Don’t Talk Back To Your Vampire

Chapter 3

When I awoke, I found myself clutching Lorcan like a beloved teddy bear. He was awake, his fingers stroking my back. I scrambled to a sitting position and stared at him, embarrassed. With those silver eyes and long black hair he reminded me of the wolf. My hand fluttered to my throat as anxiety prickled my skin.

“Bad dream?” he asked softly.

“Vampires don’t dream,” I said.

“You do.” He looked at me, but his expression was unfathomable. “Thank you for helping me.”

“No problem.” Big problem. It seemed Lorcan’s proximity affected me in unexpected ways. “What happened to you?”

“You need not concern yourself,” he said, arrogance lacing his tone. “’Tis done now.”

What was done now? I didn’t ask because I knew he wouldn’t tell me. The O’Hallorans were good at keeping secrets. I watched him get off the bed. My gaze roved over the muscled torso. His chest was completely healed. Could I help it if my fingers wished to dance through those dark curls and flit across those ridges? I looked away and swallowed hard. When I looked back, Lorcan was dressed—a black T-shirt tucked into black jeans.

“Don’t you like color?”

“Black is a color,” he said. He smiled—the small sad one he had perfected as the guilt-stricken vampire monk. I missed the other smile, the curve of lips filled with mischief. It was like glimpsing a slice of heaven before the gates shut. Hmph. I probably wouldn’t see him smile like that again.

“Good-bye, Eva.”

Startled at the sudden good-bye, I managed a limp wave. Strangely, I didn’t want him to go. He made me uncomfortable and he confused me, but at the same time, I wanted to be near him. A red flag if ever there was—as if my body didn’t care what he would do to my heart. Lust had its own rewards. Yet mere pleasure glittered and faded, leaving only pain, only emptiness.

As Lorcan sparkled out of sight, he waved his hand and something gold and shiny fell onto the bed. I looked at the object and gasped. Picking it up, I fingered the full bloom of a gold rose. Real gold, too. The brooch was the size of a quarter. In the middle, very small, I saw a looped L. For Lorcan? Huh. Was it a thank-you gift? Or a mark of possession?

I laughed. He probably made these little roses and tossed them at the feet of any female who showed him kindness. It wasn’t special. Besides, vampires who wanted to put others under their protection—or as a step toward binding—had to put their claiming mark on the neck. It was magic; any paranormal creature would see a claimed being. I had claimed Tamara as soon as Jessica taught me how. She was my child, forever under my protection, and anyone who messed with her, messed with me.

Our symbol was a red ruby.

My mother’s name was Ruby. She died five years ago of cancer. Other than Tamara, my mother was the most important person in my life. Her death left a void in my world—one that had never been filled. I had learned to live with the hole. In fact, I guarded it fiercely.

The rose beckoned my attention again. It wasn’t lost on me that a gold rose had opened the tower in my dream. Or that a wolf waited for me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about that dream and try to figure out what it meant. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.

I couldn’t deny my attraction to Lorcan, but heaven help me, I wanted to deny it. I had a history of falling for men who were bad for me. Chances were good that if I was attracted to a man, he was shit in an expensive suit. Then again, Lorcan had already done the worst thing ever, hadn’t he? You are having sexual feelings for your murderer, Miss LeRoy? Tsk. Tsk.

Hard to believe it had been nearly three months since Lorcan yanked me out of my car and noshed on my neck. If you’ve ever read those romance novels where the soul-tortured vampire hero reluctantly brings his mortal woman to the Other Side—well, my experience was the exact opposite of that.

I had just returned from an ice cream run and had gotten out of my little VW bug. As I shut the door, I heard a shuffling noise behind me, followed by a hair-raising growl. There was nothing sexy about big, furry paws grabbing my hips and or sharp, icky teeth digging into my throat. The scariest thing about what happened was that I couldn’t see my attacker. I felt him—he’d been huge, hairy, snarling. When he was finished, he tossed me into the driveway and loped away.

Then I died.

The worst part was that I never got to eat that pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. 

