Biting the Bride (2 page)

“We haven’t spoken tonight, so no, and thank you.”

Peter lurched toward her, looking as if he might fall. Sunni grabbed him, sliding her small but strong body under his arm and supporting his considerable weight.

“We’re in the bathroom together,” he said. “Wanna make out?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve got a cold sore that just won’t quit,” Sunni said lightly.

She tried to leave the bathroom, but Peter had other ideas. He spun around and with surprising agility, given his level of inebriation, pushed her against the wall. Sunni’s back bounced off a towel dispenser. The breath flew out of her body, replaced with fiery pain between her shoulder blades. Peter stretched his arms out to the wall, imprisoning her between them. A sour, squishy tongue invaded her mouth, making her gag. He grabbed one of her breasts and twisted it like he was trying to take it home with him, simultaneously pressing his pelvis against her. His belt buckle ground into her lower ribs.

“Peter, no!” She managed to blurt out before he trapped her mouth again. When he pushed the ugly orange dress up her thighs panic raced through her body like electricity. He groaned as he found bare skin underneath. His left hand fumbled with his belt buckle.

Sunni’s vision narrowed to a pinprick. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, which would have been the worst thing that could happen, because she knew it would only help Peter. But she didn’t pass out, and in that moment a transformation occurred inside her body. When she opened her eyes, everything was incredibly bright, as if someone had turned on klieg lights. She could see microscopic dust balls on the white tile floor and streaks of window cleaner on the mirrors that had previously been invisible. Although she was moving normally, Peter seemed to be operating at a turtle’s pace as he tugged at his zipper.

Sunni had never taken a self-defense class in her life. She had never thought what she would do if someone tried to rape her. But somehow she knew instinctively how to react. She grabbed his neck with both hands and kneed him in the groin. As he doubled over in pain she punched upward into his Adam’s apple. A single, choked cry squeezed out of his throat before he hit the floor, where he balled up like a pill bug, gasping for air. Sunni took a deep breath and looked for the exit.

That was when she saw
him.
He had been standing by the door, watching her. She thought she detected a slight smile on his face before he turned away, his hand reaching for the doorknob. She had no idea how she got across the bathroom that fast, but before he turned the knob she had grabbed him and dragged him back into the bathroom.

“Not so fast, mister. You’ve got some explaining to do.” Sunni clutched the lapels of the man’s jacket, at first to keep him in place, but a moment later she was using him for support. The adrenaline washed out of her body, leaving her knees incapable of holding her upright. Her grip loosened and she started to sink to the floor. The man held her, pressing her tight against his chest. He smelled wonderful, like a pine forest after a snowfall. She had just begun to realize that close contact with him was unaccountably pleasurable when he propped her up against a sink and stepped briskly away.

“I see you are well, so I’ll be going …” He headed for the door.

“No!” Sunni shouted. The man paused.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Jacob Eddington.” He spoke in a formal, clipped tone, with a slight accent that was not quite British, like a Kennedy who’d gone to school at Eton.

“No, I mean
who
are you? Why have you been following me?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes, under fluorescent bathroom lights, were slate-colored, almost gray, and his skin was so pale it seemed transparent. “I believe you mistake me for someone else, madam.”

“The hell I do! You saved me from a mugger, two years ago in front of Glide Memorial Church.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so …”

“And what were you doing here?” She pointed an accusatory finger at his chest. “You came to save me, didn’t you?”

“As you see, I didn’t save you at all,” he said stiffly. “So there goes your theory. ”

She moved close again, inches from his face, studying it. He appeared deeply uncomfortable, as if looking at her caused him physical pain.

“I’ve seen you, over and over again, for years. Tell me why and I’ll let you go.”

The semblance of a smile tugged again at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll
let
me go?”

“That’s what I said.”

The smile disappeared. The man’s eyes began to glow with a cool silvery light. The iris expanded until it covered the orb. Was she hallucinating? Had Peter given her a concussion? She tried to move, but she was frozen, unable to break their gaze.

“You never saw me today. I was never here.” His voice was imperious, and so low in pitch she felt it in her solar plexus.

Suddenly it all seemed humorous, and the spell was broken.

“I see you.” She waved her fingers in his face.

