 
Tales of the Blood Kissed

Seleste deLaney

Tales of the Blood Kissed

# Copyright © 2010-2015 by Seleste deLaney

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2015 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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# Dedication

To the readers who have been with me from the beginning:

Thank you for never letting me give up.

# Author's Note

Hello, readers! Thank you for joining me on this journey into the world of the Blood Kissed. For some of you, a lot of the stories in these pages are old news. There isn't a whole lot I can say other than thank you for loving this world enough to buy them in their new format.

The people who know me best are aware I'm not very good at telling people what to do. I dislike that job and tend to avoid it whenever possible. Bear that in mind for a second, while I tell you what to do.

You see, the stories that follow can be a bit spoiler-y if read in the "wrong" order. If you don't mind spoilers and being introduced to characters without the context of the novels, by all means, do what you want. I can't stop you. (Honestly, I wouldn't even try.) However, if you want to get the most out of your reading experience, I would suggest the following reading order:

1. Of Course I Try

2. The Cost of Love

3. What Have I Done?

4. The Ghost of Vampire Present

5. Kiss of Death (Blood Kissed #1—separate purchase)

6. Birth of the Vampires

7. Devil's Bargain

8. Christmas in Chains

9. Kiss of Life (Blood Kissed #2—separate purchase)

10. Never Underestimate a Bored Vampire

11. Kiss of Eternity (Blood Kissed #3—separate purchase—coming fall 2016)

Note: The Remy Says posts can be read any time, though I would recommend after Kiss of Death, simply so you understand him as a character before diving into his commentary on...anything.

Seleste

# PART ONE: The Story You Know...

Of Course I Try

The Cost of Love

What Have I Done?

The Ghost of Vampire Present

# Of Course I Try

When I came to his house tonight, I'd come to say goodbye. I remember that, even as his hands cup my breasts, squeezing them tenderly and rolling my nipples between his fingers. By the time Max lowers his head and sucks one tightened bud into his mouth, I can't recall why I wanted to leave.

Candles and patchouli incense burn in the room as my body writhes against sage sheets so soft they feel like silk. They aren't, though. I know his silk sheets—they're black. The low light and spicy scent play on my senses, intoxicating me until the room disappears.

All I know are his hands and mouth on my body. Rough and soft. Dry and wet. Cool and warm.

His lips cover mine, and I give myself to the kiss as he reaches down and tugs off my panties. I'm wearing the lace ones. I'd come to say goodbye wearing the black lace panties he loves. But by the time they're gone, I don't consider why I'd do something like that because Max's mouth has left mine and traced a line down my abdomen.

I know I should fight this, but I can't. I don't want to. I want Max—for as long as he'll have me.

Rough hands cup my ass as he wedges my legs apart with his shoulders. Then despite, or maybe because of, the little moans that betray me, his lips travel lower, trailing kisses down to the inside of my thigh. His breath tickles as he hovers there, reaching out his tongue to trace a shape on my skin. It's a heart. I don't know how I know, but I'm sure.

"Please, Max—" A little voice in my head screams that I should finish the sentence with "stop", but I don't. I can't.

A deep chuckle vibrates against my clitoris, making a shiver run all the way to my toes. Then his magical tongue caresses the already sensitive nub, and I cry out. He sucks it into his mouth just to the line where pain and pleasure meet—treading but never crossing over it.

I'm helpless beneath him, a prisoner to my body's yearnings. My back arches off the relative safety of the bed, and Max takes full advantage. With the ease of years of practice, his hands slide beneath me, pulling me closer to him as his tongue delves into me.

I can't think anymore. I can only feel. The pressure of his hands on my ass. The silky motion of his tongue inside me. The rough grazing of his teeth.

My hands clutch at the soft, green sheets, and I ball them in my fists as pleasure rips through me. I've never experienced orgasms like this with anyone else. Only Max. Wave after wave of sensation as my muscles contract around his tongue. It's never stopped moving, never stopped drawing me to my peak.

I cry out his name. The only word that matters. Max.

Soon enough, I can't even feel. Then there is nothing.

When I wake in the morning, everything is hazy. I remember coming over, remember the sex. The incredible, mind-altering sex, but then I'm blank. It isn't the first time.

There's a note on the pillow next to me.

Jocelyn,

I'm glad you came back. You have no idea how much I missed you.

Love forever,

Max

Something clicks in my brain, and I realize it isn't the first time I've read those words either.

***

I met Max the summer after I graduated from Western. My roommates, Kaitlyn and Carri, insisted we go on a taste-tour of all the local wineries before we went our separate ways. On the last day of our trip, storm clouds darkened the sky as we pulled into Fenn Valley. We had just enough time to look around outside before the heavens opened and rain poured down in buckets.

A lot of the older people on the tour turned their noses up at us as we wandered through the cellar, listening to Jim, a stout man with weathered skin and a kind smile, tell us about the winemaking process. We didn't care about the dirty looks for our bedraggled appearance or about the lecture. We'd heard the talk at a dozen other places in the last three days. Plus, Kait, Carri, and I did a much better job of poking fun at each other than anyone else could ever manage with just a look.

So we stood in a tiny knot and giggled at other people. Like the woman who must have stepped in something outside and kept trying to scrape it off her shoe without anyone noticing. And the girl who kept pawing her boyfriend even as he was making eyes at Carri.

We were still laughing when I first noticed the guy standing away from the rest of the group. To be honest, he wasn't really my type. Kait had long accused me of only being attracted to guys who looked like they were bucking for a job as district attorney: suit, neatly trimmed hair, and short, manicured nails. Basically clean-cut, boy-next-door good looking, with brains to match. This guy had long, dark hair that curled slightly where it met his shoulders. And he wore a beat-up leather jacket and jeans that were too ragged to be new, but not ragged enough to be trendy.

I almost turned away, ready to make him the next target of our snark, but then he caught my gaze. Even from across the darkened cellar, I could make out the deep blue of his eyes. Most blue eyes were pale, icy, but not his. I drank in his gaze, my heart beating faster with every second, and I didn't look away until Carri grabbed my wrist and pulled me forward as the tour moved on to the tasting room.

Once we started drinking and laughing again, I forgot about the bad boy with the killer eyes and just focused on my girls. In the morning, Carri was off to Chicago, Kait to Jersey, and me—I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have anything lined up. At worst, I'd go home for a while. But I wasn't worrying about it tonight. This last getaway was for us.

When we were done sampling the wines, I stepped over to Jim and said, "We'd like to get a bottle of the merlot to take with us."

Jim smiled and opened his mouth to respond, but a voice came from behind me instead, deep and rich like melted chocolate.

"You don't want the merlot."

I turned and found myself inches from those impossibly blue eyes. After staring for several long seconds, I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "Why's that?"

"Because the merlot isn't their best." He leaned around me and flashed a dazzling smile at Jim. "No offense."

Jim grunted from behind me. "None taken."

I put my hands on my hips and tried to glare at him, but his eyes and that self- assured, lopsided smile made it hard. "All right, then. What, may I ask, should my friends and I be drinking tonight?"

"Your friends can drink whatever they want, but you should have at least one glass of Cabernet Franc with me." It wasn't a request, but it wasn't an order either—just a suggestion.

My throat dried out, and I had to swallow hard before I could answer him. "Thanks, but I think I'll just take the merlot." I forced myself to turn away from the depths of his eyes and hand Jim my credit card. It took forever for the slip to hit the counter so I could sign it, and all the while, I felt the bad-boy wine critic staring at me.

Gripping the bottle like some sort of life preserver, I turned to go back to my friends. He just nodded at me with the hint of a smile still on his face like he was in on some joke I wasn't privy to.

Irritated, I clenched my jaw and stomped back to Kait and Carri. "Okay, got it. Let's get back to the hotel." I grabbed my coat and started toward the door.

"Whoa, girly, what's your rush?" Carri's hand fell on my arm and pulled me to a stop.

"Yeah," Kaitlyn said, her green eyes dancing. "What did Mr. Tall-dark-and-devilish want to talk to you about? He seemed really intense."

The urge to turn around and look at him one more time sang in my head, echoing until my skull ached. "Wine recs. Why don't you go for it, Kait? He's more your type than mine."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and nodded at something behind me. "Because I think he's pretty intent on his target."

I didn't need to look. Somehow, I could feel him standing there, a whisper of air against my skin like a tiny breeze on a hot summer day. My breath came faster, in little gasps I couldn't stop. This time I wanted to turn around—I needed to see him.

He held two glasses of red wine in perfectly manicured hands—nails trimmed nice and short and buffed until they shone—as if some part of him wanted to fit my ideal while the rest strove to challenge the remainder of my preferences. "I thought maybe you changed your mind about that drink."

Carri leaned close and hissed in my ear, "If you don't say yes, I will personally shave your head while you sleep."

Obviously, neither of them intended to let me forget it if I turned the guy down. "Fine. One drink."

My friends ducked out with our bottle before I could change my mind.

He waved a hand at our abandoned table, and I took a seat. "My name's Max Shaw, and I'm sorry if I upset you when you ordered. I just hate to see people waste money on an inferior vintage."

I didn't want him to be polite. I wanted him to be a jerk, so I could go back to the girls and tell them I shouldn't have stayed. But as he handed me the glass, our fingers touched, and something sparked inside me, heating me to my core. "I'm Jocelyn, Jocelyn Reyes."

Fifteen minutes later, my glass was empty and I bit my lip, wishing I'd sipped it more slowly. He'd said one drink and, now that mine was gone, I didn't want this to end. Something about him made me want to stay here, trapped in this moment, forever. He reached out a hand and ran his fingers along my arm. Gooseflesh sprang up in the wake of his touch, and I craved more —much, much more.

Bad boy looks or not, Max was everything I could have asked for in a boyfriend: sweet, attentive, charismatic. I'd never felt chemistry like I felt with him. If I'd been staying alone, I would have invited him back to my room, even though I never did things like that.

But with our wine gone, he called me a cab, and even paid for it. I didn't want to go, and consoling myself with the idea that meeting him had led to this fabulous mini-date didn't make me feel any better. The memory might last, but the moment had been all too short.

As he held the cab door open for me, he asked if he could see me again. My heart started beating double-time. I barely had the "yes" out of my mouth before he leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. My heart stopped for a second, and everything stood still, as if we were the only two people in the world at that instant, or at least the only two that mattered.

He hadn't stolen a kiss. He'd barely teased at the possibility of one. Yet I felt as if that feather light brush of lips, the mingling of my breath with his... In that moment, my world was irreversibly altered.

Later, I would try to convince myself that Carri's threat pushed me to say yes to Max that night, but it was a lie. I wanted to say yes, wanted to from the first moment I stared into his eyes across the winery and my blood started racing.

***

Every time I manage to break away from Max and meet someone new, the memory of how we met invades my mind, reminding me how good things were. I remember the bliss of that first night, the next weekend when we met for a candlelight dinner, a month later when he took me away for the weekend...

Even now, standing at the bar with Greg, I can't stop thinking about how perfect things with Max were once upon a time. I have to force myself to shake off the memory.

I left Max two weeks ago; I want to move on, and Greg is a nice guy. Perfectly starched, button-down shirt, hair that would pass military inspection. Just the type I've always gone for—and I'm bored out of my mind.

He's in the middle of some story about the intricacies of injection molding and hasn't even noticed that I tuned out for a while. "—and then they pull out this enormous wad of plastic that had melted in the machine and totally gummed up the works. Some old woman swears it looks like Jesus and insists we let her take it to her church to be blessed." Greg laughs, his dimples like shadowy caverns in his cheeks. Max doesn't have dimples. I should like Greg better for them, but I don't. "And the next day, her pastor shows up to bless the fucking machine."

The couple next to us cracks up, and Greg lifts his glass to take a long swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Well, did it?" I ask.

Beer foam coats his upper lip when he lowers his glass, then drips down the side of his mouth. I have absolutely no urge to kiss it away. If it was Max, I would have, and there'd have been no resisting at all. I close my eyes to banish the thought. When I open them, Greg's wiped the foam off.

"Did it what?"

"Did it look like Jesus?" Even I don't know if I'm serious or not, but Greg looks at me like I've grown a second head. He turns away and starts talking to his friend. Who am I kidding? This date was over before it started. I should know better than to let my mom set me up.

An icy chill runs down my spine. It feels like someone is staring at me. Before I can turn around, a guy on the barstool behind me leans my way and says, "I thought it was funny, and a valid question."

As I turn, I wonder if it was his breath that tickled the nape of my neck and made me shiver. He's like a taller, older version of the actor I crushed on when I was little.

"Thanks, but I don't think everyone agrees." I stick my hand out. "I'm Jocelyn."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Chad." He leans in closer. "Any chance you're willing to ditch the lame plastic stories for a while and dance with me?"

Closing my eyes, I revel in the feel of his breath on my skin. If he stayed like that for the rest of the night, I'd be happy. I haven't felt this alive for two weeks, not since...

Oh my God. He smells like Max. My heartbeat speeds.

It's just cologne. You always thought it was Max, but it's cologne. It means nothing.

Desperate for distance from the lingering scent of sandalwood and vanilla, I pull back. Chad's eyes are a rich hazel, nothing like the bottomless blue of Max's, and I stare into them, feeling nothing more than a gentle tug of attraction—likely intensified by nothing more than comparison to the dullness of my date.

"I doubt he'll even notice I'm gone," I say, inclining my head toward Greg, who is once again engrossed in conversation with someone else.

Chad's fingers wrap around mine, and he tugs me onto the dance floor. The beat is techno and pulsating. As we dance, the lights swirl around me, and my body floods with heat and throbs in time to the music. The reaction is strange, too intense. I'm lightheaded, dizzy, yet I feel as if I'm floating rather than dancing. I lean closer to Chad, desperate for something stable, something solid.

Did he slip drugs into my drink? No. Chad didn't buy me a drink yet, and if Greg dosed me, he wouldn't have let me get away. Maybe I've just had too much.

I vow to stick to water, but I know something is wrong. The press of gyrating bodies sets my skin on fire, yearning to be touched more. More firmly. More intimately. Just more.

Someone bumps against my shoulder, and the floor shifts beneath me, world spinning in an electric dance of light and sound. I fall against Chad, and he holds me up by my arms as I suck in gasping breaths—hungry for air that seems to have vanished from the bar.

"Are you all right?" His voice sounds far away.

I shake my head as fear grips my heart. What is wrong with me?

"Jocelyn." The voice is barely a whisper, but it slices through all the other sound around me.

There was no urgency in it, but the one word carries a tone of command I cannot ignore. I raise my head, but there's no need for me to look around.

Max is directly in my line of vision, leaning against the far wall. It's as if the sea of people between us parted just so I could see him clearly. His hair is brushed back from his face, falling in a curtain against his shoulders. The smile that crosses his lips is both predatory and possessive.

I clutch Chad's sleeves, knowing if I let go of him I won't just walk to Max. I'll run to him.

"What is it? Do you need to sit down?" Chad's voice is still muffled, like we're not really in the same room.

I shake my head. Sitting down won't do any good. I need to leave. I need to—

Then he's there beside me, and I'm trapped by those crystal clear blue eyes. "Jocelyn."

My mind traces the curve of his jaw, the full bow of his lips. I don't even have to look at his face. I've memorized all his features. The way they look, the way they feel against every bit of my flesh.

"Max." My voice squeaks out.

He shifts his gaze toward Chad. "I believe the lady has other plans for the evening."

I'm still clinging to Chad's shirt and feel his muscles go hard beneath my fingers. He turns to me and says, "Is that what you want?"

I feel Chad's eyes on me, but I can't look away from Max. He doesn't touch me, but he doesn't have to. I ache for his touch, for him. Only now do I realize why I've felt so empty the past two weeks. I need Max. "Yes," I whisper.

Chad tenses further, and testosterone permeates the air, making it heavy, electric. I risk a glance at him, terrified Max might disappear. While Max stands there, calm, stoic even, Chad's mouth turns up in a snarl, like he's ready to fight for me. That won't end well. I've never seen Max exhibit violent tendencies, not ever. But somehow I know Chad won't win that fight, and he'll be left with a very painful reminder of the evening.

Max doesn't take the bait; his lips simply curl into a smile. "I believe Jocelyn said she wanted to go with me. I suggest you take your leave." The beat of the music changes, and he lays a hand on my arm.

Heat courses through me, pooling between my legs.

Chad turns his gaze on me, then glances at the arm Max is holding and gives a laugh that sounds like a snort. "Whatever. Seems you've staked your claim." He shakes his head and draws away.

When he steps back, I stagger again, but Max catches me, sweeping me up into his arms. I press against him, too weak to stand, but too hungry for his touch to stay still.

***

The sex is everything I remember and everything I don't. My mind cloaked in a euphoric haze, I lay my head on his chest, matching my breathing to its rise and fall. For the moment, I am blissfully happy. I don't wonder why I left. I don't even think about it. I'm here now—the past no longer matters.

"Welcome home, Jocelyn," he whispers into my hair, and joy floods my heart. His lips brush the top of my head, sending tingles of anticipation down my spine.

He wants me. He really wants me.

I'm exhausted, but if he starts to touch me again, I won't say no. I can't imagine ever saying no.

"This is home?" Some part of me wonders why I don't remember it that way. The black sheets beneath us are soft and familiar, but I know they aren't mine.

His arm wraps tighter around me, strong and sure and safe. "This will always be your home. You know I want you to stay here with me."

Something in his words sticks in my brain, but I can't quite place what it is, and I'm so comfortable that all I want to do is curl up next to this wonderful man and sleep until the sun shines through the edges of his heavy curtains to wake us.

Candles flicker and the last remnants of incense coat the air as Max starts to sing a quiet tune in some other language. Spanish? Italian? The words and language might not be clear, but the tone is—my love is singing me to sleep in the cradle of his arms.

***

Morning, as it always does, comes too soon, and I feel weak, still exhausted from our lovemaking. I stretch, the black silk sheets rustling beneath me, and reach out to find empty air. He's gone. My heart stops, his absence like a weight crushing my chest. I have a vague memory that it is always this way. Gone before I awake —off to work, or wherever he goes.

My fingers brush against a piece of paper, and though I feel my brow wrinkle, I'm not surprised.

Jocelyn,

I'm glad you came back. You have no idea how much I missed you.

Love forever,

Max

I sit up and stare at the room. The candles. The silk sheets. The heavy curtains blocking most of the sun.

