A Place In This Life. Chapter Two: Down the Rabbit Hole.
Welcome back for chapter two of our story.
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter franchise. The world and all its inhabitants belong to Laurell K. Hamilton. I’ve just borrowed her world for my own, and hopefully your, entertainment. I make no money from this work and discourage any attempts to sue me as being fiscally unrewarding.
Warnings: Legal adults only. Graphic sex, violence, adult themes, vampires and lycanthropes. Read at your own risk.
Authors Note: Ever had a character keep pestering you in the back of your skull until there was nothing to do for it, but sit down and write? Damian may be quiet, but he’s bloody persistent. Enjoy.
Chapter Two: Down the Rabbit Hole.
The sound of voices wove in and out of confused dreams. Some of them were unfamiliar and none of them belonged in her apartment. Maybe she had left the TV on. That made some sense, because one of them sounded just like the Master of the City had the last time he’d been interviewed on the news. She should probably get up and turn it off before her roommate complained. Not to mention the lights were on. Since when did she sleep with the lights on?
Erica opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. This wasn’t her apartment. Maybe she was still dreaming. She took in the sight of Jean Claude and the woman he’d been shown with, both dressed in evening wear. And Damian was there, shirtless and calling her name softly. She began to sit up and the world started to spin, her stomach clenching with nausea.
“Don’t try to sit up.” Suddenly Damian was on the bed beside her, one hand steadying her between her shoulder blades while a woman with short blonde hair just seemed to appear on the other side. She startled, shying away from the stranger and something pulled uncomfortably at her wrist. Looking down, she discovered she had an IV in her arm, complete with a tube that was feeding something darkly red into her veins. Blood. A transfusion? Her eyes followed the tubing up to its source.
“Take it easy. You don’t want to pull the line out.” The blonde caught her arm and held it firmly. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and this is the only unit we’ve got on hand.”
“This isn’t a hospital.” Erica looked at the strange room. Places that might have once held windows now held paintings framed by heavy blue drapes. The furniture was rich and simple, several armchairs and a couch in a deep blue. The carpet was a soft green that made her think of grass. A large armoire and a chest of drawers matched the honey colored finish of the footboard of the large bed she rested on. The bedding was in shades of blue with diamonds picked out in a lighter green. The strangest thing in the room sat upon a low wooden platform. It was a coffin, its finish darker than the furniture and gleaming with polish. “Where am I?”
“This is my home.” Damian moved closer to her on the bed, sliding his arm behind her back so that she leaned against his shoulder. She might have objected, but she was still dizzy and to be honest, it made her feel a little safer. “No one here will harm you.”
Safer. Why was safer so important? How had she lost so much blood that she needed a transfusion? Damian had fed on her many times and she’d never felt like this…
“Miss Sutter? Erica?” She looked up at the dark haired woman. She nodded carefully. “Do you remember what happened tonight? At the club?”
“I remember…” She stopped, frowning as she tried to sort through the night’s events, to separate the dreams from the real memories. “I watched the crowd for a while, then I danced with Damian. He took me onstage to feed…” She stopped and looked at the tubing in her arm again, following it up to the bag of blood.
“Please, Erica. This is important. What happened after that?”
“I…” She stopped, realizing the woman knew her name but hadn’t returned the favor. Nor did she know the blonde’s name. And if the other vampire really was the Master of the City, then how deep in it was she? “I don’t know you.”
The dark haired woman hesitated visibly before speaking, as if deciding just what to tell her. “My name is Anita Blake, this is my house. Cherry is a nurse. And this is Jean Claude, Master of the City and owner of Danse Macabre. Good enough?”
“I guess so.” She was in over her head. Way over. The woman’s answer left her with a dozen questions whirling around in her brain, but she couldn’t seem to pin one down. Besides, they were asking her the questions, weren’t they?
“Tell her what you can remember, Erica.” Damian stroked her free arm soothingly.
“OK. I felt a little woozy after he fed so he carried me back to the Quiet Room. Gave me some juice and cookies. We talked a couple of minute. Someone came to tell him that he had customers asking for him. He told me to wait and he’d come back on his break. I waited and read some magazines that were lying around.”
“Why did you leave instead of waiting?” Anita prompted when she didn’t continue right away.
“I have to be at work at eight tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning?” Erica looked around for a clock and didn’t see one. “I left a note on the coffee table and went out the back way to the parking lot.”
“Did anyone see you leave?”
“I didn’t see anyone on the way out. That dark-haired guy in red came in a couple of times to check on me, but he wasn’t there when I left.”
“Paolo. From the rodere.” Jean Claude spoke for the first time. Anita nodded.
“What happened once you left the building?”
“I…” Erica frowned. Her memory seemed to become sluggish, fuzzy. Damian stroked her arm again and it helped clear the fog, somehow. “I walked out to my car, but there was a stranger hanging around. I think he was short, dark hair. I didn’t even realize he was a vampire until I got up close. He said he’d tapped my car backing out of his space and was just about to give up and leave me a note…” Fear rushed up, blotting out what happened next.
She reached up to touch her neck, her heart beating frantically. There was a bandage there and beneath it, tenderness. Where Damian had fed and…A roar of white noise muffled the voices around her.
“Anita. Maybe this should wait until she’s had some rest.” The blonde woman, Cherry, spoke.
“We need to know as much as we can. More of our people may be in danger.” The Master argued.
“Erica, Erica, you are safe. Listen to Anita. Listen.” Damian’s voice and touch pushed the panic back.
“What happened next, Erica?”
“Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. His eyes…I guess he caught me by surprise. I know better. I knew it wasn’t right. I should scream or fight or something. But it didn’t matter…They wanted me to walk with them. And I walked with them. I couldn’t not walk with them…” Fear again. She didn’t want to remember what happened next.
Damian stroked her arm slowly and murmured her name softly. Anita waited patiently. The fear receded slightly and she struggled against it, fought it for the images, the memories.
“They took me where it was dark. Where we couldn’t see the club anymore. He told me to be quiet. To be still. Be good and it wouldn’t hurt. He did something…” She reached up to touch the bandage again. She clamped her hand on it as if she could shield the wound from her memories. “It wasn’t a bite. He took my blood and I let him and I couldn’t stop him. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t right. And then the other one took me, and that started to hurt, I think. But everything was so fuzzy…”
“He rolled you.” Anita’s voice was softer. “You couldn’t have stopped him. That’s why it’s illegal.”
“Oh God! He rolled me. They took my blood and I let them. I would have just let them kill me.” Erica began to shake. She knew what that meant. Her roommate hadn’t approved of the vampire club and had demanded she read up on the undead. “If he comes again…”
“Erica. Erica.” Damian was speaking to her, gently pulling her hand away. “They can’t hurt you. He can’t call you. I swear it.”
“Damian.” There was a sharp note of warning in Anita’s voice.
“Erica.” Damian caught both her hands and held them, pulling her against his chest until she was half in his lap. “They cannot hurt you again. Ever.” She looked down at his hands where they held hers, being careful not to foul the IV. Or to let her foul it. She could see something dark beneath the fingernails of his right hand. In the creases of his nails. In the crease of his elbow. She stopped struggling and simply stared at it.
“I’m sorry. If I had waited for you, none of this would have happened.” She whispered and leaned against him. He loosened his grip. She caught his right hand between hers and traced the reddened groves around his fingernails with one fingertip. Blood. It was blood. They couldn’t hurt her again. She knew it was true. She turned her head, leaning back against him until she could see his face. His expression was difficult to read. Almost arrogant. She wanted to ask him things, but not in front of the Master and his girlfriend. Or the nurse. She stroked the back of his hand and relaxed against him.
“Do you remember anything else that sticks out in your mind?” Anita was frowning, as if she didn’t approve of the touching but wasn’t going to say anything.
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything. Except they were waiting by my car.”
“That means they knew who they were seeking, does it not?” The Master observed. “Not a random target, nor even simply one of those chosen as donors.”
“No. That does sound like some planning went on beforehand.” Anita sighed. “Do you have any enemies, Erica? Any reason you can think of that someone might want you hurt or killed?”
“No. I’m nobody important. I can’t think of any reason.”
