Vampire Vignette #17
Dear Diary
Two Months after LUCIFER, Book Eleven
Houston, TX, present day
NATALIE SLIPPED OUT of the room she shared with Christian. It was late afternoon, which meant he was still sleeping soundly and wouldn’t stir for a few hours yet. Usually, she slept with him, although sometimes she read or worked in bed. It depended on how tired she was, and how many hours the sun’s presence in the sky would keep him asleep. Summer was the worst, with its long days and short nights. She shook her head at the thought. Most people loved summertime. She had, too, once upon a time, but now it was a pain in the ass. She missed him.
Fortunately, the fall season was well and truly upon them, with the days growing steadily shorter. Christian would sleep only a few more hours, but she was hungry now. Last night had been busy, with plans for the new house that needed to be checked over and approved, and lots of hush-hush conference calls with Raphael and the other vampire lords. As Cyn would say, it was a bunch of super-secret vampire shit. Natalie hadn’t been in the room for those, but the minute Christian was off the phone, he’d called a meeting of his own, with her, his lieutenant, Marc, and his security chief, Alon. Alon was a newish vamp. Less than a year away from his turning, he’d been Natalie’s friend and dojo master. In fact, she’d introduced Alon to Christian. Not as a potential recruit, but as an instructor. She’d also been there the night Alon had been shot in a fight with rival vampires—the same night Christian had saved Alon’s life by making him a vampire. It was unusual, but there was no question of consent. Alon had spoken to Christian when they’d first met about his desire to become a vampire.
These thoughts filled her head as she passed through the house’s small command center, with its state-of-the-art tech and security system. She checked each system carefully, scanning the feed from the various cameras, both outdoor and indoor. Vampires were not universally beloved. There were hate groups who thought nothing of burning down a house full of sleeping vampires, persisting in the superstitious belief that vampires were undead, like the zombies on TV.
But while they might be idiots, it didn’t take much of an IQ to throw a Molotov cocktail through a window. Of course, the windows on this house were covered in hurricane-tested shutters. The doors, too. When they moved to the new house, they’d have a full, daytime, security force. But Christian had decided against bringing on the extra people before then. Their current house was in an upscale, suburban neighborhood. Having a cordon of armed guards lurking in the daytime would only serve to draw attention to the fact that vampires lived here.
Natalie wasn’t sure she agreed with that reasoning, but she’d been outvoted by the three vampires who shared the house with her. They couldn’t stop her from scanning every single security feed, however. Nor could they stop her from carrying a gun whenever she left the basement sleeping quarters.
Satisfied with what she saw on the security monitors, Natalie entered the code on the vault door to the stairway. After closing that door behind her, she climbed the stairs to a second vault door and entered a different code. That door swung open to the main hallway of their house. Passing the unused bedrooms, she entered the state-of-the art kitchen, which was dominated by Christian’s elaborate espresso machine. Her vampire had a coffee fetish. It was the first thing he did every night after rising. Well, actually, the first thing he did was make love to her. She smiled. But coffee was his first thought after that. He and the others made quite the fuss over it, with Marc demanding his caramel macchiato, and Alon joining Christian in preferring small cups of thick, rich espresso.
Natalie would have liked a pumpkin spice latte, but she’d wait until Christian woke for the night. The gleaming machine was his baby. He wouldn’t say a word to her, but he’d mutter beneath his breath while cleaning every inch of it. Sometimes, she made herself a latte, or even worse, a plain hot chocolate, just to watch him fuss afterward.
But not today. She was too hungry. Pulling open the refrigerator door, she checked out the possibilities. The guys didn’t eat, but she did, and she made weekly runs to the grocery store to be sure there was always food on hand. After checking to be sure she had fresh bread, she made herself a turkey and Swiss sandwich, then grabbed a bag of greasy potato chips. The best kind.
