Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between (13 page)

I lifted my lids and his face was there, his breath soft and sweet in my nose. My throat constricted as brown eyes clashed with blue. He pulled my hair teasingly, angling my head to the side so he could place his mouth against my left ear.

“Where do you want your mark, Rhiannon?” His words were sensual, husky, and filled with underlying promises.

“On my wrist, maybe.” My voice cracked. “Like Goose?”

His breath teased the skin on my throat. “I don’t think that suits you.”

“Then where?” I groaned, anxiety changing to something else, skin tingling and sensitive.

“Here.” He pressed his mouth against my throat, and my entire body erupted in heat, flames licking beneath the surface of the skin.

“Okay,” I agreed rashly, bringing my left hand up to grasp his back.

He twisted his body ever so slightly, teasing the skin along my nape with his fingers, lightly skimming the surface. Soft lips replaced them, rubbing in a delicious friction on my throat. I felt teeth follow the same path, gently scraping the top of the skin, stopping above the pulse on my neck.

He moved his left hand down to grasp my arm firmly. The right remained entwined in my hair, pulling me closer. I felt his body surge forward and I tensed, unable to resist the urge to avoid the inevitable pain from this bite. My breath stuck in my throat as he sank his teeth deep, scoring the pulsing vein cleanly.

My free hand connected with his arm, fingers digging into unyielding muscle. The pressure vanished as teeth eased out of my neck and his mouth surrounded the bite. He sucked gently, tongue lapping against the ravaged skin. The sharp, stabbing pain vanished, a dull ache left in its place.

He drank in deep greedy pulls, crowding my neck until I felt lightheaded. My grip loosened as he shifted his body, reaching for something I couldn’t see. Blood trickled freely down my neck in a thin red line when he lifted his head, flowing past the hollow of my throat and into my sweater.

“This will only take a moment,” Disco promised and pressed something soft against the deep punctures in my skin. I watched from sleepy eyes as he removed a black piece of cloth from my neck. His mouth descended, tongue moving over the ragged holes gently. He worried at the skin longer than necessary, and I gasped for the second time, but not in pain.

“It’s done.” His voice sounded deep and far away. “It’s your turn.”

He pulled his sweater over his head and threw it carelessly to the ground. The tiny blessed silver knife he’d used before appeared in his hand. He made the incision at the hollow of his throat, and then pulled me into his arms so that my face was level with his chest.

There was no protest, no argument. I remembered the taste of his blood, and some sinful inner part of me wanted more. Disco sighed at the first draw against his skin. He pulled me closer, his hands wrapped into the hair tangled down my back. My sleepiness disappeared. His blood filled me with a newfound energy. I lost track of how many times I swallowed. All I could fathom was the incredibly succulent taste of his blood; cool and sticky sweet, with a hidden touch of cinnamon and cloves.

When the blood began to trickle, I reluctantly pulled away. My eyesight, hearing and smell were already heightened, so I didn’t experience any of those disorienting symptoms. Instead, I felt amazing, as if I could jump off a building and fly. Disco held me close and I looked into his eyes. Something I couldn’t explain overcame me in that instant, and I reacted.

My lips brushed Disco’s as I ran my hands along his solid stomach, fingers skimming the contours of his chest and shoulders. His initial shock was short lived. He rolled with me on his chest, rotating our bodies so I rested against the tapestry cushions, pressing his hips between my legs.

I tasted the metallic bitterness of my blood on his lips and shared his lingering essence by pulling the tip of his tongue into my mouth and sucking softly. He growled, hands rough against my hips, dragging me downward. Uncontrollable warmth spread through my body, in places I wanted him to touch, and I ground my hips deliberately against his pelvis, moving my hands lower, latching onto that perfect mound of flesh on his ass to pull him against me.

He ripped his lips away. “You can’t know how badly I want this,” he groaned next to my ear, kissing the tender spot just behind. I didn’t speak, using actions to convey my agreement, bringing my hands up to cradle his face and draw his lips to mine.

But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough…

I raked my nails up and down his back, bringing them around to his chest. The skin was cool and firm, and I arched my back, pressing my aching nipples against him, desperate to ease the burn.

“Rhiannon.” He pulled away, hands holding either side of my face to prevent me from interrupting him. “I want to take you to my bedroom, and love you until the sun comes up. But if I do, you’ll hate me in the morning. I would despise myself for allowing that.”

