One

 

Another Saturday night. I sighed. Overhead, the club was jumping with action. Even removed from the heart of the action I could hear pulses racing with excitement, men and women eager to dive into something forbidden, to indulge in a sensual discovery they could only find right here.

I knew why my office was downstairs, away from the public eye. I knew why my only routes through the stately mansion-turned-club were limited to shadowed, rarely used hallways. I’d agreed -mostly willingly- to remain out of sight, though I was never truly out of the collective consciousness.

My brother, Damien, employed all of these extreme measures to keep me completely sheltered, for my own safety as well as that of the entire coven. He was right to do so and most of the time I didn’t even resent it. I’d accepted my reality ages ago. Being different was a fact of being me.

Still, there were days when knowing -centuries of knowing- didn’t make the solitude easier to bear.

Weekends meant the club was full to bursting and every possible sexual endeavor, pleasure or diversion was being indulged behind closed doors -or right out in the open. In New Orleans, A Bite of the Big Easy promised, and enthusiastically fulfilled, the client’s every fantasy. Often for the price of a small, quickly forgotten donation of blood.

Everyone on the floors above me had someone to call their own for an hour, a night, or even for a lifetime. Someone to touch and caress and explore. My skin warmed and I closed my eyes, letting the images played through my mind. Pleasing myself while imagining a lover’s touch used to be enough to dial down the lonely. Not anymore.

I opened my desk drawer, my hand hovering over the clear business card I’d found last week. Pausing, listening hard, to be sure no one was approaching my suite I pulled it out and set it dead-center on the desktop.

Hope fluttered in my chest as I read the words for the umpteenth time: Paranormal Dating Agency. Gerri Wilder was a matchmaker specializing in paranormal clientele. Her reputation for matching up people with exactly the partner they needed was unparalleled. If anyone could help me find the right partner, it was her.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed her number before I chickened out. Damien was due back soon and I couldn’t take the chance that he’d figure out my intentions and stop me. Although he protected me out of love, lately this pressure inside to know and be known had become nearly unbearable.

“Paranormal Dating Agency,” a woman answered, a smile evident in her voice. “How can I help you?”

“Mrs. Wilder?” I asked.

“At your service.”

“Hi. My name’s Celeste.” I clamped down on the nerves. “I found your card and was hoping you could help me out.”

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I’m a vampire searching for-”

She cut me off with a soft tsk-tsk. “Whoever gave you my card did you a disservice,” she replied, not unkindly. “You’re not a type I can match with much success. There is a night club in New Orleans with a great reputation.”

“Do you mean A Bite of the Big Easy?”

“That’s the one. If you see the owner, Damien, tell him I sent you.”

“He’s a matchmaker?” I asked, confused.

“Oh, not at all. He just keeps himself surrounded with an exceptional array of vampires. I’m sure you’ll find what you need there. And he’ll give you a free drink if you mention my name.”

“Okay. Great.” I forced myself to smile in the face of defeat. It was better than screaming in frustration. Mrs. Wilder didn’t deserve that. “Thanks.”

I ended the call and dropped my phone to the desk. By now I should be used to the myriad brick walls between me and even a one-night stand. I started to tear up the business card when I sensed Damien’s return to the coven.

Hiding Gerri’s business card, I went out to the front room of my apartment and grabbed a magazine, doing my best impersonation of a patient little sister. Damien had been in Europe for weeks, following little more than rumors of a nearly-forgotten legend we both hoped would put me one step closer to breaking free of these protective, smothering restrictions.

The only thing I wanted more than a taste of the tantalizing, erotic fantasies playing out upstairs was freedom. I longed to walk under the pale glow of moonlight without bodyguards, threat of death, or a time limit beyond dawn itself. My sweetest dream was the one where I stood on a cliff caught between a glorious net of stars overhead and a raging sea crashing with relentless futility against the rocks below. I didn’t know if that dream was rooted in reality and honestly, I’d stopped caring.

Freedom, if only the wisp of it in my mind, was lovely.

Though Damien had to know how desperately I wanted an update, he didn’t come to me right away. In the past, I would’ve worried it was due to injury or some other trouble, but these days it was all about Maureen. The woman had captivated his mind and soul. Her blood had turned so sweet on his lips he refused to drink from anyone else.

Envy, ugly and impatient, twisted in my belly with needle-sharp claws. Damien could go where he pleased, whenever he wished. Damien could live and love and-

I slammed down the magazine on the side table, snapping the cycle of pathetic whining in my head.

Damien carried the weight of the coven on his shoulders and he didn’t need me piling on with unsolvable concerns and petty distress. He’d found a woman that was nothing short of a miracle and I was happy for him.

