I'm the Vampire That's Why

Chapter 2

“Tis true,” said the man … er, vampire. “But there are ways to find pleasure without making that mistake.”

I asked, “There are?” when I meant to ask: What’s all this about vampire mating, buddy?

My eyes were drawn to him again. I looked at his big feet, lingered on his calves and thighs, dipped to take another look at his … oh lord, had it gotten bigger? I dragged my gaze up to feast on those tight abs and pecs. Brown nipples poked through the curls of silky hair. By the time I got to the strong line of his jaw, the impudent curve of his lips, the aquiline nose, the silver eyes … I was on fire. I burned from the tip of my pinky toes to the tiniest hairs on my head.

“Aye,” the vampire whispered, “there are.”

“There are what?” I sounded hoarse and distant. I wanted to crawl into the Irishman’s lap and kiss every beautiful inch of him.

“Stop that!” The fervent demand issued from the invisible speakers.

I blinked at the sharp tone. The hot, sweet tendrils of desire fell away, leaving me cold and vaguely creeped out. “Okay. What just happened?”

“It’s a long story, Mrs. Matthews,” said the exasperated voice.

I heard a steel scrape then clang, clang, clang. I look at Mr. O’Halloran and nearly fell off the table. He’d put his hands onto his knees and revealed that he was chained to the wall. I hadn’t noticed because, well, I’d been looking at his genitals. That, and the fact he’d concealed his imprisonment by hiding his hands. The chains, maybe as thick as those that secured bicycles, looked too delicate to hold him. Swirls and weird words emblazoned the silver cuffs.

“You’re a prisoner?” I sounded aghast. Given that I had been attacked by a snarling, hairy assailant, died viciously, and woke up munching on an Irish vampire, I had no right to be aghast. All the same, a thread of fear wound through me. “I thought vampires were super-duper strong.”

He chuckled. “We are very strong. But these little beauties,” he shook his arms, “have special charms on them. I cannot break them.”

That Irish lilt was freaking deadly. Forget that whole “glamour” thing where vampires supposedly entranced their victims. Wait a minute. Earlier he’d mentioned magic, too, though I’d been distracted by the whole blood thing. “Special charms? As in…” I wiggled my fingers in a bad sorceress impression.

He nodded. “I had to be bound, love. Because of that ring you’re wearin’.”

On the ring finger of my right hand was the ring I always wore. My grandmother had given it to me just days before she passed on. I looked at it, as if doing so would make clear why the vampire needed chains to protect him from it. “My claddagh ring?”

“It’s a fede,” said the man. “A faith ring. Claddagh rings have hands clasping a crowned heart and have only been around since the sixteenth century. Yours is only the heart. It’s made from the purest silver and it’s very old.”

This was news to me. My family knew the legend of the ring—it was one of the stories always told at holiday gatherings. “My gran said it was crafted by a fairy and given to her true love. The ring granted protection to her lover, but only as long as he remained faithful. He met a beautiful mortal woman and made love to her. So, the ring’s magic turned him into stone. The fairy reclaimed the ring and threw it into the ocean, swearing to never love again. A fish swallowed it and was caught by a poor man, who gifted his wife with it. The man was John McCree. And his wife was Mary McCree. She was my great-great-great-great grandmother.”

“A descendent of Mary McCree,” he said, shaking his head. “And you have the ring. My father was right. About everything.” He nodded to my hand. “If it was a true claddagh ring, do you know that wearing the heart turned inward means your heart is unoccupied?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “Why do you think I wear it like this?” I looked at the silver ring then back at the silver gaze of the vampire. “Why does it bother you?”

“It was mine.” His eyes lost their devilish twinkle for a moment and the sorrow I saw in that blink started my heart tha-thumping wildly.

“It was … yours? You’re kidding.”

“Take it off and look at the inscription on the inside.”

I realized that he had probably examined the ring while I was in La-La Land. “Just because you know there’s an inscription doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

“Mo chroi,” he whispered. “My heart. Believe me when I say that the ring belonged to me.”

“So that makes you the unfaithful lover?”

“No,” he said. “Your quaint family tale is not true.”

“It’s just a story. And it’s just a ring,” I said softly. I looked around the room. Chances were good that surveillance wasn’t limited to audio so I bet there were cameras in here, too. I crawled between his legs, afraid and trembling, and leaned down to whisper, “Can I break the chains?”

“Aye,” he said, “But if you do, I’ll probably fall upon that lovely body of yours and fuck you until you scream with pleasure.”

His blunt words startled me, but probably not in the way he intended. I liked the image created by his rough description and the evidence of how well I liked it trickled between my thighs. “What’s the bad part again?”

His lips curled into a feral smile. “None. But I’m not of a mind to worry about things like accidental mating rituals. Are you?”