The note.

Does he even write a new one? Or is it the same piece of paper as all the other times?

I swallow hard. This isn't my home, and I sure as hell can't stay here.

***

There is nothing about this house that makes it any different from hundreds of others across America. But that's only because secrets aren't secrets unless they're hidden.

With a sigh, I twist the handle and push open the heavy oak door, knowing it's never locked. A single, hesitant step, and I cross the threshold into the foyer. Tremors race through my limbs as I look around. Nothing strange or out of place. I could be in any house in the country. The table between the door and coat rack holds a bowl filled with change and a set of keys. A living room in muted earth tones lies on the left, empty of anything except its modest furnishings. In front of me, a hallway beside a set of stairs covered in plush beige carpeting leads to the kitchen.

Plain. Ordinary. Simple. All the best lies are.

My hands shake as my fingers trail on the table. I don't want to be here. Pretty much anything else would be less terrifying than setting foot in this house again.

But even now, a part of me wants to yell out. To announce my presence. Let him know I'm here like I've done so many times since we first met. A simple glass of red wine. Then more and more red followed, until I would have done anything and everything he asked.

But I can't speak the words. Not today. Not this time. My throat won't even work to form the sounds required for speech.

Cool night wind surges against my back, and I shiver. The cold is just an excuse. It doesn't make me tremble; the memories are more than adequate for that. I nudge the door closed and wince as the latch clicks into place. The sound seems to echo up and down the hall and stairs, broadcasting my entrance louder than if I had called out.

Before I even lift my gaze, I know he's there—watching me. Can he tell how nervous I am? See me shaking? My heart is pounding so hard, it threatens to erupt from my chest. Can he hear it? My eyes still glued to the solidity of the table, I steady myself against the door and take a deep breath before glancing up.

Six feet of sculpted beauty stands at the top of the stairs. Now I don't want to look anywhere else. His dark, wavy hair is tousled as if he has just climbed out of bed. The loose blue lounging pants and missing shirt don't conflict with the image. His chest muscles flex as he raises his hands and runs them through his hair. "Jocelyn. I wasn't expecting you."

My breath catches, and I fight the urge to turn and run back out of his house. I also do battle with the opposing impulse to rush up the stairs and fall into his arms like I've done so many times. "Hello, Max. I... I... needed to see you."

A smile catches at the corners of Max's mouth and he starts down the stairs, his footsteps the barest whisper on the carpet. "I'm very happy to hear that. I have missed you."

I haven't been away that long. Barely enough days to get him out of my system so I can see straight—see him for what he really is. And still I want him—want him badly enough that I consider abandoning this plan altogether. He's the only man I've ever really loved—the only one I ever wanted. Without Max, my world will lose its brightness, its joy, its life. Without him, what will be left of me?

His fingers caress my cheek and tip my chin up until I have little choice but to stare into his eyes. The pools of azure beckon to me, begging me to lose myself in them. I blink hard, squeezing my eyes shut against the sight, and say, "Is it a bad time?" My eyes drift open, and I can look at him again without drowning. "I mean, it's been a while for us. Do you have... company?" I try not to choke on the word and all its implied meaning.

Max steps close and brings his lips to my ear. He breathes the words. They ghost over my skin, haunting my mind. "No one else has shared my bed since the day I met you."

The pounding of my heart grows faster, and I feel blood rush through me. My head spins, intoxicated by his words, his voice, his touch. I can't do this. I thought I could, but I just can't.

His mouth grazes my neck. If he hadn't known how hard and fast my pulse raced before, he knows now. When he pulls back, the smile has spread fully across his face, revealing those impossibly white teeth. They shine in the dim light of the foyer, begging me to look at them, run my tongue along them. "Why don't you come in?" He gently pulls my hand off the door and leads me into the living room.

I follow him and tell myself it's because I need to, but I know better. I follow because I'm powerless to do anything else.

We sink into the plush chocolate sofa, his arm around my waist, holding me close.

Get control of yourself, Jocelyn. You're letting him take charge again.

Under the pretense of seeing him better, I edge a couple inches away, giving myself room to breathe. "Max, we need to talk."

His eyes sparkle, and his lips close, but the smile never leaves his face. The one that I've kissed more times than I can remember. It tastes of honey and decadence. "Of course, Jocelyn. Whatever you wish." He spreads his hands wide, releasing me.

Maxmillian Shaw, an open book. Right. I've believed that before.

Even as I think it, his eyes draw me in again. I force myself to look down, examine my chipped manicure, the one fingernail I haven't been able to stop biting since I left him this last time. "We can't keep doing this, Max."

He tilts his head to the side, examining my face. "Doing what, Jocelyn? Sitting here together?" He chuckles—a deep, throaty sound that makes my blood rush to places I really don't want it to go. Not now, not this time. "We could move to the bedroom, of course, but you seem nervous. I thought this would be preferable—for now."

"No, Max. Us. It keeps happening again and again." My hands start to shake. As covertly as possible, I tuck them under my legs before he notices and uses the tremors as an excuse to touch me again. "I keep falling for you. It doesn't matter if I run away, I always come back. Not just once. I can't stop. It happens over and over again."

Great, Joce, repeating yourself makes you sound really pulled together.

"And this is a problem? I like the way you keep coming back to me." He laughs again as he puts his hand on my thigh. I want him to move it, but even as I think about scooting away, I can feel his magic working on me. His hand is warm, and it fits me so well in so many places.

No!

Frantic, I yank one of my hands from beneath me and shove his fingers off my lap. "You don't get it. I try to stay away. I try to forget about you. But it happens anyway." Damn it, I did it again. "It isn't in my control. You've taken that away —stolen my choice. You keep making me fall in love with you." It's not just my hands shaking anymore, my whole body has started trembling, and I can't make it stop.

"And I manage this little feat, how did you put it? Again and again?" He laughs as he slides closer and runs his fingers down my arm.

Little electric shocks travel through my skin with his caress, and all I want is for him to touch me more. To stroke me everywhere.

No. I'm not letting him do this again.

"It's not even something you have to work at. You don't try, do you?" My voice starts to quaver, and I know I'm losing control. It won't be long before I'm too far gone to care what he does to me. "You just can't help it." His eyes draw my gaze again, and I want to sink into their blue depths. I don't care if I drown this time.

Is it too late already?

"Of course, I try, Jocelyn. I love you and want you with me so I can keep you safe. That's why you're here." He leans in and his full, soft lips press against mine.

Honey so sweet I want to taste it forever.

I'm losing the fight, and I'm powerless to stop myself. My arms wrap around him as if they have a will of their own, and I return the kiss without really meaning to. Fingers wrap in my hair and pull me closer. I open my mouth, wanting to taste more of him, and his tongue darts between my lips. I moan and twine my own around his, losing myself in the sensation of having him close again. He starts to pull back, and as I slide my tongue from his mouth, it runs over his teeth.

My eyes shoot open and I remember.

Max stands and tugs me to my feet. Wrapping his arm around me, he whispers into my hair, "Should we take this discussion upstairs?"

He kisses my face and lets his mouth trail down my neck, pausing there as I say, "You do try? To make me love you?" My vision blurs again and the room starts to spin.

I feel his lips curl into a smile against the side of my neck. "Yes, Jocelyn, every time you leave, I will make you love me again." He kisses my neck once more and my knees go weak, threatening to collapse under me.

The need to have him races through my body, moisture and heat pooling between my legs. I want to go upstairs and surrender, let him take me, regardless of where it will lead.

No. No more.

I whisper, "I was afraid you would say that."

I shove him away from me as hard as I can. He tumbles back to sprawl on the couch, and in the split second before I leap on top of him, his brows pull together in confusion. But there isn't time for pity or remorse. The cycle has to be broken. I reach into my back pocket, and my arm swings in a wide arc, thrusting the pointed wooden stake into his chest.

Max reaches up and wraps his hands around my wrists, pushing more of his energy into me even as I shove the stake harder against his grip, forcing it inch by inch toward his heart.

"Jocelyn, stop," he says, his voice calm, entrancing. "You don't want to do this."

"You're right. I don't." I want to stop; I want everything to be magical again. But I know it's a lie. It was always a lie.

My eyes well with tears, and one falls as I blink, landing on his glorious mouth. The lips I want to kiss again. I lean in, and he smiles, opening for me.

Then I see his fangs. The ones I remember piercing my neck and my wrist and my thighs. Knowing soon I won't have any strength left to fight him, I push on the stake one last time and a sob escapes my throat.

His eyes grow wide for a second—just before his body turns to dust—and I collapse on the now empty couch. The two small holes in my neck from his last kiss close up, and I wipe the tiny drops of blood off with the back of my hand. The tears fall freely for the pile of dust before me.

"I'm sorry, Max. But no matter how much I care about you, I don't want to be the dinner you love forever." The stake slips from my fingers, and I turn, walking out of this plain, old, ordinary house for the last time.

# The Cost of Love

When she steps through the door, I know something has changed. I'm not even downstairs with her, but the air feels different, heavier with the weight of knowledge. My teeth grind together as I close my eyes. What a fool I've been, living this crazy dream. I have no choice now; it has to end.

She shuts the door quietly behind her as I crack my neck and square my shoulders. Tonight leaves no room for weakness. Stepping to the top of the stairs, her beauty catches me once more: hair a curtain of gentle brown waves, eyes dark and mysterious, full lips I long to taste, all of that topping curves like I've never seen on another woman. Her head tips up and she stares at me.

"Jocelyn. I wasn't expecting you."

"Hello, Max. I...I...needed to see you."

Of course she does. With more control than I should have left, I stride calmly down the stairs. "I'm very happy to hear that. I have missed you." It's not a lie either. Every time she leaves it tears at the tattered remains of my soul, and I know the real reason I keep her here, keep her ignorant. My fingers caress her cheek and tip her chin up. She is so soft, so pure, so very much more than I ever deserved.

The absurd question of if I'm seeing someone else crosses her lips and I'm tempted to kiss the notion away. Instead, I lean in and do what I must, whispering the truth in her ear along with the magic. Just enough to make her forget what she knows. I should do more.

If she forgets everything we can start fresh. But I don't want her to lose the months we've had together, and I don't want to give them up either.

My mouth can't resist grazing over her neck as I pull away, and her pulse jumps under my touch, so close I have to force myself not to bite her. Instead I draw her into the living room.

Shying away from me on the couch, she announces, "We can't keep doing this, Max."

My heart sinks; it's worse than I imagined. A little magic won't fix this. I have to push harder, but I don't want to risk it. I can't. So I try to tap her mind lightly again as I spout nonsense answers to her concerns, less worried about my words than the impact of the magic. With each reply, I force the power into my voice, but I know I'm holding back, afraid of what I'll lose if I go too far.

I touch her, sending tiny shockwaves of magic through her skin, but still she fights. Finally, she catches my gaze, and I can feel her succumbing. With a sigh of relief, I close the distance between us and press my lips to hers—relishing the joy of having her with me once more. My fingers twine in her glorious hair as our tongues dance.

My Jocelyn.

I pull her to her feet and ask her to come upstairs, wanting to show her exactly how much I love her. Once she's calm, we can move forward, repair the damage I've done. Then she asks something that must have made sense in the conversation we had, the one I'd paid no attention to since I'd been too busy trying to make her temporarily forget what I am. "You do try? To make me love you?"

Somewhere in my mind, the conversation is locked away, but the question seems so silly given our circumstances that I smile as my lips travel down her neck, tugging gently on the skin in the way I know drives her wild. "Yes, Jocelyn, every time you leave, I will make you love me again."

I can feel her pulse racing, smell her need as it pools between her thighs, and I'm ready to sweep her in my arms and take her to the bedroom.

Every muscle in her body stiffens. "I was afraid you would say that." The force of her hands on my chest is so unexpected I step back and fall onto the couch.

She's on me in an instant, a stake in her hand, as the acrid stench of fear once more mingles with her desire. The pain as the wood enters my chest annihilates everything else. My vision blurs, and I have to force myself to remember it's Jocelyn on top of me—the woman I love. I can't hurt her.

"Jocelyn, stop," I say, my hands on her wrists, barely holding her back from piercing my heart. The magic is failing me; she's too sure, and I'm in too much agony. My fangs elongate as I fight the urge to lash out at her and save myself. "You don't want to do this."

"You're right. I don't." She stops pressing down on the wood as her eyes meet mine.

For a brief second, I grasp at the hope that I've fed her enough of the power. She's leaning in to kiss me. I smile and let go of her wrists, reaching to pull her closer, the pain dissipating with the knowledge I can keep her safe for another day.

Then, without warning, her face hardens and she pushes one last time on the wood embedded in my flesh.

The instant it touches my heart, the world slows down. I see her face and the fury painted on it in the twist of her lips and the fire in her eyes. The knowledge that I'm about to die hurts less than it should.

The expression on her face has killed me already.

# What Have I Done

I make it out the door and to my car before the shakes hit me. The keys tumble from my grasp as I try to put them in the ignition, clinking against the steering column before they fall onto the floorboards. I should pick them up, leave, do something. But I can barely think, much less move.

Denial takes a breath and screams, "He's not really dead!" But I know better—I felt his body disintegrate beneath my hands. I don't get the luxury of pretending.

My eyes turn toward his house—a place that had been my refuge whenever the rest of the world became too much. More than the house, though, he'd been my savior, my protector, my everything. And I'd shoved a stake into his heart.

"Oh God, what have I done?"

Now, looking at the house, knowing he's dead, I can't even explain why I did it. Why I was so sure he had to die. The only bad thing Max had ever really done was hide the truth. He lied. He'd done it with magic to make me forget what he was—but look what I'd done with that knowledge. I hadn't even given him a chance to explain himself, to make things right.

The pain and horror choke me, sucking the life from my body more thoroughly than Max ever did. I claw at the door handle, wanting to go back inside, absurdly thinking I can take it back somehow.

When I finally connect with the handle, I don't pull it. That simple press of flesh against metal brings reality crashing down. My body sags against the door, the glass cool on my cheek.

I killed him. Regardless of what he was, I killed the man I loved. I have no right to go back in his home. I've betrayed everything it stood for.

I am alone...and it's my fault.

A sob catches in my throat; I'm too weak to even cry. Light and color are leeched from the world with every breath, bathing me in darkness and despair. I stare at the house, willing it to come back to life, but knowing in my heart it can't happen. I murdered the only man I've ever loved, took the very life that gave everything in my own meaning.

With him gone, I want to die, too.

Daylight comes and darkness falls, and still I sit and wait. Hoping for some sort of miracle, because if vampires are real, if what he did to my mind is real, then surely the magic to save him exists somewhere.

But if it does, I don't know how to find it. All I want is to join him, but the cold, hard truth is death is too good for me now.

# The Ghost of Vampire Present

## Chapter One

I've dreamt of Max almost every night since I killed him. Sometimes I see him in the shadows of the winery where we first met, other times he's leaning over me as we make love, and sometimes...sometimes I see the expression on his face as I drive the stake into his chest—the moment my Prince Charming in black leather turned to dust. It plays over and over in my mind until I wake with tears soaking my pillow.

I can handle those dreams. They hurt like hell when I wake up, but I can deal. I made peace with the decision to kill Max months ago.

Sure I did. It's why I sleep with a stake under my pillow every night. Why the scent of sandalwood and vanilla still makes me seek him out in a crowd. Why I hear his voice whispering to me when my apartment is quiet.

Yet, even with all of that, I can forget about Max if I try hard enough.

Whatever happened last night won't go away, though. Even standing in the glow of the sun on Christmas morning isn't erasing it from my head. Instead, the damp chill from outside holds me in its grip.

Yeah. It's the weather. Of course it is.

My old roommate and college partner-in-crime, Kaitlyn, brought me imported coffee for Christmas, but wrapping my hands around the steaming mug and inhaling the rich undertones of cinnamon and nutmeg does little to warm me. Icy fingers trail up and down my spine, occasionally reaching for places where only one person is allowed to put their hands these days. I shiver, hoping to shake off the dread.

Kait will make this better. She's crazy good at fixing my mental ailments, or at least making them bearable. Why she decided on law school, I'll never figure out. She would have made a perfect therapist—sex or otherwise. Of course, a year and a half into her post-grad and she's loving all the legal mumbo-jumbo, too, so who am I to judge?

Besides, if we get too far into it she'll ask how I'm spending my free time. I might get away with the running and even the hand weights I keep around the apartment. Maybe. But if I mention my self-defense and martial arts classes, she'll know something is up. I never cared about athletics in school—didn't fit in with the whole damsel-in-distress act I had going on while hoping for some knight in shining armor to come sweep me off my feet during our years at Western Michigan University. All those hours over the past few months trying to change into a fighting machine doesn't mean I'm great at any of it now, but I'm quicker and stronger than back then.

Fortunately, time, distance, and all my life changes didn't kill our friendship. When Kait showed up earlier in the week, I'd been insanely happy to see her, and we'd invited our other roommate, Carri, to come out with us last night since she was back in Michigan visiting family, too. Even though it was Christmas Eve, we'd had a girl's night to rival those from senior year. A year and a half apart hadn't changed anything between us. We fell right back into step.

However, I'm beyond relieved Carri didn't spend the night. While Kait will inherently understand I need advice, Carri would have joked. I don't need sarcasm and belittling. Not on Christmas Day, not in the shadow of last night.

So I wait, coffee in hand, for the pattering of the shower to disappear and Kait to come out for the day. Flipping through the calls I missed while we were partying last night, I groan. Ten from my mother. At least she only left one voicemail; I play it.

"Hello dear, I just wanted to remind you to be here no later than two tomorrow. Schedules are important, you know. Oh, and your father mentioned something about an announcement. I sincerely hope you plan to tell us you found a job that uses your degree so you don't have to keep taking whatever you can find. But do keep it brief. Merry Christmas. See you tomorrow."

I touch the screen, deleting the message.

Keep it brief? I'd love to, Mom. Too bad I have no clue what you're talking about. Nothing new there. We haven't understood each other since I was little and she read me stories about princesses and happily-ever-afters. Maybe that's why I've never let go of the idea it could happen to me. Why I took a chance first on Max, and now on Chad.

Outside my apartment window, snowflakes dance in the air, light and swirling, in no hurry to reach their destination. There'd been about an inch on my tiny patio the night before, but now a sparkling blanket covered it in white, erasing every last hint of a sunnier time. A time of happy dreams. A time free of vampires.