If the Consortium—a sorta vampire Peace Corps—hadn’t rolled into town and brought several vampire Masters willing to Turn us—none of us would be alive. Well, undead. Y’see, Lorcan had been suffering from the taint, a terrible disease that only affected vampires. Everyone was scrambling for a cure, including the Consortium. They’d managed to rid Lorcan of it, but whatever they’d done seemed to only work for him.

When I woke up after the attack, I was latched to the neck of a vampire named Mortimer. Yeah, I know—someone named Mortie saved my life. After Tamara got over the shock of my death and my vampification, she often crooned lines from “The Monster Mash” just to annoy me. As for Mortie, he’d returned to his wife in London and left my vampire lessons to the other Masters who’d decided to stick it out in Broken Heart.  

After we got all the vampire stuff straightened out, the Consortium revealed it had been buying out residences and businesses in Broken Heart. They wanted to build the first ever paranormal community in the States. Over the summer, nearly all the human residents had moved out. The town was practically empty, its buildings under constant demolition and construction.

Turning into a vampire had rid me of cellulite, acne scars, and crow’s feet. Yet other things had been taken away— sunrise and road trips and ice cream (oh the lamentable joy of a Ben & Jerry’s pint).

My mind drifted back to the dream. Why was I associating the wolf with Lorcan? Because I feared him? Because I wanted him, but I was scared to want him? Finding a bed in a tower—a phallic symbol for sure—seemed rife with sexual imagery.

Having sexual relations was a serious business for us vampires. If we fed and did the mattress mambo we were linked to the person of our affection for the next century. Needless to say, most of us were real discriminating about our love lives. Hmm. Maybe my subconscious was just working out my sexual frustration with the only man who’d shared my bed in more than a year. Granted, he’d only held me, not tried anything naughty (was that a sliver a regret wedged in my relief?), but still … Lorcan was hot. Movie-star hot. The kind of hot a woman like me viewed at a distance, wanting and wanting but never in a million years actually getting.

Oh, what did it matter? I had no intention of binding with anyone ever. Falling in love for me was like unwrapping a mystery candy. I wanted chocolate, but I always got licorice. 

Still, it was hard to forget those eyes, that wild hair, that muscled chest. Poor, poor sexually repressed me. I thought about all the blood and mud I had wiped off. Why had Lorcan been attacked? Fear ghosted along my spine. We had problems with a group of vampires called the Wraiths. They were a nasty bunch, but they’d been routed out of Broken Heart a couple months back. I shuddered to think they or their lycan-vamp abominations were running around the town again.

“Hey, Mom,” called down Tamara. “Your breakfast is here.”

“Share your pancakes with Charlie,” I said.

If I couldn’t indulge in real carbs, I could at least get the faint taste of syrup-drizzled pancakes in liquid form. Charlie was one of my two favorite donors. Donors were humans who were paid to be vampire meals—courtesy of the Consortium. Most vampires only needed a pint an evening to survive.

Charlie was a nice guy, though a little on the shy side. He was smart and loved books; we got along well because other than my daughter, my most favorite thing in the world was reading.

I took a quick shower in the private bathroom (courtesy of the Consortium) and drew on a pair of black capris and a beaded white halter top, both new purchases thanks to a cyber shopping trip.  My friend Jessica and my daughter sat at the computer with me and helped me (read: chose for me), clothing I probably wouldn’t have bought given my druthers.

A couple weeks ago, after assessing my favorite pair of gray sweats and baggy T-shirt, Jessica insisted that my “librarian frump look” had to go. The thing about Jessica was that she had a heart—and a mouth—as big as Texas. You never asked Jessica for her opinion unless you really wanted it.

My purchases arrived yesterday and this was my first foray into my new look, which Tamara had termed “sexy mama.” I wasn’t quite sure if that was better than “librarian frump.” But I didn’t have a choice about my attire since all of my old clothes had disappeared.

Last night, Jessica hauled me to Patsy’s beauty parlor. Patsy gave my brown locks a sassy new cut and highlighted them with red and gold. I followed her directions for “sexy-messy” hair and to my delight, scrubbing gel into it made my new bob look all … well, sexy-messy. Linda, the manicurist, also gave me a pedicure and a manicure. My toenails and fingernails were a frosted pink color called “Fairy Dance.”

