Biting Nixie (27 page)

“Mm…million?” I stuttered.

“More or less.” Julian shrugged. “Though all but a few thousand are fledglings.”

“Fledglings,” I echoed, still trying to come to grips with
millions
of vampires.

“Twenty years dead or less. There was a large upswing in the population with the advent of autoimmune diseases. Possibly there's a correlation. But that's not the point.”

“No. The point is you're still a secret society.”

Julian kissed me gently. “No. The point is I can help you. If you'll let me.”

I stared into his eyes. I saw from their deep, intense blue that he meant more than just helping with the band, or even just with the festival.

But how much more? And how much would it hurt when he stopped helping? When he left?

I already knew I'd never forget Julian Emerson. He was smart, handsome, and a problem-solver. He was generous and thoughtful. He was an amazing lay.

He had blown the competition, not only in the Mother Hunt but in the Orgasm Grand Prix, out of the water.

He had written on my heart with indelible marker.

Oh, no. So not going there. Even lusting after Suitguy was simple and unthreatening compared to falling in love. If I were in love…not just freewheeling sex, but hearts and rings and
commitment
—who was I then? Not sassy, independent Nixie.

And worse, if I fell in love with Julian Emerson—moldy old vampire and stodgy attorney—who was I becoming? Bright, exciting Nixie would be lost, drowned in a tide of forever and family. No longer Nixie the Pixie but Dietlinde the Drab.

Names have power. My mother called me Dietlinde because she was trying to force me into the conservative, responsible mold. Dietlinde Schmeling was bad enough. But I wouldn't recognize Dietlinde Emerson…shizzle. Where did that come from?

Julian, with that almost supernatural perceptiveness said, “It might be
you
who changes me.”

“Oh, now that's just too scary. How did you know what I was thinking?”

“The degree of panic on your face. The frown lines between your brows.” Julian smoothed my forehead with a warm thumb. “You fear nothing and no one. Except losing your freedom.”

“My mother calls it restraint.
Caution
.”

“She just wants you safe,” he said gently.

“Yeah, well, why is safe so boring?” I crumpled my greasy papers and got up. “I almost envy my sister, dying on a motorcycle. At least she got to live before she died.”

“You're living.” Julian rose behind me. “You get paid for doing what you love. You have your own apartment and car.”

“I don't earn much,” I said, devil's advocate. “I have to visit my parents three or four times a week or I'd starve.” I got to his motorcycle, touched the chrome wistfully. “And if I'm so free, why does it seem I never get five miles beyond Meiers Corners? I had more freedom as a kid. At least then we took field trips to Chicago.”

“You could get out more.” Julian handed me my helmet. “You could visit me in Boston.”

The helmet nearly dropped from my hands. The truth hit me so hard I felt like screaming. There, in a nutshell, was what Nixie the Pixie would become, tethered to aristocrat Julian Emerson.

Nothing but a joke.

I pictured me in Boston, city of Ivy League schools and conservative blue-bloods. Like Meiers Corners but older and actually stodgier.

With the added incentive of being way too classy for a punk like me.

In Meiers Corners I was an anomaly. Funny, but kind of sexy, too.

But in Boston, Julian's old-money friends would make me look like new garbage. They'd all laugh at me.

I was exciting to Julian here because I was different. A vacation fuck. But if I showed up there, I'd be just one of a long line of women vying for his attention, and not in pole position, either.

Sure, Julian might ask me to visit. But once I got there…once he saw me amid his sophisticated friends and his gorgeous and elegant women—

He'd reject me.

And what was worse was that I would
care
. His rejection would break my heart…fuck. “No! No way I'm setting foot in the Home of the fucking Hoags!”

Julian blinked at me. “I thought you wanted adventure…”

“Ooh, adventure galore with Snobby, Priggish and Prude. As invigorating as swimming in concrete. Be still my frantic, girlish heart.”

“I thought you might like it.” If I didn't know better I'd have thought he sounded slightly hurt. “But you don't have to come if you don't want to.”

As I thought! A charity invitation, extended out of pity. “You're so kind,” I sneered. “How thoughtful, to invite me and then yank it away! I'd rather get run over by a truck!”

