To Catch a Vampire (18 page)

“I don’t know. Anything. What’s the story with you and the lord of the swords? Who was this Jules chick I was almost killed over?”

“I met them in France close to two hundred fifty years ago. They were residing with my sire, Alain, when I came to visit.”

I move up the wound. “Your sire? The guy who turned you?”

“Yes. He was Frederick’s sire as well.”

I move up again. The cut gets deeper. “So Freddy’s like your brother? And you stole his girlfriend? Classy.”

“It was not that simple. They were together for over a century, and Frederick was … smothering. Where Jules went, who Jules fed upon, Frederick insisted he be involved.”

“And then you came along, offering to take her away from it all.”

“Jules seduced me,” Oliver says as if I’ve offended him.

“Sorry.” I manage another inch, but cannot get an angle to continue. “I’m going to have to straddle your legs,” I say, meeting his bloodshot eyes. “If you make one inappropriate comment, I will glue your eyelids shut when you’re sleeping, got me?”

“I shall do my utmost to control myself,” he says with a faint smile.

With a sigh, I throw my leg over his body, resting my lower half on his legs. I continue gluing. “So you and this chick ran off. How’d she die?”

“We were ill suited together. I was simply a means to an end to escape Freddy. I believe we lasted all of a week before parting ways.”

“Then she died?”

“Vampire hunters. Jules was careless one too many times. Captured, and then left outside to burn in the sun. A horrible way to die.”

“And Freddy’s carried a grudge this whole time? He must have really loved her.”

“Or as close as he is capable of.”

I’m halfway done, thank God. I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”

“I had hoped it would remain irrelevant. We would arrive, dispatch the gang, and leave without issue.”

“I guess Marianna ruined that,” I mutter.

“Yes, I suppose she did. We will no doubt make her regret it.”

“I already did,” I say to myself.

Oliver’s torso moves as he pushes himself onto his elbows a few inches, twisting to look at me. “You went back to the Dauphine?” he groans.

“What the heck are you doing? Don’t move like that! The glue hasn’t dried.”

“Why did you return?”

“Lie back down or finish the job yourself. Lie down!” He does as I say. Shaking my head, I move up the cut. “I went back because you needed blood, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“That was the second most idiotic thing you did tonight.”

“And what? Me saving your life was number one?”

“Yes.”

Before I can stop myself, I smack the back of his head. “How can you say that?”

“You nulled the contract. By law he is now able to do whatever he desires to us.”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to see that hobbit decapitate you. Ungrateful much?” I pinch the next inch of skin as hard as I can and glue. “Besides, everyone is on their way. We should be gone by tomorrow.”

“If Marianna and Frederick do not have their spies out in full force.”

I pinch more gently this time. “We don’t have to worry about Marianna.” I finish the last bit over his shoulder and sit beside him. The glue holds, but blood weeps from one or two gaps. I blot them with the washcloth and pull off the gloves. “Keep still while the glue dries.”

Everything after that is gravy. I put gauze over the red line and tape it up. The wound on his arm isn’t that deep, so I just put butterfly band-aids on it and gauze it up too. “Excellent job, Nurse Alexander,” Oliver says.

“Will it heal?” I ask, putting on the last piece of tape.

“It depends on my blood consumption, but it should.”

“Good.” I stand up, taking the packet of shirts with me. Oliver watches as I put them in the bathroom. Next I go to my purse and take out the cell phone. I hand it and the TV remote to him. “I need to take a shower. Don’t move until I get out. And call George. Tell him the address and room number,” I say, pointing to a small pad of stationery bearing the hotel’s logo and information on the nightstand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he takes the gadgets.

Once again I find myself literally peeling off my clothes. I wish it was only sweat this time. From now on, I will associate Dallas with bodily fluids. I can’t wait to get back to Kansas. I step into the warm shower and start scrubbing myself like a person with OCD who just stuck their hand into a vat of toxic waste. The water at my feet is as red as the soap in my hand. For five minutes straight, I scour and wipe until the water turns pink. I wash and conditioner my hair until the bottles are empty. I know I’m clean, but I feel the stickiness still on me like a phantom limb. I want to stay in this shower forever, but know I can’t. He’s not out of the woods yet. Despite his ribald front, Oliver still needs blood and fast. It must be sheer will and determination that’s keeping him from lunging at my neck to chow down. I’ve gone this far, gotta finish the trip. I shut off the water and step out.