Thanks to the persistent, diligent efforts of my brother I was alive, head intact. We hadn’t even been attacked in decades. Through the club he’d established, I had my fill of blood. I could gorge if and when I felt the urge. And the rooftop view of the city offered a sensation similar to my dreams of the starlit cliffs.

With the view in mind, needing a change of scenery, I shoved my feet into my well-worn combat boots. Not bothering with the laces, I yanked open my door and found the broad back of a giant guard blocking my path.

Turning slightly, he glanced down at me from over his shoulder, “My Lady.”

That deep, rusty voice and those pale eyes sent a ripple through my system every damn time. I tucked it away, just as I did every damn time. “Yuri.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re usually more, ah, subtle.”

Nothing about Yuri was subtle. He oozed lethal from every pore. Until he smiled. Then it was lethal charm that attracted every female within a ten mile radius. Maybe fifty, I decided, as the first hint of that smile peeked at me from one corner of his mouth.

He swiveled around to face me, filling the doorway so I couldn’t squeeze by. His gaze slowly drifted over me from my hair all the way down to my toes and back up again.

I was helpless against that visual caress. My nipples drew into tight eager peaks and my breasts felt heavy. My palms tingled as if I was holding sparklers. If I’d been wearing panties they’d be damp already. My inner thighs trembled when those pale eyes swept over my bare arms and legs. The lavender tank top and short denim cut-offs were as much clothing as I could tolerate on a sultry summer night in New Orleans.

His dark eyebrows snapped together in a deep scowl. “You’re going up? No one called.”

“I need the sky.”

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” I caught a flash of regret in those mesmerizing eyes before he schooled his features into the stoic, responsible-guard mode. “Is Damien hurt?”

“He is not,” he replied.

Just because Damien was home and feeding from Maureen didn’t mean he was uninjured. He’d learned to hide all but the worst of his pain from me ages ago. I jerked forward, suddenly determined to see my brother if not the sky, but Yuri caught me.

Almost. Sort of.

He raised his hands as he might do with a normal woman -hell, even a normal vampire- and stopped just shy of touching me. I could feel all that leashed energy, his hesitation between duty and desire. At least I liked to fantasize that there was smidge of desire on his side of the equation.

If I leaned forward a mere centimeter, my shoulders would land in those big, rough palms and I’d feel him. His heat. His strength. For about two seconds it would be glorious. Then his skin would blister and a searing pain would slice through his body. Damien would be furious. Yuri would be punished for breaking his oath and I’d be busted just for being me.

I looked down and saw his palms were going pink simply from the proximity to my skin. I swore in the old language and slammed the door closed between us. For a brief eternity I leaned back against the door, eyes closed, imagining what sex would be like with Yuri’s big hands playing all over my body, claiming me with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. I flipped open the button on my shorts, lowered the zipper and slid my hands over the swollen folds of my sex.

Already wet and needy, I licked my fingers. Would a lover ever know my taste as well as I did? Without looking or asking, I knew Yuri remained on the other side of the door, the memory of how he looked at me spurring me on. It was rude and crass to do this with him so close, but I couldn’t stop. I touched and teased myself, stroking and tapping my clit, pretending my hand was his mouth, my thumb his tongue relentlessly pushing me toward that blissful edge.

In my mind, Yuri wouldn’t rush. He’d get off on the exquisite, sensual torment of the moment, stringing me along until I begged for release, just as I’d seen other women do upstairs from my hiding place in the shadows. When the orgasm hit, it was hard and fast and my hips bucked into the door.

I stayed there until my nerves stopped sizzling, my hand a gentle barrier between my aroused flesh and the hard denim seams. From the other side of the door, I caught Yuri’s masculine scent. I could almost feel his sweat-dampened skin and the musky undertone that would surround me if I were ever lucky enough to share a sexy, intimate climax with him in the flesh.

I pulled myself together, a little deflated despite the pleasure in my veins. On wobbly knees, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and face.

Until Damien tracked down and eliminated the coven who wanted me dead -or worse, enslaved- the protective curse on my skin would remain intact. The shield might have been a perfectly legit measure when I was a child, but being unable to touch another person was growing more intolerable with every passing year.

I could hardly cry on Damien’s shoulder. “Gee, big brother, I’m tired of being a virgin. No one’s come close to a successful attack in decades. Can I try living a real life now?” Huh. Had it been longer than decades? I’d have to look it up, but I was pretty sure it had been close to a century since kidnappers or assassins had made any attempt on my life.

Regardless, time was a moot argument with Damien. In his eyes a century was little more than a human year.

No, Damien wouldn’t take any chances with me. If I wanted to break free of this curse and start living along with the rest of the coven, it was time to take action.

Just as soon as I decided what that action entailed.