The Bite Before Christmas Page 14

  Because the only thing that could possibly hurt more than the pain of losing him to a natural human death was losing him to the hatred and disdain he felt toward her now—and knowing that thanks to his new immortality, that hatred was going to last forever.

  Vivian did the best she could to mend Sean’s wounds and fill in the gaps for him as far as his healing went and what he should expect during his first few hours and days as a vampire. It was Bloodsucking for Beginners—which would have been moderately amusing, if the circumstances hadn’t been so serious.

  Most mortals who decided to cross over the line into immortality did it with a clear knowledge of what they were getting into. The days of turning someone without their consent were, for the most part, long gone.

  Thanks to Angelina, however, Vivian had been dropped smack in the middle of a tension-filled, turned-against-his-will situation. And even though she’d had absolutely nothing to do with it, she was the lone target of Sean’s blame…and her own self-flagellation.

  “You should get some rest,” she told him when the silence between them dragged on longer than her already frayed nerves could handle and she noticed his eyelids beginning to droop.

  “So, what? Now I’m going to slip into some sort of coma until it gets dark again? Do I have to sleep in a coffin, too?”

  Despite the sarcasm in his tone, she almost smiled. “You can stay awake around the clock, if you like. Just because we can’t go out in daylight without turning into crispy critters doesn’t mean we can’t stay awake through the day, the same as humans can pull all-nighters. Eventually you’ll need to catch up on lost sleep, but there’s no forced loss of consciousness, going stiff and unwakeable,” she told him. “Because your transformation is so new, though, the higher the sun gets in the sky, the more tired you’ll become. For the first week or so, anyway. The same as your thirst for blood will be stronger for a while. Then you’ll acclimate and start to feel much more normal.”

  “Normal,” he scoffed. “Right.”

  What more could she say? she wondered as guilt twisted inside her for the six- or eight-thousandth time.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m sorry you didn’t get a choice in the matter,” she told him. “But I’ll do my best to help you adjust, and I think that once you get used to your new reality, you won’t mind it so much.”

  He didn’t respond, which was fine with her. Chilly silence was better than something that would only dump more guilt on a pile that was already so high, weighing down her heart so much, she didn’t think it could take even a salt grain more.

  “You can sleep in my room,” she said, rising from the couch and leading him down the hall. He followed without a word, standing in the doorway while she turned down the covers.

  “The sheets are clean,” she told him, explaining where everything else was that he might need. Extra towels in case he wanted to shower, an extra toothbrush in case he wanted to brush his teeth. Then she quietly left the room, closing the door behind her.

  She’d always thought spending two years loving Sean from afar was a lesson in self-torture. Then he’d told her he was dying, and she’d experienced a pain unlike any she’d ever felt before. And somewhere in-between was her current emotional roller coaster.

  One minute up because Sean was alive. He was no longer suffering from a fatal disease, no longer had one foot in the grave, and he was here in her apartment, with her.

  The next minute, it was as though the ground dropped out from under her and she was headed straight down at a rapid pace because she knew this wasn’t what he wanted and that he blamed her for it.

  Well, she blamed Angelina, she thought with a sudden flare of anger.

  Grabbing up the cordless phone as she passed, she carried it with her while she cleared the coffee table. It took all her patience and five very white knuckles clutched around the phone to wait until she thought Sean would be asleep so he wouldn’t overhear when she ripped Angelina a new one in a very loud whisper.

  After ten long minutes without a sound from the back bedroom, she moved to a corner of the apartment as far from Sean’s location as she could get and furiously punched in Angelina’s phone number. Of course, since the sun had already been up for quite some time, and her friend was likely already in bed, it rang. And rang. And rang.

  Voice mail picked up, but before the electronic voice could inform her that no one was home to answer her call, she hung up and dialed again. Let it ring. And ring. And ring.

  It took three hang-ups and redials before a deep, annoyed voice, groggy with sleep, came on the line. “What?”

  “This is Vivian Harrison,” she told Ian, Angelina’s live-in lover and partner for as long as she and Vivian had known each other. Normally, the rough-and-tumble cop intimidated the heck out of her, but she was too annoyed at the moment to remember that. “I need to talk to Angelina. Now.”

  A second later, Angelina’s equally drowsy voice came on. “Viv?”

  “How could you do this, Angie? I told you not to. I told you he would hate this. How could you do something so monumental, so irreversible against both our wishes?”

  To her chagrin, her voice began to wobble at the end, and despite her intentions to whisper so Sean wouldn’t overhear, her riotous emotions had her growing increasingly louder.

  In complete contrast to Vivian’s upset, Angelina remained completely calm. “Sweetie, he was dying. And he wasn’t going to go peacefully. He was going to get sicker and sicker, weaker and weaker, suffering untold pain before his final end. He may not be happy right now, but give him a little time and he’ll realize it was for the best.”

  “How can you say that? He hates me now. He may not have thought of me as anything but his assistant before, but at least he didn’t hate me, and it’s all your fault!”

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Angelina replied coolly, “he’s just mad about being put in a situation he’s unsure of and afraid of how it’s going to change his life. Give him some time to get used to his new condition and he’ll be fine.”

