CHAPTER EIGHT
Jane groaned and tried to roll over. The phone was ringing. It would be Moira, telling her to get her ass to the Cape. She couldn't see Dick tonight. She had to answer the phone and tell Moira to go fuck herself, and then—
Wait.
So why was she in bed? Why was she in a bed that wasn’t hers?
She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Three irritating facts registered immediately: a) she couldn't sit up, b) she was tied to a bed, and c) she was tied down in the same room with an annoyed vampire. And not a prayer of room service.
"Ohhhhhh, you idiot!" she howled. If she could have slapped her hand over her eyes, she would have. If she could have slapped him, she would have. As it was, her ankles and arms were spread wide and tied to each poster of the bed. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you've landed me in, numb nuts?"
Dick, sitting in the chair next to the bed, blinked at her. He did that a lot...a long, slow, thoughtful blink when he was taken by surprise. "I shouldn't have expected maidenly protestations," he (finally!) replied.
"You should expect a fractured skull, you undead jerkoff! What the fuck am I doing tied to your bed? Is this your bed? It damned well better be your bed! If I'm in some strange dead guy's bed your ass is grass and I am the rampaging mower!"
He brought a hand up to his chin...then rose and abruptly left. She used the chance to yank at her bonds—no good. The wrist restraints were soft, like cloth, but amazingly strong. Were they lined with bubble gum?
She strained to hear, and, very faintly, could hear muffled laughter coming from about thirty feet away. The soon-to-be-dead-Dick had trotted out to the hall to have a giggle at her expense.
The door was thrown open a moment later, and when Dick returned, he was stone-faced. "Sorry about that. I thought I left something on the stove. Now where were we?" She kicked out at him. The bonds let her leg leave the bed, but not by much. "We were talking about how you're going to die a painful and horrible death—again! What the hell have you trussed me up with?"
The left side of his mouth twitched. "It's elastic lined with titanium wire. It won't hurt you if you pull on it, but it's impossible to break. Even I have trouble breaking it, and I'm quite a bit stronger than you are."
Wanna bet, Dead Man Walking? "Do you have any idea—aarrgh! I'm supposed to be meeting my boss right this minute!” It took extreme willpower to stop herself from gnashing her teeth. “What time is it?"
"About two a.m."
"Aaarrrggghhh, jerk, you’ve made me five hours late!"
"Another date?" he asked silkily.
"No, Undead and Deaf, I told you. My boss called—well, he didn't call, one of his lackeys did, the annoying one with the weird face—“
“Pardon, what defines a ‘weird face’?”
“It’s a face that looks weird, pay attention. Anyway, she told me to get to the office, pronto. And when he says jump, we leap, dude. I didn't have time to leave you a note, but I would have come back."
"Oh, yes. I’m certain you would have."
Jane was so annoyed, she felt like biting herself. Instead, she yanked impotently on her bonds again. "Yes! I would have!"
"Your employer reaches out to you during a weekend, knowing you’re at a family wedding—“
“’Family’ in that case is a broad term,” she admitted.
“—and you must drop everything and race to his side?” He made an aggravating ‘tsk-tsk’ noise and shook his head. “Really, Jane. I was expecting a better story than that. Why not tell the truth, since you will not be able to leave here without my help? And honesty would go a long, long way toward securing forgiveness."
For a moment, she thought she would choke. “You’ve got the wrong script, Dick, because you’re the one who needs my forgiveness. And what’s the truth? What is it that you think I’ve been up to?”
“Someone sent you to find me, chat me up, and maneuver me into a position where your hunters could capture or kill me. So in addition to your charming company I will, of course, require their name or names.”
She stared. And stared. “You—you think I tried to set up your murder?”
“As I said. So why not confess?”
“You piece of shit! How dare you—how fucking dare you imply that I’d be enough of a chickenshit to get someone to kill for me! I would never! I would never ever do that. If I want someone dead, I will make them dead with my own hands and teeth! I don’t farm that shit out.”
The blinking had increased. “This...offends you?”
“Oh, goody, look who caught up. Like I said, I do my own dirty work, which I’m gonna demonstrate the second I get clear of your perv lair.” She yanked at her bonds again and snarled. If he made her much angrier, she'd start barking at the goddamned ceiling. "Jesus, to think I was actually looking forward to seeing you. And this is how you take rejection? Shithead."
Something flashed in his eyes then. Way down deep. She was suddenly reminded of the lake back home she used to do laps in. The blue water was pretty and inviting, but the lake was spring-fed, and freezing cold, even in July. You didn't know how cold it was until you committed yourself and jumped. Then you were stuck, and you got moving or you froze.
