Seducing the Vampire (29 page)

Otherworldly? No kidding.

Was she wondering what his blood tasted like? He clutched the turtleneck. How to keep a hungry vampire satisfied without losing a pint?

“I think that's Jack. My friend. We study together. I'm going to see who is at the door,” he said slowly and a little too loud, as if she were deaf.

As usual Jack never waited for an invite. The door opened and Steve's three-hundred-pound friend charged through, dropping a fresh box of chocolate croissants on the counter and heading for his favorite easy chair with the duct-taped arms.

A curious, half-naked woman met Jack in the living room.

“Dude!” Jack's astonishment lit his round face like a Christmas tree. “Where did you find her?”

“Behind the trash bin. Uh, Jack, I don't think you should get too close to her.”

“Why? She's wearing nothing but a shirt. Dude! Your favorite shirt!”

“Hungry.”

“Oh no—” Lunging to rescue his friend, Steve tripped over a stack of textbooks.

A half-gnawed croissant went flying. Jack's hefty bulk slammed against the wall, knocking the Bela Lugosi figurine from an overhead shelf. Viviane fixed her teeth to his meaty neck.

Landing on the living-room floor, Steve groaned a weak protest. “Viviane!”

“Not Steve!” she sputtered, drooling out Jack's blood. With a happy grin, the vampire again latched onto Jack.

Steve muttered, “Mercy.”

Jack gurgled a strangely satisfied cry, like a happy, sexual kind of noise.

Then his friend collapsed on the floor.

Scrambling upright, Steve splayed out his arms. “What did you do that for?”

Viviane wiped blood from her lips and shrugged. “Hungry.”

“But, but he's my friend.”

“No bite Steve.”

“You really are a vampire, aren't you, lady.”

 

V
IVIANE THE
V
AMPIRE SAT
in the tub. Steve had drained the dirty water once and now poured warm water over her hair, helping her soap it with the shampoo he got at the discount drugstore down the street. It was weird, but Steve felt like she needed to be taken care of. Despite the fact she was a bloodsucking vampire, she had been through something awful, and needed a kind touch.

Jack was still out cold in the living room. He wasn't dead. Steve had checked for a pulse to be sure.

“So, Viviane.” He poured clean water over her hair to rinse out the shampoo. “Where did you come from?”

“Below.”

“Below? You mean—” he swallowed “—from the grave?”

“No, not Les Innocents. Below this city.”

“Oh. Oh? You mean like the catacombs?” Paris was a virtual web of underground tunnels. Steve had once partied in them at an all-night rave. “Seriously? You live underground?”

“Not living.” She shook her head. “Forced. Grim.”

Yeah, that would be grim. Another pour of water rinsed the suds from her shoulders.

“Someone forced you underground? Uh…how long have you been down there?” To judge from the dirt on her it had been a while.

“Can't decide. Lost track of time. No day or night. All darkness. Too long. Now the city is different.”

“How so?”

“No horses! The buildings are the same but not. People in strange clothing. I…feel the same. Only hungry.”

“Well, you can't have been below for long. What do
you last remember? I mean, was it winter? Summer? It's summer now.”

“Summer. Very pretty. Flowers were blooming in the Tuileries.”

“Yes, I sometimes have lunch in the royal gardens.” He handed her the soap, but it slipped through her fingers.

“Marie Antoinette had given birth to her third child,” she said with a sigh.

“Marie Antoin—” Steve chuffed. “That was in the eighteenth century.”

Viviane fluttered her blue gaze. “Yes.”

“No way. That would make you like two hundred some years old.”

“What time is it now?”

“Time? You mean the date? It's the twenty-first century, lady. Oh, wait.” He stood. A glance out the doorway saw Jack was moving. “Oh, man, you guys got me good.”

He marched out to the living room and gave Jack a hand up. “Dude, that was classic. Where did you find her? She's such a looker. I really believed she bit you.”

“Bit me?” Jack slapped a palm over his neck. Blood colored his fingers. “What the hell?”

“You can stop the act. I know I'm being punk'd. That fake blood is amazing. What is it? Corn syrup and red food coloring? But what did you add to make it smell so real?”

“Dude, I am not punking you. And that bitch bit me? Why didn't you warn me? She's like a vampire or something.”