“No need to get sarcastic,” Julian said, vowels flattening. “You complained about not getting out enough.”

“Complained?! I
never
complain. Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Me…? What is wrong with you? A trip to Boston—”

“Is my idea of a personal hell!”

“Stop interrupting,” Julian snapped, temper obviously starting to fray. “If you would just listen—”

“And anyway, it's your fault, Mr. Head-fapping Hoag. You asked.”

“I didn't ask. I simply said…oh, what does it matter what I said. I just thought you might like to visit Boston. With me. Maybe meet—”

His condescending, superior
gorgeous
friends,
I mentally finished. “Julian Emerson, you can just take your snobby bitch crew and…and poke them up your prostrate, you…you ignoranus!”

Julian's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Please do not interrupt.” His words were clipped. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “And calling names won't help. It makes you sound like a child.”

“I am not a child!” I could have screamed. Instead of meeting my anger, Julian was getting all superior, looking down his nose at me. His condescension made my blood boil. Here I was, losing it, and
he
only got more reserved. It pissed me off even more. “You always treat me like a fucking child!”

“Enough. We'll continue this discussion at your place.” His tone had gone ice-cold. His eyes were glacial. He straddled the Harley and put his helmet on. Nodded stiffly at the seat behind him. “Where we can indulge in temper tantrums in private.”

We, meaning
me.
This was what I hated most about fucking stifling Puritans, whether they be German mothers or frigid Boston attorneys. They made me look like a stupid, overreacting bitch. My anger turned lava-hot. “Fuck you, Lawboy. I'll walk.” I tossed him the helmet.

Julian caught it one-handed, grabbed me with the other and flung me onto the motorcycle. “You are not walking
anywhere
alone at night.” Jaw rigid, he stuffed the helmet onto my head.

“You're not my keeper, Emerson!” I tried to yank the helmet off but somehow he'd already fastened the chinstrap.

“You know what you need, little girl? A good spanking. Sit
down
.”

“Don't you dare!” I gasped. “I'm not a little…!”

“Then prove it. Sit. Still.” Julian slewed me a red violet look, and kicked into gear.

Chapter Twenty-one

I yelled at him the entire ride home. Half of what I said was carried away by the wind. But he got the gist. I know that because the instant we reached my townhouse Julian hauled me off the motorcycle and kissed me, just to shut me up.

There was something about sex when you were in the middle of an argument. Something
wicked
. Gloves were off. You were mad at the other person, madder at yourself—and you didn't care who got hurt.

So I bit Julian's lip, hard enough to draw blood. Surprised, he loosened his grip. I used the opportunity to grab him by his tie and drag him through my door. There, I pushed him onto the floor. Buttons popping, I ripped away his shirt and tie. He was wearing an undershirt, but I tore it out of his pants and shoved it past his armpits. With my crotch on his rapidly heaving belly, I leaned down and bit his nipple.

Julian's eyes went blood-red. He arched under me. I palmed his pecs, those huge sleek mounds of muscle. I licked my way across the valley, bit the other nipple. He snarled, reached under my coat and ripped my shirt in two. Half-sitting, he tore bra, shirt, and coat over my head, baring me to the waist. Immediately he latched onto one breast and suckled, hard. I would be sore later but right now it felt like fire from heaven.

His sit-up made his belly a hard, rippling washboard. I was in Japanese schoolgirl mode, knee socks and a pleated skirt and nothing else, not even a thong. My damp crotch scrubbed over his washboard, and my clit swelled in instant response.

Julian grabbed my breasts with both hands, fondling me like a rag doll. He left one hand pumping and tangled the other in my hair. Holding my head trapped, he took my mouth with his.

This was no gentle kiss. Julian's mouth dominated, demanded. I was just as forceful, tongue plunging into him like a pile driver. We kissed like two wrestlers vying for mastery, driving to conquer. He flipped me onto my back, ripped my skirt from my hips, and returned to kissing me, his body crushing mine to the floor. Pushing hard I rolled us over, broke off the kiss. Throwing my leg over his torso, I faced his feet and tore off his pants. His erection snapped up, into my face. It wept his arousal, visibly pulsed with it.

Well, I had to, didn't I?