  “You really think it’s that simple?” Vivian asked. The question came out half angry, half curious. She so wanted her friend to be right, but couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the notion that Sean would ever forgive her.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s going to be simple, but if he hates being a vampire so much, he can still end it. Tell him to go stand on the roof at sunrise or fall heart-first onto a chair leg or something. If he wanted to die so badly as a mortal, he can die just as easily as an immortal, just in another fashion.”

  For a moment, Vivian couldn’t respond. She still wasn’t happy, but Angelina made a good point. Sean had come to terms with his illness and been ready to die. He was unhappy knowing he’d been given a second chance in a manner he considered to be unnatural. So if he hated being a vampire so much, being like her, he certainly didn’t have to stay one for long.

  Lord knew dying as a vampire was a heck of a lot faster and less painful than dying of a slow-moving human disease like brain cancer. Sunlight or a stake to the heart…either would be over fairly quickly, and the vamp in question would barely know what hit him.

  It wasn’t ideal, and Vivian knew that if that was the option Sean chose, it would break her heart all over again. But if he was going to be this unhappy with the idea of living forever in a body and a way he didn’t like…well, she didn’t want him to be that unhappy, especially if he continued to lay the fault at her feet.

  When the silence continued to stretch between them, Angelina’s tone softened and she said, “I gave you a second chance, honey. You spent two years working for this man, wanting him, but never making a move to let him know. Then when something finally happened between you, it was with the prospect of a very short, very painful future.”

  Vivian heard a low grumbling in the background on the other end of the line, followed by Angelina’s soft, placating voice telling Ian she would only be another minute or two. Then she was back.

 
“He may not be thrilled right now. He may hold this new turn of events against you. But if you still want him, then fight for him. Fight him, if you have to, to let him know how you feel and how things can be between you, if he accepts and embraces his new existence. And if he’s still being an asshole, stake him yourself. Or send him to me and I’ll undo what I did to him for you.”

  TYPE O-POSITIVE

  After hanging up with Angelina—feeling less angry, but just as confused—Vivian spent as much time as she could rummaging around her apartment, trying to find things to keep herself occupied.

  She shouldn’t be tired, given how long she’d spent in bed the past couple of days, crying herself to sleep in a fit of massive depression, but she was. Her eyes were dry and scratchy, and she had to keep stifling yawns.

  Tiptoeing her way down the hall to the bedroom, she told herself she would just peek in to check on Sean, make sure he was safe and comfortable, then she would come back out and curl up on the couch. The door opened soundlessly and she padded barefoot across the plush carpeting.

  The room was dark, but her night vision was even better than during the day, so rather than simply a lump on the right side of the bed, she could clearly see the outline of Sean’s long, lean body beneath the blankets. His crop of blond hair rested on one of her pale peach pillow cases, his shoulders and one arm bare above the covers.

  A trickle of longing slid through her, the same as it always did whenever she was within a hundred-yard radius of this man. Even knowing he hated her right now, her desire for him couldn’t—wouldn’t—be diminished. And knowing that he was a vampire now, like she was, and would live forever…or could, if he chose…only seemed to increase her attraction to him.

  Oh, the life they could have together. Hot, sweaty, sharp-fanged sex all night long; sleeping in each other’s arms all day. They could go anywhere, do anything they wanted. Spend centuries wandering the globe, or settle down right here in Boston like an undead version of Ward and June Cleaver.

  With a sigh, she tamped down dreams of all the things that were never going to come true and moved closer. His breathing was deep and even, completely normal. No twitching, no panting, no signs of nightmares.

  Sometimes, if a person’s turning was rough or traumatic, their first few nights of rest and recovery could be filled with them. And from what she’d heard, they were nasty. Not run-of-the-mill nightmares, but truly horrific, inescapable visions and hallucinations.

  Angelina may have done something she shouldn’t have, but at least she’d apparently been gentle about it. Vivian found herself feeling both relieved and grateful.

  And if she only had a handful of hours more with Sean before he decided to either walk out of her life forever…or walk into the sunrise and end it all, then she wanted them. She wanted to be as close to him as she could be, for as long as he would allow—even if he wasn’t awake to know about it.

  Readjusting the folds of her robe to make sure they were snug, she carefully pulled back the covers and slipped in beside him. Not touching, leaving an inch or two of bare mattress between them, but still near him.

  It wasn’t her first choice. She would have preferred to snuggle up to him, wrapping her arm around his waist, and spooning against his back. But unless he had a change of heart about being turned into a vampire and the role she’d played in his transformation, this was as good as it was ever going to get.

  Sean slowly drifted closer to consciousness. He wasn’t sure where he was or how long he’d been asleep, but he could hear noises from the street below: tires rolling over wet, slushy asphalt, brake pads squeaking, the occasional honk of a horn…and smell cinnamon.

  His brows crossed in annoyance as he blocked out the sounds of traffic and concentrated instead on that spicy scent. He rolled over under the covers, to his other side, and the scent grew stronger. Deliciously strong, making his stomach growl and his blood heat.

