Starry Knight (18 page)

His eyes flashed just before narrowing with suspicion. “Oh? And what did she have to say?”

“She wanted me to stay with you, to free her to cross over,” Vanessa attempted to explain. “I told her all the reasons I couldn’t do that, including the fact that you were immortal and I wasn’t.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“I meant to tell you tomorrow,” she told him truthfully. “On the way to the airport.”

He’d offered to drive her in her rental car and take a taxi back to Barrogill. As far as she knew, he still planned to erase her memories of him.

“What happens now?”

“Obviously, you’ll have to stay with me for a bit longer,” he said, not looking happy about it. “You’ll need someone to look after you while you adjust to the changes in your body. Your thirst for blood and all the rest.”

Every cell revolted against the idea of drinking blood. “Can’t I just eat regular food?”

“Nay, lass. Once your fangs come in, you’ll need blood to survive.”

Another question burned in her mind, but she wasn’t sure quite how to phrase it without risking offense. After reordering the wording in her mind several times, she decided to just put it out there and take her chances. “What about sex?”

“What about it?”

“Will I be a total horn-dog now?”

“Aye,” he said glumly. “I’m afraid so.”

He looked overwrought. She wanted to say something to make him easier, but was too busy cataloging the lifestyle changes to expect. She wasn’t crazy about the blood-drinking part, but the eternal youth and beauty part was a definite plus. So was a libido to match his, as long as he was around. But he wouldn’t be, would he? Not if she went to New Orleans without him. And speaking of New Orleans, she needed to think how this might impact her new job. Would the change help or hinder her role as a paranormal investigator?

She was inclined to believe it would make her a better one. In her creatures class, she’d learned about dhampirs—the half-breed offspring of vampires and humans. Supposedly, because of their hybrid physiology, they were the best vampire hunters ever.

Obviously, she’d have to conceal the truth from Beau Armstrong, at least until she could trust him with her secret, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Callum passed for a human, after all, except when he assumed another form.

“Will I be able to shape-shift?”

“Aye,” he replied, still looking downcast. “After I teach you how.”

Apprehension gave way to anticipation. Being a faery could be rather amazing, actually. In fact, except for the gross blood-drinking part, she couldn’t see a downside. She’d be able to turn into an animal, have heightened senses and super-human powers, would never get sick, would have the power to heal, and would be almost impossible to kill.

“How much blood will I need to sustain myself?”

“A few pints a week,” he said. “But you’ll also need regular sex in your diet in order to thrive and blend in human society.”

Concern pulled her brows together. “How much sex are we talking here?”

“Like animals, we’re driven by the mating instinct. If we don’t copulate often enough, the feral side of our nature starts to take us over.”

“Are you telling me that, if I don’t shag all the time, I’ll turn into some kind of sex-crazed she-devil?”

“Aye. Basically.”

She worried her bottom lip. Who would she have sex with in New Orleans? Male prostitutes? Strangers she picked up in bars? Images from
Looking for Mr. Goodbar
flashed through her mind. Good God. She did not want to end up like Diane Keaton’s character at the end of the film.

An affair with someone like Callum was one thing. Cruising bars for strangers to fuck and feed upon was something else entirely. The thought sickened her, in fact. She’d become a slave to her appetites, a blood and sex junkie always looking for her next score. What kind of freedom was that?

The alternative was staring her in the face. Quite literally. Stay with Callum in Scotland. Forget her training, forget her job, and forget their differences. Unfortunately, there were a few holes in that plan. For one, Callum hadn’t asked her to be his
immortal beloved
. He’d only offered to let her stay until she adjusted to her new lifestyle.

For another, she wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship with a man she’d only known a week—especially when the vow wouldn’t just be “till death do we part,” it would potentially be forever and ever.

She bit her lip as her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. Bloody hell. What was she going to do?

Callum was still beside her, still looking down at her with guilt in his beautiful eyes. She wanted to say something, to ask how they might go forward together, but she couldn’t find the courage. At least, being like him now, she was no longer a threat.