It was rare Jack didn't opt for a joke right away.

Steve rushed to the bathroom. Viviane stood outside the tub, dripping onto the ripped Metallica floor mat.

Over his shoulder, Jack whispered in admiration, “Dude, she is so naked. I don't care that she bit me.”

“Grab a towel,” Steve said, and when Jack stood stupidly unmoving, he shoved his friend aside and grabbed the biggest towel he had, which was frayed all around the edges. He held it before her. “Wrap this around you. Seriously? The eighteenth century? Like with the big wigs and the goofy tights on the men?”

“Steve.” Sad blue eyes entreated. They were like two pieces of sky, but rained on. “You tell me true? Twenty-first century?”

“Yeah, it's been, like…two hundred and thirty years since Marie Antoinette was queen. France doesn't even have kings and queens anymore. Have you been underground all that time?”

“I was bespelled by Ian Grim,” Viviane said. “And Constantine, he…” She swept a hand before her loins, indicating something Steve had suspected of the guy in the alley. “I will kill Grim! And I will find Constantine and rip out his heart.”

Jack exchanged raised brows with Steve.

“Yeah, cool. And go you with the dramatics, and all.” Steve put up a placating hand. “But listen, you gotta be careful, Viviane. This is a new world. People don't take kindly to vampires running around biting them. It's gonna get you locked up. Or something worse.”

“So the world has not changed.”

Steve led Viviane into his bedroom, and between he and Jack scrounged up sweatpants and a clean Jekyll and Hyde T-shirt.

“People don't believe in vampires, Viviane,” Steve said, as he stepped back to look over his handiwork. She looked pitiful, but she did work the shirt. 36C, he guessed, and then chided himself for the lascivious thought.

“It is the same, then,” she offered sadly.

“Yes, but if you go around biting people, you will be arrested and put in jail.”

“No.” Viviane shoved past both men and rushed out into the living room. “No more confinement! I want freedom!”

 

“S
HE'S GOING TO ESCAPE
!” Steve shoved Jack ahead of him and grabbed his jacket. “Come on, man, we've got to go after her.”

“I don't know, dude.” Jack studied his neck with a fingertip. “I think we should let the bloodsucker go. Since when did you develop a death wish?”

“Jack, are you dead?”

“No.”

“Right.” Steve slapped the bite marks on the side of Jack's neck, and his friend yelped. “She could have killed you, but she didn't.”

“But she's, like, insane. Living underground for centuries. And now she's risen to stalk those who have betrayed her. You heard her. She's going to kill someone sooner or later. And I don't want it to be me. I think I'll sit this one out.”

“Fine.” Steve opened the door and started hurrying down the iron stairs.

The guy was no longer behind the Dumpster.

“He must have got up and wandered off.” At least Viviane wasn't killing. Yet.

Where would a vampire who was familiar with the city two centuries previously go? The Louvre? The Seine? Notre Dame?

The closest landmark was the Arc du Triomphe up the street. No, that was after her time.

“Viviane!”

A black Mercedes squealed to a halt across the street. The door opened and a man charged out from it.

Turning and tripping on the curb, Steve lunged forward in an awkward sprawl. He was tugged upright and slammed against a brick wall.

“Where is she?” the man demanded.

Big and muscled, a gray chunk dashed through his short black hair. He reminded Steve of thugs on television shows. Thugs who twisted necks and broke bones.

His dark eyes tracked Steve's face and down the front of his shirt. “You called her name.”

“V-Viviane?”

“Yes, you have seen her?”

“Dude, I don't think we're talking about the same lady here. There are lots of chicks in this town called Viviane. It's a spat with me and my old lady, you know.” Why was he protecting her? “C-could you let go of me?”

The man relaxed his grip and Steve's feet hit the ground.

“It is the same Viviane,” he said. His French was a little different than most of the accents Steve had heard. Similar to Viviane's French. “You must tell me where she is. Now!”

“Chill, dude. In case you weren't paying attention, I was calling to her because I
don't
know where she is. And the longer I'm delayed…”

“Yes? What will happen? She will be lost? She will what?”

“Dude.”

“My name is Rhys Hawkes. Did she say that name to you?”