Well, yeah. I was horny, not stupid. I backed away, until I got to the end of the steel slab. I sat down with my legs hanging over it, and swung them like an antsy kid at the doctor’s office. I glanced at my fellow inmate, but his face was expressionless. He’d probably had centuries to perfect the ultimate poker face. Hah. Check me out. I’m sitting in a room with a chained vampire that I would, even now, do the horizontal bop with, and everything’s so surreal and strange … I’m dreaming or I’m in hell. Otherwise, I was handling this freaky situation with considerable aplomb.

“My name is Patrick O’Halloran. But you, a thaisce, can call me Patrick.”

“Jessica Matthews,” I said. “Um … thanks for … you know.”

“Saving your life with me own blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Any time, love. Any time.”

My gaze, unable to stop staring at his crotch for more than a minute, delved between Patrick’s thighs just in time to see his penis jump, either involuntarily at the idea of wild, sweaty sex or voluntarily to tease me.

I looked away, my cheeks feeling like I’d stuck my head in the oven and set it on broil. I had a million questions. What had attacked me? Why had these people save my life? Was Patrick O’Halloran dangerous? Why was he prisoner? What did a thaisce mean? And … oh yeah … “Why are you naked?”

“The better to feed you, m’dear.” He pointed between his legs and my gaze roved along his cock. Then I saw his forefinger tapping his inner thigh. “Femoral artery.”

“Riiight. And the major vein in your neck wasn’t good enough because…?”

One black brow winged up and those delicious lips curved into a naughty smile. “Ah. Because then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to get naked.”

“Or get chained to a wall.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why are you scared of my jewelry?”

“I’m not, love, but perhaps you should be. It is foretold that the one who wears the sidhe fede crafted by Brigid herself is my soulmate.”

“What? No way.”

His smile was feral. “Have you known any others in your family to wear it?”

Weirdly enough, no one in my family had worn the ring—not since Mary McCree. My grandmother had worn it on a chain around her neck, which was how all women before her had worn it. When Gran bestowed it on me, she slipped the claddagh onto my finger and said, “Ah. At last.” At the time, I thought she’d meant she was glad to pass along the heirloom to me. But what if she’d meant something else?

The door clicked open. Seconds later, the persnickety voice said, “Come along, Mrs. Matthews. We have a lot to discuss.”

* * *

“Who is Damian?” I asked the fussy little man who sat on the other side of the steel table and stared at me through thick glasses. As soon as I’d slipped through the door, with one last wave to Patrick, I found myself in this room. The differences from the previous space was that it was bigger, it had another handle-less door through which Dr. Michaels had entered, and it had a steel table with two steel chairs.

“Damian is Mr. O’Halloran’s personal guard. He insisted Damian be dispatched to watch over your home while we helped you. I assure you that your children are still in bed asleep.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you because…”

He tapped on the little square object in his hand then faced its tiny screen toward me. I saw a split screen in full color—live camera feeds of Bryan and Jenny, both asleep in their beds. In the top frame, Jenny was splayed in her floppy doll fashion, her little chest rising and falling. Bry had burrowed under the covers, but I saw his usual squirming. The boy never stayed still, not even in sleep.

Somewhat mollified, I nodded and Dr. Michaels put the PDA on the table, tapping on it with the stylus.

“Gee, thanks for asking if you could install cameras in my house.”

“It was necessary,” said Dr. Michaels. “We are implementing measures for your protection.”

“Really? I think we’re a little late on the protection angle here, aren’t we? I’ve already been attacked and killed.”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Matthews, there are other dangers to worry about.”

“You’re just full of good news,” I said.

Dr. Michaels tapped on the electronic device. It looked like the iPod Bryan had been bugging me to get for his fifteenth birthday. Dr. Michaels used the stylus like a painter with his brush. Tap. Tap. Tap. Ping. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Um … hel-lo?”

Dr. Michaels looked up. “Oh. Yes. Right. You must be very frightened.”

“Or really annoyed.”

“Indeed.” He sighed, put down the toy, and folded his hands together. “The creature that attacked you escaped from our transport unit as we arrived in Broken Heart. I find it fascinating that there’s a town called Broken Heart. Is it a Native American reference?”

“No. Much of Oklahoma was Indian Territory, but near the end of the nineteenth century, the government held land runs. Our little piece of sunshine started out as five farms staked by the Boomers.”

At Stan’s blank look, I rolled my eyes. “Boomers are the people who came from all over the place to take place in the land runs. Our area was staked out by five families during the first one held in 1889. One of the farming families was the McCrees. Legend has it that Mary McCree, the wife of Sean McCree, was a witch. When she found her husband cheating on her, it’s said that she cursed this area so that all who entered suffered from broken hearts—then she threw herself into the creek and drowned.”