  Letting his eyes flutter open, he found himself staring at the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Vivian was lying beside him, her red hair spread out around her head like a halo, her features relaxed and angelic in sleep.

  He took a deep breath, letting that cinnamon fragrance fill his lungs and seep into his very pores. It was coming from her. She smelled like sugar and spice and everything nice.

  Previous events flashed through his mind in short order, a fast-forward slide show of the good, the bad, and the ugly. He tried to work up his old mad at what she was, what she’d done, what she’d turned him into…but damned if he could manage it while she was lying so close and smelling so good, and while arousal was beating in his heart and brain and groin.

  Reaching out, he touched one of her long curls, rubbing the silky strands between his thumb and forefinger. She didn’t move, didn’t so much as change the soft, even pattern of her breathing.

  He tucked the hair behind her ear, letting his hand drift over the side of her face. Her lashes fluttered, but still she slept.

  Moving lower, he traced the line of her jaw, her slim throat, the bit of pale skin peeking out from the low vee at the top of her robe. With light, quick fingers, he undid the tie at her waist, letting the rose-stamped satin fall open to reveal even more soft, fragrant flesh. A long strip from neck to waist and the curve of one heavy, pink-tipped breast.

  Sean’s mouth watered. His teeth—those front two that were now chiseled into sharp pinpoints—throbbed, and he wanted to both lick and bite all of that lovely smooth skin.

  Dammit, what was wrong with him? He’d never wanted to bite a woman before.

  He’d also never gotten this hard this fast without a bit of heavy petting and stroking first. Or been able to smell a person’s scent. Not just her perfume or the lingering hint of her shampoo, but her very essence.

  Vivian had always been attractive, and he’d always been attracted to her, in that way men had of being attracted to just about anything with cleavage and a tight skirt. But now she was almost achingly beautiful.

  Her hair seemed redder and glossier, her skin practically glowing. Her curves called to him like an oasis in the desert, and her lips looked as soft as rose petals—so much so that he had to touch them and find out for sure.

  They were—soft and silky and soon to be ravished.

  At the first brush of his lips across hers, her eyes popped open, bright and flecked with bits of green and brown. His hands were on her hip and cupping her bare breast, but he didn’t move them, and she didn’t ask him to.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, voice wary and raspy with sleep.

  “Making love to you,” he said just as softly.

  “But—”

  “Shhhh.” He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth to keep her from finishing what he knew she’d been about to say. “Let’s not talk about that right now.”

  There were issues to be dealt with, no doubt about it, but he didn’t want to think about them at the moment. Not with Vivian in bed next to him, naked under her robe, her body heat warming him in all the right places.

  He almost expected her to argue, but she didn’t. Instead, her arms came up to wind around the back of his neck and she lifted her head to meet him halfway.

  She tasted of cherries and mint, which surprised him, given the strong scent of pumpkin pie spices filling his nostrils. He wouldn’t have thought the mix of flavors and fragrances could be an appealing one, but he’d have been wrong. They were mouthwateringly appetizing, like waving a slice of piping hot pizza under the nose of a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks or even months. It made him dizzy and horny and stole his breath.

  He’d kissed his share of women over the years…hell, he’d kissed this woman just a few days earlier…but even without the heady cocktail assaulting his senses of taste and smell, this kiss would have registered as The Best Ever. Not just on his scale, but in the history of lip-on-lip, tongue-on-tongue action.

  Without taking his mouth from hers, he parted the sides of her robe and pressed until she helped him slip the mater
ial off her shoulders and down over her arms. He stroked her bare skin, up and down from hip to breast. Her waist, her thighs, the curve of her belly.

  His fingertips tingled as though in contact with a low-level electrical charge. Everywhere he touched, he felt the spark. It ran through his fingers, up his arms, and straight to his solar plexus, radiating out to his chest and stomach, and his aching cock and balls.

  Like his ability to hear the flow of traffic several stories below, even though the windows were closed and the drapes were drawn, everything was suddenly more. Brighter, sharper, louder. Deeper and more potent.

  He felt as though he’d never breathed air before, never used his eyes, never touched a woman’s supple flesh. If this was one—or several, rather—of the side effects of being turned into a bloodsucker…provided he even believed Vivian’s story of how he’d gotten to her apartment in the first place and what he’d supposedly become…then he was all for it. At least in theory.

  She opened her legs, bringing him more snugly into the cradle of her thighs. The heat and dampness of her sex pressed against his abdomen while she rubbed her feet along the back of his calves, her hands along the flat of his back. He growled and pressed his erection tighter against her inner thigh, rubbing, wanting to feel that warmth and wetness surrounding him, squeezing him, bringing him to his knees.

  They were both panting, gasping for breath as their lips pulled apart with a little suction-cup pop. But lack of oxygen didn’t slow them down, especially considering neither of them needed it; it simply added to the sounds of passion filling the room, the muted chorus of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” coming from another apartment somewhere down the hall.

  “Sean,” Vivian breathed in his ear as he kissed her throat, suckling the taut cord of muscle running from jaw to collarbone. “More, Sean, more.”

  “Oh, there’s more,” he promised, voice ragged with his own need.