“No, but she wasn't exactly coherent all the time. Listen, I don't think you know what sort of chick this Viviane is.
If you did—” Slammed against the brick again, Steve bit the edge of his tongue. “That hurt!”

Rhys slapped his hand aside Steve's face and roughly shoved it to the right. He examined his neck. So maybe the guy did have a clue. Why else the interest in his neck? Unless—

Steve kicked and scrambled against his attacker, who held firm. “Not another one! We have a strict no-bite-Steve rule.”

“Your name is Steve?” The man leaned in so close Steve winced and wondered if that were aftershave or some kind of vampire pheromone that would put him under a spell and make him beg for the bite. “Steve, how long have you known about Viviane? Did you find her?”

“She sort of found me. She's a vampire and you are, too!”

The man grinned, but Steve did not see fangs. Only smug satisfaction. “I won't bite you. Promise.”

Despite his dangling status, Steve exhaled in relief.

“But I will tear your head from your neck if you do not become forthcoming this instant.”

“I don't know anything! I don't know where she is. I brought her to my place, and she took a bath because she was all bloody and naked—”

“She had no clothes?”

“No, but don't worry, dude, I didn't touch her. She's, like, dangerous. She bit my best friend.”

“Did she kill him? Is she…mad?”

“She's definitely some kind of angry. Oh, you mean insane. Maybe. I think she's been out of the loop for quite a while, if you ask me. But I held a conversation with her. I think the blood makes her sane. Anyway, I was going to keep tabs on her but she walked out. She needs help, man. That's all I know.”

Rhys dropped Steve.

He knew he was going to regret getting too friendly with the muscle-bound thug, but he couldn't help himself. This was a cryptozoologist's dream come true. He had to take advantage of it.

“So,” he asked casually, but tugged up the neck of his turtleneck, “how do you know this chick?”

Rhys turned and scanned the street. “She's my lover,” he said over his shoulder. “
Was
my lover. I believed that she was murdered over two hundred years ago. I was wrong.”

“Sooo, you're going to take over looking for her now? Awesome. Glad to leave you to the task. I'll just be going—”

Steve hadn't seen the man move, yet he held him by the collar now, his toes barely touching the ground.

“I need you,” Rhys said. “You are the only person she's had contact with since coming aboveground. You may have some influence with her.”

“Oh, I doubt it.”

“I was following her scent, but it's grown weak. You said you washed her?”

Steve nodded. “I used grape shampoo. You could sniff that out, right? Store where I got the stuff is behind us.”

The man sniffed Steve's head. “I can smell it on you. Sweet and artificial. You are positive this is the scent she wears?”

“Yep.”

“Why do you smell the same?”

Steve gulped down a swallow. “Dude, I didn't touch her.”

“You'll come with me.” Shoved roughly, Steve crossed the street to where the Mercedes was parked. Not much
of a chance to break free unless he wanted broken bones. But seriously? Get in a car with a vampire?

“We have to hurry. The moon will be full and high in less than two hours.”

A
S HE TRACKED THE SIDEWALK
edging the Seine, Rhys was hyperaware that the clock ticked faster than his tracking efforts. The moon was nearly at its apex.

He could not sense her at all. He should be able to scent her by the disgusting sweet fragrance that filled the backseat. It was all over the kid, which would make finding Viviane impossible unless he split away from Steve.

He couldn't imagine what she must be like now. Steve had said he'd discovered her naked, with strips of decaying fabric hanging from her limbs.

And according to the boy she'd taken blood. That had to mean something. But it also meant she was a menace. Add in her unfamiliarity with the times and the city, and— No time to waste.

Quickening his footsteps along the boulevard du Seine, Rhys gestured to Steve, who walked the opposite side of the bridge with Simon pacing him in the car, to keep his eyes peeled. The boy was being helpful because Rhys had intimated he'd wrench his neck from the spinal column and leave him in an alleyway.

He would not, but it was a good scare and it had put a healthy fear in the kid who wore a turtleneck sweater like armor.

Ahead the bridge that crossed before Notre Dame hummed with night traffic. An ambulance peeled by, its
siren silent, yet the lights flashed red at the periphery of Rhys's ever-scanning gaze.

Steve rushed across the bridge and met Rhys as he gained the parvis before the cathedral. “Dude, it's almost midnight.”

