out why. I policed the streets in my own weird fashion even before I remembered I was a cop, knocking out burglars and rapists to make it easier for you guys to catch them.”

I thought back, to just last week. “You mean that mugger

Davis found in the alley ”–

He completed the thought with a nod. “Over off Hansen

Avenue? Yep. That was me.”

I shook my head. “But he didn’t have a mark on him. How

did you  –?”

He smiled again, and the teeth were back, hanging over his bottom lip dangerously. “No marks . . . except for track marks on his arm. Thought he was a junkie, I’ll bet. Wound up in a policed ward for anaemia and high white count? Apparently  our

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saliva does that. I think it’s also where the high comes from.  How are you feeling right now?”