"So you admit you rejected me?"
"No, doorknob, I told you the truth. You can believe it or you can go fuck yourself."
"Is there a third choice?"
"Yes...untie me so I can make a phone call."
"I decline."
"You can't just keep me here like a...a...” She practically coughed up the word. "...pet or something."
"Can't I?"
Suddenly he was standing over her, casually unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. Her eyes widened until they felt like they were practically bulging. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You're a bright girl. You'll figure it out in a minute."
"Don't. You. Dare."
"I dare much, now that my heart—” He cut himself off abruptly, and she heard the click of his teeth coming together. What the hell was going on with this guy? “You owe me a meal.”
“I owe you a lobotomy. Get me a screwdriver and I’ll demonstrate my technique. And in case no one’s ever mentioned this, it’s weird that you’re getting naked to eat.”
While she was talking, off came his trousers, socks, underwear. Nude, Dick was exceedingly yummy...long legs, broad shoulders, and a tasty flat stomach that made her think about hot fudge sauce and whipped cream. His chest was lightly furred with blond hair two shades darker than the hair on his head. His muscle definition was sleek, like a swimmer, and she had a sudden, maddening urge to touch him, see if his skin was as smooth as it looked. It would be, she thought, like velvet encased in steel. Or marble...he was quite pale.
And what the hell? This was no time to let her libido run the show. Go back to sleep, libido! Homicidal rage is in charge right now!
“You owe me.” He reached out and flipped off the light...click. She consciously dilated her pupils and could see him again, a pale blur in the dark. A blur with glittering blue eyes. “A meal.”
“Oh,” she managed, and gulped. Right. So, not a steak. Not a bucket of KFC. Definitely not a salad. “How about you untie me and we talk about it?”
“How about, you’re a liar and your word is shit.”
“I. Am. Not. A. Liar. Fuckface.”
“So then?”
“Fine.” Her hands were fists and she made a conscious decision to de-clench. “Take your meal. Have a party. It’s all going in the ‘reasons why I’m going to beat you to death’ column anyway.”
He didn’t say anything, which was almost worse than an insult. She felt his cool hand on her thigh, and then his fingers were nimbly unbuttoning her dress. She thought about kicking out again, but her pride—the only thing she had in those dark years after the accident—wouldn’t let her.
(One thing about my family, we always keep our word.)
He popped open the clasp on her bra—the one time she went with the front clasps—and with odd care, gently tore her panties down the middle.
“Hey!” she yelped. “First off, why do we have to be naked for you to eat?”
“A pity we didn’t nail down the exact parameters before now,” came the measured response. Ohhh, she wanted to bite him in the worst way.
“And that’s twelve bucks at Victoria's Secret, right down the drain!” (The bitch's secret was that she marked up her underwear by 600%.) "In case I’m being too subtle, you are an asshole.”
"True enough." He pulled her panties free and spread her dress wide, then pushed her bra out of the way. "Umm. Very nice."
"Thanks, Pervy McDoucheperv." Huh. Not her best. “Go fuck yourself sideways.”
"I'd rather not...besides, you're here, so why should I have to?”
“Wait—you’re actually going to fuck me sideways? Tell me you’ve got a schematic or something, because it sounds weird and slightly impossible.”
He made an odd, deep noise in his chest, and she realized she’d surprised a laugh out of him. After a second he sobered and replied, “You’re supposed to be intimidated.”
“Pass.”
He made that odd noise again, and then re-channeled his inner Bond villain. “We have hours until sunrise." He chuckled. It sounded like cold water flowing over black rocks. "And Jane...I'm soooo hungry. I've been waiting and waiting for you to wake up."
"I hope I poison you. I hope you choke until your lungs explode. I hope my blood burns your windpipe. I hope I give you diarrhea for a thousand years. I hope—"
"I get the gist. I hope that the next time you agree to spend the evening with me, you keep your word." Then he was on her so suddenly she didn't have time to pull in air for a gasp. She braced herself as best she could for his brutal entry, for teeth and blood and pain. Oh, when I get out of here I'm going to use your vertebrae for dice. See if I don't.
His mouth skimmed her jaw, and she felt him lick her jugular and nibble gently at the tender flesh. His cool hand closed over her breast, pressed against her warm flesh, and she felt her nipple harden against his palm. Thanks for nothing, automatic physiological response. Then he was kissing her throat, the middle of her chest, nuzzling her breasts, kissing and her stomach. About a hundred years later, when he’d kissed every inch between throat and thighs, she felt his thumbs on her cunt, gently spreading her, and felt his tongue snake inside her. The shock of it nearly bent her up off the bed. His mouth was cool, but quickly warmed, and she flinched back, thinking of his sharp canines.