I stand far from the glass, still afraid of what might be waiting on the other side. As hard as I try to force myself to get over my paranoia, to walk to the door, yank it open, and take in the picture-perfect day, I can't. I know the damn things that go bump in the night are real, and I'm not altogether certain they aren't out there in the long, early morning shadows just waiting for me to do something stupid. Another shiver races down my spine, curling at its base and holding on for dear life.

## Chapter Two

"So...your dead grandma came to you in a dream?" So much for Kait not making jokes—to her, sarcasm is the highest form of humor. The way her eyebrows reach for the sky makes it obvious she isn't taking this seriously. At all.

"Fine, yes, it sounds stupid when you put it like that, but Grandma barely talked to me when she was alive." It never really bothered me much as a kid since she was kind of weird, but now all those sideways looks and whispers are stacked with meaning. "I think it might have been because my mom thought she was crazy, but still. Why would the grandmother I had zero relationship with show up in my messed-up dream?"

Kait tucks her short blond hair behind her ears and sips her coffee, her eyes rolling and slipping shut as she inhales the rich aroma. "I don't know, doll. Why don't you tell me the whole thing from start to finish?"

I squirm in my seat and pray to God that Kait doesn't see me doing it. There are things she doesn't know, can't know because she'll never understand. If I tell her the dream, will she manage to see the tiny grain of truth in it amongst all the rest? And if there's more truth than I realize....

She taps a cherry red fingernail against her mug, the sound more soothing than it should be just because it's so normal...so human.

This is Kait. Nice, logical Kait. The one in law school, destined to become some high-priced lawyer in a posh office with a killer view. Her world has no room left for the odd, much less the supernatural. Even if I tell her my dead grandmother's ghost appeared to me and threw things around my room when I refused to talk to her, Kait would insist it was a dream and any evidence of a violent specter nothing more than me sleepwalking or thrashing around in my bed.

Sucking in a deep breath, I make my decision and only the smallest part of me wonders if I won't regret it someday. I set down the coffee mug, my icy hands having already leeched the heat from it, and shove my hair off my face.

"I realized it was a dream from the get-go because, like I said, Grandma never talked to me when she was alive...."

***

"Wake up!" a shrill voice commands.

I bolt upright, startled from a dream involving a castle and riding a horse bareback, and blankets tumble from shoulders covered with nothing but thin spaghetti straps. My breath comes out in tiny puffs of condensation as I yank the blankets back up. My eyes dart around, searching for whatever woke me. Where my clock should be is another black space in the darkness.

Another power outage. Fabulous.

"Damn it, girl, get some clothes on. If you're dressed in nothing but a nightgown when they get here, you'll never survive the night."

My head jerks toward the sound. There she stands, at the foot of my bed, the tiny slip of a woman I'd barely known but recognize instantly by her glowing white curls and delicate features. Grandma Cooper. Even her dress is familiar because my mother had said it was in poor taste to bury the dead in white. Makes them look washed out. But even the choice of her funerary outfit had been part of Grandma's will, and though we didn't know it until she died, Grandma spent a lot of money to have lawyers who made sure every instruction was followed to the letter.

My mouth goes dry and my fingers shake as they reach beneath my pillow. Sure, I know her on sight, but she still shouldn't be here. And that means a weapon isn't the stupidest idea ever. But, if I turn my head to the side at all, she disappears as if she'd never been there in the first place. Only when I look straight at her does she have substance, her body catching enough of the moon's light coming through the window to be visible against the darkness. And apparently with enough solidity that next time she speaks, her hands grip the covers and jerk them right off me.

"I told you to get dressed! Chop, chop!"

For a long minute, I sit there shivering in my nightie and staring at the blankets in her hands. "But...but...you're dead." Please don't say vampire. As I think it, I realize she can't be one. Regardless of whatever else they can do, I'm pretty sure vamps can't disappear without moving.

"As a damn doornail. It doesn't change the fact you messed with the way of things, and the time has come for you to face some hard facts." Her eyes actually twinkle as she smiles. "And I've been waiting a lot of years to help you figure all this out. Now, time's a-wasting. Get up and put on some damn clothes."

She's the antithesis of the fairy godmother I'd always wished for. All she needs now is a lit cigar between her fingers to totally bastardize that particular childhood fantasy. By this point, I already know I'm dreaming. I mean, shit like this doesn't happen, right? I banish the idea that I shouldn't have watched my boyfriend turn to dust when I shoved a stake into his heart either, and instead, I do what any sane person would do when they want out of a dream—listen to the ghost. I get my ass out of bed and go to the closet. Then I grab my heavy terrycloth robe and start to slip it on.

"Oh no you don't. Trust me when I say you're going to want something a little more versatile." She yanks my flannel-lined jeans and a thick, green cable-knit sweater from the depths of the closet and hands them over.

When the power comes back on, I'll roast, but I'm not about to argue with a dream-ghost. Then again, no electricity means no light, and since Max, I'm not very fond of the dark anymore. After tugging the clothes on, I say, "Fine. I'm playing along, but I refuse to do this with the lights out. So if you don't mind, could you magic-up some electricity or something?"

She snorts. "No, but the power's coming back on soon enough. I have it on good authority." She waves me toward the living room. Once we're sitting— me curled up in the papasan, her slouching on the couch—she says, "Your mother never believed me about you. She said I was nothing but a crazy old woman with too much time on her hands to fantasize."

"Wonder how often she says it about me," I mutter. Mom has never made any bones about the fact she thinks I'm wasting my life or that my insistence on waiting for Mr. Right is part of the problem. Then again, she hadn't approved of Max, so maybe she had a point.

"Not nearly as much as she said it about me. After all, you don't tell her all your secrets." Grandma winks at me, her face suddenly looking years younger. "When she was a girl, I made the mistake of thinking she was the one, and I told her all of mine. She would've locked me up when she was fifteen if she could have."

"And she wasn't 'the one'? Whatever the hell that means." I couldn't help but wonder how Mom would feel about not measuring up to what Grandma expected. Maybe it would've made her go easier on me. I doubted it though. Especially since I don't have a clue what she's talking about.

"Ha! Hell no. I wasn't entirely sure it was you either, but then I saw how they treated you." The power kicks on then, everything whirring back to life. She waves a hand, almost as if she has done it by magic. "Everywhere you went, at least one was around. When you started your cycles, hoowee, then it was like sharks circling prey. Of course, they never really knew it was you specifically. They could just sense something special, and it drew them. But I knew."

"Knew what? And why is there always a mysterious 'they'? Who the hell are 'they' anyway?" Apparently, dream-me tends toward the bitchy and sarcastic. I kind of wish I could drag her out into the real world upon occasion.

"Knew you were special to them. To the vampires."

I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking her from view and praying when I open them, she'll be gone. Even with the wish firmly in mind, I can't stop myself from saying, "What vampires?"

She laughs, the sound half-snort, half-smoker's cough. "Most likely all of them. But you better get your little ass ready because three are planning to visit you tonight."

I gape at her and, when a word finally comes out of my mouth, it doesn't exactly make much sense. "Three?" Because, you know, one or two would be perfectly normal.

"Are you deaf, girl? Yes. I said three: one from your past, one from your present, and one you haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet."

"But—"

"Don't interrupt; this is too important. One and only one can be trusted. When he comes to you, do what he asks. Your choices tonight can alter the fate of humanity, so for once in your life listen to your elders and don't be stupid."

Grandma's image starts to fade, her features barely outlined against the white paint covering my walls. "Who? Which one do I trust then?" I try to grab her, to hold her here longer, but my fingers catch on nothing but mist.

Part of me wants to scream for her to come back, but I know it won't work. Dreams never follow what the sleeper wants. So I swipe away my frustrated tears and huddle on the papasan, waiting for the first of my visitors.

## Chapter Three

At some point, the heat must have made the dream-me doze off, because the caress of fingers brushing hair from my forehead stirs me from sleep. My eyes still closed, I turn toward the gentle touch, wanting—no—needing more. Then the soft strains of a lullaby, in a language I'd confirmed was Italian months earlier, reaches my ears.

Lucciola lucciola, gialla gialla

metti la briglia alla cavalla

che la vuole il figlio del re

lucciola lucciola vieni con me.

Every muscle in my body goes rigid as my sleepy brain works through a simple translation: Firefly, come with me....

No. Not again. He shouldn't be here. Not like this. I've rid my life of him, and this is nothing like the other dreams.

"Haven't forgiven me yet, I see," Max's deep baritone growls over my head, the sound still touching me intimately even though every syllable is filled with disappointment.

My eyes fly wide open, but I can't see him unless I turn. Fear keeps me frozen in place. "No," I whisper, the word barely squeaking out. The fact that just hearing his voice makes my heart flutter terrifies me.

He sighs, his breath ghosting over my ear and neck. I shiver, remembering the touch of his mouth all too clearly, and still craving it regardless of what he'd done to me.

Not again...I can't let him make me fall in love again....

Adrenaline surges through me, unlocking my muscles and propelling me upright. I spin on Max and promptly stumble backward, falling onto the couch in an awkward impression of my Grandmother's spirit. Though, instead of her calm, casual lounging, my arms flail out, my jaw dropped open in horrified shock.

All the times I've dreamt of seeing Max again—and they are more numerous than I care to admit—I've never imagined him like this. For me, he is always perfect.

Not now.

Gone is the glorious dark curtain of hair I'd tangled my fingers in. Only the shortest hint of baby-fine fuzz covers his head now. But the lack of hair isn't enough to make me cover my mouth with my fist. No. That privilege is reserved for what remains of his body and face. To say he'd wasted away doesn't even begin to explain what I see in front of me.

What skin he has hangs from his frame like rags, only the barest hint of muscle beneath. Except, of course, where the flesh is missing. There I can see proof of the atrophied muscles—barely alive.

Of everything that visibly made Max, well, Max, only his deep blue eyes remain. They are wholly the guy I'd known and loved, and if I stare directly at them, I can almost forget the rest.

As soon as I focus on the eyes I'd once wanted to lose myself in, I realize he's talking, words falling like snowflakes, melting on my skin.

"...not what you expected."

Trying desperately to keep my breathing steady and not let myself get buried in the memory of what we had, I shake my head. "You're supposed to be out of my life for good, unexpected doesn't begin to cover it."

His loose skin trembles as he laughs, the sound choked, not at all the deep rumble I remember. "Out of your life? Well played, Jocelyn, but as I recall it, you wanted me out of mine as well. Tell me then, why aren't you running away? Terrified?"

For a moment, the suggestion seems completely logical. It should have been my reaction. I killed him once. My lover, back from the dead and in my apartment, should have driven me over the edge. But this is a dream, and fear has a way of disappearing when you know something isn't real. I refuse to entertain the possibility that any part of me is happy he's here. If I do, I'll be lost all over again. "Because when Grandma told me to expect vampire guests, I suppose some hidden part of me guessed one would be you." I have no memory of thinking any such thing, but it makes sense, so I let the lie hang between us like so many others have.

He starts at my words—eyes wide for a second then narrowing to slits in a move I'd seen more than once before, one which makes his eyes look like they've turned to pools of black, only tinged with a hint of blue. "Visitors? How many?"

Strange how he doesn't question Grandma knowing about any of it— about him. "Three."

Through a gap in his face, I watch his teeth grind together. As quick as I can, I tear my gaze away, my eyes glued to his again. One more glimpse of the rest of him, and I might indeed run screaming into the night.

"In that case, it would behoove me to depart quickly."

"Perfect. You obviously know where the door is since you found your own way in." I wave half-heartedly toward my minuscule dining room. As much as Grandma implied I should pay attention to my visitors, I want Max gone.

No, I don't.

Already, I can feel his magic working on me. Much longer and he and I will be right back where we started. Only he'll have less skin, and I'll have no one to blame for any of it but myself.

The suspicious glare leaves his eyes, replaced by a stinging sorrow. "You made yourself quite clear the last time I saw you. I wouldn't have come to you now—tonight of all nights—unless I needed your help."

Grandma's words echo in my head: One and only one can be trusted. When he comes to you, do what he asks. Surely, she didn't mean Max, not after what he'd done to me, but what if...?

I sigh, knowing full well I'll give in to him eventually. Better to do it with at least some of my wits still about me, when I can remember what happened before. "Why should I help you, Max? What have you even done for me?"

Except make me fall in love with you so you could bleed me dry?

He sinks to his knees in front of the couch and grips my hand with his skeletal fingers. "Because you killed me and broke my heart? Reason enough? As for the things I did for you"—he glances at the clock next to the TV, the only visible battery-powered one in my apartment, and mutters a curse—"I don't have time to make you understand or believe. Is it enough to say I won't interfere in your life again unless I truly think you need me?"

In that instant, I have two clear thoughts fighting for dominance in my mind: it will never be enough and it's too much.

My fists clench until I feel my fingernails digging crescent moons into my palms. I need to chase away the part of me that still feels something for him. "What do you want, Max?"

"I need your blood, and I won't take it by force. You have to give it of your own free will."

With him this close, I want to dive into the ocean of his eyes and drown there once more. The pain stinging my palms isn't enough to push the feeling away. Tears well up with the yearning to fall against him and offer whatever he wants. I can't though. I've barely managed to carve out a life for myself after him.

I want to tell him he's asking for too much, I can't let him get that close again. But with what I've taken from him—if it will give us both freedom at last—I can hardly refuse. I'm not giving in; this only means I want him well and truly gone because I have to stop dreaming of him. I need to be able to hate him for what he did to me.

"If I do this, you have to promise not to use magic, especially not the kind to make me forget."

"Then it will hurt."

I give a mirthless laugh. It sounds like it came from someone else, someone more bitter and spiteful. "All of it hurts, Max. This will just be a different kind of pain."

He nods like he understands precisely what I mean. "So be it then, no magic. We'll both take the pain in its rawest, most heartless form."

Swallowing hard, I can't ignore the venom in his tone. "And after this, you'll leave me alone?"

His voice softens. "Unless I believe you truly need me."

I bite my lip to keep from crying and shake my head firmly as I brush my hair back to bare my neck. "Take what you have to, Max, but I'll never need you again."

This time, the hurt filling his eyes pierces my heart. "Then you'll get everything you wanted."

His face turns savage, lips curled in a snarl showing every inch of his fangs. Without any more warning, he grabs me and bites down.

It is everything he said it would be and more. The agony sets the room spinning, and I clutch at the couch. I must have started to cry out, because his bony fingers clamp down on my mouth, crushing my jaw. The twin punctures on my neck pulse and throb, burning like he's stuck hot pokers into them.

I need him to stop so I can take the words back. I don't want to feel this. I don't want to remember.

But Max is too intent on finishing what he started. I bite at his fingers, but even when I crunch down on one, he keeps going. My hands leave the security of the couch and claw at his face, his arms, his back. Anything to get his attention and make him stop. I tear away strips of his flesh under my nails, but nothing breaks through to him.

A darker black than the moonlit room dances at the edges of my vision, and the strength leaves my limbs. He's going to kill me. I didn't want him back, and he hates me enough to kill me. Exactly like I thought I hated him. I don't hate him though, not really. I just couldn't let myself love him anymore, and he wouldn't let me stop.

I want to tell him I'm sorry, even though it won't change anything, won't fix it, but the darkness creeps in on my sight until the world goes completely black.

Just like last time, I don't get the chance to really say goodbye....

## Chapter Four

I don't know how much time has passed in my dream world when I come around. The clock on the wall chimes two, but I hadn't looked at it when Max arrived. Shocked to still be alive, I push upright and the room swims in front of me. In the framed print over my television, the sprites move around the princess and knight—their dance no longer frozen in time. When I reach to steady myself, I almost knock over the tall glass of orange juice on the end table. As soon as I feel stable enough not to drop it, I lift it to my lips and take a long, slow drink. The heat in the room has warmed the juice, but it still tastes like the nectar of the gods, giving me life again as the first sweet drop hits my tongue.

Setting the glass back on the table, I notice the plate next to it with a large bean burrito pinning down a piece of paper. After fumbling to turn on the lamp, I slide out the note.

Jocelyn,

If I'm truly not the last of my kind you will see tonight, it would be best if you regained your strength. As for me, I keep my promises, even when I wish I didn't have to.

Max

I swallow hard, thinking of all the other times I've woken after being with Max to find a note left behind. At least this one is an original, not the same one he used to leave every morning. No love this time, though. No adoring sign-off. Nothing more than his name and sustenance. And my memory—he's left me with that, too. I try not to wonder if this is really better than forgetting, and tears sting my eyes again.

My stomach growls, and I shovel in the burrito, praying it won't come back up since I desperately need the iron to help with the blood loss. The rest of the juice chases it down my gullet. With the world no longer spinning, I risk standing up. I'm still woozy, but I want all traces of Max's visit gone. After carrying the dishes to the dishwasher and shoving the note down the drain, it hits me. One sign might not be so easy to erase and my hand flies to my neck.

I wince as my fingers prod the muscles. The intense pain has disappeared, but a deep ache remains, and probably will for some time. Max has indeed kept his part of the bargain, though somehow like before, my visible wounds have vanished completely, not even the sticky hint of blood betrays what we've done. I double-check my skin in the mirror by the door to be sure.

Smooth and perfect, like it's never been touched.

I let out the breath I'd sucked in the moment I realized forbidding Max to take away the pain might have meant leaving the marks behind as well. I slide down the wall, head in my hands, missing him already. And almost wishing he'd at least left the bite marks as a reminder.

***

The light is still blazing when a firm knock sounds on the door. I wake with a sigh. At least this one's a polite vampire. I twist the knob, prepared—I think—for anything.

"Chad?" My brows pull together. Has the dream visit from Max shaken me awake?

Then again, why the hell would Chad be here at three in the morning on Christmas? I'm still light-headed and can't quite concentrate on finding an answer.

His lips quirk to the side in a half-smile, the same expression he had on his face when we met at Supernova that last time I'd gone back to Max— another life ago. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. No. No more Max. When I open them again, I focus on Chad—the knight in shining armor who had tried to rescue me even before Max forced me to rescue myself—while his smile drops away.

"Sorry, I wasn't sure you'd be up, but I missed you." He runs his fingers through his sandy brown hair, mussing it slightly, the effect somehow making it look even sexier than before.