“Soon.”

“Yeah? Well, your driver said you have to be out of town before then. Otherwise you, like…rampage.”

“I do nothing of the sort. I merely…”

Shift to man-beast form. Scare the shit out of common mortals. And his werewolf answered to his vampire's hunger for blood. And yes, he did rampage.

His estate sat east of the city, the safe room already prepared for tonight. “I need but twenty minutes to broach the city's walls.”

Ready to grip the boy's shirt and admonish, Rhys paused. “Listen.”

The doors before the cathedral opened and a slim man staggered outside. No one paid him mind; there were perhaps a dozen tourists still lingering though the church had closed for services hours earlier.

“What?” Steve took a step but Rhys stopped him with a palm to his chest. “Do you see her? Smell her? She's inside. That man is bleeding from his neck.”

The squeal of tires pulled up left of where Rhys stood and parked on the parvis. Simon stepped out and waved to him.

Struck by a breeze curling about his head, Rhys turned to spy a vision striding across the street. Clad in white, and tall and slender, her white hair flowed out from her head as if blown by the sudden wind.

He couldn't remember her name but recognized her species—faery.

There, approaching with the confidence of a preying
lioness, the faery held out her arms as if he should rush forward and kiss her.

Recognition thumped his gut, teasing his dual nature. The werewolf growled. His vampire wanted to tear out her throat. He had not seen her for centuries.

Steve shoved him, and Rhys growled. His hackles stretched and the werewolf pined for release.

He glanced to the west facade of Notre Dame. Guarded by gargoyles, saints and centuries of ancient ritual—including pagan—the cathedral was no place for a vampire. Yet Viviane, as he, was not baptized. Holy objects would serve her no harm, so she could safely seek shelter within.

“I'm going after her,” he said to Steve. “Tell Simon to keep one foot on the accelerator.”

The faery paralleled his path toward the cathedral, emitting a spring breeze around him. “Why now?” he asked.

“You've found her, haven't you? Your tragic lover.”

“Cressida.” He remembered her name. “Now is not a good time.”

“Now is the time I have waited for over two centuries. Rather, I've been imprisoned along with your wicked vampire bitch. I've only just been freed.”

“I don't understand.”

“You don't need to. You must hurry if you wish to beat
la lune
.”

Rhys felt her gaze tickle his neck and move across his mouth. He dashed out his tongue but only tasted air.

He slipped into the cool darkness and turned to inspect the narthex. The faery appeared beside him. It was as if he'd stepped through time. If only that were true and it was the eve before he had lost Viviane. He would not have left her. “Never.”

The faery touched one long, graceful finger to his lower lip. A scurry of sensation moved across his mouth and fizzled deep into his being.

“Are you going to rescue your mad lover, then?”

“Cressida!”

“I do hope you will.”

“Why? Why are you here?”

“You'll discover soon enough. But the moon calls to you. Best snatch her quickly.”

“I intend to.” He slapped a palm over his aching heart. “Where could she be?”

“Outside.”

“What? Why didn't you say something?”

The faery shoved open the door. A woman, long black hair flowing in her wake, ran toward Steve, who stood at the car. Simon and Steve grabbed her.

Rhys lunged into the Mercedes's backseat. The woman struggling with Simon screamed. Her fingernails slashed Simon's face. One of her bare heels clocked Rhys aside the jaw.

He clamped a hand about her ankle, but didn't want to push her beyond what precipice of fear she balanced—he released her right away.

“Can you secure her?” Simon said.

“Don't hold her,” Rhys instructed. “Let her go.” He moved aside to allow Simon to slink out of the backseat beside him. “You okay?”

Simon touched the blood on his jaw. “I'll be fine. Who's the blonde chick?”

“Faery.”

“What the— She coming with us?”

“No. Give the kid some cash and let's get out of here.”

Simon closed the backseat door behind Rhys. He would
handle Steve, and the faery would follow one way or another, Rhys felt sure.

Right now, he struggled with elation and caution.

It was her.

“Viviane.”

She blindly kicked at him, and with her hands beat against the car door, apparently unaware how to use the handle to open it. The kid had clothed her in baggy gray sweatpants and a T-shirt that boasted a monstrous face demarcated by a normal face. Jekyll and Hyde? What kind of sick joke was that on him?