“I don’t understand.” I attempted to wiggle free, eager to taste him again. “Is it STD’s? I know you can’t get me pregnant.”

“No, our kind doesn’t transmit or get infected with diseases. But damn it, I want you to come to me because you want me, not because your libido has been altered by my blood. I can’t be certain this is something you’ll be proud of tomorrow.”

It felt like lightning had been bottled inside my skin, burning and quickening in my veins. I struggled to find my inner strength, but it was difficult. I’d never been so sexually charged in my life. His fingers were gentle against the sensitive flesh on my neck, and each tickling brush threatened to break my resolve. When I finally managed to speak, my words were raspy.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured.

I was keenly aware of each solid inch of him pressed against my body. His muscular stomach was firm, his pelvis snug and heavy between my thighs. His frame melded perfectly to my own, his coolness stifling the flush that pervaded my skin. I stifled a groan of frustration.

“Maybe it would be best if you sat on the other side of the room,” I whispered hoarsely.

He chuckled and lowered his head, smelling a lock of my hair. Slowly, he pulled away. I sat upright, staring at his bare chest and shoulders, which were cut, defined, and smooth. His abs were equally mesmerizing, visible hip bones disappearing beneath his slacks. I peered up and saw him studying me, eyes equally intense.

“It will take longer for the sexual drive to dissipate.” He broke eye contact, reaching for his discarded sweater.

I wanted to be sarcastic, but damn it, I couldn’t. I was still battling the desire to leap from the cushions and tackle him to the floor. I wasn’t a novice sexually, but I certainly wasn’t a slut, and the one experience I did have never elicited this type of response.

He tossed the sweater over his head, yanking the material over his body. His head popped out, blond hair ruffled and unkempt around his face. The effect was devastating, especially with my raging hormones.

I managed to find my voice. “Are we done?”

“For now.” He lowered his chin, grinned wickedly, and his voice dropped an octave, oozing with sexual innuendo. “Unless there is something more I can do for you. Is there anything else you would like me to do for you, Rhiannon?”

“Bite me,” I snapped, wincing at my choice of words.

His grin intensified, eyes glinting. “I already have.”

“What can I get you?” A dinky little girl with blonde hair and pigtails asked cheerily. She looked rather adorable in her little brown apron and black dress, but I wasn’t in the mood to be peppy.

She rang the order up, wrote my name on the little Styrofoam cup, and placed it on the counter behind others awaiting concoctions of their own. I paid with cash, stuffed the remainder into the tip jar, and stood back until my jolt of caffeine was ready.

As I waited, I fiddled with the collar of my turtleneck. The mark was there, inked in black. It looked odd against my pale skin, but served as a reminder of the previous night’s events.

All of them.

My name was called and I collected my java before some other person attempted to whore themselves off as me. I’d seen it happen before. Some people don’t care if they steal directly in front of you. I exited the building and made my way down 59
^th
street, toward Central Park.

Sabrina and Mark Smith, otherwise known as Carolyn and Max Starkey, lived in Uptown Manhattan. It turns out Goose is lottery-winner lucky. The first upscale real estate firm resulted in pay dirt. Max even had his very own picture in the phonebook, nestled next to an ad that insisted, ‘Don’t delay, Call today!’

Since Max’s office was in a building right next to the park, we could track him easily and he’d never be the wiser. This meant I could enjoy the urban wilderness and fulfill my nature cravings.

It was a win-win situation.

As I entered the gate, the hair on my nape stood on end and my skin started to crawl—the early warning sign that a ghost was in the nearby vicinity. Usually, I would see maybe a half a dozen spirits during a routine day. I’d already surpassed that number since I’d left my building, and it was only 11:30 in the morning.

I found an empty bench in the mall walkway and took a seat, sipping my coffee. The air was brisk and fresh, children’s voices drifted to me from different distances, and the shades of green were brushed beautifully in my sight. I smiled, content to have a moment alone, taking another swallow of chocolaty goodness.

I knew Goose was there before he spoke, aware of his unique power, able to sense and distinguish it.

“Should I ask?”

“Nope, there’s nothing to tell,” I quipped, cup affixed to my lips.

“Oh, Rhiannon.” He shook his head and chuckled as he sat beside me. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He’d taken my advice about wearing casual clothing. The shirt was still uptight—white cotton with matching buttons down the middle, starched and pressed to perfection—but he wore jeans and a pair of brown leather Timberland shoes.

It was a step in the right direction.