"You're going to see me in like"—I glance at the clock, though I've just checked the time—"eleven hours. You couldn't wait that long?" I try for playful in hopes it will help his mood rebound.

It works. His lips quirk to the side and his hazel eyes dance in the glow of the hallway security lights. "Nope. I had to be the first one to wish you a Merry Christmas so I caught an earlier flight home from my trip." He wraps me in his arms, and I lean against his chest, breathing in the spicy musk of his cologne.

This is real. The weird thing with Max was only a dream brought on by stress and too much Christmas Eve wine. Yet, I can't help comparing being in Chad's arms to the memory of Max holding me. My head hits both of them right over their hearts, so I can listen to the rhythm of them beating.

Any similarity ends there. Max's long dark waves would curtain our faces when he bent down to kiss me. With his hair cut short, I never have to worry about Chad tickling me when he lays his mouth on my neck or lips. Where Max was a huge wall of muscle wrapping around me, sheltering me from the world, Chad is tight, wiry—no more yielding than Max, but somehow less intimidating.

I bury my face in Chad's shirt, banishing thoughts of Max. I only need one man in my life, and he's right here—real and whole and perfect. Tipping my head up, I whisper, "If you're here to wish me a Merry Christmas, do it right. Kiss me."

He shifts us into the living room and kicks the door shut. Then he holds me tight around the waist, picks me straight up, and brushes his lips feather-light against mine.

Tingles race from my lips to my toes and I giggle, twining my arms around his neck. "Is that the best you can do?"

"You only told me to kiss you. I do much more and I won't want to stop."

"Kait's here."

He buries his head against my neck as he sets me back on my feet and lets out a groan. "I forgot. Any chance we might be able to keep the volume down?"

"You know the bed squeaks like mad. Some noises I can't control."

"We could skip the bedroom, stay out here. I know the couch doesn't squeak." He nuzzles my neck, lips trailing kisses to my ear.

My eyes roll back as his kisses make me dizzy with longing. I know I should say no considering my best friend is asleep in the other room. But since all I can think about is how grateful I am Chad favors the opposite side of my neck from Max, I also know I need him to chase away the ghost of the dream.

"Yes," I breathe. "The couch sounds perfect."

I feel his lips twitch into a smile against the hollow behind my ear. Then he sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the couch. "So why the fuck are you in jeans and a sweater at this hour anyway?"

The wool scratches at my arms and the flannel has started to make my legs sweat, but I have no sensible reason for wearing them outside of the dream. "Sleepwalking? I had a really messed-up dream earlier." Come to think of it, I must have been sleepwalking or else I wouldn't have ended up in the living room in the first place. I haven't done anything like that in years, but there's a reason my dad installed deadbolts on all our doors when I was little.

"No kidding. Remind me never to spend the night. You'll end up dreaming you're an axe murderer and kill me in my sleep." With a grin, he tugs the sweater over my head. "Of course, you could also dream you're a nymphomaniac, and then I'd miss out. Such a toss-up."

He trails kisses over the mounds of my breasts and down my belly as he unbuttons my jeans and tugs them off. Everywhere his lips pass, my skin tingles, the heat of his mouth disappearing as he moves on, leaving ice in its wake. He doesn't stop until I'm shivering all over.

Only then, with a cocky smirk on his face, does he pause to pull the fitted gray turtleneck over his head. My eyes follow the hem of the shirt as it exposes inch after inch of tanned, toned abs. I know he watches me staring at him, likes how beautiful I find his body. But by the time he slides his pants down, my gaze is drawn back to the chiseled angles of his face.

His eyes are lit by some inner fire. Staring into them fills me with warmth and love as he fills me with passion. It's very different than anything I've felt before—a completeness, the feeling some part of me I didn't know was missing is finally whole again.

"What do you want tonight, Jocelyn?" He eases up along my body, his skin ghosting over mine and making me tremble even harder and arch toward him.

"I thought you were the one who needed this. Shouldn't it be about what you want?" He leans into me, the length of his erection pressing against the satin and lace of my panties. The muscles in my core clench, drowning in moisture.

"The only thing I want is to make my girl happy. As long as I do that, I'll consider myself satisfied until later tonight. "So,"—kiss on my right breast, teasing the nipple through the thin lace of my bra—"what"—the left receives the same treatment, and I find myself unable to breathe—"do"—Chad's tongue traces a line over my cleavage and up to the hollow of my throat— "you..." When he sucks my lower lip between his teeth, I think I might pass out again, but I want this—not the crazy dream. "...want?"

"You. Inside me. Now." The words come out in tiny gasps. "Please." I'm not beyond begging, not after what this night has given me so far. It has been the Christmas from hell.

His lips brush softly against my mouth, then he hovers there to whisper, "That's what I hoped you'd say."

The vibrations from the words bring to mind a similar feeling Max had given me before, much lower on my body.

No. I refuse to start thinking about Max again, and fortunately, Chad seems determined to keep my mind wholly on him. He reaches down and slides my panties over my hips.

He only teases me with his tip for a second before thrusting into me. Regardless of what I said about keeping quiet, the force of him entering and stretching me, filling me until I think I'll burst, tears a cry from my throat. His mouth swallows the sound, his tongue dancing with mine as my fingers dig into his shoulders. Chad wraps one hand behind my neck and the other presses into the small of my back, holding me tight to him.

Every time his cock moves inside me, my nails carve deeper and deeper into his skin. Pleasure with Chad crosses well over into the realm of pain, but I don't care. The first time, I'd been worried, but he adjusted to me, never going deeper than I could handle, waiting for me to beg for more. Tonight he brings me to orgasm in minutes, but even when he pauses, I know he isn't done. I can still feel him throbbing against my cervix, bumping it gently over and over.

His mouth leaves mine to whisper into my hair, "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything," I gasp, wanting him to take me to the brink of insanity again.

He pulls back and meets my eyes. His are hooded with passion, the gold flecks in his irises shining with desire. I only hope he sees something similar in mine. "When you come, I want you to bite me"—he trails a finger along my jugular—"right here, and I want to bite you." He kisses me there, pulling the skin between his teeth for a second as he gives a tiny thrust, making my muscles clench around his length. "Is it okay? Will you do that for me?"

Chad doesn't ask for much, always more concerned with what I want. I can't deny him this. Hell, I don't want to. Besides, it isn't like he'll be the first to bite me. Then he pulses inside me again, and I have to clench my teeth around a scream to hiss, "Yes. A thousand times yes."

His lips quirk to the side. "Only a thousand? I must be slipping."

I want to make a smart-ass comment, to banter with him as we do so well, but then he pulls out and thrusts into me so hard, I grab him and clamp my teeth onto his shoulder. My hands grip his ass, urging him to even greater depths. I know I can't take it, but I want every last inch of him inside me.

"Soon," he breathes into my ear. "Get ready." His lips find my neck, once more kissing the spot he plans to bite.

The thought of moving my mouth to his neck terrifies me. If I cry out, I know it'll be loud enough to wake half the building—I've done it before.

"Please, Jocelyn."

Nothing else could have made me do it, but I want to give this to him. Want to give him the pleasure he craved enough to ask for. I release his shoulder and, teeth puncturing my lip as I turn my head to the side, find his neck, his vein practically jumping under my mouth as my teeth clamp onto his flesh.

It's all the encouragement Chad needs. His teeth tear into my skin as he drives into me, and time stands still. All I feel are the pleasure and pain from the two places he pierces me. His teeth. His cock. Nothing else matters.

My muscles squeeze around him as a second orgasm rocks my body, and my teeth penetrate deeper into his flesh. He forces his way through my tightness, pushing deeper and deeper into me. Part of me wants to beg him to stop, tell him I can't take any more, but instead I clutch at him as I clamp tighter to his neck.

I can't even feel his mouth anymore—don't care what it's doing. All I know is he's filling me, inch by glorious inch. Then his groin touches mine, sheathing him fully, and he shudders with release.

Chad lets go of my neck first, running his tongue over the bite, and then kissing it. I have a hard enough time making my jaw let go; I can't manage anything sexier. Then he finds my mouth and kisses me deeply, laughing as he pulls away. "You made me bleed?"

My eyes widen with horror. "I did?" I push his head to the side. The distinct imprint of my teeth mars his neck, a bruise already forming there but only the smallest smear of blood, lower than the marks. "Oh, uh, I think that's mine." I run a finger along my lower lip, and it comes away crimson. "Sorry." I'm not sure if I'm apologizing for the bruise I left behind or because I didn't cut him.

The disappointment in his eyes is there only for an instant, and then it disappears. Definitely because I didn't bite him hard enough. "No problem." He plants a kiss on the tip of my nose, all sweetness now. "We'll save it for next time." He winks. "I hope I didn't hurt you too much."

I trace his jaw with my fingers. "Even when you hurt me, you don't hurt me. I enjoyed every second of this. And I'm sure I'll have a bruise to match yours, so I need to re-plan my wardrobe for dinner at my parents'."

"Nope." He eases out and settles onto the couch next to me. "I would never leave a mark on you, Joce. I know you wouldn't like it." He trails kisses over my neck. "Perfect. Just like it was when I got here."

I freeze, the words chilling me to my core, what remained of the moisture inside me turning to ice. I'd thought the same thing when I'd woken after Max. My fingers itch with the need to poke at the muscle there, see if there's any lingering pain. There should be if it's a love bite—even just from his teeth marks—but Chad still presses kiss after kiss on the spot.

Soon enough his hand slides down my leg, teasing me gently until I forget all about the bites. He rubs my clit with his thumb as his fingers plunge inside me pressing against the spot he knows drives me wild. My back arches up off the couch. With a knowing laugh, he catches my breast in his mouth—sucking and toying with the nipple as he brings me higher and higher with his fingers. This time when I come, I turn into his shoulder to cover the sound. He teases my clit until I collapse against him, completely spent.

"Think this will keep you satisfied until we've finished dinner with your family?"

I roll toward him, holding him as close as I can. "I think I'm sated until New Year's at least."

"Whoa. I take it back then. We will never do that again."

Laughing, I nip at his chest. "Jerk."

Flinching back from my teeth, he grips my chin and tips it up. "Does that mean I'm still coming over after dinner?"

"You better be." Though part of me questions the wisdom of it all, I know Chad will go easy on me after this. And I want him here. He's my favorite part of every day, and he's been gone for the last three. If it weren't for Kait, I'd ask him to stay now.

His lips press firmly against mine, no longer hungry, but possessive all the same. "Then I should go and let you get some rest." He hands me my clothes before pulling his back on. My jeans still lie in a puddle next to me when he leans down for one last kiss. "See you in half a day."

"Still too long," I whisper, as I absently pull the jeans over my legs.

From the doorway, Chad winks and then disappears into the darkness. Without his energy buoying me up, exhaustion hits hard. I consider going back to my bedroom, but it seems so far away and the couch is right here waiting for me.

I remember thinking how stupid and lazy I was being, and then the only thing I recall is the absolute blackness of deep sleep.

## Chapter Five

I'm dreaming about eyes watching me in the darkness—first blue then hazel then blacker than the dark around them—when an uncontrollable shiver wakes me. After Chad went home, I thought I'd be out for the night. But there's this thing about having a man I don't know standing right outside my open sliding glass door that has more kick in the ass than a double shot of espresso.

I bolt to my feet, eyes darting around the room, hunting for a weapon. "Who the hell are you?"

Great question, Joce. Why don't you ask what he wants for Christmas too? Grab the phone. Call 911. I start backing toward the kitchenette and the phone—and the knives. Reaching out, I knock the handset from its cradle and it tumbles over the bar and clatters to the floor on the other side, out of reach if I want to keep the guy in sight. My heart, already racing, begins to thud, feeling altogether too much like a jackhammer threatening to bust out of my ribcage.

"Are you going to invite me in?"

His words stop me in my tracks but aren't nearly confusing enough to make me stupid. "No. Correction—hell no."

My pulse quiets slightly when I realize he hasn't made a move to go past the barrier of the open doorway. "You will force an old man to stand out in the cold on Christmas morning then?"

I glance at the clock. Already after five, dawn will be here soon enough.

He leans against the glass and sighs. "Girl, do not be ridiculous, at my age, nothing as dull as one of Michigan's dreary winter mornings will drive me to ground."

If nothing else does, his words confirm it—he's the next part of the dream, the time with Chad just a brief respite. "Fine then." I palm the lighter Kait left on my bar and saunter toward the open slider, doing my damnedest to come across as completely comfortable with the situation. "What do you want?"

My new, calmer demeanor makes him step back a bit, and when I flip on the outside light, I get my first good look at him. If he's any indication of what happens to vampires as they get old, I'm really happy I parted ways with Max sooner rather than later.

The vamp's skin stretches tight—too tight—over his bones, making it almost transparent. Not unlike what I imagine Joan Rivers must look like without makeup. His veins pulse in a blue, criss-crossing network. Blood drowns his eyes, the irises like black orbs swimming in a pool of crimson. I have to give him credit for one thing though: he still has great hair. It had probably been blond in life, but time out of the sun has darkened it to a shade of not-quite-brown that brushes the collar of his coat.

He's raised a hand to shade his eyes from the light. "Do you mind? While I can cope quite well with an overcast winter day, the glare of fluorescent lighting is not so kind."

My mouth twists into a scowl. "You show up here, invading my home, and have the nerve to act all put out. That's rich."

With more grace than a dancer, he shrugs, the movement only the slightest disturbance of his frame. "I have invaded nothing more than your stoop as you refused me entry."

I flick off the light—I don't really want to see him anyway.

"Better?" He nods and lowers his hand. "Great. Then can we get this over with? I have to deal with my family later and could use some real rest before then." Not to mention I liked my life just fine sans vampires. Snow swirls around his ankles and in through the open door to coat my jeans and makes me wish Grandma had suggested a jacket, too.

"You entertained one of my children earlier, and it made me curious about why he chose you of all the women out there." He scans me from head to toe. "While not homely, you are also not the height of beauty in this age: too short, not thin enough, one might even say a touch too ethnic. Yet, your fire in the face of danger shows some promise. Perhaps your bravery—or stupidity—is the appeal."

Sucking in a deep breath, I bite the inside of my cheeks. If I could reach out and slap him, I would, but then he'd be able to grab my wrist and pull me outside, totally ruining the whole not-inviting-him-in plan. Instead, I settle for words. "You did not just call me too ethnic. And I won't even get into the fat thing." I'm a comfortable size eight. Not a toothpick, but jeez. As for the other, I might look more like my father's side of the family, but I'm as Anglo as most of my "white" friends, who are all jealous of my olive complexion and thick dark hair.

He shrugs it off. "Irrelevant. What I want to know is how did you win him? You are more than a passing fancy since he hasn't killed you yet." He taps a finger against fangs yellowed with age.

Max might not have killed me, but I vow then and there to stake him again if I ever have the chance, even if I do still love him a little. Not only had he stolen my heart and a decent-sized chunk of my life, but now creepy-ass vamps are showing up to check on me because of him. I so don't need this.

"I haven't got a clue. We met accidentally, hooked up on a whim, and ended up together. Maybe I was too tasty a damn snack for him to want to finish me in one sitting. Maybe he wanted me for more than food." Unlikely. "I mean, it could be I'm just such good a lay he can't do without me." Finally, a marginally comforting thought.

"Doubtful. After a few decades, sex becomes nothing more than another path to blood." Thanks for wrecking the dream, asshole. "Likely you are correct on the first. How rude of him not to share if you are so delectable, especially with his maker. Such selfishness will earn him severe punishment."

"Good. He deserves it." Take that, Max. Even as I think it, though, I don't want him hurt, not after having seen his new and vastly unimproved body.

I shudder as the creep's mouth stretches into an impossibly wide grin, revealing incisors the years have filed to points as well. "In the meantime, it is good to know such an appetizing morsel cannot remain behind closed doors forever. Do not watch the shadows for me, child. I assure you, you will never see me coming."

Um, not exactly what I had in mind. Fingers of dread run up my spine, and I curse myself for even talking to this guy. For all I know it will make the dream last longer, and I want it over. My eyes flick to the stake embedded in the planter outside—too far to reach. Another lies under my pillow, but I'm pretty sure if I leave the slider, he'll be gone, any knowledge of his whereabouts disappearing with him. Nope. I need to figure out how to kill him here and now, which means stalling.

"So, if I let you have a sample, would we be done? I mean, really, I can only handle one vampire in my life."

His eyes narrow to slits of black as he studies me, probably searching for the trick, or maybe looking for the choicest bit of flesh to chew on. I shudder. "What if I want more than one drink? I am not sure your plan would be in my best interests."

"Well, I'm not sure anything else would be in mine." One of the ants I can never rid the apartment of crawls up the wall next to the slider, more oblivious to the cold than it has any right to be. I've grown so sick of them; I have cans of insecticide spread all over the place. I cock an eyebrow at the vampire. "How about this? I'll put my boots on and come outside. You promise only one taste now, and if it's not enough, we'll work out a plan. I mean, I don't really want to die, and if I'm so good, you'll want me to stick around for a while, right?"

His eyes darken with suspicion. "Why would you do this?"

I hope like hell he isn't attuned enough to me to hear how hard my heart is pounding. There's no way I can calm it down and still keep my voice even. "Because my choices are this or you're going to jump me and kill me some other time. This sounds less terminal." I wave to the side of the door. "My boots are right here. I won't even really be out of sight."

He stands there for a second before nodding. "Fine. There is a coat over there, you might want it as well; the night is rather brisk."

Oh how nice, a bloodsucker who has no problem draining me but doesn't want me to catch a chill. "Good idea." I stride over to the coat rack by the other door and pull on my ski jacket, zipping it over the sweater. Back by the slider, I lean down and pull on one boot then the other, taking time to prop them out of his view to tie the laces, Kait's lighter still in hand.

"Are you ready?"

As my fingers yank the laces tight, my other hand drops to the can of Raid. "I am now." Standing up, I flick the lighter and press down on the nozzle. Flames shoot out into the night, bathing the vampire in burning vapors.

He doesn't scream, but he does run. Any hope I had the fire alone would kill him dies as I watch him move into the night. While he isn't going anywhere near as fast as he probably can, he doesn't exactly stagger and stumble either.

If I've learned one thing from my time with Max, it's that once a vampire sets their mind to something, they don't quit until they get it. If I let this one get away now, he'll come back to kill me for sure.