“No reason but for being Damian’s pomme de sang.” The Master let out a sigh that she could swear she actually felt sliding across her skin. She wanted to ask what a pomme de sang was, but he was moving closer, with a gliding grace that she couldn’t help but watch. Anita moved to make room for him and he sank down to his knees with inhuman ease and rested his chin on one hand. Far too close for comfort. She had difficulty not meeting his eyes and it seemed insulting to close hers or turn away. She stared again at Damian’s bloodied hand. “I am not trying to bespell you, Erica. You may look at me without fear.”
“I’ve had a rough night. Sorry.” Damian gave her an encouraging squeeze and she lifted her eyes carefully until she met the Master’s gaze. His eyes were a deep dark blue, perfect and lovely. Lovely, but not compelling.
“I understand. Your Damian has dealt with the rogues who attacked you. What they have done is not only against human law, but vampire law, and my own decrees as Master of the City. They are gone, but we believe they may have had accomplices and we do not know their motives. You may still be in danger. We must ask you to let us hide you away for a time.”
“But, I have a job. And a roommate. My cat…I can’t just disappear on them.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Or are you saying I can’t leave?”
“Jean Claude, can the creepy vampire act.” Anita stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He reached up to cover it with a pale, long-fingered hand.
“I am not being creepy, am I?” The Master gave Erica a smile so charming that it was difficult not to smile back. Damian’s arms tightened around her and he made a small noise in his throat that sounded unfriendly. Jean Claude’s eyes flicked to Damian’s face briefly and his smile dimmed slightly. “You are not a prisoner. But do think of what may happen to your coworkers or your roommate if they should come between you and the next assassin. If you do not wish to stay here, we can find you another safe house. But Damian will remain here with Anita.”
“So nice of you to volunteer my basement.” Anita’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What’s one more stray?”
“I don’t mean to impose. I…”
“It’s OK. Erica. If you want to bunk with Damian for now, you’re entitled. I’m just being grumpy. I don’t like to compromise.”
“Too true.” The vampire rose to his feet in a single graceful motion and took Anita’s hand. “Come, ma petite. We have much to do before the dawn. And I suspect Damian and Erica have business best discussed in private.” He gave Cherry a smile and the blonde nodded agreement.
“I’ll see you tomorrow sometime. If you remember anything else, you can tell me then.” Anita added before allowing herself to be led upstairs.
Cherry spent a moment fussing with the IV. The bag of blood had emptied itself. She replaced it with the bag of clear fluid. Then she gave Damian a look as if she wanted to say something, but shook her head.
“If you’re staying with her, I’m going to go find Zane and get some sleep. Wake me before dawn. Once the bag is empty, you can just close this valve and disconnect it.” She gave him a quick demonstration. “But let me take the IV out. Come get me if you need me.” She left so quickly that Erica got the feeling she had been uncomfortable with the situation.
They sat silently without moving for several long moments. At last it was Damian who spoke first. “Do you wish to sleep, now?”
“No. I don’t think I could.” She took his bloodstained hand again, holding it both of hers. “You killed them, didn’t you? This is their blood.”
“Before I can answer all your questions, we must settle things between us, Erica.” He gently slid her out of his arms and back onto the bed. Then he stretched out on his side and propped his head up with one hand. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin without touching it. He reached out to smooth the tail of the shirt she wore down over her thighs. “Are you frightened by me? To wake up in my bed, in my clothes?”
Good question. Was she? She hadn’t been truly frightened of him except perhaps the first time he’d fed. And that had been a sort of roller-coaster thrill ride sort of fear. Afraid of this situation? Not being sure why she was here and not in a hospital or at home? Some.
“Not by you. No.” She reached down and plucked at the shirt she wore. That and nothing else. “This. I’m not sure, Damian. What do they think I am? What’s a pomme de sang?”
“It means apple of blood. Someone who gives blood willingly to us. Not casually or just once like many do at the club. But regularly, sometimes to just one vampire, sometimes to several. There are customs, laws. They are protected, cared for. It is forbidden to kill them. I claimed the protection of a pomme de sang for you. If you are mine and I am theirs, they must help protect you.”
“Yours. The spoils of battle.” She rolled the idea around in her head, trying it on. What did a pomme de sang do besides feed the vampires? She stroked the fabric of the shirt over and over where it lay against her thigh until he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“A pomme de sang is not a whore. No more than blood need pass between us.” He turned her hand until he could press her palm against his cheek. “And that must wait until you recover your strength. If you wish to continue. They are displeased with me that I have accepted your gift without offering due respect.”
“Due respect?”
“One should care for one’s pomme de sang as you would a lover or a mistress. Perhaps not a wife. But as if she were someone precious. Jean Claude quite spoils his Jason.”
“What? Like a kept woman? Or man? The Master of the City has a…?” Erica trailed off.
“A werewolf. And yes. I suppose that is the term.”
“Oh.”
“What are you thinking?” His vivid green eyes were very serious.
“Why didn’t you? I mean…I don’t know what I mean.” He still held her palm to his cheek, was almost snuggling into it as if he wished to touch more than just her hand. “Can I touch you?”
“Touch me all you like. Please.” He let go of her hand and let her move it of her own accord. It was a little awkward laying down as she was and having to be careful of the IV. But she managed. She slid her hand along his cheek and down his neck, brushing a few scarlet strands from his shoulder. Down his shoulder and across his chest. Strong muscles flowed beneath the marble-pale skin. She touched each pale pink nipple and watched it crinkle up into a tight point. She pressed her palm over his heart and could feel it beating, could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He felt so alive for a dead man.
“I have never dared to take a pomme de sang of my own.” He spoke quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “Before Jean Claude ransomed me, I was a toy for a very cruel mistress, my maker. She lived upon fear and terror and her jealousy was a deadly thing. Nor did I dare to seek a lover. I would not give anyone to her cruelties.”
“I thought a pomme de sang was protected?” Erica’s hand stilled and she looked at his face. It was so pale and expressionless; he might have been a statue. But his green eyes were alive with pain and other things she couldn’t read, but felt all the same.
“There were many tortures still available to her. Ones that would not kill or maim. And no one to call her to task if she damaged one of her underling’s playthings. She is well feared among her own kind. And if she killed me herself…” He reached out and touched her face. “Jean Claude does not treat his people so. Nor does my new mistress.”
“Your mistress?”
“I am Anita’s servant. Not only in name, but also in fact. It is her magic that makes this heart beat each night. It is she who commands me, not her Master. And I must remain close to her, Erica.”
“I think I’m lost, here.” It was too much, too alien. She didn’t understand half of it. “It sounds so…medieval.”
“Older than that, by far.” He sighed and let his hand drop from her face to rest at her waist. “Perhaps someone else could explain it better than I. Anita wishes me to make sure you understand enough to make a decision.”
“What decision?”
“To be my pomme de sang in truth. With all that comes with it.”
“What comes with it, besides the blood and protection thing?” Erica let her hand drift lower, touching the smoothly muscled planes of his stomach, finding old scars that she hadn’t noticed before. Ones he must have had when he died. “Does that mean…Is my blood all you want from me?” Her fingers brushed the sparse trail of scarlet hairs that led to the fastening of his breeches.
“It is considered in poor taste to demand sex of your pomme de sang, unless you are one of those rare creatures who feed on sex.” He caught her hand and she started, but he only pulled it back to his lips. “Jean Claude and Anita are such creatures, Erica. On occasion, they feed through me in this way. And Anita feeds on me, from time to time.” Now his eyes were almost piercing, serious and intense.
“Does that mean…What does that mean?”
“I would like nothing better than to make love to you. But any lover must share me with my mistress. Perhaps others. It is why I have avoided taking mortal lovers to my bed. Vampires understand these obligations better.” He sighed and kissed her fingertips again. “I could not imagine explaining such things to a mortal woman. Yet here I am.”
“That means…” Erica stopped and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “That means I can have both if I want? To be your pomme de sang and your…lover? If I can handle sharing?”
“Is that what you want?” He pressed her hand against his chest so that she once again felt the beating of his heart beneath her palm. She thought it felt faster than before. “I cannot give you the life a mortal man would.”
“What if I changed my mind later? Or if…If I share you, do I get to…if I wanted to?”
“I do not like to share my women.” Damian’s expression darkened slightly. “But I would not demand from you what I cannot promise in return. You may change your mind, though I do not think I could take only blood once I have tasted the charms of your flesh.”
