Much Ado About Vampires: A Dark Ones Novel

  Dammit, he wasn’t even allowed to escape the hell of his life through near death. He was to have no peace, no relief; not even the insensibility of a coma was to be granted to him. His heart, or what remained of it, was sick with the knowledge that he had an eternity of even more torment to exist through.

  “All right,” he told the woman, shoving at her arm. “You’ve done what you were sent to do. I’m awake and miserable. Get off me.”

  She made no move, just continued to lie there on top of him.

  And the damned rock still dug into his back.

  He sighed, wondering how much more torment he could survive before going stark, staring mad. Insanity seemed like the only route open to him, the only escape of the torment of his life, and yet, his pride had always held him back from just simply going mad. Now he wondered if it wasn’t easier than existing for each excruciating second.

  “You’re hurting me. Not that you probably care, but I’d like to get up and smash a certain rock to gravel, so if you’d kindly remove yourself from me, I’d appreciate it.”

  The woman still didn’t move, and it struck Alec at that moment that her heartbeat was too slow, her body too heavy on his.

  “Miss?” he said, prodding the woman.

  She lay limply on him, her breath shallow on his neck. For a moment, he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her. She smelled like wildflowers after a rain, clean and pure and sweet as honey. Unable to stop himself, he turned his face into her hair and breathed deeply, pulling her scent into his lungs, burning it to his memory.

  Something inside him thrummed as the deep hunger awoke again. He inhaled deeply again, wanting to feed on her, wanting to take within himself the warmth he knew she held, the sweet, spicy taste of her blood still on his tongue. If he turned his head just a little more, he could reach her shoulder. He could drink until he was full. He could take everything she had to offer, every last sip of life, and roll her off him. She deserved it for torturing him this way. If only she didn’t smell so damned good . . .

  He growled a few oaths to himself as he shifted her off him, letting her roll into the spot he had chosen for his final resting place, crushing that foul rock into nothing before examining his torturer.

  She was mortal, apparently in her early thirties, with brown hair, arched eyebrows, and a delicately boned face that was covered in freckles. Her lips were slightly parted, and he had to fight with himself to keep from bending over her to taste their pink sweetness. With a connoisseur’s eye, he cataloged the rest of her—large breasts, broad hips, probably slightly over medium height, big-boned . . . not at all the type of woman he found attractive. He preferred his women on the slight side, delicate and frail. This woman, while not an Amazon, looked every bit the phrase “hearty peasant stock.”

  Hearty peasant stock or not, he knew he’d taken too much of her blood. Her heartbeat was steady, but it had probably been a close thing. He wanted to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that she was clearly there as part of his punishment, but guilt pricked him nonetheless.

  Guilt and something else. He caught himself enjoying the sweep of her hips, the rounded weight of her breasts beneath a washed-out blue tank top. Her arms were also freckled, and for some reason, that pleased him.

  “Wake up,” he told the woman, placing his hands on her arms and shaking her slightly. “I’m tired of looking at your hips. You will awaken now.”

  She said nothing, just lay there, unconscious. He frowned at her, his gaze straying once more to her breasts, down to the curve of her dusty jeans. He would not be attracted to his tormentor.

  “Wake up!” he said louder, and shook her again. “If you don’t wake up, I will slap you.”

  Her chest rose and fell with a shallow pattern of breathing.

  “There are times when I’d give anything to never have been born,” he muttered, staring at her mouth before tapping her on the cheek.

  She didn’t move.

  He tapped a little harder.

  Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Ow.”

  He smiled. “Are you awake now?”

  The frown grew, although her eyes remained shut tight. “No. Go away. I was floating. I want to float again.”

  “You’re done floating. Wake up.”

  Her eyes screwed up. Just what he needed, a stubborn torturer. “Don’t want to. Want to float.”

  “By the saints, woman, that wasn’t floating. I almost killed you.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered a little, but remained closed. Color was returning to her cheeks, he noticed, his gaze once again on her mouth. Lips like strawberry cream, he thought, then gave her another little shake. “It’s time for you to wake up now. You’ve floated long enough.”