“So where is it?” He looked up and down my arms for my mark.

“Wrong.” I struggled to squelch a moment of embarrassment.

“He didn’t…” He pointed at my neck.

“Yeah, so?”

“Most familiars are marked on the wrist. It’s a sign of servitude as the hand is extended outward in offering. The neck, on the other hand, is an intimate part of the body. A mark there indicates you’re far more than just an asset to the family. It’s meant as a warning.”

He leaned over. “Can I see it?”

“Good God. What is this? Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” I shook my head in exasperation but did as he asked, pulling down the neck of my sweater to display the mark.

“Yep, that’s what he did. He bit you right where everyone would see. I knew something was going on, but I didn’t know it went that deep. Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

“No, not really.” I smirked unapologetically. “But I would like to ask you about this change in my perception. Since I left my apartment, I’ve been bombarded. If I don’t see ghosts, I can feel them all around. What’s that all about?”

“Your ability is coming to the forefront,” he answered. “Our powers are generally weak on their own. They have to be manipulated, molded, and then harnessed. However, even the most practiced necromancer can’t achieve the level of awareness one does by becoming a familiar to a vampire. We see dead people, and vampires are considered dead.”

“So it’s normal?” I breathed a sigh of relief. “I was worried.”

“I think so. Your abilities are greater than my own. Soon, we’ll know more. If you’re agreeable, that is.”

I arched a brow. “Agreeable?”

“The best way to learn is by experience, and I can give you that. The work is dependable and pays well. Most of my clients come by word of mouth.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “I like the job I have. It’s something I know, something I’m good at.”

“You can’t bartend forever,” he argued. “You need something you can fall back on. Being a member of Disco’s family will always ensure you have a place to go, but I know you, and you like your independence too much.”

“Tell me something.” I changed the subject. “Why do they call him Disco if his name is Gabriel?”

“Oh no.” His eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth slowly. “No wonder you won’t tell me what happened last night.”

“Stop analyzing me and answer the damned question,” I snapped, glaring at him.

“The nickname came about as a running joke that got of hand.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t help it; this isn’t like you at all. I know the blood exchange changes things—including mood and body chemistry—but this is beyond any kind of scientific explanation.”

“You know.” My voice was laced with sarcasm. “I love being reminded of just how fucked up people find my company. One minute, I’m asked to be more loving and sweet. In fact, someone once told me it was downright adorable. But when I actually give the public what they want, they think I’m suffering from a chemical imbalance. Thanks, Goose.”

I felt it again; that inner humming that signaled something otherworldly was close by. This time I couldn’t ignore the feeling, it was too intense, too compelling.

“Do you feel that?” I glanced around.

“No,” Goose looked at me, mildly concerned. “Feel what?”

I stood and took off in the direction of the undeniable pull. I knew Goose was behind me. I heard him asking to be excused as he bumped into someone in an effort to keep up. My feet flew across the path, rubber soles scraping against the concrete, hair flowing behind me as I quickened pace and shoved past a group that blocked my way to the front of the Bandshell. My skin prickled with an unfamiliar energy, the surface rippling pleasantly.

“Rhiannon.” Goose snagged my arm, jerking me to a halt.

“You can’t feel that?” I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t at least feel
something.
The humming grew stronger with each step. I stared down the path, gaze affixed in the direction of the vibration.

“No, and you’re starting to scare me.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around. “Look at me.”

I couldn’t look at him, eyes riveted toward the pull. So close, if only I could get there.

“Look at me!” he snapped, shaking my shoulders forcefully.

It took effort, but I did as he asked. His lips were tight, lines forming around his mouth, forehead creased in worry. His chocolate brown eyes met mine, ensuring I was with him and not somewhere else.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like a humming on my skin, but from the inside out.” I gazed down the path, to the fountain at the end. “I’m going down there. I have to.”

“All right, but slow down. You control what you’re feeling, not the other way around.”

He released me and we started walking—together this time. A breeze shifted through the trees and my nose filtered the multiple scents—a hotdog, meatball sub, Chanel N°5, Hypnose cologne, grass, leaves, dirt, freshly poured cement and exhaust fumes.

It took all of my restraint not to jog as the need to see what existed beyond intensified. I drew a deep breath in through my mouth and allowed it to escape slowly through my nose. I could see the drop from the stairs ahead, Bethesda’s Angel beckoning in the distance. The sounds of splashing water and voices assailed my ears, multiple conversations taking place at once, combined in a mash of incoherent whispers.