My brain stopped trying to filter dream and reality a while ago. None of tonight has made sense. All I know for sure is, if by some chance this isn't a dream, I just made a dangerous enemy, and I can't pretend when I wake up in the morning he'll have vanished like so many other things that haunt my sleep.

"Shit."

I dash through the door, grabbing the stake from the planter as I go. Stuffing it into my pocket, I tear off into the night after Daddy Vampire. My feet pound through snow deep enough to leave tracks, but not thick enough to slow me down. The trail in front of me leads away from the buildings and toward the street.

Even at this time of day, a guy running down the road on fire is guaranteed to draw attention. I need to catch up before some early morning traveler spies him. My legs already ache from the cold and exertion, and my lungs freeze with every breath, but I pour on as much speed as I can manage. Rounding the clubhouse, I finally catch sight of him, heading straight for Adams Road.

I'll never get there in time. Anyone driving by can see him already anyway. Then he darts across the street right in front of a passing sedan. As the car fishtails to a stop, I run behind it, close enough to feel the heat that trails from the flaming vampire.

If I had a range weapon and knew how to use it, I could take him down from here. But I can't and I don't. I add that to my post-holiday shopping list—assuming I survive to see after-Christmas shopping.

He rounds the back of a gas station, and I skid in the snow, trying to turn after him. The sickening odor of charred flesh hits me full force as a blackened hand grabs me, and slams me against the back of the building. Definitely not dead.

"Thought you could kill me, child? I am far too old for a little torch like yours to destroy. Now, it is my turn to see how delicate a flower you are." He growls as he opens his mouth, ready to clamp down on my neck.

Right then, I almost wish for Max again. At least he never wanted me dead. But I'm not about to go down without a fight; I don't care how old or strong this guy is. I flick on the lighter and keep the canister low, spraying it at his crotch.

Apparently, his assertion about sex just being a weapon is a lie, because the screech he lets out pierces my eardrums as he knocks the spray from my hand and bats the flames away. The motion gives me the seconds I need to slip out of his grasp and get the stake from my pocket. I spring on him, but he throws me to the ground. His pants still smolder, and I can feel mine start to burn where he presses on top of me.

"For that, you will pay. Tonight, you will be a feast fit for royalty." He rears his head back, fangs flashing in the sudden glow of headlights. At the edge of the gas station, a car pulls to a stop in a spray of slush. He turns toward the glare, and I take advantage of his distraction to plunge the stake as hard as I can into his chest. The tip sinks in, but then meets a wall of resistance. I shove at it, but before I can make it budge, he's torn it away and flung it at the nearest light; shattering the plastic shield and making it go dark.

I have seconds to pray the person who's come to my rescue is smart enough to leave. The last thing I need is another death on my conscience. Even now, I wonder if all the time Max hadn't been trying to hide me from people like this. Maybe he really had loved me.

Then where is he now? He said he'd show up if I needed him.

Before I can think too hard about the implications, the vampire on top of me grabs one wrist and raises it to his mouth, his lips twisted in an evil sneer. Once more, vampire fangs meet my flesh.

A car door slams and I scream, "No!" hoping to drive off my would-be rescuer.

Daddy Vampire's other hand clamps down on my throat, cutting off my air supply.

The next thing I know, a blur of brown knocks him off me, and the primal scent of leather wafts past my nose, a hint of sandalwood and vanilla following. Max. I roll to my feet, searching for the insecticide, the only weapon I have left. There, in the glow of the one remaining headlight. I snatch it up and run back to the two figures struggling in the snow, the charred body of my attacker flat against the ground.

"Max!"

The figure on top turns toward me, flawless skin over chiseled angles around a pair of gorgeous hazel eyes. My fingers lose their grip on the lighter and canister; they land with a muffled thump in the snow.

"Run." Chad says between gritted teeth. No. Not teeth—fangs.

This has never been about Max. From Daddy Vamp's first mention of his children, I never considered anyone else. But it's Chad, the guy who swept me off my feet, who talked about a house with a picket fence, a dog and two-point-five kids. All of it lies.

I stagger back toward the car, unable to tear my eyes away from his face. A scream escapes my battered throat when the other vampire flips him, gaining the upper position. I reach back to keep from falling on the car, and my hand finds the stake, still embedded in the dead headlight. I yank it free and race toward them, heedless of the danger. I'm only aware Chad has come to my rescue, and I can't let him die for it—lies or no lies.

As I reach them, Daddy Vamp swats me away like an annoying bug, and I drop the stake as my body flies backward, the snow cushioning my fall.

"I've tasted her, boy. So this is the secret you've been keeping?"

Chad's fingers reach out and wrap around the fallen stake. Then with inhuman strength, he shoves it into the chest of the other vamp—into the chest of his maker. It sinks a few inches deeper than I'd managed. Hitting the other vamp with a right hook, he uses the stake as leverage and shifts their positions again. "Damn it, Jocelyn. He called to the other elders, and they'll be here soon. Go!"

More afraid of the fact I let another vampire into not only my life but my bed, I spin and run into the car I now recognize as Chad's red BMW. I smack the hood and shove off it, rounding the car and running from the scene.

Panic makes my blood surge through my veins. The other elders. More vamps. Stronger vamps. I couldn't even start to get the stake in that guy's chest. How will I fight more? I risk a glance behind to see if I'm being followed. There's no one there, but I've left an impossible-to-miss path in the snow. If they show up at all, I'm screwed.

Chad's a vampire. Freezing pain like an icicle in my heart hits, and I stagger. I thought I'd been awake when he came to see me, but now I can't make any sense of what's real and what's not. If he's part of the dream, what does it mean? And if it's real....

I can't wrap my mind around the possibility. If there is no dream, then everything in my life over the past eighteen months has been wrapped in a world that shouldn't exist. I haven't been free of vampires since I met Max, and if what Grandma said was true, it goes back further than that.

And if it's real, then Max is back from the dead.

My feet thump on the ground, the rhythm unsteady as fear and cold tighten their stranglehold on me. I can't think about it. Can't look beyond this moment. This step.

Only when the slider is shut and locked behind me do I finally stop and try to breathe. I back through the apartment, legs bumping into my coffee table. My eyes stay glued to the slider, waiting for other vampires—for Chad—for Max—to show up, as tears fall freely down my cheeks. For fifteen minutes, I stand there, shaking, unable to do anything else.

When no attack comes, I stumble down the hall to my room and strip out of the clothes. Dressed in my nightie once more, I crawl into bed and huddle under the blankets, forcing myself to believe whatever tonight was, it's over now.

After all, three of them have indeed visited. Max from my past. My current boyfriend, Chad. And Daddy Vampire, who can only represent some part of my future—as best I can tell, my death.

Shivering more from fear than cold, I lie in bed, fingers clutching the stake under my pillow. Sleep never comes again, and I stay frozen there until a dawn far too bright for the end of December shines through my window.

## Chapter Six

"A ghost? And vampires?" Kait blinks at me. "We didn't drink all that much last night, Jocelyn. What the hell did you smoke when you snuck off to the ladies' room?"

High note: she isn't jumping on it as the truth. Low note: she doesn't understand, probably never will. "I know it sounds crazy, but it scared the crap out of me. Any clue what it might mean?"

She stands and carries our mugs into the kitchen. Sunlight glints in her hair as she comes back, casting a golden halo around her head. "Okay, first things first." She tilts my head from one side to the other and studies both my wrists. "Fab. I don't have to worry about you growing fangs next time I visit." She winks, and her open eye glitters mischievously.

"Thanks." I almost remind her I didn't drink from any of them anyway, but then remember biting Chad's neck and Max's fingers. Plus, she doesn't know any of the truth. Hell, even I still don't know how much—if any—of it had been real.

"Seriously, I think you're overreacting, but I'll play along to make you feel better." She squeezes my shoulder before sliding into the chair next to me. Too bad the reassurance of the gesture is kind of lost with the whole "play along" bit. "It's Christmas. If you and Max hadn't split up, it would've been like a year and a half together. Eighteen months is little-box-under-the-tree territory."

Yeah. Max. At a church. In the middle of the day. I almost choke on the manic laugh bubbling up inside me. The best I can manage is to stifle it into a snort.

"I'm not kidding. So, you leave him for good, and now because of the timing, he's on your mind. But part of you knows he sucked the life out of you when you were with him, hence he shows up as a vampire." She gives a curt nod, like everything suddenly makes sense.

"And he looked like death because...."

"Because if he looked hot, you'd really wonder if you did the right thing." Kait logic strikes again.

"What about Chad? Why was he a vampire?"

Kait taps a long red fingernail against her lips for a second. "Because you're afraid he's going to end up being just like Max. He's going to expect you to be all about him all the time. And"—her eyes light up like she's managed to solve a mystery before Sherlock Holmes—"you didn't realize he was a vampire until later because the logical part of your brain knows he's not like Max."

The scariest thing at that point? Kait is making sense. Chad has never done anything creepier than be an incredibly sweet, attentive, and sensitive boyfriend. Only one question remains. "What about the creepy guy who came last? He sure as hell isn't anyone I'd date."

She shrugs. "My guess is your brain decided to give you your own twisty version of A Christmas Carol. You needed three vampires, so it sent you a future one who probably looked like a random guy you saw at the mall or something who'd had too much plastic surgery. Stranger shows up in the dream as the uber-scary 'future vampire'"—she goes so far as to toss in the air-quotes—"you have to rush out to kill, but who comes to your rescue? The one guy who totally loves you. The only reason he probably even registered as a vampire then was because he'd have to be to finish off the creepy one."

Even though I know for a fact she's wrong about the details regarding Max, the rest of what she said fits. Deep down I am afraid Chad will turn out to be, if not a vampire, at least a man just as controlling as Max was. And, in the light of day, the whole thing with the third guy screams ridiculous. Why would a vampire elder give a rat's ass about me, even if Max or Chad or whoever thinks I'm worth keeping around?

I exhale more air than my lungs should really be able to hold. "You're right. Probably about every last bit of it." Well, except the Max stuff.

"Good"—she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand—"because I really didn't like the idea of having to visit my BFF in the loony bin. Because trust me, if you'd been getting busy with Chad in the living room, I never would have slept through it no matter how quiet you thought you were. I'd have popped popcorn and been your own little cheering section." She laughs as my mouth drops open. "Now, we should both go get ready for the dreaded face time with our parents."

An hour later, Kait stands in the doorway and hugs me goodbye. "Thanks for letting me stay with you."

"Anytime. You know I miss the way you snore waking me up in the middle of the night." I flinch out of the way as she swings at my arm.

"You're getting quick in your old age, Princess." She doesn't know the half of it. "I'll get you next time, though. For now, just remember to have fun with your guy. From everything you've told me, Chad is the one you've waited your whole life for. Don't let the clusterfuck that was Max screw this up."

I can't help but smile. Kait always could put things in the exact right perspective for me. "I'll do my best."

She squeezes me once more for good measure, and then I watch as she steps from the building in a blinding whirl of snow. Closing the door behind me, I sag against the thick metal. I miss Kait already, not only because I rarely see her anymore, but because today I really don't want to be alone.

Only a little more than an hour and Chad will be here.

Sadly, even after all Kait's reassurances, the thought doesn't bring nearly as much comfort as it should. I smooth down my skirt and readjust my blouse—the perfect picture of reason and serenity. Yeah. Right.

Knowing I can't sit still, I start cleaning. The monotony of the chore helps drive home the reality of now. It was a dream. Just a stupid, silly dream. After tidying up the kitchen, I decide I've earned a mug of hot chocolate.

Sucking in the sweet steam, I lean my head back, eyes closed, feeling like a kid again. Innocence can chase away monsters like nothing else, not even Kait. Once I open my eyes, I realize Grandma's presence reaffirms it must have been a dream. After all, if she's going to haunt me, surely she'd have done it before now. Plus, the pain from where Max supposedly bit me has disappeared completely, so it couldn't have been real. Every thought pokes holes in the night's events until the entire possibility it was real falls apart like a shattered Christmas ornament.

With everything once more right in my world, I turn on some Christmas music and start dancing around the living room, sipping hot cocoa. I pause briefly at the slider to watch the snow drift lazily to the ground, and a shadowy depression draws my eyes toward the patio. The cup slips in my fingers and I clutch at it to keep it from tumbling to the floor. Right in front of the slider, there is a hollow of sorts, as if one area had been shoveled away in the middle of the snowfall. Or like something or someone stood there for a while as the snow fell around them. I shake my head to banish the thought. It's only some weird drifting because of the way the air blew on the patio.

I force myself to walk away from the window, down the rest of my hot chocolate and get moving again. Grabbing a duster, I walk purposefully back to my bedroom and set to dusting my dresser and nightstand. As I reach up to run it over the top of my mirror, the reflection catches my eye and brings the cold dread rushing back. There, in a heap on the floor next to my closet, lie my flannel-lined jeans and green wool sweater. The outfit I'd supposedly only dreamed about wearing.

I swallow hard and start to turn toward it. One way to know for sure.

A loud knock on the door makes me jump backward like the clothes had come to life and attacked me. Balling my hands into fists, I bite my lip and stride toward the door. My fingers tremble as they reached for the knob, and I have to hold onto the handle for several seconds, steadying my breathing before I can make myself turn it. As soon as the door opens, I'm swept from my feet, and I clamp my lips shut to keep from screaming.

Chad sets me down with a laugh and a crooked smile. "Merry Christmas, gorgeous! I've been waiting all day to see you." His lips press against mine, his still icy cold from being outside and tasting faintly of peppermint.

For a while, I forget all about the dream because he tastes and feels so good—so real—his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair. He twists them there, tugging gently until I moan against his mouth. Never needing much of an invitation, Chad slides his other hand back down to grab my ass and pull me tight against him.

Reluctantly, I back away from the kiss. Instead of stopping, he moves lower, his mouth—hot now—blazing a path down my neck. "We're supposed to be at my parents' place by two," I breathe against his hair, not sure if I really care.

His hands find their way under my skirt, fingers sliding past the edge of my panties and into me. I brace against the door, my weight slamming it shut, as a tiny gasp escapes my mouth. His lips curl into a smile against the fullness of my breast as he strokes me, his thumb circling my clit. "Then we'll be sure not to waste any time."

He bites down on my breast just as I come on his fingers. I clutch at the door, his hair, anything. The combination of ecstasy and terror more than I can bear. He bit me. Oh my God, he bit me.

Slipping his fingers free, Chad picks me up and carries me to the couch, laying me in the exact place I remember making love to him the night before. His brow furrows as he stares at me. "Is everything okay? Did I hurt you?" The concern etched into the lines between his eyes doesn't fit at all with bloodletting.

I shake my head. Sex with Chad is always rough, but he never actually hurts me. And this was just a bite. I can't explain why I'm so afraid. He's not mentioning last night. My brain starts to argue again, all Kait's logic gone with his teeth on my skin. Shouldn't it be a big deal for him, too? "Why are we doing this here?" I smooth the back of the couch with a hand I can't get to stop shaking.

Leaning down, he kisses the tip of my nose. Sweet, like everything is completely normal. "Because in the bedroom I'd be too tempted to tie you up and make us late for your parents."

My heart pounds so hard it hurts, but I'm not sure how to bring up the fears gripping me. "So the couch is going to become our new quiet or quick spot?"

"Quick yes, but why would we need a quiet spot?" He sits on the edge of the couch, hip pressed against mine, leaning so one hand is by my head, the other over me, resting on the back of the couch. Trapping me between his body and the cushions.

"Like last night, with Kait here?" My chest heaves, I'm breathing so hard.

Chad cocks an eyebrow. "I know Kait was here. It's why I stayed away, so you two could have some girl time. Sure someone else didn't come for a midnight booty call?" He tries to look angry, but a playful smile still seeps through. His fingers trail along my cheek and it sends tingles through my head.

"I uh...." It couldn't have been a dream—the clothes on my floor prove it. Or do they? Could I have pulled them out of the closet sleepwalking like the excuse I'd used in the dream? Or were they only the product of an overactive imagination? Chad knocked on the door before I picked them up. And wouldn't I have noticed them earlier? Still, I don't know what to believe.

"I dreamt you coming over?" I'm not sure, so it comes out as a question, my voice shaky.

He brushes hair off my other cheek, more tingles winding their way into my mind like little jolts of electricity. "Must have been one hell of a dream. Hope the reality can live up to it." His lips ghost over mine, little more than the illusion of a kiss. "Be right back. Don't go anywhere." He stands up and moves into the hall, toward the bathroom and the condoms I keep there.

My brows pull together. Chad always goes for the condoms; I never have to ask, but last night there was no protection. I shove up from the couch and race to the slider. There, driven deep into the soil inside the planter is my stake, just like always. I blink at it for a long time, but then I hear Chad returning and lie back down on the couch, my mind racing.

Clothes.

Stake.

Chad.

Max....

He comes back, the square foil packet in hand, looking hungry and dead sexy. I squeeze my eyes shut as I think the word dead.

"Hey," the couch sinks next to me and his hand cradles my cheek, my mind buzzing from his touch, "are you sure you're okay? We don't have to do this."

It's then I know for certain he can't be a vampire. If he was, he would convince me to keep going, like Max did. I'd be helpless against the magic. My heart settles into a normal rhythm, and I open my eyes to drink in the love and worry on his face. "I'm good, and I want to do this." I pull him toward me, his hands easing around my body to lift me from the couch as our lips and tongues meet again.

My blouse slithers over my head, landing in a pile of silk next to us. "You taste like chocolate." He unfastens my bra with one hand, the other pressed possessively into the small of my back.

I can't help but smile. "And you taste like peppermint. We were made for each other."

He eases me back onto the plush cushions, smirk solidly in place. "A perfect fit."

We aren't talking about flavors anymore, proven by the way his fingers draw my eyes to watch as he unbuttons his pants and frees his cock. The moisture he set flowing with his hand builds as I watch him roll the latex on, so tight it has to hurt. It's the first time I've ever watched him do it, and when he catches my eye at last, he gives me a satisfied grin, like I've finally played along with some game of his.

Chad climbs onto the couch and pushes up my skirt, bunching it around my waist as he eases my thighs apart. His fingers trail over my pink cotton panties, sending a shiver through me. "Have I ever mentioned I really don't like these?" He slides his fingers around the edges, balling the sides into his fists. "I promise to buy you new ones, preferably red and silky." With a jerk, he tears them free and I gasp, the cloth nothing more than a fancy rag as he throws it onto the floor.