The white shirt I bought barely goes past my hips, revealing my not so long legs and cellulite. Having no choice, which is the story of my life, I rinse out and put back on my slightly bloodstained panties. Within seconds, my nipples stick out like erasers. At this moment, I regret both not taking my clothes from the Dauphine and ever setting foot inside a McDonald’s.

Oliver says nothing as I return. His eyes are closed again.

“Oliver?” I ask, rushing over to him.

His eyes open. “What?”

I sigh. “Nothing. How do you feel?”

“My back itches. It is healing.”

I look. The gauze is soaked in blood in places. “You’re still bleeding.”

“I know. It is fine. Can you help me move? This is not a comfortable position.”

“Fine.” I grab his feet, spinning them so they’re dangling over the side. He does his best to sit up on his own but fails. He’s still weak. I carefully throw his arm over my already sore shoulders and lift. We make it three steps before his legs give out. It’s been a rough couple of days and my energy level is at negative three. I can’t handle the dead weight. We both buckle to the ground, him on top of me.

“Shoot,” I mutter.

“I apologize,” he says. I wriggle out from under his body and he lands on his stomach. “Perhaps I should remain here. I do not wish to move farther.”

“Are you going to be able to last two hours without blood? Honestly?”

He can’t even lift his head to look at me. “I do not know.”

That’s a no. Crap. I don’t want to do this, but I know I have to. It
is
sort of the theme of my life. “You need to feed from me.”

“No.”

“We’re safe now. There’s no reason I can’t donate.”

He uses his last bit of energy to turn on his side, move his eyes to mine, and set his jaw. “No.”

“Why are you being so—”

“I said never again. I meant it.”

“Last time was by force, and I’m volunteering now. You’ll take just enough to heal, okay?”

“I will not do this. I can wait. No.” He closes his eyes again.

A wave of rage swells within me. “Listen to me, you jerk!” His eyes open. “I’m exhausted. I have been kidnapped, strangled, attacked, I’ve seen you cut open with a sword, killed a few vamps, carried your sorry butt a mile, and done a frightening medical procedure. All of this because of you! And you’re worried about drinking a little of my blood? Get over it!” I shove my wrist to his lips. “Now, bite me, you jackass!”

His eyes soften and study mine. His face falls. “It will hurt.”

“I remember, and I don’t care. Do it.”

I expect more protests, but instead he opens his mouth, fangs exposed. I tense. It really does hurt. I look away as the teeth lower, but gasp in pain when the two huge fangs punch through skin. The blood flows into Oliver’s suckling mouth. If it wasn’t for the pain, it might feel as if he was kissing my wrist with the moving lips and roving tongue. Some find this erotic. I find it painful and disgusting. I whimper.

It takes thirty long, long suckling seconds for me to become lightheaded. The world tilts a little, and I instinctively pull my wrist away. His fingernails dig into my flesh. Everything full tilt boogies. Spots float all around. From experience, I know I have about ten seconds before I pass out. I do the only thing I can think of to get him to stop: I kick him in the crotch.

You fantasize about doing it a dozen times, but the reality is such a letdown. Still, it does do the job. He releases me, and I instantly scoot away, pressing against the two holes with my other hand. Blood spills between my fingers. I grab a towel and wrap it around the wrist. Oliver remains doubled over on his side, my blood dribbling down his chin. He rocks back and forth. My heavy breathing is the only noise.

“I apologize,” he says a few seconds later. Still doubled over, he lifts his head. His eyes are the normal shade, no snake black at all. His color is better with a hint of pink resurfacing. The world does another one eighty. He meets my eyes. “I may have nicked your artery. I need to close the wounds.”

“No. Just give me the glue. I can do it.”

“Trixie, this is not up for debate. Trust me.”

I can always kick him in the nuts again if I need to. And … spinning and spots are bad. I don’t shrink away as he crawls toward me, still in pain as he grimaces every time he moves. He sits next to me. “Me and my bright ideas,” I mutter.

A little smile forms as he takes my arm. “You trust me?”

“You know I do.”