“Blood and sex are close for you like they are for me.” Her voice was quiet and it wasn’t really a question.
“Yes. It is for most of us. It is why one does not take advantage of a pomme de sang. It would be dishonorable.”
“That’s why you won’t touch me?”
“Yes and because you need rest.” He pressed her hand a little more tightly to his chest. “And perhaps it would not be welcome so soon.” His voice was very soft and gentle; he let go of her hand to touch the bandage on her neck.
“But I want you to touch me.” Erica swallowed and licked her lips. Her heart beat faster and she could hear her roommate’s voice in her head, telling her that this was a very bad idea. “It makes me feel safe. I…want both. I want to try.”
Damian went so very still, his fingers still barely touching the bandage on her neck. Even his heart seemed to stop beneath her hand. His chest didn’t rise or fall. Only his eyes held life. Impossibly green, they held something she couldn’t define, couldn’t name. Then all at once, he came to life again, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. When they opened, he smiled at her. And this smile was so happy and so tender, she wondered if the smiles she’d seen before had just been pretense.
Then he leaned close and kissed her, his lips soft and gentle. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, opening to his slow, careful exploration of her mouth. She reached up to embrace him, to touch the warm skin and the silky fall of his hair. The IV was a nuisance and she had to settle for clasping that hand around his wrist where he braced himself on the bed, careful not to press his weight against her. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, too fast, too hard and it left her breathless. Damian drew back to look down at her.
“I cannot make love to you tonight, Erica. There will be other nights.” He gently pulled his wrist free of her grasp to stroke her cheek. He let his fingertips glide over her skin, down her neck and across the hollow of her throat. His fingers moved lower until they met the collar of the borrowed shirt. He traced the border of skin and cloth for a moment. “I will touch you as I have wished to touch you. See you here in my bed. See in your eyes that you want my touch.”
She found herself unable to speak, so she nodded. She reached with her free hand to touch him, sliding her hand between his body and the bed in that triangle of space formed by flank and elbow. She caressed him slowly and he sighed.
His fingers moved lower still, smoothing the fabric of the shirt over her body. Over her breasts so that her nipples tightened and became visible. Down her sides, tucking the loose material beneath her so it outlined the shape of her body. He smoothed it over her stomach, palm pausing to cup the slight roundness of her belly until she found herself blushing. She was too lazy for sit-ups, but the look on his face wasn’t one of revulsion.
His hand moved again, smoothing the hem across her thighs, smoothing it down into the cleft between them. Then his hand moved lower, reaching almost to her knees then stroking upward along the outside of her thigh. Upward until it just met the hem of the shirt before retreating. He repeated the motion along the other thigh and she found herself making small wordless sounds in response to his touch.
He looked at her face and smiled again. Then he moved, rising so that he could straddle her thighs, resting his weight on his knees rather than on her legs. Part of the shirt was caught beneath him and it stretched taut over her hips. He leaned down, his hands reaching for the collar of the shirt, plucking at the buttons and loosing them from their holes. One by one he undid them, those across her hips requiring extra care. Then he pulled the shirt open, folding the fabric away from her, smoothing it back as if he unwrapped something rare and precious. She shivered under his gaze and the brush of his fingers on her skin.
Then he sat back on his heels, his eyes moving slowly over her body. She found herself waiting, holding her breath, and wondering if he would like what he saw. She stretched her hands downward and touched the fabric of his breeches, let her fingers walk their way up his thighs as far as she could without straining. He was silent for so long, she began to worry, to fear that he’d found her lacking, changed his mind. Her hands went still. His eyes met hers.
“Do you…like what you see?” She’d tried for husky, teasing, but it came out more of a plea. He was so perfect kneeling above her. Inhumanly perfect. That pale body with his hair spilling in brilliant scarlet curtains over his shoulders. Clear, catlike green eyes and those full lips, curving into a smile.
“Yes. I like it very much.” There was heat in that voice. Desire, and it made her shiver a little. He shifted above her, rising on his knees and leaning forward. He caught her good hand and lifted it to the swell in the front of his breeches, pressed her palm against it so that she could feel him hard and full through the fabric. “If you do not trust my words, then trust this.”
Feeling him in her hand send her heart into that frantic beating again, almost as if it was some small creature trying to escape her chest. She squeezed him carefully and he drew in a shaky breath. He pushed her hand aside and leaned down to touch the bare skin of her chest, palms flat against her skin, his hands so large that they covered her. He drew his hands downwards slowly in a stroking caress, passing again over all the places he’d touched through the shirt, but this time it was her skin he touched. When he reached her sides, his fingers slid beneath the bunched fabric, cupping her body, molding his hands to her flesh almost as if he were forming her out of clay.
Again he stopped to hold that stubborn roundness of her belly that no amount of exercise had ever been able to banish. Then his hands slid lower, moving outwards to follow the outlines of her hips and thighs until his hands met his own thighs. He shifted his hands to the tops of her thighs, stroking upwards, thumbs working into the cleft between them, kneading at the soft flesh. She moaned softly and grabbed for his wrists, not to stop him, but for something to hold onto. He paused, his eyes searching her face, his thumbs stroking rhythmically. He slid his hands up further, an inch at a time until his thumbs brushed against her sex. She drew in a sharp breath, then let it out in a shaky sigh.
Then he startled her, pulling his wrists free of her grip. He descended over her body, pressing himself against her, pressing his mouth against hers. It wasn’t that he was rough or harsh, only that he moved too quickly to follow and it almost seemed that he changed positions without passing through the space in between. He kissed her harder than before and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. One of his hands dug into her hair, holding her head still while the other pinned the arm with its IV to the bed beside her. He kissed her hungrily, his body almost vibrating with tension, a groan rolling from his throat.
He groaned again and pulled his mouth from hers, burying his face in her hair. “We must stop. You are not well enough for more.” His voice was thick with an accent she’d never noticed before.
“Damian…” Erica reached up with her free hand to stroke his hair. “I’m OK.”
“No. No. You are not. I can hear your heart. It beats too hard, too fast. It is not the rhythm of desire, but that of a wounded thing.” He rose to kneel over her again and began to tug the shirt back into place, letting go of the arm with the IV. He buttoned it up with more concentration than such a simple task warranted.
“Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No my lovely.” He suddenly sounded tired and almost angry. “I should not have pushed you this far. That is all. A thousand years old and I am like some bearded youth with his first woman. Impatient. Foolish.”
“You’re not leaving?”
“No. I am not.” He looked up at the bag of fluids on its stand. “It is empty.” He reached out and disconnected the tube. He climbed from the bed and coiled the tube on the stand and shoved the thing aside as if it annoyed him to see it. He crossed the room to the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of blue silk pajama bottoms. With his back to her, he slid out of his boots and breeches before pulling on the pajamas. She had just a brief moment to admire his pale muscled backside and legs.
When he turned back to her, his mood seemed to have changed again. The smile was back, gentle and perhaps a bit sad. He returned to the bed and straightened covers, pulling them up to her chin. She was just about to ask him if he was going to join her when he slipped under the covers himself and pulled her into his arms. He pressed her back to his chest and pressed his cheek against her hair.
“Sleep now, Erica.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I will be nearby, in my coffin. You would not wish to share a bed with a corpse, I think.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“You will not be. I will see to it. Sleep.”
“OK. Good night, Damian.”
“Good night, Erica.”
When Erica awoke the next time, she was most certainly not alone. In fact, she found herself sharing a bed with two other people. The blonde Cherry from the night before lay in the center of the bed, her short hair in disarray across the pillow, softening her face. She had wrapped one arm around Erica’s waist and had slung one long leg over her lower body. Since she wore only a tee shirt and a pair of bikini cut panties, it seemed a lot more intimate an embrace than Erica was comfortable with.
Even less comfortable was the long lanky form on the other side of her nurse. A corner of the sheet was draped across his hips and she hoped he wasn’t as naked as he looked. He had neon green hair in unruly spikes and she could see one of his nipples was pierced. When she realized he was awake and watching her stare at him, she blushed. He grinned at her, then yawned, showing strangely pointed canines. He stretched out until his body elongated even farther, threatening to dislodge the sheet and answer that question she was trying hard not to think. The image was undeniably catlike.