This time when my chest starts heaving, there's no fear, only desire. He inches toward me, arms braced on either side of my body, his tip bobbing against me, only making me want him more. "Please don't tease me, not today." I plead with my eyes. "I need you. All of you."

Above me, he stills, eyes locking on mine, brows raised in question. "All of me? Joce, I don't want to hurt—"

"All of you."

He swallows hard and nods, his expression a mixture of fear and excitement. I love him all the more for it. Then he thrusts into me so forcefully I scream, my fingers digging into his arms as stars dance across my sight. I feel his muscles tighten beneath my fingers as he starts to pull back, and I know he thinks it was too much.

I reach down and grab his hips, driving mine up to shove him into me again. He fills me so completely, I can't think. I don't know if it's pleasure or pain. I only know I want more.

"Joce?"

My nails dig into his ass as I say between clenched teeth, "If you stop now, I will never forgive you."

He shakes his head, leans down and kisses me hard, his mouth demanding and greedy. When he breaks the kiss, his voice whispers over my skin. "Just remember, you asked for this."

It's all I can do to hold on to my sanity as he pushes me over the edge time and again. I rip the buttons from his shirt, needing to touch more of him, make sure he's real. He drives into me with such relentless hunger and need that after the second orgasm, I can't see straight. I feel his mouth on my breast, my neck, and my lips. His tongue fights with mine until I surrender and give him my mouth, too.

Chad fills me, claims me, possesses me. I cry out over and over, not caring who I'm disturbing, only wanting more. My muscles clench around him as another orgasm rips through me. He pulls out slowly, and I know I'm squeezing him by the way his shoulders bunch under my fingers. Then he thrusts into me again, somehow going deeper as he gets his own release at last, and I scream his name.

He collapses against me, spent. A quiet smile curves the corners of his mouth up as I let out a contented sigh. Like he can't bear not to touch me, his fingers trace patterns on my stomach. "And all this time, I'd been so careful with you."

"If I'm going to have you, I don't want to settle for less than all of you." Only when the words are out of my mouth do I realize I mean more than sex. I want every minute of every day that he can give me. This moment, this man, this life is my happily ever after, and I'm determined to grab onto it with both hands and never let go.

His arms wrap around me and he holds me close, chasing away any fear that I might have said too much. "Good, because I want the same thing." He nuzzles at my neck, biting gently at the skin there.

The motion turns my head to the side, and I see the clock. "Shit. We're late."

Chad growls into my hair. "You know how I felt about those panties? It's nothing compared to how much I hate your parents right now." He hands me my blouse and bra, then gives me a soft kiss, and he's back to the picture perfect guy. "You go ahead and get fixed up. I'll grab my spare shirt from the car."

My legs threaten to collapse under me as I stand, but I make it to the bathroom without falling and lean against the counter. We're going to be really late. After redoing my makeup and running a brush through the snarls in my hair, I wander into my room in search of new underwear. As I'm digging through my dresser, the mirror catches my eye. Behind me, the closet door is shut tight. The black lace panties clutched in my fist, I turn around, certain I'd left it open. As I'm slipping the panties over my legs, my gaze drifts to the floor.

My jeans and sweater are gone.

I freeze with the lace barely over my knees. I know the clothes were there. After yanking my underwear the rest of the way up, I stagger toward the closet. Or did I imagine them, too? Nothing makes sense anymore.

The closet door feels hot beneath my fingers, like something a child would be warned not to touch. But I'm not a child.

I jerk the door open. The green sweater is right where it belongs, on the top shelf, folded precisely. And the jeans hang neatly at the far end of the closet. The scent of something burning tickles my nose, and my hand reach toward the pants. I need to know.

"Hey, you ready to take off?"

My hand jerks back, elbow smashing into the edge of the door, and I wince as pain blossoms there. "Yeah, I just wanted to"—my brain races for a reason as to why I'm in the closet—"get my dressy coat. You know how my mom can be." Fingers shaking, I reach in and take it off the hanger.

As quickly as it's in my hands, it's gone. Chad tosses it onto the bed. He catches my chin and tips it up. "I was going to wait until tonight, but this thing is burning a hole in my pocket." His nose wrinkles as he reaches into his jacket. "And it smells like something else is burning, too. Somebody's going to have a crappy Christmas dinner."

I sniff at the air. He's right. The scent is all over and has the unmistakable tang of meat wafting from another apartment.

"Anyway." He holds a box in his hands and drops to one knee as he pops it open. "I know it's soon, but I've loved you from the first time we danced at Supernova, even if you ended up leaving with someone else. When you wandered back into my life, I couldn't believe my luck. I don't want to risk losing you again, Jocelyn." He rakes a hand through his hair before grabbing my fingers and squeezing them tightly. "What I'm trying to say is real simple: will you spend forever with me?"

I can't even look at the ring; my gaze is locked on his hazel eyes, watching as the flecks of gold catch the sunlight and twinkle like Christmas tree lights. My mind races through the last day. His fangs in the dream. Kait's certainty he's the one. Making love to him on the couch. My clothes neatly in the closet where they shouldn't be...where they should be.

The lump of terror clogging my throat proves almost impossible to swallow. I bite my lip for a second, then open my mouth and give him the only answer I can.

# PART TWO: In the Very Beginning...

Birth of the Vampires

# Birth of the Vampires

"You aren't the person who usually reads to us!" A little scamp in the front row looked at me as if I were the boogeyman. Perhaps I was, but he didn't need to know that quite yet.

"Don't be rude, Jack!" the girl next to him snapped. She couldn't have been more than six, but clearly her parents—unlike Jack's—had put an emphasis on manners.

I pointed to the little girl with her chestnut hair and big brown eyes. "What's your name?"

"Makenna Parker, sir."

"Well, Makenna Parker, is your normal reader here in the children's room?"

She blinked at me, and then all the children looked around, searching for their tardy adult. "No. She's not!"

"Then have no fear, for I am most happily filling in. However"—I picked up one book after another and discarded it. Really? Did they teach children nothing anymore?—"I'd like to tell you a story that you won't find in any book. Would you like that?"

Jack scowled at me. "You're supposed to read to us."

I returned his scowl, making the rest of the children giggle. In about twenty years, I planned to visit young Jack and make him rethink how he spoke to others. "Take it up with management." Turning back to the other children, I said, "Have any of you ever read a story that was about someone who shared your name?"

Of course, my future dinner date raised his hand.

"Anyone other than Jack?" Sadly, he appeared my only willing victim, and I waved a hand in his general direction.

He popped to his feet and started rattling them off. "There's Jack and the Beanstalk. My mom also told me the nursery rhymes Jack and Jill and Jack Be Nimble. But my favorite is—"

"Thank you. But my real question is, have you ever told someone the story as if you were the character named Jack?" Frowning, he shook his head and sat back down. Thank goodness—I was getting ready to eat him sooner rather than later. "I, on the other hand, love to tell this story as if I'd actually been there. After all, I am known as Remus, and that is also our hero's name. Some of the more educated among you might know part of the story, but I guarantee you don't know it all..."

***

There are few things in the world like family. You grow up believing the people related to you will always have your back, never realizing they are also the ones most likely to stab you in it.

My twin brother, gods rest his soul, and I had lived our lives in tandem. Never one without the other. We defied death and took over worlds together. Nothing could defeat us, and more than once, we'd dared the gods to try.

Then the day came to decide where to center the new universe of our making. It was not our first disagreement, nor was it our last, but it was the first wherein there would be no compromise. He chose Palatine Hill; I, Aventine. Neither of us willing to give quarter.

At last, a slave woman—I do not recall her name, but she was one whose company we shared on many a cold night—came forward. "My lords would do well to ask the gods. You are their progeny, certainly they will provide a just and decisive answer."

You see, we didn't know our parentage, and it was widely believed the gods had delivered us directly onto the earth. It wasn't a belief we cared to dispute.

Though we questioned bowing to the wisdom of a slave, our own discussions had led us nowhere but circles. And so it was we each set up augury—a type of fortune telling—upon our chosen locales. Many, many birds flew over Aventine that eve—signs of the gods' favor. So many I could hardly count them all.

But after, when I found my brother, he spoke of similar signs over Palatine. And he had brought the slaves in to count. In the end, it seemed as if the count of his flock far outnumbered my own.

"Brother," I said, "augury is a solitary affair. One man to hear the voices of the gods." He wouldn't listen. Instead, he stood smugly, his feet uphill so he could look down upon me—confident in his greater numbers. I was less sure—much less sure—and it wasn't truly jealousy or even competition. I was certain he'd displeased the gods. "Even with your knowledge of divination, you chose to bring many to count your flock. Surely in that case, the number must be divided amongst the men who counted."

"Nonsense," He argued. "Slaves are not men, they are tools."

I bristled. How could he say such things? He, who like myself, had survived our youngest years due to the grace and protection of a wolf and a woodpecker? "We have toiled among them, Romulus. We have shared meals and holy days with their number. How dare you consider those who invite us into their homes to be less than ourselves?"

He had never understood my connection to the slaves and the lower castes. After the wolf and woodpecker, we'd been raised by a shepherd. We were the lower caste until evidence of our royal and heavenly birthrights was brought forth, but he refused to see that.

Romulus shook his head, once more ignoring my protests. "The gods have chosen me, Remus. It is only through your love of those below your station that you cannot challenge my right to rule here. Had you used the tools at your disposal, perhaps the results would have been different."

How could the gods condone his actions? Or did they simply agree that his location was the proper choice and thus choose to overlook his transgression? "Brother, I concede defeat, but I only ask that you treat those who do us no harm with the honor and dignity they deserve."

Romulus spun on me, long black hair fanning behind him as he turned his back. "The gods have spoken, and you have no leverage to ask anything of me. If you wish to see the slaves as your equals, so be it." He held his arms wide, and raised his voice until it boomed and echoed to carry down the hill where word would then spread. "Our new city shall be built here, upon Palatine, and to defend her, a great wall will be built upon the spines of those you set as your equals. Take your place among your people, Remus. Take your place among the slaves."

My voice came out low, quiet, but not weak. Never weak. "You seek to rule alone, brother? The gods chose us, not you."

"The gods chose strength and wisdom. You chose the cattle." He raised his arms higher, turning slowly in a circle, his hands indicating the people milling about: slaves, soldiers, free men. When he gazed down at me, the light in his eyes was no longer that of pride or honor. Instead, they burned with the fire of a zealot. "You, Remus, will always choose the cattle."

My entire body trembled with rage.

How dare he? How can he stand upon this hill and speak for the gods? How can my brother speak to me thus after all we have accomplished together?

And how, in all our years side-by-side, had I never seen this in him? Never seen the hatred, the disdain, the hunger for power?

"Brother, we are equals. Twins. Meant to rule as one. I will not serve you."

His lips curled into a smile sinister enough to cause a circlet of terror to crush my heart. "Not even in the heaven I plan to create?"

"This is not what we were meant for. So no, not even there."

Two steps. That was all that separated us. Yet still, he closed the distance between us as if I asked him to trudge through his own feces to approach me. He leaned close enough that his breath raised the hair on my neck. "Then feel free to build the kingdom of your choosing in hell."

I knew he wore a blade at his side, as I did, but I never saw him draw it. The metal sliced through my abdomen, spilling steaming blood into the air. With a gasp, I clutched his hands, only to feel them turn in my grip as he twisted the blade, angling it toward my heart. Strength left me with every pulse of my heart. "Why, Romulus?"

Still holding me close, he smiled that dreadful smile again. "Because eventually, all cattle must be slaughtered, Remus. It is what they are meant for." His kissed both my cheeks then shoved my body away.

Tumbling down the hill, tears of betrayal giving their life to the hillside, I prayed to the gods. All of them, no matter how benign or vengeful. I begged them to let me live, to let me right the wrongs of my brother. To let me protect the men he considered less than human.

Yet even as night fell fully, pain clutched me in her vicious grasp, squeezing the last fiber of life from me until I had not even strength for my screams. Then the darkness claimed me for its own.

In the morn, Romulus's cattle came early, including the very slave who had recommended augury. They carried me to Aventine Hill, their hands too rough on my flesh. The slave woman sang to me whilst the men built a pyre. My mind lived, alight with terror. Fear that, like the sensation of their hands, I would feel the flames licking my flesh. But also alive with anger and righteousness. I could not, would not, allow my brother to continue his existence unscathed.

Even as the slaves settled my body atop the wood, I vowed vengeance for those who had none. It was only then that I felt the touch of the gods. As tinder lit the wood beneath me, a finger of flame pierced the place inside that still felt the breath of life. The place that felt everything.

I roared as the fire engulfed me, but not until I leapt screaming from the pyre and ran to seek shelter in the shadows of the trees did I realize the wood was not yet burning.

Only I was.

I didn't understand what had happened, wouldn't understand for a long while. A smile crossed my face nonetheless, cracking the charred and blackened flesh. I was alive.

And oh so very hungry.

***

All around me, eyes were wide, but beyond that, their expressions varied. I was pleased to find Jack looking at me with a hint of fear. Yes, child, I will be the thing that haunts you for a long while—just as Remus haunted Romulus until the very end.

"Excuse me!" I glanced up at the stern voice. "Who are you, and what have you been telling these children?"

According to her nametag, Kristin, the woman in the shapeless frock whose expression faltered between anger and arousal, was the children's librarian. How delectable.

I smiled at her, turning on every ounce of charm I had in me—which was more fucking charm than any prince, real or fictional. "Just educating them with a bit of folklore—mythology really."

"First, you are not approved for this program. Secondly, that is a horribly twisted version of the legend of Romulus and Remus. If you're going to teach the children something, at least do it properly."

She may have attempted to hide her body beneath the sack she called a dress, but she had the sort of curves that reminded me of every reason I more commonly took women as lovers. The way her lips glistened, as if she'd licked them just before she spoke, and the way she couldn't seem to meet my eyes unless she was speaking—she was perfection personified. And I had no doubt once I was done with her, I'd have to give up on women for a long time before I found one that could even pretend to compare.

I sighed deeply. It was worth the risk. "Then perhaps, Kristin, you would like to join me for dinner to discuss how I should tell the story."

She pressed her lips together and nodded. The move was innocuous enough, but her nipples tightened to peaks that that absolutely destroyed the innocence of her attire. The scent of her desire wafted through the air.

Yes, she would be scrumptious.

"In that case, I'll pick you up after work. I hope you like steak, I just found what seems like a delicious vintage of red to go with it..."

# PART THREE: Becoming Heroes

Devil's Bargain

Christmas in Chains

Never Underestimate a Bored Vampire

# Devil's Bargain

There are certain things they don't tell you about the military when you sign up. For instance, when you're in battle, you follow your commanding officer's orders, even if he's sending you to your death.

The hardest part about that is simply the knowing.

The machine gun fire ripping through your body follows as a close second.

Lying in a pile of corpses praying for death to take you isn't too far behind either.

***

When darkness fell the first night after I was shot, and I still had some strength left, I tried to drag myself back toward the allied lines. My staunch refusal to accept that I was dying lasted until I passed out from the pain, blood filling my mouth from how hard I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.

I woke the next day to more gunfire. Always more.

Only now I'd ground dirt through my shredded uniform and into the wounds that oozed a constant stream of blood. Had I pulled myself into the damnable Somme, at least the blood would've run clean again. And I probably would have drowned rather than lying there, waiting for infection or blood loss to take me.

Soon, the smoke, dirt, and blood blurred in my sight, and images of Lily took over. My wife—standing in the kitchen over a sink full of soap bubbles, sunlight glinting her blond hair as she sloshed water all over her apron and burst into laughter.

That was the moment I realized I couldn't die. I had to get back to her. Back to the life I'd promised when we'd said "I do."

As the sounds of fighting quieted a bit and darkness descended again, I began praying. "God, just let me get home to Lily—let me tell her I love her one more time—and I promise to be a better man. Just let me live." I didn't know how long I lay there whispering the same pointless promises over and over, begging for another chance at life.

Then a lightly accented voice came from right next to me, where only the dead had been a moment before. "Will you really do anything to go on living?"

I opened my eyes to a night lit by the glow of the moon and the flash of nearby gunfire. There wasn't much to see on the ground besides shadows, but a man with long hair completely at odds with current fashion knelt beside me, utterly calm in the madness of the battlefield. "Are you an angel?"

He shifted, and I swore I could hear him smile. "Something like that. What is your name, soldier?"

"Shaw. Sergeant Maxmillian Shaw."

"A pleasure, and you may call me Remus." He settled on the ground next to me. "So would you truly do anything to live again? Because I must tell you, you have about five excruciating hours left until death takes you otherwise."

I didn't bother to ponder how he'd come up with such a precise number. "Yes! I want to go home to my wife," I cried, my voice so weak I didn't think he could possibly have heard me.

"It is somewhat complicated. I can save you, but you'll have to spend a significant time with me before I can send you home. And it is likely the day will come that you have to return to me." He leaned closer, the soft blackness of his hair tickling my neck.

"As long as I can see her again. Make her happy."

Remus laughed, and the sound danced in the night like fireflies. "I'm afraid it won't be quite as simple as you want. I can guarantee you'll return to your home, but you will never again have the life you lived before. You will have to hide things from your woman, from everyone. Everything you know will change, but you'll live. Are you certain it's a sacrifice you can make?"

An icy chill started to seep into my veins, burning its way through my body, and shivers wracked my frame, making every pain flare to life again. And I said what he demanded, even though I knew I'd never lie to her. "I love Lily. Of course, I'll sacrifice whatever I have to for her."

"I'll say this much for you Americans, you have strange ideas about what love means. But so be it, Maxmillian Shaw—I will save your life." Fire lit the sky as he threw his head back. And though he may have had the face of an angel—long black hair framing sparkling, intelligent blue eyes—I found myself staring down a demon. His fangs flashed in the light, and before I could reconsider, much less say anything, he was on me.

His teeth pierced my flesh, and for a moment new pain blossomed there, and I felt certain it had all been a trick. Some test to get into heaven that I was sure I'd failed. Then, even as I felt my heart slowing, a rich fluid filled my mouth, salty, but sweeter than anything I'd ever tasted. The moment it hit my tongue, the darkness of death retreated, leaving only hunger behind. I latched onto the thing pressed against my lips and drank, unable to make myself stop. Though, in truth, I didn't try very hard.