I cleared my throat, using the rumbling sound inside my skull to clear my head. We descended the stairs and stopped at the base of the fountain. Two ghosts were perched together, holding hands, interacting with one another. I’d never seen anything like it before. The spirits I’d encountered were always detached, seemingly out of place in the world around them, but not these two.

Their clothing was from the 70’s, her long brown hair parted down the middle and his styled in a mop top. My mouth dropped in realization. I could see them,
really see them
. The colors weren’t faded and their features were clear.

“What do you see?” Goose attempted to mask his excitement.

I didn’t speak, reaching out.

Goose’s fingers wrapped around mine and our palms connected. I didn’t know why he didn’t perceive the same things I did, but at least I could share them with him. A few seconds passed and then his hand squeezed in mine in a rapid succession.

“It’s a residual.” He laughed softly. “You’re witnessing something that occurs when a moment imprints in time. Normally, it happens in the location of a tragedy, like at ground zero. But this…this is formed from sheer happiness. You can feel the bliss.”

I nodded and pulled him along with me. The pull didn’t stop there. We walked down East Drive, weaving through people with strollers and on bicycles. This time, Goose didn’t discourage me when I scurried along. I started jogging, bobbing through the people who stopped to look around and enjoy the scenery. As we neared the green expanse of the Great Lawn, my heart started fluttering.

I ran my hand through my hair in an attempt to ease the crawling sensation, goose bumps forming all over my body. I could see them from the distance, and I put on speed, flying over the grass.

I stopped just beyond the edge of the trees. “Oh…” I said the word in an exhaled breath, awestruck. I took Goose’s hand and gave him a moment to process everything.

“My God,” he finished. I didn’t chance a look, but I knew his eyes were as wide as mine.

They were everywhere, spirits from the past frozen perfectly in time. The lush green grass was occupied at every nook and cranny, every detail crisp and clear. From the plaid polyester blanket underneath the couple in the shade, to the old-fashioned football held firmly under the arm of a man in shorts and high socks with red stripes at the top.

“How is this happening?” I asked in wonderment, completely unafraid.

“You’re receptive to it.” Goose turned his head as the ghostly image of a dog ran into the trees, its shaggy brown hair bouncing with each lunging stretch.

“Can we touch them?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “They aren’t ghosts, per say.”

I pivoted, locating the dog in the trees. His snout pushed something I couldn’t see, visible only after it was chomped between his teeth. He started running with the yellow tennis ball, and I stepped directly in his path, tugging Goose’s arm in the process. The dog passed through me and I whipped around, watching as he ran back to the open grass.

“I guess that answers that question,” I laughed.

“This is extraordinary. Imagine the possibilities, the opportunities. We could visit historic locations across the world and witness everything with our own eyes. The Coliseum, Stonehenge, the Seven Wonders of the World.” He spoke in an excited rush.

“Slow down.” I glanced at him. “I still have a lot to learn, remember? I’d prefer to take this one step at a time.”

“I know, you’re right,” he demurred. “I’m excited by this information, naturally. The necromancers I’m aware of don’t meet often, and our time together is often restricted and constrained. With you, there are no boundaries.”

“Don’t tell me,” I snickered. “You’re in a club that gathers together like raving Trekkies to share secrets of the afterlife. I bet you even have an Enigma CD you crank up to get in the mood.”

“Don’t be silly.” His face lit up with an enormous grin. “We listen to Enya, not Enigma.”

The humming dissipated, my body reverting to normal as that unnatural part of me received satisfaction. We stood together, staring for a few moments longer.

“I suppose we should get back to work,” I sighed, casting a gaze over the shapes in the grass one final time.

“Come on.” Goose yanked gently on my hand, pulling me back into the expanse of trees that formed a canopy overhead.

“Distract me.” I exhaled a lungful of air, tossing my cup into a nearby trashcan. “Tell me what you know about Max and Carolyn.”

“Not much.” He cleared his throat, back to business as usual. “On paper they check clean. They’ve lived here for four years, and they’ve never owned residences anywhere near California. Max got into the real estate business for pleasure. He’s financially set as his family owns a chain of Slumberwood Hotels across the world. Carolyn comes from money as well. Her parents struck it rich selling a patent that preserves fruit for extended periods of time.”

I chuckled. “Do you mean those little bags you buy for bananas?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t delve into the specifics of her parent’s fruit protection invention. Next time, I’ll be more thorough.”