“Are you still going to erase my memory?”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

That was good. She might not be ready to marry him, but she definitely wanted to remember him.

He got to his feet, crossed to the window, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you still thinking of moving to the States?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Aye. You could stay in Scotland. We could hunt together and see to each other’s needs.”

Suspicion smoldered in her gut. “Stay
where
in Scotland?”

“I could put you up in a flat in John o’Groats or Wick. Maybe even Edinburgh, if you would prefer a bigger city.”

“And do what? Sit on the shelf twiddling my thumbs until you came round to put your cock in me?”

He didn’t turn, damn him. Or say anything. Her hands fisted as her blood pressure spiked, making her temples throb. She was not the sit-by-the-fucking-phone kind of girl. She needed to be active, engaged, inspired. What he was suggesting would drive her mad. What he was suggesting was so textbook Leo.

The chivalrous and gallant suitor bit he’d shown her all week was a sheepskin disguise. The lion underneath was a jealous and possessive egomaniac who didn’t just want to be placed upon a pedestal by his woman—oh, no; he had to be the centerpiece of her altar.

“I just thought we could maybe try and see what developed.”

“And if nothing develops? You’ve still got everything and I’m left holding the bag—the empty fucking bag. No job, no money, no place to live, and no lover to satisfy my lusts. I’d be a bloody fool to enter into such a one-sided arrangement, Callum, and you bloody well know it.”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” he said calmly.

“Says the guy who stands to gain everything and lose nothing.”

He threw a hostile backward glance in her direction. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

“I do, actually. Come to New Orleans for conjugal visits.”

“New Orleans is a long ways away and requires expensive and inconvenient air travel. What am I supposed to do to appease my lusts in between visits?”

This, she needed to think about. Vanessa had vowed to herself long ago never to tolerate infidelity in a partner. At the same time, she didn’t want to cut her ties to Callum. Yes, he was an infuriating Leo, but he also had a lot of good qualities. Plus, she really liked him.

“I don’t know.” Sighing deeply, she looked up at the ceiling. “I need more time to weigh the pros and cons.”

He stood at the window—not turning, not saying anything—for an infuriatingly long time. Then, he said, “Do think it over, but consider this when you do: if you decide to move to New Orleans, we’ll have no choice but to sleep with other people.”

She spewed an exasperated sigh at his back. He was such a bloody Leo it wasn’t even funny. Yes, he’d done a good job of banking his fire over the past week, but she knew what Leos were like. If she gave an inch, he’d take a mile, take control of her life, tell her what to wear, how to fix her hair, what to read, what to think, what friends he approved of and which he didn’t. She’d seen the signs. Unpacking her suitcase, the question about garters and stockings, and, worse, the assumption she’d give up her whole life simply because he asked her to.

Indignation set a hook in her gut. She would not, could not, be a Stepford wife to anyone.

“Listen, Callum, I like you and all, but if you try to change me…or tell me what to do, I’ll, I’ll”—she hesitated, unsure what threat she was prepared to back up—“well, just don’t, all right? If it ever comes down to a choice between you and my freedom, I’ll choose my freedom, whatever the cost.”

He stood there a long while, looking out the window, saying nothing. Just when she’d reached the end of her patience, he said, “When I was a lad, I collected butterflies. I’d catch all sorts, pin them to a board, and label each specimen with its Latin name and where I’d caught it.”

She shot visual arrows at his back. What was he trying to say—that he was planning to collect her, too? Pin her to a bloody board with her bloody name and where he’d caught her written underneath on a label?

Vanessa Angelica Bentley

Mo Dearbadan-de

John o’Groats, Scotland

She waited for him to go on, but he didn’t. He just stared out that fucking window like she wasn’t even in the room. With an addled huff, she prompted, “What’s your point, Simba?”

His hands were clasped over his bum and he was motionless apart from his twitching fingers. Finally, just when she was tempted to throw something at him, he went on. “One day, I had an epiphany and wept for all the butterflies I’d killed. They were so beautiful, so delicate, and so wondrous. By trying to hold onto them, I destroyed their spirit—the thing that made them so special.” Turning to look at her over his shoulder, he added, “I would never ask you to choose between me and your freedom nor try to change the things that make you beautiful and unique. And, quite frankly, it hurts me deeply to know you believe I would.”