He unwraps the towel. Blood pours from the two holes onto the carpet. Blood. I can’t escape it. Once again my wrist moves to his mouth, but no fangs press in. It’s worse. His tongue licks over the wounds like a cat giving itself a bath. Vamp saliva has a clotting enzyme, so I’ll be healed by tomorrow morning. After three licks, the blood slows. His eyes peer over my wrist to my own for a moment, but I look away. This is just too weird. He licks a few more times before releasing me. I fight the urge to wipe the cooties off. The wounds are still raw, and now itchy, but they’ve stopped bleeding.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

We sit side by side for a minute without speaking. I’m so tired now I don’t think I can get my mouth to move anymore. He is so still, so quiet, if we were outside birds would perch on him. “Did I hurt you?” he asks finally.

“Not too bad,” I find myself saying.

“I apologize for losing control. It was—”

“I know. And I’m sorry for kicking you in the crotch.”

He smiles a genuine smile. “No, you are not.”

“No, I’m not,” I say, trying to stop the oncoming laughs.

He doesn’t have my restraint. He chuckles, which becomes a full on laugh. It’s contagious. I laugh harder than him, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. “Geez, what a night.”

“Oh, yes.”

The laughs die down a moment later, leaving nothing but awkwardness and exhaustion. I sigh. “I think I need to lie down now,” I chuckle for the last time.

I put my hand on his bare shoulder in an attempt to rise. I make it halfway before my knees buckle, and I fall into Oliver’s awaiting arms. Oops. He gazes down at me, and I look up at him, our eyes locking. With his arms around my back, the tips of his fingers touching the edge of my breast, and the other supporting my bare legs, I suddenly feel like I am—wet, half naked, with adrenaline coursing through me. Because I am. Goosebumps erupt like Pompeii all over. The butterflies I normally get have multiplied and spread to every inch of my body. His ruby red lips hover mere inches from mine. Neither of us moves, not even our eyes as this glorious thing passes between us.

I know this is the days’ events at work, I know it. I know we’ve been through a lot, faced our share of death in a short period of time, and what I’m feeling is just a product of that. Everyone gets this way. Irie and Wolfe hooked up right after she fought off a rogue witch. If I do anything, I’ll hate myself tomorrow. But …

Not tearing my eyes from his, I reach up to his lower lip, slowly wiping the blood with my finger. His grip tightens on my body. It feels so good, our skin touching. The more touching, the more every part of me turns deliciously warm like hot fudge. He’s so handsome, the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Like a dark angel. Those lips, those eyes—God, everything about him does something to me. I could look at him for eternity, and the lust would never wane. He risked his life to save mine tonight. Damn it, I want him. More than I’ve wanted a man before. To hell with it. “We’re always finding ourselves in hotel rooms alone together,” I say quietly, “with me half naked. And I always end up in your arms. Always.”

His eyes jut from side to side as if trying to read my mind like a book. I don’t think he likes the material. His eyes become almost sad for a moment before they leave mine. “And you always fall asleep. You are exhausted, my dear. As am I.”

Wait. Am I getting the brush off from a priapismic dead guy?

He stands up with me still in his arms. He flinches in pain, but manages to get us both back to the bed, laying me on top before pulling the covers out. “Get under the covers, my dear,” he says. When I do, I’m surprised he doesn’t pat my head like a good girl. “I am going to clean myself up a bit. Try to sleep.”

Without another word, he switches off the lights and retreats into the bathroom, leaving me alone in the dark. Water from the sink runs in the next room. Any warm feelings evaporate. I scoff. Um, what the heck just happened? I practically throw myself at him, and he does nothing. Okay, so he’s still weak, but
nothing
? I don’t get it. I want him, he wants me … grr! You’ve got to be kidding me. Well, that’s it. He missed his chance. I’m not giving him another one. Not ever.

He’s in the bathroom about ten minutes and as each one passes, I grow angrier and angrier. How can he not want me? He flirts with me all the time. Nonstop. And he knows it annoys me. If he doesn’t want to sleep with me, then why do it at all? I’m not crazy. I know I have limited experience with men, but any fool could tell he’s into me. I
feel
it. And yes, I know, it would be a mistake. But
what
a mistake. He’s had hundreds of years of experience. Is it my thighs? He saw my thighs and was grossed out. I know I’m not gorgeous like Marianna, but I’m not a psycho either. That should earn me some points. Who am I kidding? He’s a man. Good and evil doesn’t matter, just dress size. I was just sport for him. What—