She was reaching for a plate when she saw a leather-bound book sitting on the counter. The word “Journal” was stamped into the leather, and she could tell from the condition of the pages that some of them had been written on. Curious about whose it was, she brought it to the counter along with her sandwich and a diet Coke, then flipped open the first page.
A single glance told her the journal belonged to Alon. He had a unique slant to his writing that she’d always attributed to the fact that Hebrew, with its right to left alignment, was his first language. The writing was as bold as he was, utterly self-assured.
She took a bite of her sandwich and stared at the writing-filled page without reading the words. The journal was private. Like a diary. In fact, the first words on the page were precisely that: “Dear Diary.” That made her smile. Alon was a big, tough vampire, a dojo master, expert in several disciplines of martial arts . . . and he started his journal with the same words she’d used as a teenager.
She took another bite and chewed, still staring. She wasn’t even trying, but her eyes automatically made words of the scribbling, and her heart clenched. “Dear Diary, I hate this. What was I thinking?”
Oh, my God. Alon hated being a vampire. She’d thought he was happy being Christian’s security chief. He’d never said a word to her. Not a word! She’d thought they were friends. But maybe he’d been worried that she was too close to Christian. That her loyalties would be divided, and anything he told her, she’d tell Christian.
What was she going to do?
Well, the first thing you have to do is read more than ten words of the damn thing, she scolded herself. Natalie pulled the diary closer and started to read.
Less than an hour later, she’d read the whole thing. Well, the whole thing wasn’t that much. There were only a few pages, less than she’d originally thought, but those few pages alternately terrified her and made her want to cry. The terror was because if Christian found out, if he read what Alon had written, he might kill him. Loyalty was everything among vampires, and Alon was talking about breaking his vow to Christian and pledging to some other vampire lord. He hadn’t decided which one yet, but that didn’t matter—he wasn’t just any vampire, he was Christian’s security chief. He knew secrets. He was privy to every detail of the new estate house Christian was building, all the security arrangements, the secret escape passages. Not to mention Christian’s business interests.
Some of those he’d inherited from the late, unlamented Anthony, but he’d shaken up most of Anthony’s financial holdings so that any vampire still connected with the dead vampire lord would be unable to uncover his investments. But Alon knew all of those, as well. She’d sat at the table with the three of them—Christian, Marc, and Alon—while they all discussed the best investments and allocations.
She wiped her cheek and realized it was wet with tears. What was she going to do?
A clock chimed softly from the formal living room. She straightened and twisted around to look at the clock on the microwave. She must have been sitting there, stressing out, for much longer than she’d thought, because that chime meant the sun would be down within the hour. And she still had no idea what to do.
Sliding off the seat, she laid the unopened diary exactly where she’d found it, not wanting Alon to realize she’d read it. But she’d no sooner put it down than she second-guessed herself. She didn’t want anyone else to read it, either. Anyone being Christian or Marc, since they were the only two others living in the house, and Christian never invited anyone else over to the house anymore. Not since he and the others had been betrayed by vampires they’d thought were their allies, if not their friends.
The clock on the microwave advanced with a nearly soundless tick, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. What the hell was she going to do?
Okay, she’d leave the diary, but make sure Christian didn’t reach the kitchen before Alon. That should be easy. She and her vampire lover were usually the last ones up the stairs, since, well, they had other things to occupy their time. Like sex. Glorious, vicious, vampire sex. She smiled dreamily, then snapped herself back to reality.
Right. Diary. Okay, she’d give herself, and Alon, twenty-four hours to get rid of the damn thing. She’d just have to corner him privately, make him understand, and hope he could forgive her.
“IS SOMETHING troubling you, ma chére?”
Natalie lay on top of Christian, still trembling from the force of her climax, his cock still firm and deep inside her body.
His arm tightened around her. “You seem . . . tense. I might be insulted.”
She grimaced against his chest where he couldn’t see it. She had to tell him about Alon. Her first loyalty was to Christian. He was her mate, her lover, the love of her life. But she’d really hoped to speak with Alon first. She fought not to grind her teeth as she struggled with her decision. He’d only hear the noise and force her to tell. Of course, she was going to tell him anyway, but. . . . Argh!