“Nobody eats like this!” she yelped. I guess I should be glad he didn’t strip down in the coffee shop.
“Hush,” he murmured against her flesh, and the waves of heat starting from her middle and radiating upward were making it hard to hold onto her pique. His tongue was flicking in and out of her little tunnel, stabbing her clit, and then he pulled back and licked...excruciatingly slow licks that made her shake. She ground her teeth and locked away the needy sounds she wanted to make. So he wasn't being a hard guy—fine. This still wasn't her idea. This still was him being a raging dick. This was him—him—oh sweet Jesus his mouth...
He stopped. He pulled back. She started to relax, then felt the sharp sting as he teeth broke the skin over her femoral artery. She gasped—she couldn't help it—and tried to jerk away as much as her bonds would, but his hands held her fast around the waist.
“Hush,” he said again. “I won’t hurt you.”
His fingers smoothed the soft pelt between her thighs, and then he was parting her lips again, and stroking her throbbing clit. One of his fingers dipped inside her while his thumb pressed gentle circles around her increasingly slick flesh. Meanwhile, his mouth was busy on her inner thigh, and she could hear soft sucking.
This went on, and on, and she was pretty much screaming inside. Whenever she started to get close, he somehow knew, and his fingers would still, or pull away entirely. His mouth never quit taking long slow sips of blood from her thigh. Then he'd resume again, careful not to push her over the edge. After a while she still wasn't making any sounds—God, how humiliating would that have been—but the bed shook with her trembling.
At last he was sated. He pulled back, then bent to her and gave her a long, leisurely lick. "Ummm. You're so wet. I love that. And you taste undeniably good. Everywhere, it seems. Your blood is quite rich. What on earth have you been eating?"
She ground her teeth at him for answer. She felt his pelvis settle over hers, heard him chuckle. "Your rage could set the room on fire—better than being cold, I think?"
She didn't dignify that with an answer. Besides, if she opened her mouth, what might she say? She was horribly afraid she might ask—beg—to be fucked. Hard. For a long, long time. Her cunt throbbed. Her thigh throbbed. It wasn't pain, it was want. She had never needed to come so badly.
When she felt him start to enter her, it took every drop of her willpower not to strain to meet him. She resisted by listing his many odious offenses inside her head.
That part of him was warm. And hard, and huge. His cock was parting her slowly and she had a quick flash of intuition: He has to be gentle...he wasn't, a few times before, and he’d hurt his partner. But that thought spiraled away into confusion as he shoved, and she felt him slam into her. She made a sound, some small sound, and his mouth was instantly on hers. She could taste her lust, and her blood, and then he was whispering into her mouth, "I couldn't help that, I'm sorry—am I hurting you?" His hands were fisting in her hair and now he was groaning and thrusting, and her breath was coming in harsh gasps.
"Please," she groaned. "Please—" Don't stop. Harder. More. Please. Please. Please.
He groaned, too, she heard him grind his teeth...and then he stopped so suddenly he was rigid with the strain of it. She was afraid to move, to breathe, but it didn't matter, he did the unthinkable anyway—slowly pulled out of her. She closed her eyes and whimpered as he went, hating herself for it even as she knew she could have done nothing to quell the sound.
"Jane. Tell the truth, love. Am I hurting you?" She felt his hand caress her cheek and opened her eyes. His teeth were set so hard his jaw trembled. Here was a perfect opportunity for revenge.
And she couldn't do it.
"Twice," she whispered.
He bent closer, dropped a kiss to her shoulder. "What?"
"Twice. This is my second time. Ever. In my life."
"You—what?" She could have laughed at his horrified expression, if she hadn't been ready to hook his eyes out of his skull for not letting her come. "No! I had no—I thought you—you seemed so confident and tough, I—"
Tough? Sure. She'd grown a shell around her soul the night she lost her virginity. The night she broke her lover's back. It was the first and last time she'd chosen someone who wasn't Pack. It was, in fact, the last time she'd chosen anyone, until tonight. And she hasn't exactly chosen this, had she?
He stroked her hair, which should have been annoying, but wasn’t. (Which was annoying.) She could feel his cock on her leg, throbbing impatiently. It didn't give a fuck if she was hurt or not. It had business to get back to. And so did she. "Jane, why did you try to run away from me?"
"I didn't, dimwad. I told you the truth."
"Hmm."
"Now will you please finish and untie me?"
"Pick one."