I don't know how long I stayed there, but with every swallow, the pain lessened, and my strength returned. When at last I opened my eyes once more, I found myself, not on the battlefield, but in a cave, the sun casting a circle of light near the entrance. Remus had done what he promised—I was whole again—even the pain from my wounds had vanished. Pushing to my feet, I reached toward the light. Before the glow even touched my skin, the flesh on my fingers erupted in flames. I yanked my hand back, batting the fire away.

"Lesson number one, Maximus," the melodic voice said from behind me, "daylight is no longer your friend."

Turning, I found the demon, Remus, in the recesses of the cave. His fangs gone, but the gleam in his eyes the same as I'd seen as I lay dying. And in that moment, I knew I had indeed failed the test, because I'd wakened in hell.

# Christmas in Chains

Since becoming a vampire, especially since I was brought here after Lily's death, time has little meaning. Christmas, however, always brings a special surprise.

The first year of my imprisonment, hot pokers were driven into my flesh so I would understand what my victims felt if I didn't glamour them when I fed. The lesson repeated the next year—in case the first time didn't convince me to be kind unless there was cause to be cruel—along with my first bath in holy water. The next year, I spent Christmas day chained in the garden, just within the shadow of its walls, where the sun could sear my flesh without destroying it so I remembered that no matter how strong I think I am, there is always something stronger.

It is by those memories I've counted the years here. A dozen so far, and judging by the decorations draped luridly about the place, number thirteen is fast approaching. I gave up begging for release after the first five Christmases. Now I alternated between hoping to survive and praying for death.

Today, I leaned toward the former. I wanted to live...just not here. Not anymore.

There were no more lessons I could learn in Remus's home. And even if there were, I didn't want those answers. I had nightmares enough to last me several centuries.

The stones of the hearth bit into my bare knees as I scrubbed at the marble inside the fireplace. Silver chains clinked at my wrists and ankles, burning like acid against my flesh. Resting on my heels, I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead.

"You missed a spot." Remus's voice grated on the last of my frayed nerves.

Snapping would do no good, though, especially not with Christmas and my annual "gift" right around the corner. So I choked on the retort and clenched my shackled hands into fists, trying to calm myself. "Where?"

"Don't growl at me, Maxmillian. To your left."

A faint smudge of soot marred the very edge of the marble. Movements rough, I scrubbed at the spot until it disappeared. "Is that all, Remus?"

"I'm tired of talking to your back. Turn around."

As always, the order, issued with complete calm, made me bristle. Part of me wanted to defy him, but my back still stung with the remnants of the last time he'd had to remind me who was in charge here. So I turned and stared brazenly at him. I'd tried playing the whipped puppy; it hadn't gotten me out of here, so I didn't bother anymore.

Remus lounged on a red velvet couch, his robe gaping open to reveal flawless pale skin. I knew he thought it made him look irresistible. I resisted anyway, a feat I never found hard to accomplish. He twirled a finger in his hair, looking almost coy for a moment. I must not have responded the way he planned, because he sighed and lay back on the couch then turned toward me, his gaze even. "I'm chilled. Start a fire, would you?"

I tried to stay calm, but my muscles bunched, displaying my anger. And my captor simply smiled at me. Of course he had to notice. He always noticed. "You just had me clean the fireplace, Remus."

He waved a hand lazily. "Yes, and now I want a fire. Build it and you can be free for the evening."

All I wanted to do was race across the room and sever his head from his shoulders, but I knew better than to try that again. When I killed Remus, he couldn't see it coming or I'd fail. "Right away."

I built the fire and had it blazing in minutes. Then he had his guards take me below ground and chain me to the ceiling. "Enjoy your Christmas Eve," one of them growled as he yanked the chains over my head and stalked out, slamming the door and leaving me with only the light of the moon filtering through the barred window.

This was my reward. Not freedom by any standards I used to know, but I was away from Remus for a few blessed hours. Sometimes that was enough. Straining against my bonds, I could just see the moon outside my cell. A connection to the outside world—tenuous though it was—like a cruel lover, disappearing when I needed her touch most.

My muscles taut and trembling with the agony, I prayed as I did every moment I spent alone. Prayed for life, prayed for the lives I'd taken, prayed for my death, prayed for the death of Remus, prayed for release, and prayed for the ability to kill him myself.

"I cannot help you with the killing, but I can get you out of here."

The tiny voice in my right ear jerked me from my meditation, my arms screaming as I stood upright and relieved the strain they'd been under. "Who? What?"

The voice by my ear laughed, and in a flurry of wings, revealed itself as little more than a shadow in the moonlight. "I am Janiqua, and I can spring you from this prison, Vampire, but you will owe me a favor in return." She fluttered back to land on my arm, barely five inches tall, with brown hair and dragonfly wings that glittered in the pale light.

As much as I wanted to jump at the offer, I had a hard time believing the creature wasn't a hallucination brought on by pain and lack of sleep—not that I needed much of the latter anymore. "What sort of favor?"

She shrugged, more a movement of wings than shoulders. "I don't know at the moment. But the day will come when I collect. The Fair Folk always collect on our debts—it would be wise for you to remember that. Do we have an accord?"

I'd long since given up hope of Christmas miracles, but I nodded. In an instant, the shackles opened and my arms fell heavily by my sides, forcing me to stifle a groan of exquisite pain. She darted under the door, and it swung open.

"Quickly, Vampire. The guards won't stay asleep for long." She flitted up the stairs. I raced after her, rubbing my wrists. The guards were indeed asleep at their posts, tiny arrows protruding from their necks, and she pushed the door wide.

I didn't question my good fortune until I stood shivering at the gates of the estate. "Janiqua?" I called as she fluttered into the night. "How did you find me? And why the hell did you help me?"

Her pointy teeth flashed in the light of the moon as she darted close to my ear. "I like people being in my debt, Vampire." She flitted away and called back over her shoulder, "As to how I located you in that pathetic excuse for a prison? Consider it a Christmas present from your Fairy Godmother." Her laughter echoed in the night as she flew away.

Her words made no sense. I'd been away from everyone but Remus and his guards ever since Lily's death. No one would think to rescue me, much less know where to find me. As much as the situation confounded my mind, I refused to look this gift horse—or should I say gift fairy—in the mouth. So I did the only reasonable thing—put as much distance between myself and Remus's estate as I could before dawn lit the sky, savoring my Christmas miracle with every step.

# Never Underestimate a Bored Vampire

"I'm bored."

Giles rolled his too large eyes. "Not sure I ever seen a day where ye ain't bored, Remus." The dwarf cast his stubby arms in as wide a circle as he could manage. "I thought this mess'd make ye positively gleeful."

Giving a sigh, Remy glanced at the mayhem. Everywhere, people were looting stores, running into the streets with their arms overflowing. The police desperately tried to stem the tide, but there were too many rioters and not enough cops to do more than make a dent. Remy had personally witnessed over three hundred arrests, and still people rushed into the fray. It was a feeding frenzy, and not the fun kind.

Speaking of food, flames began licking at building to their right. "Damn it, Giles, I like that restaurant."

"Aye, and what do ye expect me to do about it? This ain' my fault."

Scowling, Remy approached the building, and a few seconds later the fire was extinguished. Granted, dozens of other buildings still burned, but he would be damned if he gave up a favorite meal for this madness.

"Spoilsport." Giles batted at a smoldering bit of Remy's leather jacket.

"Better a spoilsport than a desperado."

"Pfft. I ain't reckless. This particular reprisal just took on a life of its own." Detroit was running with blood and flame, and Giles was having far too much fun with the whole blasted thing.

Remy loved his adopted city. Loved its grit and its wildly beating heart. No matter how beautiful the flames, he hated to see it burn. "Who did what to you this time?"

"Some soldier back from the war kicked me. Kicked me, Remus. I couldn't let that stand. Hero or no', I've killed people for less." Giles was the Nain Rouge, Detroit's resident harbinger of doom, and offending him was a fate punishable by whatever the red dwarf found entertaining at the moment.

"So you'll kill a bunch of other people instead?"

"Nah, ye daft fool. The only thing I did for his punishment was get him and his friends in the pokey for the night. Someone else took offense to that. That someone's the monster as started this."

For once the dwarf had stayed his hand, likely due to the transgressor being a soldier. Giles and Remus both had too much personal knowledge of the horrors of war. "Great. I can't even blame you."

"No' today, ye can't."

Fair as his friend's actions had been, Remy wasn't having any of it. There were people in this city that needed to live. "My plans, Giles... Did you forget?"

"Yer game, ye mean." He shook his scruffy head and kicked at a discarded soup can. "It's a long con, and an unsure one at that. Ye certain ye're up for it?" He arched a bushy red eyebrow at Remy. "After all, ye do get bored rather easily, if I might say so."

And right there was the crux of the problem. Remy was bored. Insanely bored. Given enough time, he might have started this riot for entertainment. Something needed to happen, and soon.

When he'd first decided to look into the lineage of the Blood Kissed and found his way to the Cooper family, he'd deserted his home in Italy and come here, intent on keeping track—on watching for the prophesied one to make an appearance. That was twenty years ago. Since then, he'd nudged his game pieces on the board to put them in position to play. And for the most part, they'd sat there, doing nothing.

Yes, after the Cooper line had been decimated in an attack a few years back —not his doing, though it did simplify matters—he'd made sure Max and Analise ran into each other. Those two had become wary allies, which was more than Remy had intended, but he wasn't about to complain. The young vampire didn't know that Remy had bred and trained him as a warrior. Truth be told, Maxmillian knew next to nothing at all. Poor sap.

But since then, Remy'd had nothing to do. Sitting in on meetings of the high council had grown tedious a long time ago, and he was getting sick of them referring to him as a child. What he needed was incentive to do more—to move things along. And he had such and intriguing prospect standing right next to him.

"How offended would you be, my friend, at the prospect of a wager?"

"Vampire, I don't take ye seriously enough to take offense. What did ye have in mind?" Giles stroked his beard. "And what do ye say we get off the street for this discussion. I'm having a wee bit o'trouble keeping track of how many of these idiots are pushing and shoving at us."

Remy hadn't noticed. Then again, he wasn't hungry. In this state, random humans didn't interest him very much. "As you wish."

Hands pressed together, Remy focused on the power inside him, slowly spreading his palms to reveal a glowing ball of blue flames. He thrust it at a nearby plate glass window that had thus far been spared destruction. The fire spread across the glass, melting everywhere it touched. A few seconds later, the flames extinguished themselves, and the window might as well never have been—it was now a blob of silica slowly cooling in the evening air. Remy waved toward the opening. "After you."

"Does everything ye do have to be so bloody showy?" Giles hopped over the window ledge and into the little shop.

Remy picked his way around the molten glass and into the darkened room. So many shiny trinkets—most of them worthless. He spied a box of old skeleton keys and picked it up. Surely he could do something with those—and of everything that would be stolen over the next few days, he doubted the shop owner would miss them. "Stairs to the right, behind that door."

Shaking his head, the Nain Rouge opened the door and started climbing. "I don't ken how you do that."

"And I don't know how the man who makes himself look like a red-furred devil can call me flashy." The stairs creaked and groaned as they ascended. One thing Remy did miss from Italy—the buildings. In Europe, people built things to last. Here in the States... Well, he supposed they made them to be easily rebuilt after they were burned to the ground.

The door upstairs opened with a brisk kick near the latch. Inside, a worn but sturdy desk sat at one end, binders lining a case on the wall. On the other side was a couch that had also seen better days, but it supported them comfortably when he and Giles sat. Whatever junk was downstairs, clearly the shop owner was trying to turn it into a real business, complete with office. Remy hoped they had insurance.

"What sort of wager did ye have in mind, vampire?"

"You've said more than once that you think my desire to watch the unfolding of the Blood Kissed saga is foolish."

"Nae lad. If ye only planned to watch, I'd say nothing of it. The trouble is ye want to sway the course of destiny—ye want to control fate—that I think is daft. Ye don't understand the powers ye're trifling with."

Remy's lips curled into the innocent smile he'd perfected over the years. "I think, my friend, that you underestimate me."

"Nae. I think ye overestimate yerself. The fates are cruel mistresses—the last thing ye want is to be doing their dirty work for all time."

"Trust me, this game will still play out the way destiny calls. I am simply moving pieces around to ensure the odds are tight."

"Aye, because that won't bother the gods a whit, I'm sure."

Remy shrugged. What did he care for gods? As far as humanity was concerned, he was a god. "And they can have their way with me in due time. Meanwhile...I feel like spicing things up. Since you are convinced this is a bad idea, choose your side."

Giles laughed, the sound somehow boisterous and malevolent at the same time. "And what sides are ye meaning? I know yer goal, Remus. Ye think no one is as smart as ye, but I see inside yer heart."

"My heart is nothing but a lump of darkness—it is the stuff from which the blackness of space is made."

"More like what stars are made from—dreams and far too much gas." Giles shook his head slowly. "I know what yer asking, but there's no good way to answer. Eventually, whether or no' either of us want it, I'll be drawn in to yer little drama, and if I bet one way or the other, I'll nudge things myself. Ye might not care about the whims of the gods, but I've already drawn one of their short sticks, I'm no' looking tae have their ire directed my way again."

That was a good point, one he hadn't considered, though he had to admit the challenge of going head-to-head against the Nain Rouge held an appeal of sorts. Even if he did consider Giles his closest friend.

Remy picked at a thread on the couch, pulling it and watching little bits of the fabric unravel. With the wave of a hand, he restored the thread to its proper position. "The problem is, right now, everything is going according to plan. Every piece is in place, and it's as if I'm waiting for an opponent that doesn't even exist to make a move."

Giles stood on the couch and cuffed Remy across the back of the head. "Ye'll have opponents plenty when the time comes—that's the last thing ye need more of. And a daft wager won't solve your problem either."

"And that announcement earned me a smack?"

Hopping off the couch, Giles let out a low chuckle. "Nae. I did that because yer a fucking eejit."

Of course he did. Remy smoothed his hair back into place and stood. "Am I to assume you getting up means you have an actual answer?"

"Don't I always?" Giles strode to the window and threw open the sash. "What you need is a wrench."

"A wrench?" Maybe the dwarf had hit him harder than he thought.

"Aye. Something that keeps ye busy." He eyed the street, clearly searching for a very specific sort of tool. "Right now, everything is too easy, and that only works well for someone on a schedule. Ye've no idea how long this will take to come to pass, so while ye've everything set, there's nothing left t'do."

"Accurate." Remy strolled over and looked out to watch as the streets of his adopted city burned. "So, how does one find a wrench?"

"Well, see, that's the beauty of me plan. I'll be finding the metal. Ye'll be finding the nearest vampire to forge it."

"I'm the nearest vampire."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Aye, and I want someone weaker. Someone arrogant. I want this wrench to be a wrench, not one of yer pawns."

"If you want me to find a maker, it'll have to be one of mine, or at least in my line." The odds of him locating a random vamp, even in a city with more than its fair share, weren't exactly good. His own, he could summon.

"Far down yer line, if ye please."

Arrogant and a crappy vamp—that's what Giles really wanted, which meant it couldn't be one of his. Fortunately, for their purposes, there was a perfect match who stashed his coffin not far from here. "There's a council member—"

"Remus..." Giles frowned like Remy was being a stubborn child.

"He didn't become an elder because of power—he did it with luck. He's worthless but thinks he's the best of us, just due to age. He's perfect for what I think you want."

Giles rubbed at his beard, tugging on the strands so hard Remy wondered how they stayed attached. "Yes. If yer wrench thinks more highly of himself because his maker is an elder, that would be helpful. And ye can control this..."

"Marius. Yes, at least enough to get him here and change one human. He's about as weak willed as they come. Odds are I won't even have to use much magic on him at all. I will, however, have to make an actual phone call." Remy tipped his head toward the desk.

Giles nodded. "Then do it, and get him here quickly. I do believe I've found just the hunk of metal we need."

Finally, something to do. Sure, after today, Remy would have to stay hands off until the game started in earnest, but he'd get to watch, to see how this wrench would fit into everything, what it would mess up. To plan for the end game. He picked up the phone and punched in a number from memory.

Marius answered on the second ring. "Good evening."

The idiot even sounded like a vampire, drawing out his words and even tossing in a hint of eastern European accent. The son of some early French colonial fur traders, Marius had spent his entire life in or around the Great Lakes. He shouldn't have sounded like that...ever.

How had no one killed him over the years? Maybe using him for this task would be the thing that finally did the old fool in. Remy pushed power into his voice, possibly more than needed, but he rarely used the telephone for such important business—they weren't entirely trustworthy when it came to magic. The simpler the message, the better. "Come to me. Now."

Remy disconnected the call. Direct and to the point. What could possibly go wrong?

***

By the time Remus and Giles made it down to the street, Marius was there. He was pretty spry for an old guy, Remy had to admit.

"What do you want, Remus?"

He was also an ass.

Time to spin a tale the fool couldn't resist.

"It isn't so much what I want, Marius. It's about what our populace needs, and we badly require new blood. Specifically, young blood enriched by the power of our esteemed elders." The old vamp glanced his way and waved for Remy to continue. "My friend and I have spent the day—"

"Only the day? That's hardly worth my time." Marius turned to go.

Blue flames licked Remy's fingers, but he clenched his hand in a fist to keep himself from flinging them at the retreating vampire. "It has been many, many days, Marius, but today we found the ideal candidate."

Giles took over then, jerking his head toward their target across the street. The man walked alone, carrying a bag overflowing with groceries, likely pilfered from one of the stores on this very street. He didn't look as if he quite belonged here, though. He wore casual enough clothing, but it wasn't exactly urban chic. More as if he'd heard about the looting then came into the city looking to cash in on the trouble and leave.

Of course, one would hope he'd have taken more than a bag of groceries for his trouble.

Yet, he skittered from one shadowed alley to the next like some sort of vermin.

What sort of madness was this? Remy was ready to throttle Giles.

Marius scoffed. "That is your hope for the next generation of vampires?"

Before Remy started spouting more lies, Giles piped up with, "I've been keeping an eye on him. He's wily—the sort who takes what he needs, rather than drawing the attention of others by lugging something showy around by himself. But at the bottom of that bag, buried by nothing but groceries, is a stack of money he discovered in his looting."