Her eyes must have been a little too wide. Or he read something else in her expression. His grin faded and he rolled a little closer, pulling the sheet so that it covered more of him as he did it.
“Damian didn’t tell you you’d be waking up with a couple of wereleopards, did he?” He pitched his voice in a low rumble and gave her a playful wink. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to eat you.” Cherry stirred at the sound of his voice but didn’t wake.
“I didn’t say…I wasn’t thinking…Where’s the bathroom?” She was blushing furiously. She was sleeping in a vampire’s bed, in the same room as his coffin, but she was going to freak out over some lycanthropes? No it wasn’t logical. Maybe it was just too many shocks at once.
“There’s one on the ground floor, just go upstairs. It’s just down the hall from the living room. Or do you want me to show you?” He started to sit up and she shook her head.
“No. I’ll find it.” Then she blushed even harder, realizing that she’d have to move the blonde to get out of bed. She pushed tentatively at the arm around her waist and it tightened around her in response.
“It’s all right. I’ve got her.” He reached for the sleeping woman and rolled her toward him. The other woman moved easily and snuggled up to him without waking. “See? By the way, I’m Zane.”
“Thanks, Zane. I’m Erica.”
“I know. Go ahead. We’re not the only house guests, better grab a turn while you can.” He settled back into the pillows, a possessive arm around the nurse. His brown eyes followed her as she slipped from the bed and padded up the stairs.
House guests? How many people were here? She emerged from the basement to find herself in a dimly lit living room. Most of the light came from the open doorway that led to the house’s kitchen. Curious, she stepped through it. From the way the sun was pouring in, it must be midmorning at least. There were plenty of windows and everything looked very neat and clean. She padded across the cool tile floor and back through the doorway into the living room. It was darker in here and she thought someone was sleeping beneath the blanket on the white couch, so she tread quietly to the hallway.
The hall light was on and she could see several closed doors. Which one was the bathroom? The last thing she wanted to do was wake up strangers. She was standing in the middle of the hallway before a closed door, wishing she had accepted Zane’s offer when it opened in front of her. Yellow-green cat’s eyes stared at her from a man’s face. And for a moment, she could see nothing else about him.
“Oh. Hello.” The man rubbed at his face, blinking those strange eyes sleepily. His thick, curly brown hair spilled down his back in a loose ponytail. He was shorter than she and barefooted. He wore a pair of faded jeans that were zipped, but not buttoned as if he’d just thrown something on. “You’re ah…” He rubbed his face again and she heard the rasp of whiskers. She thought she heard drowsy voices from deeper in the room.
“Erica.” She finally managed to tear her eyes from those strange kitty-cat orbs and look at the rest of his face. He was good looking in an almost pretty kind of way, though the bare upper body was definitely masculine with its broad shoulders and athletic build. “I’m trying to find the bathroom. I didn’t mean to wake anybody up.”
“Late night. It’s this way.” He stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him. He stopped at another door, listened for a moment, and then opened it up. “I’m Micah, by the way. There’s a second bathroom upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”
“OK. Thanks.” Erica ducked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her with relief. She felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The bathroom held both a shower stall and the biggest tub she’d ever seen. The sight of the shower made her itch and she debated briefly about making use of it. By the time she’d taken care of her bladder’s demands, she’d made up her mind to grab a shower, remembering Zane’s advice to take her turn while she could.
It wasn’t until she began to peel off the bandage on her neck that she realized the IV and the tape that had held it on was gone, only the remains of the adhesive and the itchy spot where the tube had entered her vein remained. How had she slept through that?
Shrugging it off, she stripped off the too-large shirt and turned on the shower. It didn’t take long to heat up and she stepped under the spray with a sigh. It was obvious that several people lived and bathed here from the assortment of shampoos and body washes she found. After studying the labels and making sure she wasn’t using the last of anything, she happily set to work getting clean. She always felt better when she was freshly showered.
She was actually smiling to herself when she stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in a generously sized towel. She was reaching for a second towel when she realized someone had been and gone while she’d been in the shower. The green shirt was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a small pile of neatly folded clothing on the toilet, on top of that was a comb and brush and a toothbrush, still in its package. Thoughtful, but just a little unnerving. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.
Before someone else could come in unannounced, she dressed in the borrowed clothing, wondering whom it belonged to since none of it was hers. There was white sports bra which was close enough to her size to work, a white cotton thong that hardly seemed worth the trouble, but she put it on anyway, a pair of men’s jeans that were too long but cut full enough to fit over her hips and an oversized polo shirt. The shirt was a brilliant purple color that made her shake her head. Not her usual style.
It took just a few more minutes to brush her hair and teeth. She wasn’t sure about borrowing any of the hair things she found in the bathroom, so she left her damp hair loose around her shoulders. She really needed to get some things if she was staying more than a day or two.
Hold up. Was she really going to let the Master of the City tuck her away for however long? What about work? Her roommate? She should call them, but what to tell them?
Still trying to sort out her thoughts, she stepped back out into the hall. Not looking where she was going, she found herself running straight into another stranger. Her first impression was warm skin and flashes of silver as he caught her by the arms. He pressed her back against the wall, moving her with such ease that she knew he had to be another lycanthrope.
“Excuse me. I…I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She managed to stammer out, raising her eyes from the silver piercings at his nipples to meet his eyes.
He looked at her from dark eyes beneath sleep-tousled curls. More silver glinted from a ring in one eyebrow and she knew she’d seen him before. One of the other dancers at the club. Had she ever danced with him? She didn’t think so.
“No you weren’t.” His voice was quiet with a hint bass to it that didn’t quite match his physique. He leaned closer to her and sniffed at her cheek. She froze, not knowing what to do, her pulse speeding up. This close she could smell his skin, male and slightly musky. Not unpleasant, just up close and more personal than she was ready for. “You smell good.”
“Caleb.” Micah had reappeared in the living room end of the hallway. His tone was quietly neutral.
Caleb let go of her arms, holding his hands up and backing away with a small smile, though his eyes never left hers. He didn’t stop until his back was pressed against the opposite wall and only then did he let his hands fall to his sides. Like Micah, he wore only a pair of jeans. Now that he’d given her some room, she saw his navel was pierced, too.
“I’ve seen you at the club.” His smile widened slightly. “Didn’t know it was you Damian brought home.”
“Nathaniel wanted to know what you’d like for breakfast, Erica.” Micah hadn’t moved. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“Um. Nice to meet you, Caleb.” Erica took the out and sidled away.
“Nice to meet you, too.” As she turned away, she could swear she felt the weight of his eyes on her back. “Erica.”
Nathaniel turned out to be a very friendly young man with an amazingly long fall of auburn hair that he wore in a bobbing ponytail. He, too, seemed to be wearing the uniform of the day, just blue jeans and bare feet. But his hands and the front of his jeans were lightly dusted with flower and his exotic lavender eyes seemed full of warmth. He was only a little taller than she and broad shouldered. And just too damned good looking to be real.
She quickly forgot her disquiet over meeting Caleb while chatting with Nathaniel. He wouldn’t let her help him with anything and bustled around the kitchen making what looked like ridiculous quantities of food. When she asked, he told her matter of factly that eating right was important for controlling a lycanthrope’s “beast.”
While Nathaniel cooked, more people wandered through, some stopping to pitch in, others on their way to the showers. By the time the food was ready to serve, both the larger dining table and the small breakfast set by the windows were filled with hungry people. The last to arrive was the dark haired woman from the night before. Anita seemed much more interested in the coffee that Nathaniel served her than in the food. That was a shame, because Nathaniel was an excellent cook.
The people around her talked with the easy familiarity of close friends, or maybe even family. Erica listened quietly, filing away questions to ask later. Several times she caught people giving her curious looks, but the few questions directed her way were rather neutral. Where did she work? Did she like it? How long had she known Damian? Would she like another biscuit?
It was only when the meal was over and Cherry was leading her back down to the basement for another examination that she remembered that she still hadn’t called her boss or her roommate. When she mentioned it, Cherry brushed it off, saying Anita had already called for her. The story was that she wasn’t feeling well and was staying with a friend until she was better.
Somehow, she didn’t find it as reassuring as Cherry seemed to think it should be…
.