  A little smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “I like your voice. It’s sexy. If I can’t float, talk some more.”

  You don’t know what you’re saying. I took too much blood, and almost killed you.

  Blood? Oh, yes, I remember that. You’re the vampire who looked like three-day-old roadkill.

  Alec jerked backward. She couldn’t have just done what he thought she had done . . . could she? Only Beloveds or someone with a close family tie could do that, and lord knew, his family and Beloved died out centuries ago.

  Thanks to you , I no longer look like roadkill, he said, eyeing her.

  That’s good. She stretched and opened her eyes.

  “Oh, pretty,” the woman said, reaching up to touch his face. “I always wanted to have green eyes.”

  You shouldn’t. You have lovely dark eyes. They’re very exotic. What the hell was going on here? Why was she able to talk to him this way? It made no sense, unless the fact that he had been so close to death and she had fed him had established a blood bond.

  They’re plain old brown. She blinked a couple of times, her eyes widening, surprise and no little amount of wariness filling her mind. “Uh . . . how did you do that?”

  “I don’t know.” He examined her face again, finding its delicate lines more pleasing with every perusal. “I don’t recognize you, yet you seem familiar somehow.”

  “Maybe we knew each other in a past life,” she joked, rolling herself up to a sitting position.

  As soon as she spoke, she froze, staring at him with huge, horrified eyes.

  “What is wrong with you? ” he asked, not used to women gawking at him as if he were a monstrous beast.

  “Vampire,” she whispered, tickling a memory in the back of his mind.

  He saw again the pooled light from the front of his house in California as it spilled onto the tiled front walk, remembered the three women who had too much to drink, and had evidently picked his house to visit. He remembered also the woman who took one look at him, screamed, “Vampire!” and fainted at his feet. “You were at my house a couple of months ago, weren’t you?”

  “Oh my god, I didn’t recognize you.” The woman tried to backpedal, to crawl backward, but the boulder was in the way. All she did was succeed in plastering herself up against it. “I didn’t realize it was you, or I wouldn’t have—”

  “Wouldn’t have what? ” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Tortured me? Dragged me back to awareness? Made my life once again an endless cycle of damnation ? ”

  “Fed you,” she said, making Alec shake his head.

  “Where do you know me from?” he asked, not believing her pretense of innocence.

  “I saw you kill a woman,” she said, glancing to her right, obviously weighing up the chances of her success escaping him.

  “Slim to none if I didn’t want you to,” he told her, and smiled, making her press herself back against the rock as he leaned forward, catching again her scent of wildflowers. “And at this moment, I don’t want you to leave. What woman?”

  Her mouth dropped open a smidgen. He couldn’t resist rubbing his thumb over her lower lip, gently pushing it upward until she glared at him, brushing away his hand.

  “You mean you’ve killed so many you don’t know which on
e?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve killed a couple of reapers when it was them or me, yes. Are you with the Brotherhood?”

  “No, I’m a lapsed Catholic,” she answered, her gaze moving over him. You look better. Your color is back, and you look even more handsome than I imagined. You’re downright simmering with sensuality, as a matter of fact. Just being close to you makes me dizzy with all sorts of emotions that I really do not want to have.

  His eyebrows rose a little at the candor of her inner monologue. I didn’t think I was particularly simmering, but I will admit that despite your actions, you intrigue me sexually.

  Her eyes got huge again as she blushed. “Oh my god, you could hear that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even the bit about me being dizzy?”

  “Even that.” He frowned. “You appear embarrassed. Why would you project to me if you did not wish me to hear your thoughts?”

  “I didn’t project! My brain just thought those things up without my permission.”

  He gave a mental headshake. Surely she didn’t expect him to fall for that?

  “I think I’d better leave.” She got to her feet, immediately staggering into him, her legs buckling beneath her.