Another week went by during which Vanessa wrestled with her new realities, her decision about New Orleans, and her feelings for Callum. She still wasn’t ready to be his kept mistress, tempted though she was whenever they made love.

The sex, sizzling before, was now off the charts. She couldn’t get enough of him. Mouth, hands, blood, cock. And the orgasms—holy fuck—were atomic mushroom clouds of rapture.

She’d liked what he’d said about butterflies—not the part about hurting him, that filled her with shame—but the part about valuing her uniqueness. No other man before had seen her specialness, let alone prized it.

Maybe there was hope for them yet, but not if it meant being kept as his mistress. However she sliced it, going to New Orleans still seemed the best option. Yes, they’d have to shag other people, which totally sucked, but she’d still get what she wanted most: to enjoy her freedom and pursue her career as a paranormal investigator while still being connected to her sexy Scottish lion.

Callum lay beside Vanessa now, still slumbering with his back to her. She rolled toward him and pressed her naked front against his bare backside. As desire exploded in her nether regions, she rubbed her pubis against his ass. He made a little moaning noise as his arm reached back, landing on her hip.

“By the might of Mars,” he moaned. “I’ve created a monster.”

A smile broke across her face. Brushing his hair aside, she nuzzled his neck. “Guess what?”

He grunted.

“I’ll give you a hint.” Through the smile, she nipped at his nape with her fledgling fangs. They’d sprouted in her sleep and, as much as she dreaded the prospect of hunting, she couldn’t wait to relieve the bloodlust smoldering in her veins.

He flinched. When she let go, he rolled over, gathered her into his arms, and pressed his mouth against hers. She parted her lips, admitting his tongue, which slid over her pointy new bicuspids like an eel.

Pulling back, he gazed at her with hunger in his eyes. She loved it when he looked at her like that. It made her feel so desirable, so worthwhile.

It also made it that much harder to leave him.

His mouth recaptured hers in a blistering kiss. She would miss his kisses, the comfort of his arms, the sound of his voice, and the music of his laugh. She would miss his smile, his eyes, and his hair. She would miss making love, drifting off in his arms, and waking up beside him. Things were good with him, fantastic even, but she needed to be sure the magic wouldn’t fade.

She also needed to stand for something, to make a difference in the world. She knew herself, knew she’d never be content to while away eternity doing nothing more meaningful than feeding and fucking.

As if reading her thoughts, he rolled on top of her, parted her thighs with his knees, and pushed into her, groaning into her mouth as he claimed her. She wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips, taking him deeper. As he thrust into her, he broke free of the kiss, moved his mouth to her throat and bit down.

Even as pleasure surged through her blood, her heart grew heavy. He’d broken through the walls she’d erected to keep him out. She cared for him and it scared the bejesus out of her.

A tear seeped from her eye. She sniffed it back, annoyed. She was not going to let her feelings get the best of her, was not going to let them rule her life. Feelings were only feelings. They were transitory and untrustworthy.

Callum was hammering her with a vengeance, and despite her distraction, the orgasm was building. It promised to be a powerful one. Not that every climax she’d achieved with him had been anything less than nuclear, especially since her transformation.

So, why did she still have doubts?

She knew herself well enough to guess the answer. Deep below the surface, another, darker fear lurked. Callum, as wonderful as he seemed in so many ways, had admitted to taking mistresses when married. She understood his reasons, but also knew the statistical reality. Men who cheated once were prone to cheat again. Unlike her mother, she wouldn’t overlook it. Nor forgive it. Not once she’d committed herself to a monogamous relationship. In the meantime, she’d have to suck it up for the sake of her freedom. As much as the idea of him sleeping with other women burned her up inside, it wasn’t nearly as untenable as giving up everything that mattered to her for a man she hardly knew. He’d just better not abuse his license.