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter franchise. The world and all its inhabitants belong to Laurell K. Hamilton. I’ve just borrowed her world for my own, and hopefully your, entertainment. I make no money from this work and discourage any attempts to sue me as being fiscally unrewarding.
Warnings: Legal adults only. Graphic sex, violence, adult themes, vampires and lycanthropes. Read at your own risk.
Authors Note: Ever had a character keep pestering you in the back of your skull until there was nothing to do for it, but sit down and write? Damian may be quiet, but he’s bloody persistent. Enjoy.
Chapter Two: Down the Rabbit Hole.
The sound of voices wove in and out of confused dreams. Some of them were unfamiliar and none of them belonged in her apartment. Maybe she had left the TV on. That made some sense, because one of them sounded just like the Master of the City had the last time he’d been interviewed on the news. She should probably get up and turn it off before her roommate complained. Not to mention the lights were on. Since when did she sleep with the lights on?
Erica opened her eyes, blinking in confusion. This wasn’t her apartment. Maybe she was still dreaming. She took in the sight of Jean Claude and the woman he’d been shown with, both dressed in evening wear. And Damian was there, shirtless and calling her name softly. She began to sit up and the world started to spin, her stomach clenching with nausea.
“Don’t try to sit up.” Suddenly Damian was on the bed beside her, one hand steadying her between her shoulder blades while a woman with short blonde hair just seemed to appear on the other side. She startled, shying away from the stranger and something pulled uncomfortably at her wrist. Looking down, she discovered she had an IV in her arm, complete with a tube that was feeding something darkly red into her veins. Blood. A transfusion? Her eyes followed the tubing up to its source.
“Take it easy. You don’t want to pull the line out.” The blonde caught her arm and held it firmly. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and this is the only unit we’ve got on hand.”
“This isn’t a hospital.” Erica looked at the strange room. Places that might have once held windows now held paintings framed by heavy blue drapes. The furniture was rich and simple, several armchairs and a couch in a deep blue. The carpet was a soft green that made her think of grass. A large armoire and a chest of drawers matched the honey colored finish of the footboard of the large bed she rested on. The bedding was in shades of blue with diamonds picked out in a lighter green. The strangest thing in the room sat upon a low wooden platform. It was a coffin, its finish darker than the furniture and gleaming with polish. “Where am I?”
“This is my home.” Damian moved closer to her on the bed, sliding his arm behind her back so that she leaned against his shoulder. She might have objected, but she was still dizzy and to be honest, it made her feel a little safer. “No one here will harm you.”
Safer. Why was safer so important? How had she lost so much blood that she needed a transfusion? Damian had fed on her many times and she’d never felt like this…
“Miss Sutter? Erica?” She looked up at the dark haired woman. She nodded carefully. “Do you remember what happened tonight? At the club?”
“I remember…” She stopped, frowning as she tried to sort through the night’s events, to separate the dreams from the real memories. “I watched the crowd for a while, then I danced with Damian. He took me onstage to feed…” She stopped and looked at the tubing in her arm again, following it up to the bag of blood.
“Please, Erica. This is important. What happened after that?”
“I…” She stopped, realizing the woman knew her name but hadn’t returned the favor. Nor did she know the blonde’s name. And if the other vampire really was the Master of the City, then how deep in it was she? “I don’t know you.”
The dark haired woman hesitated visibly before speaking, as if deciding just what to tell her. “My name is Anita Blake, this is my house. Cherry is a nurse. And this is Jean Claude, Master of the City and owner of Danse Macabre. Good enough?”
“I guess so.” She was in over her head. Way over. The woman’s answer left her with a dozen questions whirling around in her brain, but she couldn’t seem to pin one down. Besides, they were asking her the questions, weren’t they?
“Tell her what you can remember, Erica.” Damian stroked her free arm soothingly.
“OK. I felt a little woozy after he fed so he carried me back to the Quiet Room. Gave me some juice and cookies. We talked a couple of minute. Someone came to tell him that he had customers asking for him. He told me to wait and he’d come back on his break. I waited and read some magazines that were lying around.”
“Why did you leave instead of waiting?” Anita prompted when she didn’t continue right away.
“I have to be at work at eight tomorrow morning. Or is it this morning?” Erica looked around for a clock and didn’t see one. “I left a note on the coffee table and went out the back way to the parking lot.”
“Did anyone see you leave?”
“I didn’t see anyone on the way out. That dark-haired guy in red came in a couple of times to check on me, but he wasn’t there when I left.”
“Paolo. From the rodere.” Jean Claude spoke for the first time. Anita nodded.
“What happened once you left the building?”
“I…” Erica frowned. Her memory seemed to become sluggish, fuzzy. Damian stroked her arm again and it helped clear the fog, somehow. “I walked out to my car, but there was a stranger hanging around. I think he was short, dark hair. I didn’t even realize he was a vampire until I got up close. He said he’d tapped my car backing out of his space and was just about to give up and leave me a note…” Fear rushed up, blotting out what happened next.
She reached up to touch her neck, her heart beating frantically. There was a bandage there and beneath it, tenderness. Where Damian had fed and…A roar of white noise muffled the voices around her.
“Anita. Maybe this should wait until she’s had some rest.” The blonde woman, Cherry, spoke.
“We need to know as much as we can. More of our people may be in danger.” The Master argued.
“Erica, Erica, you are safe. Listen to Anita. Listen.” Damian’s voice and touch pushed the panic back.
“What happened next, Erica?”
“Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. His eyes…I guess he caught me by surprise. I know better. I knew it wasn’t right. I should scream or fight or something. But it didn’t matter…They wanted me to walk with them. And I walked with them. I couldn’t not walk with them…” Fear again. She didn’t want to remember what happened next.
Damian stroked her arm slowly and murmured her name softly. Anita waited patiently. The fear receded slightly and she struggled against it, fought it for the images, the memories.
“They took me where it was dark. Where we couldn’t see the club anymore. He told me to be quiet. To be still. Be good and it wouldn’t hurt. He did something…” She reached up to touch the bandage again. She clamped her hand on it as if she could shield the wound from her memories. “It wasn’t a bite. He took my blood and I let him and I couldn’t stop him. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t right. And then the other one took me, and that started to hurt, I think. But everything was so fuzzy…”
“He rolled you.” Anita’s voice was softer. “You couldn’t have stopped him. That’s why it’s illegal.”
“Oh God! He rolled me. They took my blood and I let them. I would have just let them kill me.” Erica began to shake. She knew what that meant. Her roommate hadn’t approved of the vampire club and had demanded she read up on the undead. “If he comes again…”
“Erica. Erica.” Damian was speaking to her, gently pulling her hand away. “They can’t hurt you. He can’t call you. I swear it.”
“Damian.” There was a sharp note of warning in Anita’s voice.
“Erica.” Damian caught both her hands and held them, pulling her against his chest until she was half in his lap. “They cannot hurt you again. Ever.” She looked down at his hands where they held hers, being careful not to foul the IV. Or to let her foul it. She could see something dark beneath the fingernails of his right hand. In the creases of his nails. In the crease of his elbow. She stopped struggling and simply stared at it.
“I’m sorry. If I had waited for you, none of this would have happened.” She whispered and leaned against him. He loosened his grip. She caught his right hand between hers and traced the reddened groves around his fingernails with one fingertip. Blood. It was blood. They couldn’t hurt her again. She knew it was true. She turned her head, leaning back against him until she could see his face. His expression was difficult to read. Almost arrogant. She wanted to ask him things, but not in front of the Master and his girlfriend. Or the nurse. She stroked the back of his hand and relaxed against him.
“Do you remember anything else that sticks out in your mind?” Anita was frowning, as if she didn’t approve of the touching but wasn’t going to say anything.
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything. Except they were waiting by my car.”
“That means they knew who they were seeking, does it not?” The Master observed. “Not a random target, nor even simply one of those chosen as donors.”
“No. That does sound like some planning went on beforehand.” Anita sighed. “Do you have any enemies, Erica? Any reason you can think of that someone might want you hurt or killed?”
“No. I’m nobody important. I can’t think of any reason.”