She sighed. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to freak out?”
He stilled beneath her. “No, I won’t.”
Natalie frowned. “No, you won’t freak out, or no, you won’t promise?”
“No, I won’t promise. It depends on what you have to tell me.”
She sat up and looked down at him, her thighs bracketing his hips. She couldn’t help the little smile that softened her lips. He was such a pretty sight. But then she scowled. “You know I love you, right? More than anyone or anything.”
“Natalie.” He glowered. “Just tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”
She groaned. “All right. Look, I was hungry this afternoon, so I got up and, well, let’s just say I discovered something I wasn’t supposed to know, but now that I do—”
“Jesus fucking Christ, just spit it out, would you?”
“Alon hates being a vampire!” she practically shouted, then froze, hoping her voice hadn’t carried.
“The walls are soundproof, chèrie.”
She knew that, but she lowered her voice anyway. “And he hates working for you. I’m afraid he’s going to betray you, and then . . .” She hiccupped a sob and couldn’t go on.
“Come here.” He hugged her close, one big hand running up and down her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.”
“Promise?” She hated the way she sounded, all blubbery and pathetic. But this was Alon, and this was Christian.
“I promise. And I’ll be gentle.”
She thought about that. He didn’t seem as upset as she’d expected. Maybe this wasn’t the disaster she’d feared. She swallowed and sat up. He brushed gently at the tears wetting her cheeks.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s shower. Then we’ll go upstairs and get this sorted out.”
ALON AND MARC were both in the kitchen when Natalie and Christian made it upstairs. And both gave Christian expectant looks.
“What took you so long?” Marc demanded. He’d been with Christian a long time. In fact, it had been just the two of them for years before Christian had decided to challenge for the Southern territory. So, he felt a certain freedom, in that they were friends, in addition to Christian being both his Sire and his lord. “We’re in caffeine withdrawal here.”
Christian simply laughed and headed for the elaborate espresso machine that took up half the counter space against one wall. Natalie exchanged good evening hugs with the two vampires, while surreptitiously searching for the telltale red cover of Alon’s diary, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t find it.
“You guys are pathetic,” she commented and pulled a bagel out of the freezer, popping it first in the microwave and then the toaster. Sure, Christian would be making her a latte, but she wasn’t jonesing for it, like these junkies.
Christian just smiled and kept working. He loved that damn machine. Natalie sometimes wondered which one he’d save first if disaster ever struck—her or the machine?
By the time her bagel was toasted and smeared with cream cheese, and she’d settled onto one of the kitchen stools with her latte, everyone else had their drinks—including big, tough Marc with his sickly sweet caramel macchiato. Christian set his espresso on the marble-topped island and sat next to her, his thigh touching hers.
It was quiet for a few minutes as everyone sucked and slurped, and then Christian soundlessly set his cup down onto the saucer, looked at Alon, and said, “So, you hate being a vampire, and you especially hate working for me?”
Natalie choked on her last bite of bagel. Tears rolled down her face as she sucked in air, while Christian rubbed her back. She lifted her head and glared at him.
“What?” he said defensively. And then added, “Hey, I wasn’t the one reading the guy’s diary.”
She froze, holding her breath . . . and they all started laughing. Her face heated with furious embarrassment as she realized she’d been had. Shoving away from the counter, she evaded Christian’s hand when he tried to grab her and didn’t stop until she reached the hall doorway.
“I hate all of you,” she snapped. “It’s like living in a stupid, fucking frat house!” She spun and stormed down the hall, going past the basement door and into the small bedroom she’d converted to an office for her own use. She didn’t slam the door. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, but she closed and locked it. For all the good it would do.
Christian waited a whole thirty minutes before coming to find her. He knew she couldn’t stay angry for long, especially not against him. Big, dumb vampire.