“That’s terrible.”

“And true. At our peak, when we had almost two-thousand residents, we had the highest rate of divorce as well as the highest rate of single parents in the state of Oklahoma.”

“Some legacy you have, Mrs. Matthews.”

Ah. So the doc had been listening in on the conversation I had with Patrick. Well, I couldn’t begrudge him too much. “Tell me what’s going to happen now that I’m dead.”

He looked at the PDA longingly, as if he’d take dealing with gadgets over humans any day. “Because of Mr. O’Halloran’s blood donation, you should suffer no ill effects or reactions from the, uh, creature’s attack.”

I considered his words. “So what you’re saying is that I shouldn’t worry about turning into the thing that attacked me because Patrick’s blood fixed me.”

“Yes.”

“Glad to know I’m won’t morph into a raving, slobbering lunatic.” But turning into a vampire might not be much better. “Did you catch the monster?”

“Not yet. But rest assured, we will find and contain him.”

“You mean kill him.”

“No, Mrs. Matthews. We were in a delicate experiment phase that required Lorcan to fast.”

“You’re experimenting on animals?” I asked, outraged.

“Of course not. We are trying to cure him of the Taint.” Dr. Michaels obviously noted my blank expression. “It’s a vampire disease. Please don’t worry, Mrs. Matthews. You’re in no danger.” He blanched. “I … uh … well, Lorcan has never harmed anyone. He was very, very hungry when he…” He trailed off as he saw my expression.

Fury rolled through me, so fast and so hot I was fairly sure I could melt the good doctor’s brain with one good stare. It took a second or two before I could formulate a sentence. “Kill. It.”

He looked horrified. “No, no, no. That’s not an option.”

“It damn well is. That beast is not gonna run around my town and eat unsuspecting citizens.” Oh no. No! I felt chilled to the marrow of my bones. “My son. Oh my God. If Bryan had been out there doing his chores, he would’ve…” I could not complete the sentence much less the thought. “You’ve got to kill that thing. Before it hurts another human.”

Dr. Michaels’ pasty skin turned a sickly gray. He was bald, short, and looked like an overfed weasel. His lab coat didn’t do a lot to hide the basketball paunch of his stomach. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Matthews. Killing Lorcan is utterly out of the question.”

We’ll just see about that. What was a Lorcán anyway? If vampires existed then what other kinds of weird critters lived in the world? I craved some reality, damn it. Then it occurred to me that this was reality. My new, awful reality.

“What time is it?” I asked, suddenly weary.

“Just past five a.m. We found you right after—uh, you know. We tried to save you, but I’m afraid you were well past the limits of human medicine. We had to clean you and dress your wounds and take some time to prepare Mr. O’Halloran before the transfusion could take place.”

“Thank you.” The words sounded insincere and damned if I could feel sorry about it. Should I be grateful that these assholes were trying to fix a problem they’d created? I noticed Dr. Michaels’ puckered lips and narrowed eyes. Yeah, I guess so.

I looked down at my expression in the steel table and even though the image was fuzzy, I still could see that I looked … different. My hands and arms were paler than ever. I wasn’t one to loll about in the sun. In the Oklahoma heat, I didn’t leave the house without hat, sunscreen, and Off. Lots and lots of Off. I sighed. Mosquito bites were the least of my worries right now.

“Look, can we get on with the Vamp 101? My day starts in a few minutes. I have breakfast to cook, kids to take care of, a house to clean—what?”

Dr. Michaels was shaking his head. “You’ll be, forgive me, dead to the world the very second the sun peeks over the horizon.”

I absorbed this information. Remember all that considerable aplomb I had earlier? It fled like an exorcised ghost. Numb horror filtered through my bravado, which, up until now, had held out darn well. “I can’t go out in the sunlight?”

“Well, it’s more like your body will shut down until the sun sets. We’ve yet to figure out the biology of a vampire. Their bodies are complex and well, let be honest, illogical.”

“So, the sunlight thing?”

“Oh. Right. Some vampires who’ve been around a while, such as Mr. O’Halloran, can tolerate weak sunlight for limited periods of time, usually right before sunrise or sunset and sometimes during overcast or rainy days. Even though his blood and magic are powerful and you’ve consumed quite a bit of it, you, as a new vampire, wouldn’t be able stick your little finger into the daylight without frying.” His hands formed a mushroom cloud and he made an explosion noise.