He sighed with exasperation. Whatever he’d been trying had failed.

Sunni felt liquid dripping down her lip. She turned and looked in the mirror. Her lower lip was bleeding where it had collided with Peter’s teeth. She staunched it with her finger and then she turned back to the man.

But he was gone. In an instant he had disappeared completely. There was no sound of the door opening, no tapping of shoes on tile floors. It was as if he was never there. She raced into the hallway, colliding with a woman in a paisley dress dragging a small, weeping boy dressed in a suit.

“I’m not a lady!” the boy wailed. “I can’t go in there.”

Sunni grabbed the woman by the arm. “Did you see a man leave the ladies’ room just now?”

The woman eyed her with suspicion. “No, I didn’t see anyone except you.”

“Damn it,” Sunni said.

Still watching Sunni, the woman opened the door and pushed her son in ahead of her. Sunni heard the boy’s dress shoes clacking across the floor.

“Hey, Mommy,” the little boy called out, “there’s a man in here!”

Chapter 2

The scent of blood was driving him mad.

He closed his eyes and breathed it in: a thick, salty, mineral tang filled the airplane, emanating from the hundreds of bodies surrounding him. It smelled like the ocean, heated to 98.6 degrees. It was the substance of life itself, the one thing he couldn’t have. It was the bitterest irony imaginable: He could have all the blood he wanted, but he could never make himself live again. Unless …

The compact laptop computer on his tray table displayed a photo from an article in
ARTnews
magazine. He turned his attention back to the attractive young woman in the photo, Sunni Marquette, standing in her eponymous San Francisco art gallery. He had enlarged the picture until Sunni’s distinctive emerald eyes and heart-shaped face had pixilated beyond recognition, but not before he assured himself that he was right. He had been looking for her for years. Now he just had to get to her before another vampire did.

He wondered if the Council knew about her, if she was protected. If so, that would make his job more difficult, although not impossible. He had killed vampires before. He smiled and fingered his impeccable tie and the collar of his hand-sewn, Egyptian cotton shirt. Yes, he had killed before, and would again. That was why he needed Sunni Marquette. The Council had numbers and he was alone in the world. Alone, and he was tired of it.

The blood smell insinuated itself into his consciousness again. This time he focused on one particular scent—the mousy, middle-aged woman in the seat next to him. He had already spoken with her, and he could feel her tender body thrumming with anticipation that he might turn to her again. She put down her glass, checked her watch, and then sighed very quietly.

“Does it really matter what time it is?” he murmured.

She winced, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. He thought she’d probably never done anything naughty in her life, but there was a first time for everything. After all, she’d never met Richard Lazarus before.

“The concept of time is so odd when you’re in an airplane, isn’t it? My watch is on New York time, which is 2:00 A.M., and it’s 11:00 P.M. in San Francisco, but what time is it here?” She nodded as if responding to something he’d said. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter. I don’t feel tired at all, you know.” She sipped her drink, and then shook the ice cubes sadly, looking for more liquor. “Are you tired, Richard?”

He shook his head.

She giggled. “I feel like I’ve told you all there is to know about me.”

Yes, he knew everything about Vera Grant: the eighty-hour a week job; the boss to whom she was practically married, except that he already had a wife; singing in the choir at Altamount Methodist; the condo she wished she could sell but owed more on the mortgage than the place was worth; and her two cats, Rusty and Clayton. She was a very talkative lady.

“And I know practically nothing about you! Just that you’re a widower, and you live in London. Oh, I’ve hogged the conversation.” Her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could put back the words that had already been spoken.

“Not at all, I have found our little talk fascinating.” Richard pressed the call button. The flight attendant arrived in less than twenty seconds.

“I love first-class,” Vera said.

“The lady needs another gimlet,” Richard said. He reached across Vera’s lap to pick up the glass.

“Oh, no, Richard, I’m sure I’ve had enough.” She put her hand on his. “I can’t even remember how many I’ve had.”

“The night is still young,” Richard said. “At least where we’re going it is.” In fact he wished she wouldn’t drink, but it would make things go so much more smoothly.

She giggled and nodded. “Okay, maybe a little one.”

“You, sir?” The flight attendant looked at Richard.

He shook his head. “Nothing for me.”