Truth or fiction? Remy had never known Giles to lie, but how could the dwarf have that information?

In order to nudge Marius along, Remy added, "That is exactly the sort of man we need. The kind who knows his place but isn't afraid to strive for better."

Marius turned to him. "A man like you?"

The idiot had no idea. "I am Remus of the high council. Until I'm aged like a fine wine, that's as high as I can go. But no, I meant more of a scrapper—someone who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty—or bloody—if that's what a situation calls for. That's precisely the sort of vampire you know best how to mold."

"I see your point, and it appears others are coming to save me from the worst of the dirty work." Marius nodded toward his intended prey.

Across the street, a handful of men came out of the alley their target had just deserted—they were on him in an instant, not even bothering to goad him prior to attacking. The bag of groceries flew from his grip, hitting the wall and busting open, and the man himself was taken down by the first punch to his jaw.

One of the thugs dug in his pocket, yanked out his wallet, and finding it empty of cash, tossed it aside. With that disappointment, the group proceeded to kick and beat him. It was a solid ten minutes before they moved on, leaving the young man lying in a bloody heap.

Remy listened as his heart started to slow. They had about fifteen minutes before it'd be too late. "Marius?"

"I suppose the worst that could happen is he dies tomorrow instead of tonight. But I do not believe in training, Remus. He will learn, as I did. His survival will depend on his wits and determination, nothing more."

Heat built in Remy's closed fist. "Of course, and that is a time-honored tradition—one I believe the werewolves follow as well."

"Are you comparing me to an animal, boy?"

Did he want a fight or a new offspring, damn it. "I was discussing training methods, nothing more."

Marius sniffed the air like he smelled something foul. He likely did as Giles had released gas so silent and deadly it may well have killed the human had they been closer. "I'll be on my way now. Take care not to spread your plan to increase our numbers—too many on the council think they will rule when I'm gone. The last thing we need is for one of them to create an army of fools."

"No. We can't have that."

In a breath, Marius was on the other side of the street. He dug through the bag first, pocketing what must have been the money Giles had mentioned. Then he hoisted the nearly dead man and dragged him back into the alley he'd so recently escaped.

Remy sighed and held out his hand, summoning the discarded wallet to him. His new brethren had a name: Chad Akerman. And apparently he lived less than a block away—he'd been almost home when he'd been set upon. Maybe Remy had read him a bit too harshly at first glance. "At least tell me I'm allowed to make sure the poor soul lives long enough to become interesting."

"Of course. No supplying yer blood and no training—at least until this Blood Kissed of yers shows. Then he's yers to do with as ye please." Giles shook his head sadly. "Truth told, ye aimed so low on the scale of worthy sires that I'm hoping his maker will meet a most tragic demise. That sort of creature shouldn't live more than one natural lifetime."

Without the gift of foresight, Remy couldn't make any promises regarding when or how, but there was one thing he knew for certain. "Marius won't survive to see the Blood Kissed revealed to the council. If no one else makes sure of that, I will do it personally."

"Good. I don't wish to dirty my hands with him." Turning away from the fires and looting, Giles said, "What say we find a place to have a pint? I'm tired of all this destruction."

"Best plan you've had all day, old man." With a flick of his wrist, Remy dissolved the glamour that hid his precious roadster from site.

"Garbage? Ye camouflaged yer car as garbage?"

Remy shrugged before running a hand lovingly over the hood. "Can you think of anything safer today?" The Nain Rouge didn't bother answering; he just hopped into the passenger side as Remy slid behind the wheel. "How did you know about the money anyway?"

Laughter shook the car as much as the engine turning over did. "Can't tell ye all my secrets now, can I, vampire? Are ye going to move this flashy monstrosity or no'?"

Remy threw the roadster in gear and peeled away from the curb, leaving the burning of Detroit in his rearview. Today's conversation with Marius had proven useful in an unexpected way. It finally hit Remy that another reason he was so bored was he'd grown tired of playing sycophant to the council.

It was time to shake things up by throwing a different sort of wrench in the works. Giles thought he was flashy now, but his friend hadn't seen anything yet. It was almost time to unveil the new and improved Remy.

Yes, that and the new vampire should keep him well occupied until the Blood Kissed arrived. And then things would get really interesting.

# PART FOUR: Remy Says

Top Ten Ways to Annoy the Council of Elders

Guide to Demons

Killing Vampires for Fun and Profit

Must Love Pets

Sex with Vampires

# Remy Says: Top Ten Ways to Annoy the Council of Elders

I would like to introduce you to Remy, who is visiting to tell us all about the supernatural community. Specifically, vampires since he claims to be one. Today, he's going to talk to us about about the vampire Council of Elders. Remy, you have the floor—or the blog, as it were.

***

I do so like the floor. But I don't just claim to be a vampire—I can prove it later if you like. For now, though, just take me at my word. It's easier that way.

Greetings, you tasty looking bunch. As was mentioned, I want to talk about the Council of Elders. The short version is this: it's a group of really old vampires who like to pretend they're in charge of everything. Have a nice day.

Hey! Whoever said "Screw you, Remy," please meet me after the blog for an attitude adjustment. Trust me that we'll both leave happier for it. But, the point is taken, you want more than that short answer. And, as Remus of the council, I have a very unique perspective on things.

You see, most of the council members don't like me. I suppose it's fair since they are stodgy and set in their ways and I'm...me. But the way the by-laws are written they're stuck with me, so I like to remind them on a regular basis just how frustrated they should be by that fact.

And now, I'm going to teach you the top ten ways to annoy the Council of Elders. (Some of these wouldn't apply to you since you'd be a supplicant, and they wouldn't have to tolerate your presence, but bear with me and only put your favorites to use.)

  * Look them in the eye when you speak. There are no rules against it, so don't worry about the "off with her head" bit. They just think everyone should be submissive to them. Don't let them get away with that unless you're desperate enough to screw one (in which case, I don't even want to talk to you—because eww.)

  * Sing. The acoustics in the council chamber are phenomenal. If you can choose a song that kind of slaps their faces, even better. Or, best, sing your petition, whatever it is. They think the chambers should be formal and dignified. Pfft.

  * Come in for no reason other than to say hi. Formal and dignified and all business. It's ridiculous. All work and no play makes Remy a dull boy. Bring some nonsense with you when you come.

  * Speaking of things to bring. Show up with weapons. The more obscure the better. Show up early and set up a guillotine. Or better yet, bring stakes and flaming torches. Then make up some ridiculous excuse like you just wanted to have a barbeque and roast marshmallows.

  * Oh, and snacks. It's always polite to bring snacks. The council is particularly fond of drug-abusers who haven't bathed in a month. Present one as a gift like it's the most precious thing out there. I will personally buy your ass a drink after.

  * Call a special meeting. (This one's mainly for me as they hate it when I mess with the schedule. Of course, none of them bother to ask my opinion when they do it, so I like to drag everyone out of their bed or coffin or wherever people who like to think they're Dracula sleep. Keeps them on their toes.)

  * Dress flamboyantly. This goes with the singing and the weapons and anything else that isn't officially sanctioned. The Elders think we should all dress like we're going to Sunday morning mass. I say, dress like you're Katy Perry or Gaga's stunt double. Or body double. Yeah. Naked is good, too.

  * To go along with the nudity, flaunt your youth. They are old, like stupid old, and they act it. When you walk through the door as a human, no matter how old you are, you're younger than them. Shove it in their faces as much as you can.

  * Talk to me first and mostly. They all think that I should be ignored as much as possible, which is silly for so many reasons. (Not least of which is that I'm fabulous.) But I'm the one who gets stuff done. They're like a little political puppy pile just tripping over each other and getting nowhere. Trust me, I'm your guy.

And my favorite way to irritate the council is...

  * Call them on their shit. Whether it's their age, their clothes, their smell... I don't care what you call them on, just point it out in the most brazen way possible and watch them lose it. Fun times.

That's it. If you survive the encounter with the Council of Elders after following all my guidelines, I will make sure you have a prime table and all you can drink at Pandora's Box for the week. Because you, my crazy human, are going to be my new best friend.

# Remy Says: Guide to Demons

Today, the Remus of Detroit is with us to talk about a subject very important when dealing with vampires...demons.

***

Hello again, but we're going to have to work on that title thing. For now, just call me Remy. Normally I'd bow at this point, but since you can't see me, just imagine it and gasp accordingly (I've been told I have quite a sexy bow). But... demons....

I don't believe in them. The end.

Stop yelling "but you're a vampire." Yes, I am, that's true, but that doesn't say anything about demons.

You see, I am not a minion of hell. I know, hard to believe with the way I dress, because no one but an incubus of the highest order should look this good in leather, but it's true. And to be fair, the incubi aren't hell spawn either.

A demon is (according to Miriam-Webster) "an evil spirit." First, I am not a spirit; I'm flesh. You can touch me. *slaps* I didn't mean literally—save that for later. But I am most definitely not a spirit. I'm as corporeal as the day I was born long ago.

And I can guarantee you the same is true of any other "demon" I've had the pleasure to run across. Werewolves? More human than some of them want to admit. Fairies and pixies and all the other Fae? Less human but still very solid. If you wish to question that, I will suggest avoiding any that look particularly friendly, as they tend to be the most likely to kill you.

As for the evil bit. Look at me? Do I look evil to you? Okay, maybe a little evil, but all good and no evil makes Remy a very dull lover indeed. And that, ladies and gentlemen, will never do.

But I serve no devil in hell by my existence. In fact, the most "devilish" within the supernatural community are those who claim to serve no master at all. They are a lot of fun to hang out with...as long as you don't mind getting your hands dirty.

Not angels by any means—though I'm sure there are a few of us who might strive for such nonsense—but not demons either. Nope. Demons are nothing but a construct of fiction and religion (which some might argue are upon occasion the same damn thing).

So what am I? I am the creature who won't ever bother to tap on your bedroom window if I want in. And if I come inside, I can promise it won't be to watch you sleep.

And you might even invite me to come back again.

Take that, incubi.

#  Remy Says: Killing Vampires for Fun and Profit

Today, Remy—Remus of the Midwest Vampire Council—is back with us to talk about a subject near and dear to his blood-soaked heart—killing vampires. Take it away, Remy.

***

Perfect! You have the title thing down now. And thank you for inviting me back again—I believe I told you last time that was bound to happen.

There are all sorts of reasons a person might want to kill a vampire. Revenge is always a personal favorite, and let me tell you humans are mighty tasty when they think they have God and righteousness on their side. Blind rage, religious fervor, and panic are other, less delicious options. (Because let's face it, those only have one seasoning in the blood—hardly worth the effort.) Then there are the perennially stupid. Trust me when I say we're doing humanity a favor by thinning that particular herd, and it's not a gourmet favor. Sewer rats are more palatable—and often better company.

If, however, you are on a mission of vengeance—a vamp killed your spouse, lover, sibling, child... you get the picture—there are some things to keep in mind.

If you plan to succeed:

  * Hahahahahahahahaha. Oh, that was insensitive. It is possible, so let's pretend you're smarter than the average human on a rampage.

  * Make sure you're going after a young vampire. The younger we are, the easier we are to kill. Stake through the heart will do it. Sunlight. Beheading. Fire. Most of the standard options. The older and stronger we get, the more screwed you are. And not in the good way.

  * Bring weapons. Lots of weapons. The first one might fail you.

  * Bring friends. Vampires will fight back. When we do, even a young one is likely to kill you if you're alone. In a group, you stand a chance, or the vampire has a buffet. Either way, someone comes out a winner.

  * Oh, and if you can get superpowers or mystical enhancements, do that. It improves your odds of survival exponentially. Though, be warned. Magic itself may not have a price, but I guarantee the one granting it to you will want something in return. Be sure it's something you're willing to part with prior to striking a deal.

If you are simply desperate:

  * Please use fresh lemon juice as cologne. It will cover up the bitterness of your despair.

If you have a death wish and expect to fail:

  * Don't worry, you probably will. You'll have some silly idea that holy relics will protect you and you'll probably bring a stake that's four inches too short. If you couldn't kill a human with it, I guarantee you won't kill a vamp with it.

  * Arrange your affairs in advance.

  * When you run, and you inevitably will, please lead us on a wild chase toward a nice bottle of wine and some cheese to go with our dinner. Thanks.

The one other time people tend to go after vampires is as a career. Professional vampire hunters are few and far between. In fact, there are those among my brethren who consider vampire hunters to be extinct.

They're wrong. Individuals don't last long, but groups tend to spring up about once every century or so. If you really have the itch to shove something long and hard into a vampire, I suggest you either let a female seduce you or you join one of those groups. There's a fifty-fifty chance they'll lead you to a quick death, but if they know what they're doing, you just might take down a few handfuls of bloodsuckers before your ticket is punched. (And by that I mean someone like me shoves their fist through your chest, rips out your beating heart and munches it like an apple.)

So, yeah, that's it. Holy relics don't do anything, aim for the young and weak, bring lots of weapons, and don't go in alone.

Of course, if your real goal is just to come face to face with a vampire, by all means come to my club, Pandora's Box. You will more than get your fill. So will we, and odds are, you'll make it out alive.

# Remy Says: Must Love Pets

Take it away, Remy.

***

Really? That's my intro? Remind me to hand you over to an ugly, hungry vampire when we're done here.

As for the rest of you, I'm going to get a little serious for a moment first. I know, I know, what happened to the Remy we've gotten to know and worship on this blog tour? No worries, he'll return in a moment, but serious stuff first.

Animals have a long history with humankind. Beyond providing food and clothing and companionship, at various stages of history, animals have been worshipped as gods. Let's take the Egyptians for example. Three of the best known Egyptian gods are Horus (falcon), Anubis (dog), and Bastet (cat). They also had a crocodile god, a scorpion goddess, a cow goddess, and even a hippo god. Ibis, jackal, vulture, beetle, fish, bull, ram, cobra... the list goes on and on. That was a society that truly revered animals.

Now, we keep them as pets and put them in zoos and torture them to perform tricks for our amusement. As a vampire of some renown, I watch this and have a difficult time seeing the difference between your food...and my food. And I don't mean the worshiping part.

You see, while I do have an appreciation for dogs and cats, I find my fellow "men" (and women) make the best pets. It is amazing the things a human can be trained to do given the right system of rewards and punishments. And the training lead-time only makes them all the tastier in the long run. That tension in their system as they wonder what could possibly come next? Delicious.

When I'm settled into a place for a while, I like to keep at least one or two. (Honestly, a pair is always better. It's fun to watch them play and fight and...other things.) But at the moment, I am sadly pet-free.

Yes, I've debated a cat since my busy life wouldn't upset it nearly as much as it would bother a dog, but my wardrobe these days just couldn't hold up to the scratching and spraying. It is the 21st century after all. No, a human seems much more agreeable.

Plus, if I had a human, I could also have a dog since the human could care for it in my absence. It seems the perfect solution to my solitary lifestyle. So, while I won't put you in a zoo for all the world to see (for an admission fee), I will keep you fed and clean and housed. For any who wish to apply, my requirements therefore are as follows:

  * Must love (or at least tolerate) dogs

  * Must have a bit of a submissive streak (I'm willing to show you who's in charge, but it's easier for all involved if you don't make me show you too much)

  * No allergies to cleaning products or latex

  * And a fairly high tolerance for pain would be helpful

If you aren't fond of the above offer, remember my kind are among you, and you are little more than animals to most of us. Do unto others and all that. We're watching.

...Oh, and I prefer brunettes. Or redheads. Redheads are nice. Hell, blonds are okay. And bald is beautiful...

# Remy Says: Sex with Vampires

Remy decided to grace us with his exquisite presence once more and explain to us all just what it means when one decides to have sex with a vampire...or two...or three...

***

That's much better.

For those of you curious, an interesting (but possibly unsurprising) point of fact is a lot of vampires like to feed during either sex or seduction—sometimes both. So, if you plan to fornicate with a vampire:

  * Know that you will bloodlet during sex. Get over it, get past it, enjoy the biting (because biting is fun... also because of point 2 below.)

  * Freaking out during feeding time is bad. We don't like it. Well, actually some of us do—namely the ones who see it as an excuse to make things more violent and a lot bloodier. You're naked and helpless with a creature that is designed to kill you. See point #1.

  * Speaking of helpless, it's pretty rare to find a naturally submissive vampire. I'd say impossible, but then some idiot vamp would try to prove me wrong. We like to be in charge. It's the reason vampire-vampire (or more) couplings (read: orgies) don't happen very often, and when they do it means the room is getting a new paint job in blood-red, if you take my meaning. So, needless to say, don't try to take charge—you'll lose.

  * Also, unless you're dealing with a young vampire, you're at the hands of a master. We've had decades (some of us centuries) to try it all. The odds of you having something new to show/teach/whatever us are slim to none, so listen to your elders and enjoy the ride.

  * For vamps of a certain age, there is one other thing. Hardly any of us are "curious" about much anymore. There is no "bi-curious" or "heteroflexible." We fall at three points on the Kinsey spectrum: heterosexual, completely bisexual, or homosexual. So, don't try to convince us to give you a try if we say no. It's just a waste of your time.

  * Did I mention the feeding thing? Remember we can take blood from a lot of places. If there's more than one of us involved—or you're feeding one of us regularly—be sure to take your iron supplements and drink plenty of water. We prefer our pantries to be well-stocked.

  * And sexy. We also like our dinners to look yummy on the plate...er bed (or car or table or shower...)

Damn it. Now I'm hungry and horny. That about covers the main points on having sex with a vampire. If you want to know more, feel free to ask. If you'd prefer a more private Q&A, I have a lovely room in the basement of my estate in Italy that might have your name on it. Applicants must have an open mind, incredible flexibility, and a high tolerance for pain. (Actually, that last bit is optional since I don't mind screamers.)

About the Author

At a young age, Seleste deLaney discovered the trick to not being afraid of the monsters under the bed was to turn them into heroes. Since that time, she's seen enough of human monsters that she prefers to escape to fictional worlds where even the worst demons have to play by the rules and the good guys might end up battered and bruised (or dead), but they always win. And really, isn't that the way it should be?

She resides in the Detroit area with all her favorite monsters (nice ones—some are furry and the others call her Mom) and is hard at work on her next book. In those rare moments when she isn't battling terrorists, vampires, or rogue clockworks, she can be found all over the Internet, where she loves to interact with readers.