“No reason but for being Damian’s pomme de sang.” The Master let out a sigh that she could swear she actually felt sliding across her skin. She wanted to ask what a pomme de sang was, but he was moving closer, with a gliding grace that she couldn’t help but watch. Anita moved to make room for him and he sank down to his knees with inhuman ease and rested his chin on one hand. Far too close for comfort. She had difficulty not meeting his eyes and it seemed insulting to close hers or turn away. She stared again at Damian’s bloodied hand. “I am not trying to bespell you, Erica. You may look at me without fear.”
“I’ve had a rough night. Sorry.” Damian gave her an encouraging squeeze and she lifted her eyes carefully until she met the Master’s gaze. His eyes were a deep dark blue, perfect and lovely. Lovely, but not compelling.
“I understand. Your Damian has dealt with the rogues who attacked you. What they have done is not only against human law, but vampire law, and my own decrees as Master of the City. They are gone, but we believe they may have had accomplices and we do not know their motives. You may still be in danger. We must ask you to let us hide you away for a time.”
“But, I have a job. And a roommate. My cat…I can’t just disappear on them.” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Or are you saying I can’t leave?”
“Jean Claude, can the creepy vampire act.” Anita stepped up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He reached up to cover it with a pale, long-fingered hand.
“I am not being creepy, am I?” The Master gave Erica a smile so charming that it was difficult not to smile back. Damian’s arms tightened around her and he made a small noise in his throat that sounded unfriendly. Jean Claude’s eyes flicked to Damian’s face briefly and his smile dimmed slightly. “You are not a prisoner. But do think of what may happen to your coworkers or your roommate if they should come between you and the next assassin. If you do not wish to stay here, we can find you another safe house. But Damian will remain here with Anita.”
“So nice of you to volunteer my basement.” Anita’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “What’s one more stray?”
“I don’t mean to impose. I…”
“It’s OK. Erica. If you want to bunk with Damian for now, you’re entitled. I’m just being grumpy. I don’t like to compromise.”
“Too true.” The vampire rose to his feet in a single graceful motion and took Anita’s hand. “Come, ma petite. We have much to do before the dawn. And I suspect Damian and Erica have business best discussed in private.” He gave Cherry a smile and the blonde nodded agreement.
“I’ll see you tomorrow sometime. If you remember anything else, you can tell me then.” Anita added before allowing herself to be led upstairs.
Cherry spent a moment fussing with the IV. The bag of blood had emptied itself. She replaced it with the bag of clear fluid. Then she gave Damian a look as if she wanted to say something, but shook her head.
“If you’re staying with her, I’m going to go find Zane and get some sleep. Wake me before dawn. Once the bag is empty, you can just close this valve and disconnect it.” She gave him a quick demonstration. “But let me take the IV out. Come get me if you need me.” She left so quickly that Erica got the feeling she had been uncomfortable with the situation.
They sat silently without moving for several long moments. At last it was Damian who spoke first. “Do you wish to sleep, now?”
“No. I don’t think I could.” She took his bloodstained hand again, holding it both of hers. “You killed them, didn’t you? This is their blood.”
“Before I can answer all your questions, we must settle things between us, Erica.” He gently slid her out of his arms and back onto the bed. Then he stretched out on his side and propped his head up with one hand. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin without touching it. He reached out to smooth the tail of the shirt she wore down over her thighs. “Are you frightened by me? To wake up in my bed, in my clothes?”
Good question. Was she? She hadn’t been truly frightened of him except perhaps the first time he’d fed. And that had been a sort of roller-coaster thrill ride sort of fear. Afraid of this situation? Not being sure why she was here and not in a hospital or at home? Some.
“Not by you. No.” She reached down and plucked at the shirt she wore. That and nothing else. “This. I’m not sure, Damian. What do they think I am? What’s a pomme de sang?”
“It means apple of blood. Someone who gives blood willingly to us. Not casually or just once like many do at the club. But regularly, sometimes to just one vampire, sometimes to several. There are customs, laws. They are protected, cared for. It is forbidden to kill them. I claimed the protection of a pomme de sang for you. If you are mine and I am theirs, they must help protect you.”
“Yours. The spoils of battle.” She rolled the idea around in her head, trying it on. What did a pomme de sang do besides feed the vampires? She stroked the fabric of the shirt over and over where it lay against her thigh until he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“A pomme de sang is not a whore. No more than blood need pass between us.” He turned her hand until he could press her palm against his cheek. “And that must wait until you recover your strength. If you wish to continue. They are displeased with me that I have accepted your gift without offering due respect.”
“Due respect?”
“One should care for one’s pomme de sang as you would a lover or a mistress. Perhaps not a wife. But as if she were someone precious. Jean Claude quite spoils his Jason.”
“What? Like a kept woman? Or man? The Master of the City has a…?” Erica trailed off.
“A werewolf. And yes. I suppose that is the term.”
“Oh.”
“What are you thinking?” His vivid green eyes were very serious.
“Why didn’t you? I mean…I don’t know what I mean.” He still held her palm to his cheek, was almost snuggling into it as if he wished to touch more than just her hand. “Can I touch you?”
“Touch me all you like. Please.” He let go of her hand and let her move it of her own accord. It was a little awkward laying down as she was and having to be careful of the IV. But she managed. She slid her hand along his cheek and down his neck, brushing a few scarlet strands from his shoulder. Down his shoulder and across his chest. Strong muscles flowed beneath the marble-pale skin. She touched each pale pink nipple and watched it crinkle up into a tight point. She pressed her palm over his heart and could feel it beating, could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He felt so alive for a dead man.
“I have never dared to take a pomme de sang of my own.” He spoke quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “Before Jean Claude ransomed me, I was a toy for a very cruel mistress, my maker. She lived upon fear and terror and her jealousy was a deadly thing. Nor did I dare to seek a lover. I would not give anyone to her cruelties.”
“I thought a pomme de sang was protected?” Erica’s hand stilled and she looked at his face. It was so pale and expressionless; he might have been a statue. But his green eyes were alive with pain and other things she couldn’t read, but felt all the same.
“There were many tortures still available to her. Ones that would not kill or maim. And no one to call her to task if she damaged one of her underling’s playthings. She is well feared among her own kind. And if she killed me herself…” He reached out and touched her face. “Jean Claude does not treat his people so. Nor does my new mistress.”
“Your mistress?”
“I am Anita’s servant. Not only in name, but also in fact. It is her magic that makes this heart beat each night. It is she who commands me, not her Master. And I must remain close to her, Erica.”
“I think I’m lost, here.” It was too much, too alien. She didn’t understand half of it. “It sounds so…medieval.”
“Older than that, by far.” He sighed and let his hand drop from her face to rest at her waist. “Perhaps someone else could explain it better than I. Anita wishes me to make sure you understand enough to make a decision.”
“What decision?”
“To be my pomme de sang in truth. With all that comes with it.”
“What comes with it, besides the blood and protection thing?” Erica let her hand drift lower, touching the smoothly muscled planes of his stomach, finding old scars that she hadn’t noticed before. Ones he must have had when he died. “Does that mean…Is my blood all you want from me?” Her fingers brushed the sparse trail of scarlet hairs that led to the fastening of his breeches.
“It is considered in poor taste to demand sex of your pomme de sang, unless you are one of those rare creatures who feed on sex.” He caught her hand and she started, but he only pulled it back to his lips. “Jean Claude and Anita are such creatures, Erica. On occasion, they feed through me in this way. And Anita feeds on me, from time to time.” Now his eyes were almost piercing, serious and intense.
“Does that mean…What does that mean?”
“I would like nothing better than to make love to you. But any lover must share me with my mistress. Perhaps others. It is why I have avoided taking mortal lovers to my bed. Vampires understand these obligations better.” He sighed and kissed her fingertips again. “I could not imagine explaining such things to a mortal woman. Yet here I am.”
“That means…” Erica stopped and swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “That means I can have both if I want? To be your pomme de sang and your…lover? If I can handle sharing?”
“Is that what you want?” He pressed her hand against his chest so that she once again felt the beating of his heart beneath her palm. She thought it felt faster than before. “I cannot give you the life a mortal man would.”
“What if I changed my mind later? Or if…If I share you, do I get to…if I wanted to?”
“I do not like to share my women.” Damian’s expression darkened slightly. “But I would not demand from you what I cannot promise in return. You may change your mind, though I do not think I could take only blood once I have tasted the charms of your flesh.”