  “You’re too weak yet,” Alec said, catching her before she toppled over. He could feel her head swim with lack of blood. “You lost too much blood. Why didn’t you stop me before I took too much?”

  She let him push her back down onto the ground, gently guiding her head down between her knees. “I didn’t know you didn’t have an auto stop when you were full up.”

  “I do, but replenishing all the blood I lost would have killed you. What is your name?”

  “Cora. Corazon Ferreira. Do you know my sister?”

  “Corazon,” he said, rolling the word around his mouth. It meant “heart,” a fitting name for a woman who was so determined to stab him in his. “Spanish?”

  “Hispanic. Mom and Dad came from Chihuahua. The place, not the dogs, of course. What . . . er . . . what is your name? Patsy never told me.”

  “Patsy? Ah, my former neighbor. I’m Alec. How did you know I was a Dark One?”

  “Dammit!” she snapped, looking irritated.

  “Pardon? ”

  “‘Alec’ is one of my favorite men’s names! Now you’ve gone and ruined it for me.”

  What a very strange woman she was, not at all like a tormentor. Those big eyes, and that delicate face, and a mouth that was starting to hold an unholy fascination for him . . . and then there was the rest of her. He grew hard thinking about the rest of her. With an effort, he focused his attention on the maddening, desirable woman before him. “You’re deranged, aren’t you?”

  “Not quite yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you pushed me over the edge,” she answered darkly, adding, “Alec what?” Dear god, you’re sexy. You’re a vampire, but you’re so incredibly sexy. I just want to ... what on earth am I thinking? You’re evil!

  Not particularly, no.

  You’re undead!

  Not since you fed me.

  You’re a murderer! A vampire murderer! A seductive, sensual vampire murderer with gorgeous eyes and perfect hair and oh, holy mother, you can hear me, can’t you?

  Yes.

  Grah! Stop reading my mind!

  “Darwin,” he said.

  She looked like she was the one who was being driven insane. “What?”

  “My name. It’s Alec Darwin. I do hope I haven’t ruined Darwin for you, as well.”

  She just looked at him as if he were speaking in tongues.

  “How do you know me, Corazon?”

  She blinked a couple of times, and he had the oddest feeling she was withdrawing mentally. “Darwin doesn’t sound like a German name. You sound German. Do you happen to know a Scottish vampire named Avery?”

  “Sins of the saints, woman!” His temper snapped, in no little part due to her scent, which was driving him wild with need. “Answer my question!”

  “Don’t you touch me, you murdering bloodsucker!” she screamed, clawing her way up the rock until she stood clutching it to keep from keeling over.

  Alec felt no real fear in her, just a sense of wariness, and something that he knew instinctively she was hiding from him. No doubt it was her connection with whoever had sent her to torment him. “What have I ever done to you? I don’t even know you, and you act like I’m some sort of leper. I said I was sorry about taking too much of your blood, but I believe the extenuating circumstances have been explained.”

  “What did you do?” she asked him, plainly agog. “What did you do?”

  “That’s what I asked, several times now, as a matter of fact.” His irritation at her faded with the knowledge that he was enjoying himself. Talking with her might be frustrating, but it was also stimulating, serving to eliminate the boredom that hung so heavily over him while he was being completely and utterly miserable.

  She stomped over the three steps to where he stood, poking him on the shoulder. “You killed a woman!”

  “So you said. Which one?” He wondered whether if he kissed her right then, she would kiss him back, or slap him. Perhaps she’d do both.

  She poked him again. “Who knows? She was driving an oxcart.”

  “A what?” Those lips were meant for kissing, even when they were tightened into a line, as they were now. He felt himself grow harder as her scent wrapped itself around him. He wished her legs would do the same.

  “Oxcart. You know, a cart . . . with oxen. And she ran over me and cut off my head, and then you came along, and—”

  “What the hell are you talking about? ” he interrupted, distracted almost to madness by the hot need that swelled inside him. It was tied to the hunger, part of it, yet separate. He stood watching her as she spoke, her hands waving in the air, her mouth—oh, that mouth—singing a sweet siren lure.