Without turning back, I rammed my head down on Julian's stiff cock. My lips tightened around the shaft. My throat opened, sliding his head past rippling cartilage.

Julian roared. His fingers bit into my buttocks, convulsed as he flooded my throat with hot cum. I half-swallowed several times, working him mercilessly. He roared through all of it, an almost endless rush of climax.

I started to get off. But as my mouth opened, Julian's fully erect cock hit me in the face again. I stopped, mouth agape.

Julian, taking advantage of my momentary shock, shoved me back onto the floor. He rolled his hips over my face, thrusting his cock ruthlessly down my throat again. His strong hands gripped my thighs and spread my legs wide. Plunging between, he ravaged me with his hot, steamy mouth.

I went dizzy with arousal. His cock drove repeatedly down my throat. His tongue stabbed into my slit, while his mouth sucked me wetly. His fangs, full-length, pressed hard and sleek against my labia, which felt very slick and swollen by now. I writhed, but his hands held me down firmly for his plundering.

My ears were ringing. My eyes were tightly shut, my chest heaving. My belly felt hot and distended. My body arched helplessly into Julian's muscular strength. In the fight for domination, I was about to lose. I held back as long as I could, making him work for it, making him use every century of his experience.

And then I could hold out no more. Waves of contraction and release hit me, hot as sin. Powerful as the surf. Terrible as love.

I experienced a little moment of blankness. Switched off, just for a second. No sound, no sight, no sensation. A warm, soft cocoon enveloped me, completely outside of time and space.

Reality snapped back. I heard my heart thudding. Felt Julian's heart pound against my belly. Warm, wet fluid slid down my cheek, and I realized he had lost it, too. I opened my eyes. His legs were spread on either side of my head. His butt was in front of my face. Julian, I thought dazedly, had an absolutely gorgeous ass. I worked to lift one hand, found it incredibly heavy. Finally I managed to skim a finger over taut muscle.

“Again?” a dark voice murmured against the inside of my knee. Even cooling from climax, his breath instantly heated my skin.

“Eventually.” I nudged him half-heartedly. The floor was hard and cold on my back, but my front was deliciously warm.

He sighed, rolled off me with a grace and surprising technique that brought me up with him, cradled in his arms. “Bedroom?” he suggested. His eyes were already warming to violet.

“Weren't we arguing?”

“Let's skip to the part where we make up.”

“I think we already did.” I smiled and raised myself in his arms just enough to suckle his earlobe.

 

 

 

Toward dawn, just after Julian left, a man broke into my bedroom.

The guy must have been waiting for it. Before Julian's side of the bed even cooled, mist swirled through the wall. Dark mist, curling out like clouds of smoke. The mist floated in, snapped into a man.

A red-eyed, skeletal man. A man with very long, very sharp fangs.

“If you're looking for Julian,” I said, more boldly than I felt, “he just left. You can probably catch him if you scoot now.”

“It is not Emerson I seek.” The man's voice was hollow and lisping, like a fifties radio with too much treble. “It is
you
I seek, Dietlinde Schmeling.” On the
you
he pointed one long, pointy finger at me.

One
claw
.

From the voice I knew that this was the infamous Lord Ruthven. For one second I was scared. Then I remembered Julian saying Ruthven was a bit melodramatic. Over the top. Like a musician's makeup. The voice, the claw, was all part of the Ruthven act.

Besides, Ruthass used my daggy name,
again
. That was like a red flag to a bull. “Me? What do you want me for, Deep Throat?”

His eyes narrowed and went ruby-red. “I am Lord Ruthven. Fear me, Dietlinde Schmeling. Fear me, and flee. Flee from the city, lest I destroy you.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I would, Ruthie, but I've got this festival thing to run. Maybe you've heard of it? The crunk-fest to raise enough kiss-ass-cash for Chicago's leet?”

The creep frowned, ever so slightly. Apparently being second in command of a gang didn't make him fluent in street language. “Do not fool with me, Dietlinde Schmeling.”

The last refuge of the incompetent. If you don't get it, make threats. “Not fooling with you, Ruthie. Just explaining why I can't flee in terror. At least, not today. Talk to me again on Monday.” And, heart thudding just a little, I turned my back on him and pretended to go to sleep.