“Blood and sex are close for you like they are for me.” Her voice was quiet and it wasn’t really a question.
“Yes. It is for most of us. It is why one does not take advantage of a pomme de sang. It would be dishonorable.”
“That’s why you won’t touch me?”
“Yes and because you need rest.” He pressed her hand a little more tightly to his chest. “And perhaps it would not be welcome so soon.” His voice was very soft and gentle; he let go of her hand to touch the bandage on her neck.
“But I want you to touch me.” Erica swallowed and licked her lips. Her heart beat faster and she could hear her roommate’s voice in her head, telling her that this was a very bad idea. “It makes me feel safe. I…want both. I want to try.”
Damian went so very still, his fingers still barely touching the bandage on her neck. Even his heart seemed to stop beneath her hand. His chest didn’t rise or fall. Only his eyes held life. Impossibly green, they held something she couldn’t define, couldn’t name. Then all at once, he came to life again, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. When they opened, he smiled at her. And this smile was so happy and so tender, she wondered if the smiles she’d seen before had just been pretense.
Then he leaned close and kissed her, his lips soft and gentle. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, opening to his slow, careful exploration of her mouth. She reached up to embrace him, to touch the warm skin and the silky fall of his hair. The IV was a nuisance and she had to settle for clasping that hand around his wrist where he braced himself on the bed, careful not to press his weight against her. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, too fast, too hard and it left her breathless. Damian drew back to look down at her.
“I cannot make love to you tonight, Erica. There will be other nights.” He gently pulled his wrist free of her grasp to stroke her cheek. He let his fingertips glide over her skin, down her neck and across the hollow of her throat. His fingers moved lower until they met the collar of the borrowed shirt. He traced the border of skin and cloth for a moment. “I will touch you as I have wished to touch you. See you here in my bed. See in your eyes that you want my touch.”
She found herself unable to speak, so she nodded. She reached with her free hand to touch him, sliding her hand between his body and the bed in that triangle of space formed by flank and elbow. She caressed him slowly and he sighed.
His fingers moved lower still, smoothing the fabric of the shirt over her body. Over her breasts so that her nipples tightened and became visible. Down her sides, tucking the loose material beneath her so it outlined the shape of her body. He smoothed it over her stomach, palm pausing to cup the slight roundness of her belly until she found herself blushing. She was too lazy for sit-ups, but the look on his face wasn’t one of revulsion.
His hand moved again, smoothing the hem across her thighs, smoothing it down into the cleft between them. Then his hand moved lower, reaching almost to her knees then stroking upward along the outside of her thigh. Upward until it just met the hem of the shirt before retreating. He repeated the motion along the other thigh and she found herself making small wordless sounds in response to his touch.
He looked at her face and smiled again. Then he moved, rising so that he could straddle her thighs, resting his weight on his knees rather than on her legs. Part of the shirt was caught beneath him and it stretched taut over her hips. He leaned down, his hands reaching for the collar of the shirt, plucking at the buttons and loosing them from their holes. One by one he undid them, those across her hips requiring extra care. Then he pulled the shirt open, folding the fabric away from her, smoothing it back as if he unwrapped something rare and precious. She shivered under his gaze and the brush of his fingers on her skin.
Then he sat back on his heels, his eyes moving slowly over her body. She found herself waiting, holding her breath, and wondering if he would like what he saw. She stretched her hands downward and touched the fabric of his breeches, let her fingers walk their way up his thighs as far as she could without straining. He was silent for so long, she began to worry, to fear that he’d found her lacking, changed his mind. Her hands went still. His eyes met hers.
“Do you…like what you see?” She’d tried for husky, teasing, but it came out more of a plea. He was so perfect kneeling above her. Inhumanly perfect. That pale body with his hair spilling in brilliant scarlet curtains over his shoulders. Clear, catlike green eyes and those full lips, curving into a smile.
“Yes. I like it very much.” There was heat in that voice. Desire, and it made her shiver a little. He shifted above her, rising on his knees and leaning forward. He caught her good hand and lifted it to the swell in the front of his breeches, pressed her palm against it so that she could feel him hard and full through the fabric. “If you do not trust my words, then trust this.”
Feeling him in her hand send her heart into that frantic beating again, almost as if it was some small creature trying to escape her chest. She squeezed him carefully and he drew in a shaky breath. He pushed her hand aside and leaned down to touch the bare skin of her chest, palms flat against her skin, his hands so large that they covered her. He drew his hands downwards slowly in a stroking caress, passing again over all the places he’d touched through the shirt, but this time it was her skin he touched. When he reached her sides, his fingers slid beneath the bunched fabric, cupping her body, molding his hands to her flesh almost as if he were forming her out of clay.
Again he stopped to hold that stubborn roundness of her belly that no amount of exercise had ever been able to banish. Then his hands slid lower, moving outwards to follow the outlines of her hips and thighs until his hands met his own thighs. He shifted his hands to the tops of her thighs, stroking upwards, thumbs working into the cleft between them, kneading at the soft flesh. She moaned softly and grabbed for his wrists, not to stop him, but for something to hold onto. He paused, his eyes searching her face, his thumbs stroking rhythmically. He slid his hands up further, an inch at a time until his thumbs brushed against her sex. She drew in a sharp breath, then let it out in a shaky sigh.
Then he startled her, pulling his wrists free of her grip. He descended over her body, pressing himself against her, pressing his mouth against hers. It wasn’t that he was rough or harsh, only that he moved too quickly to follow and it almost seemed that he changed positions without passing through the space in between. He kissed her harder than before and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. One of his hands dug into her hair, holding her head still while the other pinned the arm with its IV to the bed beside her. He kissed her hungrily, his body almost vibrating with tension, a groan rolling from his throat.
He groaned again and pulled his mouth from hers, burying his face in her hair. “We must stop. You are not well enough for more.” His voice was thick with an accent she’d never noticed before.
“Damian…” Erica reached up with her free hand to stroke his hair. “I’m OK.”
“No. No. You are not. I can hear your heart. It beats too hard, too fast. It is not the rhythm of desire, but that of a wounded thing.” He rose to kneel over her again and began to tug the shirt back into place, letting go of the arm with the IV. He buttoned it up with more concentration than such a simple task warranted.
“Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No my lovely.” He suddenly sounded tired and almost angry. “I should not have pushed you this far. That is all. A thousand years old and I am like some bearded youth with his first woman. Impatient. Foolish.”
“You’re not leaving?”
“No. I am not.” He looked up at the bag of fluids on its stand. “It is empty.” He reached out and disconnected the tube. He climbed from the bed and coiled the tube on the stand and shoved the thing aside as if it annoyed him to see it. He crossed the room to the chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of blue silk pajama bottoms. With his back to her, he slid out of his boots and breeches before pulling on the pajamas. She had just a brief moment to admire his pale muscled backside and legs.
When he turned back to her, his mood seemed to have changed again. The smile was back, gentle and perhaps a bit sad. He returned to the bed and straightened covers, pulling them up to her chin. She was just about to ask him if he was going to join her when he slipped under the covers himself and pulled her into his arms. He pressed her back to his chest and pressed his cheek against her hair.
“Sleep now, Erica.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
“I will be nearby, in my coffin. You would not wish to share a bed with a corpse, I think.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“You will not be. I will see to it. Sleep.”
“OK. Good night, Damian.”
“Good night, Erica.”
When Erica awoke the next time, she was most certainly not alone. In fact, she found herself sharing a bed with two other people. The blonde Cherry from the night before lay in the center of the bed, her short hair in disarray across the pillow, softening her face. She had wrapped one arm around Erica’s waist and had slung one long leg over her lower body. Since she wore only a tee shirt and a pair of bikini cut panties, it seemed a lot more intimate an embrace than Erica was comfortable with.
Even less comfortable was the long lanky form on the other side of her nurse. A corner of the sheet was draped across his hips and she hoped he wasn’t as naked as he looked. He had neon green hair in unruly spikes and she could see one of his nipples was pierced. When she realized he was awake and watching her stare at him, she blushed. He grinned at her, then yawned, showing strangely pointed canines. He stretched out until his body elongated even farther, threatening to dislodge the sheet and answer that question she was trying hard not to think. The image was undeniably catlike.