She nearly screamed. "What?"
"Pick one." He tapped her clit with a teasing finger. "And I'll do it." He kissed her again. He ducked down and licked her nipple, then sucked, hard. In their bonds, her hands curled into fists. "Whichever one. I'll do it. Thoroughly."
"I hate you," she nearly sobbed.
"I know."
"Finish."
“Oh, thank goodness." In an instant he was pushing his way inside her again, and for a half second she understood why he had been concerned—the friction was delightful, so delightful it was just this side of pain. Then he was rolling his hips against hers and it became more than delightful; it was exquisite. "Kiss me back," he said into her mouth. "Give me your tongue."
Half-blind from the swamping pleasure, she did. He sucked on it in time with his thrusts and she could hear someone making high, whimpering noises, and realized with amazement it was her making those silly bitch sounds. The bed thumped in time with their fucking, and then he tore his mouth from hers. "Now," he hissed in her ear, "come now." Then he pinched her nipple, hard, and that spun her into the most powerful orgasm of her life. She could actually feel the spasms ripple through her, and the world got dark and fuzzy around the edges for a few moments. Above her he stiffened and for a moment his grip was just this side of painful. "Oh, Jane, you—“ Then he shuddered all over, and finally relaxed. The relief—in every sense—was immense.
She dozed for a minute (it had been a stressful weekend). She came all the way awake when she realized he was stroking her lower lip with his thumb. "Get the fuck off me. Now."
"Ah, you're back. I thought you were being uncharacteristically quiet."
"Off. Now. Hate you. Kill you."
He burst out laughing, which did nothing for her temper. She strained mightily and managed to roll him off her, which was a good trick since she had next to no leverage on her back. "I'm sorry, love, it's rude to laugh. Not to sound condescending—“
“Too late.”
“—I simply adore how all you can think about is how to get your teeth into me."
"And how you might taste," she added silkily.
"Umm...well, there are ways to answer that question that don’t involve restraints or..."
"Anything you put in my mouth, you're gonna lose."
He sighed. "I suppose it was too good to last. Pity we're only compatible in bed."
"Compatible in—that was me holding up my end of the dinner deal, you self-deluding prickstain! Don’t kid yourself with that ‘you had a mind-blowing orgasm ergo I’m off the hook’ bullshit.”
“Really? Mind-blowing?”
“Yeah, because that’s the part of my comment you should be focusing on. Do you have any idea what my family is going to do to you? What I'm going to do to you?"
"You did keep your word." He tweaked one of her nipples, then kissed it. "Rather enthusiastically at the end, if I recall."
She blushed with shame and looked away. He saw it, and it moved him as her death threats hadn’t. "But none of this was your idea. I stole you. I wouldn’t let you leave and I didn’t detail what ‘you owe me a meal’ would mean. The fault is mine. You don't have anything to feel guilty about."
She had plenty, actually. Not that she had any intention of showing it. "I’m still guilt-ridden, I feel very fucking guilty that I didn't break your neck in that alley when I had the chance now let me go."
"Sorry, Jane. You had your chance to be free, and you chose to stay."
"I did not—"
"So stay you will, and just like this, until..."
"Oh, what, what? You're making me nuts."
"...until you agree to be my wife."
Long silence, broken by, "You're on drugs. Or you’re a comic book villain.”
"I’m only on drugs if you are. Is that why your blood is so rich? It was like wine. I don't think I've ever felt better," he said giddily. "Not since Eisenhower was in office, at any rate.”
“Gross.”
“I had planned to punish your laughable attempt at my murder by eating you and turning you out into the street in the wee hours of the morning without so much as an 'I'll call you'—“
“Degenerate shithead!”
“Yes, well—unrepentant undead creature of the night and all that. But now? I'll never, never let you go. You're a rare jewel, Jane.”
"I'm tied to the bed next to a crazy person," she mused aloud as she realized the implications of his giddiness. Never drank from a werewolf before, eh, buddy? Interesting. If you become addicted to me, that could be useful. "And as far as being your wife—you've probably heard this from all your other dates, but I'd rather be dead."
"Undead," he said brightly. "Well, we've got time for that. You're still in your prime. Although I have no intention of becoming a widower in forty or fifty years."
Um. What? "What?"
"Oh, I won't insist upon it right away, but probably within the next ten years or so, I'll definitely have to turn you into a vampire."
An undead werewolf? What's next, a Frankenstein's Monster/alien hybrid? "You’re just completely batshit nuts, you know that?"
"Apparently," he said cheerfully, and whip-quick he kissed her, deftly avoided her teeth as they snapped together, and left her.