I put on a pair of gold hoop earrings and tucked my feet into a new pair of white high-heeled sandals. “You look fabulous, darling,” I said to my reflection. Then I winked at myself. Oh lord, I was such a dork.

As I closed the lid to my jewelry box, I spied Lorcan’s gold rose. I had tossed into a little slot with no intention of wearing it. Then again … I pinned it to the left edge of the halter and instantly felt as though I’d done the right thing.

I hurried up the stairs and into the large kitchen. On the left side was a nook with built-in seats and a small, round table. This was where Tamara, wearing a black kimono, was eating pancakes with Charlie. Charlie was in his late thirties, with a balding blonde pate, a round face and pale eyes—like watered-down whiskey. He favored rumpled khakis and plaid shirts, to hide his slight paunch, and he always wore loafers.

A forkful of pancake was headed toward his mouth when he turned to look at me. His eyes went wide behind his black-rimmed glasses and he poked himself in the cheek with the fork.

“Ow. Shit!” The silverware clattered to the plate. He grabbed a napkin, blushing furiously as he rubbed syrup off his jaw.

Tamara howled with laughter.

“Tamara,” I said sternly, though it took a lot of willpower to still the bubble of laughter in my own throat. I rushed to the table and tried to help dab, but he shooed me away.

“I’m fine.” Obviously nervous, he finished cleaning his face. Then he pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at me sheepishly. “You look very nice.”

“Thanks.” Was I crazy or was Charlie giving me the once-over? No way. Charlie was like a comfortable pair of slippers or an old, warm robe. He made me feel cozy. I did not like the stare he was giving me now. Smiling weakly, I looked at Tamara. She shrugged and returned to her pancakes, but not before I saw the little smirk that flitted across her lips.

“Are you ready, Eva?” Charlie stood up. He knew I didn’t like to feed in front of my daughter. It was one thing to be a vampire and another thing to do vampire-like things around your children.

We went into my office. The big, decrepit desk was filled with papers, files, and books. Books lined shelves around the room and were piled on the floor. Two big leather wingbacks were parked in front of my desk, but one was filled with … you guessed it, books. Charlie sat in the empty one and I looked at him blankly.

“Er, how am I supposed to get close enough?”

Charlie grinned and patted his leg. Okay. I was getting really weirded out. He had been my donor for the three months I had been a vampire and this was the first time I’d gotten these kinds of vibes off him. Like he wanted to bite me. Still, maybe I was being too squeamish. Even though I had accepted that drinking blood was the only way to stay alive, it still wasn’t an enjoyable part of my daily rituals. I was probably blowing everything out of proportion.

“Well, then … I guess we should … uh, proceed.” I clapped my hands together and perched on his knee. He bumped me up, like a lascivious uncle playing horsey, and I fell into his lap.

“That’s better,” he said. “Drink up.”

He bent his neck and though I didn’t want to move, I was at too awkward an angle to put my fangs into his artery. Wiggling closer, I put my arms around him.

“Yeah,” said Charlie faintly. “Oh … yeah.”

“What?”

“N-nothing.”

I was hungry, so I dismissed all the weirdness. My fangs descended and I sank them into his flesh. The blood flowing into my mouth tasted like nirvana. Maybe I didn’t like starting or stopping, but imbibing blood was nearly orgasmic.

Then I felt something moving along my buttocks. Something hard. Something growing. Oh. My. God. I wrenched free of Charlie and looked at him in horror. “What are you doing?”

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, going all dopey-eyed. His hand reached toward my breast and I batted it away. He pressed his hard-on against my ass and bucked.

“Stop it!”

“No!” he cried. He grabbed me by the shoulders and stuck his tongue into my mouth. I nearly gagged. 

“Hey, Mom,” said Tamara from the doorway. “You got a visitor.” I heard the sharp intake of her breath and then, “Holy freaking crap. What are you doing to him?”

I pulled away from Charlie’s sloppy kiss and tried to scramble off him, but he held on to me desperately. With my vampire strength, I had the ability to hurt him so I was trying to free myself without breaking his arms. Then, he released me so suddenly, I fell onto the floor.

“What the bloody hell is going on?”

Shock rooted me to the spot as I looked up, up, up into the stormy gaze of Lorcan O’Halloran.