  What was this strange sense of want? he wondered to himself. He had felt hunger for blood before, of course. He’d felt the need for sex, as well. He’d even indulged himself with human relationships whenever the loneliness got to be too much to bear. But this strange sense of possession tied to her was all wrong. He didn’t want her, not really. He wanted her blood, nothing more.

  She poked him again and he took her hand, the touch swamping him with the knowledge that he was lying to himself.

  “It was a long time ago, all right? Like . . . at least a couple of hundred years ago. The ox lady was dressed in some sort of a brown skirt and leather bodice. And there was a town, and some sort of a castle on a hill, and you were wearing . . .” Cora bit her lower lip, hiding her thoughts from him.

  I like your Adam’s apple.

  Well, not hiding those thoughts. You truly are the strangest woman I ever met.

  I know. Why do I want so badly to kiss you even knowing you killed that woman right there in front of me?

  Instantly, his gaze dropped to that sweet mouth. I have an even better question. Who the hell are you?

  “My name is Corazon Esmeralda Ferreira, and I am a secretary with my ex-husband’s real estate agency. I am thirty-two, have a sister who’s married to a vampire, and I saw you kill a woman.”

  “An ox woman, yes, I know. What is the name of the Dark One?”

  “Avery Scott. Why did you attack her, Alec? Why did you bite her and bleed her dry?” She wrapped her arms around herself, moving away from him, the faintest hint of horror filling her eyes. “Why did you take what you wanted from her, and just leave her body there on the road like she was nothing?”

  “I don’t know what it is you’re . . .” He started to shake his head, then suddenly stopped. From the depths of his memory, he drew forth the scene she had described. He felt again the heat of the sun on him as he went to woo his Beloved, the scent of the newly turned earth, the sound of cattle lowing peacefully in the distant town where Eleanor lived. It was all idyllic, pastoral . . . until he came across the woman who had just killed his salvation. Slowly, he said, “A woman with a
n oxcart.”

  “You attacked her.” Cora stared at him, clearly willing him to make the horror go away.

  “How do you know what I did?”

  “I had a . . . for lack of a better word, a vision.”

  He said nothing, just closed his eyes, pain swamping him. He was aware that Cora had moved toward him, but stopped, making a little sound of frustration. He acknowledged it, but the bone-deep anguish the memory of that time stirred still held him tight in its grip.

  “She killed my Beloved,” he said, swaying slightly at all he had lost. Sorrow, agony, and pain burned deep in him, spilling out onto her, but he was unable to stop it. She didn’t run from him, however. She moved forward, wrapping her arms and her scent and the light of her soul around him, cradling him as if he were a hurt child. “She killed her before we had Joined, leaving me behind. She took everything from me, my heart, hope . . . life. All that was left me was suffering.”

  Concern washed over him like a soothing balm, her warmth touching all the dark places of his heart, and even though he knew she kept a little piece of herself back from him, he was stunned with the realization of what she was giving him.

  She gave him compassion, heartfelt human compassion, the sweetest of all gifts that he could have received. He accepted it, acknowledging what it cost her, knowing she didn’t want to feel emotions for him, but also knowing they shared a bond, even if it was only one of blood.

  It was too much for him. He turned his face into her hair, his arms sliding around her to hold her body tightly to his, needing to feel her, needing to taste her . . . just needing her. His mouth was hot on the flesh of her neck, of her shoulders, his mind filled with the satisfying knowledge that she wanted him with the same need. How can you taste so good? No other woman has tasted this way. You drive me wild with hunger.

  Vampire, she said, trying to rally a resistance in her own mind, but that faded almost instantly into awareness of him. Bloodsucker.

  Tormentor. Temptress.

  You killed that woman, she accused, trying one last attempt to convince herself.

  She killed everything I was.

  She bit gently on his ear, her lips caressing his jaw. I can feel what she did to you. I can feel the agony. How can you live with so much pain inside you?