Vera frowned. “You haven’t had a single drink. You’re going to make me look like a lush.”

“I haven’t had a drink in a very long time,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy yourself. “ He allowed a hint of lasciviousness to slip into his smile, and he sensed Vera’s mouth going dry, heard her heart beat a little faster.

“I
have
enjoyed myself, very much,” she replied.

“And I have enjoyed you also,” Richard lifted a lock of Vera’s hair and coiled it around his finger. “You are such a lovely woman, Vera. You have the most beautiful hair. Black like a raven’s wing, so black it seems to have blue in it. I love this color. ”

He didn’t care for the stench that assaulted his delicate nose, but he had learned to endure it. Many women dyed their hair with petrochemicals these days.

The flight attendant returned with another drink. Vera sipped with evident enjoyment. She had never had a gimlet before. It had been Richard’s suggestion.

“You know, Vera, I can think of a way we could enjoy each other’s company even more.” He gently, tentatively, touched her thigh.

Vera’s hand shook. She placed the drink on her tray table just before it sloshed onto the floor. “Oh, Richard, I don’t know.”

He lifted his hand. “I have offended you. Please accept my apology. ”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her short fingers inched up his leg like five caterpillars until she found his hand. “It’s just, well, it sounds trite, but I’ve never been that kind of a girl. We just met.”

“You are right, we just met.” His other hand slid along the arm of her silk blouse, stopping at her collar. He reached underneath her pearl necklace and stroked her throat. He could feel her heart, now pounding wildly.

“But there is a connection between us, Vera, I felt it as soon as I sat down. Didn’t you feel it?”

“Yes, I did.” Her gaze flicked away, but quickly returned. The hope in her eyes was almost comical. “I’m going to be in San Francisco for four days. Maybe we could have dinner, or something. ”

“Maybe. But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

He caressed her cheek, feeling how the skin was thinning near her eyes. So delicate, these humans, so temporal. Vera grabbed his hand and pressed it into her lap. He could feel her heartbeat in the veins in her thighs.

“Shall we go somewhere?” she said in a husky voice.

“No need,” he whispered. He turned off the overhead lights, plunging their seats into darkness, and then he spread a blanket over her lap. “Now, take off your stockings.”

Vera giggled again. “I just love your English accent. It’s like a BBC newscaster is talking dirty to me.” She did as he commanded, pulling up her skirt and rolling her stockings down her legs.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing a skirt,” Richard said as his fingers slid through her hair and lightly scratched her scalp. “I hate it when women wear pants. A woman should be a woman, as you are, Vera. ”

Vera reached up with both hands and cupped Richard’s cheeks, her lips puckered for a kiss. But then she drew back.

“Your skin … It’s so cold.”

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. I have a condition—my blood does not circulate well. It makes me cold in my extremities. Is this a turn-off, as the Americans say?”

“No, not at all.”

He parted her lips and kissed her deeply in the French fashion. It was not his favorite part of the interaction, but he had learned long ago that humans expected it, and he liked to think that he left them happy.

“I’m going to kiss you down there. Would you like that?” Richard asked.

She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her answer in her heartbeat, in the rapid rise of her temperature. He neatly folded himself into the generous foot space that the airline provided for its first-class customers and disappeared under the blanket. He gently spread her legs. Her hips rose up to meet him.

Richard knew when Vera had moved into that other place; he could feel it in the blood coursing through the veins in her silky thighs. He could hear it in her thoughts, or lack thereof. If someone spoke to her now she would not respond, could not respond.

With the exquisite sensation of anticipation that an erection brings, he felt his fangs extend. He licked them with his soft tongue, probed their needle-sharp points. Vera was a lovely woman. How could human men have treated her so unkindly, left her alone for so long? Were they intimidated simply because she was intelligent and successful? Couldn’t they see that inside her suit she was all woman, just waiting to give herself to any man who had the guts to walk up to her and ask? Ah well, their loss was his gain. If Vera had been traveling with a husband he would not be here now, between her thighs, seconds away from piercing the femoral vein that pulsed hotly against him and drinking until Vera’s delicate heart fluttered hopelessly like a sparrow in a hurricane. Life was so much easier for Richard now that women were independent.