“Gee, thanks for the visual.” Panic burbled through me, threatening to dismantle the calm I was clinging to with very fragile fingernails. Okay. Okay. The only thing worse than being undead was being dead. I couldn’t help my kids if I was six feet under so that meant dealing with the present circumstances. “Okay dokay, doc. Then pump me up with whatever’s the equivalent of Jolt for vampires. I don’t care what science thinks about vampire biology. I’m a mother, which means during the day, I’m busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”

Dr. Michaels’ mouth sorta crinkled. I assumed that was his version of a smile. “Mr. O’Halloran is aware of your predicament and has arranged for you to have help during the day.”

Pride snapped my spine straight. “I will not have strangers in my home watching over my children. That’s my job. I am their mother.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’re dead. These are temporary measures until we figure out our next course of action.” He reached over as if he meant to pat my hand, then he obviously thought better of it. “Please don’t worry. Mr. O’Halloran will take care of you and your family from now on.”

My mouth gaped at this news. “What the fu—”

Static issued into the room. “Dr. Michaels? This is Checkpoint Four. We have a visual on Lorcan. We are pursuing.”

The doctor tapped his PDA and peered at its tiny screen. “He’s returning to Sanderson Street?”

“Yes, sir. He appears to be following the first victim’s scent back to her house.”

“First victim?”

Dr. Michaels waved away my screech. “Capture and detain. Use only humane means.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sanderson Street. “That piece-of-shit is going back to my house? My children are there!”

“Please calm down, Mrs. Matthews. We have everything under con—”

Terror turned into unexpected action. I rose in the air like an avenging angel and, with one curled fist, punched through the metal ceiling. It was just like ripping through tin foil. I sprang into the open air of pre-dawn and realized immediately we had been ensconced in a high-tech RV that was, conveniently enough, located in my driveway. I heard yips and snarls behind my house so I pointed myself in that direction and hovered above the roof.

The Lorcan ran through my backyard, heading for the chain link fence. It was bigger, hairier, and uglier than what I had remembered. Thanks to my new senses, I could smell its stench from fifty feet in the air. It nimbly jumped the fence and headed for the forest behind my house. Those woods were tangled knots of gnarled trees and overgrown bushes, dotted by a pond here and there.

Three men dressed head-to-toe in black chased after the monster. They carried wicked-looking guns that probably housed not bullets, but Dr. Michaels’ humane means. My guess? Dart guns filled with knock-out drugs.

I don’t fucking think so.

My babies were asleep, unaware their mother had died, and in danger from the creature that had killed me and maybe others, too. Drug darts weren’t comfort enough for me.

Before the last guy jumped over the fence, I winged toward the beast. If I could fly, then I bet dollars to donuts I had the strength to wrench off its head. I landed in front of it and the thing skidded to a halt, breathing harshly, its muscles bunched and straining against the urge to run.

“Mrs. Matthews!” I heard Dr. Michaels yell. “Please, Mrs. Matthews! Don’t hurt him!”

Weirdly enough, it didn’t fight me as I placed my hands around its neck, with every intention of squeezing until it breathed no more. Silver eyes filled with tears peered at me through a dirty, furry face. I hesitated. Silver eyes? No. It couldn’t be … him. Not Patrick. Had he escaped his chains after all?

“Sorry,” the creature said. “Very sorry. Please…”

The Irish accent was unmistakable, even in those four softly growled words. My hands dropped from its neck as shock knocked the breath out of me. Or, the shock would have done so if I’d had breath. I stepped back, an invitation to the beast that had killed me … and saved me … to pass unharmed.

It nodded formally, a silent thank-you, and fled into the forest. The three men whipped past me, cursing and crashing into the brush. Dr. Michaels grabbed me and hustled me toward the house. “Thank you,” he said, out of breath and in an apparent hurry. “You have no idea what it means for us to capture Lorcan alive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that the Lorcan was … was …” The words slurred. My arms and legs felt heavy, like they were weighed down with anvils. My brain suddenly seemed filled with cotton. I wanted to lie down and sleep. Tired. So tired.

“Hurry, Mrs. Matthews. The sun is rising.” He pushed me over the fence. I felt a rip in both gown and skin, but there was no pain. There was no reason, really, to do anything else but lie down in the soft grass and sleep for a while.

I was vaguely aware of Dr. Michaels grabbing my arms and dragging me toward the house. My ass hit every rock and ant hill in the yard, but I had no strength to help him. I just wanted to be left alone for a few minutes. Mothers never, ever get enough sleep. Was taking a nap so wrong?

“Look,” I muttered, “Isn’t the sunrise beautiful?”

The orange circle shimmered, its top curve rising above the treetops. The sun playfully chased away the last of the night, overtaking the sprinkling of stars still visible.

Then it was suddenly, incredibly, painfully hot.

“Shit!” yelled Dr. Michaels. “Shit!”

My skin rippled and split as it erupted into flames. The last thing I heard was the piercing wail of my own screams.