She smelled like the boy, a pitiful replacement for the Italian wine she'd once bathed in.

He wanted to pull her against him and crush her into his body. To know her once again. To somehow apologize with an embrace, because where to even begin with words? But how dare he when he had been the one who could have prevented her cruel imprisonment?

God, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to shout. He wanted to punch someone—
Constantine
. He wanted…

…what he did not deserve.

“It's me, Viviane,” he said softly. She stopped kicking, and impressed her shoulders against the door. Simon drove swiftly, and the car swerved once in a while. “Rhys Hawkes.”

No longer did he wear his hair past his shoulders, but instead military short. It was still black as coal, with the gray patch over his left temple. A few wrinkles had settled around his eyes and mouth, but he was the same. Would she recognize him? Could she?

She looked as if she had just stepped from the eighteenth century. And been attacked by a mad mob.

“Regarde moi.”

He reached forward, hand held up and fingers loose, but waited for her to make the next move.

Her eyes flashed from his face to the front seat, to the back window where the night lights of Paris flickered in a dizzy rush. Did she recognize him?

“Hungry,” she said quietly.

Yes, surely she must be starved for blood. She'd fed three times according to Steve. He could give her his blood. If she bit him, yes, he would develop a vicious hunger that would strangle his werewolf, but he owed her for the two centuries he had stolen from her.

“Rhys?”

His name, gasped from her lips, touched his chest and beamed into his heart. Rhys nodded, unable to speak for he feared he'd begin to blather and frighten her.

“Rhys Hawkes?” She opened her hand, and on her palm sat a small object. The wooden hummingbird, of which the beak still rested in Rhys's breast pocket. “My Rhys?”

“Yes, your Rhys.” The words spilled like tears from his mouth. “I'm sorry, Viviane. I thought you were dead.”

“Not dead!”

She put up a palm before her face. Tucking her knees to her chest, she was so tiny on the huge leather seat. So frail. Indeed, her arms were thinner than usual, and her face gaunt. She really did need blood.

“How much longer, Simon?”

“Ten minutes. I just crossed the
peripherique.
”

“Viviane, it's the night of the full moon. I…I know you may not understand, and this is cruel, having only just found you, but…I must lock myself away. My werewolf. I can feel it straining for release right now.”

“Your vampire,” she whispered. “It is cruel.”

He bowed his head. “You remember.”

How to touch her heart? A bruised and tormented heart that beat a pace to match no creature's life. Mad surely, and perhaps wicked with grief, vengeance and spite.

The Mercedes spun on loose gravel. They took the curving drive to Rhys's estate. Rhys directed Simon not to turn on the garage light, and when they stopped he scooped up Viviane. So frail in his grasp. So insignificant.

She could become whole again. They could have a good life.

Would she still feel that way? Could she remember him?

“Sorry,” he said as he strode the dark hallway toward the entertainment room. It was closest to the safe room. “I know you must hate me. I have no right to beg forgiveness. Simon, prepare the room!”

His assistant had already rushed ahead.

“I will take care of you,” he said, and kicked the door inside. “I beg your forgiveness.”

“Not dead.” Her plea was a battle cry against him abandoning her. Rhys's heart dropped. He deserved her disdain.

Only the flashing LED bulbs from a multitude of electronic devices lighted the room. A small red-and-green glow sheened across two large theater chairs.

He set Viviane on a chair, and she slid back on the slick leather. He knelt there, feeling the tingle in his fingertips and fighting the change.

Grasping his wrist, she worked the wooden hummingbird into his hand. It killed him she had kept this. She must have clutched it before the spell had been put on her. Had she been aware it was in her hand all through the centuries? Did she love him for that or hate him?

A small blessing was that she did not appear insane.

“Rhys!”

Simon waited at the door.

Rhys leaned in and kissed Viviane on the forehead. Her soft skin begged him to remain, to embrace her, to earn forgiveness. But his arms tingled now. His werewolf was coming.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he said, and stroked her cheek. “Do not harm Simon. But you can use him to slake your hunger. And whatever you do, you must not leave. You are safe here.”

“Safe?”

“I promise.” He choked down a hard swallow. Much as he had promised then, she had not been safe in the eighteenth century.