Her eyes must have been a little too wide. Or he read something else in her expression. His grin faded and he rolled a little closer, pulling the sheet so that it covered more of him as he did it.
“Damian didn’t tell you you’d be waking up with a couple of wereleopards, did he?” He pitched his voice in a low rumble and gave her a playful wink. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to eat you.” Cherry stirred at the sound of his voice but didn’t wake.
“I didn’t say…I wasn’t thinking…Where’s the bathroom?” She was blushing furiously. She was sleeping in a vampire’s bed, in the same room as his coffin, but she was going to freak out over some lycanthropes? No it wasn’t logical. Maybe it was just too many shocks at once.
“There’s one on the ground floor, just go upstairs. It’s just down the hall from the living room. Or do you want me to show you?” He started to sit up and she shook her head.
“No. I’ll find it.” Then she blushed even harder, realizing that she’d have to move the blonde to get out of bed. She pushed tentatively at the arm around her waist and it tightened around her in response.
“It’s all right. I’ve got her.” He reached for the sleeping woman and rolled her toward him. The other woman moved easily and snuggled up to him without waking. “See? By the way, I’m Zane.”
“Thanks, Zane. I’m Erica.”
“I know. Go ahead. We’re not the only house guests, better grab a turn while you can.” He settled back into the pillows, a possessive arm around the nurse. His brown eyes followed her as she slipped from the bed and padded up the stairs.
House guests? How many people were here? She emerged from the basement to find herself in a dimly lit living room. Most of the light came from the open doorway that led to the house’s kitchen. Curious, she stepped through it. From the way the sun was pouring in, it must be midmorning at least. There were plenty of windows and everything looked very neat and clean. She padded across the cool tile floor and back through the doorway into the living room. It was darker in here and she thought someone was sleeping beneath the blanket on the white couch, so she tread quietly to the hallway.
The hall light was on and she could see several closed doors. Which one was the bathroom? The last thing she wanted to do was wake up strangers. She was standing in the middle of the hallway before a closed door, wishing she had accepted Zane’s offer when it opened in front of her. Yellow-green cat’s eyes stared at her from a man’s face. And for a moment, she could see nothing else about him.
“Oh. Hello.” The man rubbed at his face, blinking those strange eyes sleepily. His thick, curly brown hair spilled down his back in a loose ponytail. He was shorter than she and barefooted. He wore a pair of faded jeans that were zipped, but not buttoned as if he’d just thrown something on. “You’re ah…” He rubbed his face again and she heard the rasp of whiskers. She thought she heard drowsy voices from deeper in the room.
“Erica.” She finally managed to tear her eyes from those strange kitty-cat orbs and look at the rest of his face. He was good looking in an almost pretty kind of way, though the bare upper body was definitely masculine with its broad shoulders and athletic build. “I’m trying to find the bathroom. I didn’t mean to wake anybody up.”
“Late night. It’s this way.” He stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him. He stopped at another door, listened for a moment, and then opened it up. “I’m Micah, by the way. There’s a second bathroom upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”
“OK. Thanks.” Erica ducked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her with relief. She felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The bathroom held both a shower stall and the biggest tub she’d ever seen. The sight of the shower made her itch and she debated briefly about making use of it. By the time she’d taken care of her bladder’s demands, she’d made up her mind to grab a shower, remembering Zane’s advice to take her turn while she could.
It wasn’t until she began to peel off the bandage on her neck that she realized the IV and the tape that had held it on was gone, only the remains of the adhesive and the itchy spot where the tube had entered her vein remained. How had she slept through that?
Shrugging it off, she stripped off the too-large shirt and turned on the shower. It didn’t take long to heat up and she stepped under the spray with a sigh. It was obvious that several people lived and bathed here from the assortment of shampoos and body washes she found. After studying the labels and making sure she wasn’t using the last of anything, she happily set to work getting clean. She always felt better when she was freshly showered.
She was actually smiling to herself when she stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in a generously sized towel. She was reaching for a second towel when she realized someone had been and gone while she’d been in the shower. The green shirt was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was a small pile of neatly folded clothing on the toilet, on top of that was a comb and brush and a toothbrush, still in its package. Thoughtful, but just a little unnerving. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.
Before someone else could come in unannounced, she dressed in the borrowed clothing, wondering whom it belonged to since none of it was hers. There was white sports bra which was close enough to her size to work, a white cotton thong that hardly seemed worth the trouble, but she put it on anyway, a pair of men’s jeans that were too long but cut full enough to fit over her hips and an oversized polo shirt. The shirt was a brilliant purple color that made her shake her head. Not her usual style.
It took just a few more minutes to brush her hair and teeth. She wasn’t sure about borrowing any of the hair things she found in the bathroom, so she left her damp hair loose around her shoulders. She really needed to get some things if she was staying more than a day or two.
Hold up. Was she really going to let the Master of the City tuck her away for however long? What about work? Her roommate? She should call them, but what to tell them?
Still trying to sort out her thoughts, she stepped back out into the hall. Not looking where she was going, she found herself running straight into another stranger. Her first impression was warm skin and flashes of silver as he caught her by the arms. He pressed her back against the wall, moving her with such ease that she knew he had to be another lycanthrope.
“Excuse me. I…I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She managed to stammer out, raising her eyes from the silver piercings at his nipples to meet his eyes.
He looked at her from dark eyes beneath sleep-tousled curls. More silver glinted from a ring in one eyebrow and she knew she’d seen him before. One of the other dancers at the club. Had she ever danced with him? She didn’t think so.
“No you weren’t.” His voice was quiet with a hint bass to it that didn’t quite match his physique. He leaned closer to her and sniffed at her cheek. She froze, not knowing what to do, her pulse speeding up. This close she could smell his skin, male and slightly musky. Not unpleasant, just up close and more personal than she was ready for. “You smell good.”
“Caleb.” Micah had reappeared in the living room end of the hallway. His tone was quietly neutral.
Caleb let go of her arms, holding his hands up and backing away with a small smile, though his eyes never left hers. He didn’t stop until his back was pressed against the opposite wall and only then did he let his hands fall to his sides. Like Micah, he wore only a pair of jeans. Now that he’d given her some room, she saw his navel was pierced, too.
“I’ve seen you at the club.” His smile widened slightly. “Didn’t know it was you Damian brought home.”
“Nathaniel wanted to know what you’d like for breakfast, Erica.” Micah hadn’t moved. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“Um. Nice to meet you, Caleb.” Erica took the out and sidled away.
“Nice to meet you, too.” As she turned away, she could swear she felt the weight of his eyes on her back. “Erica.”
Nathaniel turned out to be a very friendly young man with an amazingly long fall of auburn hair that he wore in a bobbing ponytail. He, too, seemed to be wearing the uniform of the day, just blue jeans and bare feet. But his hands and the front of his jeans were lightly dusted with flower and his exotic lavender eyes seemed full of warmth. He was only a little taller than she and broad shouldered. And just too damned good looking to be real.
She quickly forgot her disquiet over meeting Caleb while chatting with Nathaniel. He wouldn’t let her help him with anything and bustled around the kitchen making what looked like ridiculous quantities of food. When she asked, he told her matter of factly that eating right was important for controlling a lycanthrope’s “beast.”
While Nathaniel cooked, more people wandered through, some stopping to pitch in, others on their way to the showers. By the time the food was ready to serve, both the larger dining table and the small breakfast set by the windows were filled with hungry people. The last to arrive was the dark haired woman from the night before. Anita seemed much more interested in the coffee that Nathaniel served her than in the food. That was a shame, because Nathaniel was an excellent cook.
The people around her talked with the easy familiarity of close friends, or maybe even family. Erica listened quietly, filing away questions to ask later. Several times she caught people giving her curious looks, but the few questions directed her way were rather neutral. Where did she work? Did she like it? How long had she known Damian? Would she like another biscuit?
It was only when the meal was over and Cherry was leading her back down to the basement for another examination that she remembered that she still hadn’t called her boss or her roommate. When she mentioned it, Cherry brushed it off, saying Anita had already called for her. The story was that she wasn’t feeling well and was staying with a friend until she was better.
Somehow, she didn’t find it as reassuring as Cherry seemed to think it should be…
.