He twisted the locked doorknob as if it was paper and walked in. “Chèrie,” he said, pulling her out of the chair and into his embrace. “It was a prank. But I knew you’d tell me first. I bet them—” He stopped talking when Natalie’s eyes narrowed.
“You all had bets going on what I’d do?”
“Hmmm, not really bets,” he equivocated, which wasn’t like him at all. It was tantamount to a confession.
Son of a bitch. Natalie felt herself getting angry all over again, but then. . . . Don’t get angry, Nat, she told herself. Get even.
She smiled at Christian. He gave her a worried look. Her smile turned into a grin.
Two weeks later
CHRISTIAN SLIPPED his arms around Natalie as he pressed her against the shower’s tiled wall, protecting her back from the force of his cock slamming in and out of her. Her arms were around his neck, her breasts crushed deliciously against his powerful chest, her pussy hot and slick with arousal. They’d already made love once, when he’d awakened for the night. A long, slow fuck that had left her aching with happiness and utterly sated. Or so she’d thought. Until her vampire lover had climbed into the shower behind her, his cock still hard and brushing her ass. Desire had stormed through her body, as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks, as if she’d been starved for the taste of him.
And so here she was, hanging on for dear life while he pounded into her, his snarl filling the steamy enclosure as he bent his head and drank. Natalie screamed. Not from the tiny bit of pain, but from the sheer ecstasy of his bite as the euphoric in his vampire metabolism raced through her system, leaving an overwhelming, erotic pleasure in its wake.
Christian slammed into her one last time, grunting against her skin, his fangs still buried in her vein as his release filled her with heat. He stilled for a moment, his cock deep in her pussy, his fangs in her neck . . . and then he lifted his head, and licked the small wounds shut. Kissing her neck, he whispered, “Je t’aime, ma Natalie.” And then he slowly withdrew his cock, holding her steady as she lowered her legs to the floor, his hands on her hips until she remembered how to stand.
He kissed her again, his lips soft and warm against hers. “Okay?” he asked, meeting her eyes.
She gave him a crooked smile. “Better than okay.”
He grinned.
And she felt almost guilty. But not really.
IT TOOK NATALIE a while to reach the kitchen. She had to wash and dry her hair, which couldn’t be rushed. And then she had to use extra care with her makeup, since they were going over to the new house and meeting with the architect and the designer. Both were vampires, which meant they were gorgeous, so she had to hold up the human side of things. She dressed carefully, too. Going for businesslike, but not obsessively so. Stylish, but not trendy.
And then, finally, she left the rooms she shared with Christian, passed through the control center and checked out the security screens, even though all three vampires were wide awake and way more on top of things than she could ever be. She entered the vault codes in the proper order and climbed the stairs, then made her way to the kitchen . . .
Where three sets of accusing eyes were waiting for her.
She met their gazes one at a time, starting with Christian, then Marc, then Alon, and then back to Christian.
“What?” she asked in confusion. “Did something happen?” She put exactly the right note of worry into the question. Or so she thought.
Christian didn’t say a word. He just turned back to his beloved machine and continued taking it apart, one piece at a time, carefully inspecting and cleaning every inch of it.
Marc wasn’t that subtle. He hissed at her—actually hissed at her—when she walked behind him and pulled orange juice out of the fridge. “Did something happen to the machine, babe?” she asked Christian. “Does that mean no latte today?”
He was still ignoring her.
Goodness. She’d only reversed one tiny gear thingy deep inside the elaborate machine. How much harm could it do? She flattened her lips so she wouldn’t grin. “Should I make a run to Starbucks?” she inquired solicitously.
That got her a filthy look from her beloved mate.
Almost choking on the need to laugh, she walked over to him. “Cher,” she murmured, rubbing the taut muscles of his back, “it was only a prank.”
Then she took her orange juice and walked down to her office to make some phone calls.
And the moral of this story is . . . don’t fuck with a woman who has all day to work the perfect revenge.
The End