Everlasting Kiss (3 page)

After taking a deep breath, Daisy admitted, “I was looking for you, too.”

“I’m glad we got that cleared up. Perhaps the next step would be a real date, where I pick you up at your house.”

“Not until I know you better,” she said primly.

“What do you want to know?”

“Your last name. Your age.” He didn’t look much older than her own twenty-four years, yet he seemed older, wiser. “What you do for a living.”

“Delacourt. Thirty. Nothing.” Nothing wasn’t exactly the truth. Because he had lived a long time, and the nights could be lonely, he had pursued a number of hobbies before discovering he had a talent for painting. He had even sold a number of canvases through the years, which was why he didn’t have to work. Currently, some of his paintings were on consignment at one of the city’s finest galleries. He kept the rest of his canvases, and there were dozens, in one of the empty rooms in his house.

“Nothing?” she repeated. “What are you, a millionaire?”

“Not quite, just reasonably well off.”

“You’re not married, are you?”

“Would I be here with you if I were?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of men cheat on their wives.”

“Lots of men aren’t lucky enough to meet a girl like you.”

Daisy’s heart skipped a beat. The man definitely knew what to say, and when to say it.

The rest of the evening passed like something out of a romantic movie. They danced several times, talked about the music they liked and movies they had seen, and danced again.

Before she knew it, the club was closing and Erik was walking her to her car. She fumbled in her handbag for her keys, wondering if he would kiss her good night. When she pulled the keys from her bag, he took them from her hand, then drew her into his arms. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away so quickly, did you?”

Daisy stared up at him, her heart pounding with anticipation as he backed her up against the car door, his body pressing lightly against hers. Her eyelids fluttered down as he bent his head toward her. He kissed her gently at first, the pressure of his lips gradually increasing as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over her lips before delving inside. She twined her arms around his neck, certain that if she didn’t hold on tight, she would simply dissolve into a puddle of need at his feet.

When he took his mouth from hers, she felt a little light-headed, as if she’d had too much champagne to drink.

Brushing his knuckles across her cheek, he asked, “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know.” It was tempting, so tempting, yet there was something about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something…dangerous. Had those men in the booth sensed it, too? One look at his face and they had fled the scene.

“I’ll be here at nine,” he said, opening the car door for her.

Murmuring, “Good night,” Daisy slid behind the wheel, then looked up at him as he closed the door.

She glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the club’s parking lot. Erik stood in the driveway, his hands shoved into his pants pockets as he stared after her. And then, as if he had been swallowed up in the darkness, he was gone from her sight.

Daisy had no intention of going back to the Crypt on Sunday night. Instinctively, she knew that Erik was away the heck and gone out of her league. He was worldly wise in ways she wasn’t. True, she was twenty-four years old, she lived alone, and she hunted vampires for their blood, but that didn’t mean she knew how to handle a man like Erik Delacourt. She was willing to bet her new Manolos that he had been around the block more than once. Womanlike, she couldn’t help wondering what he saw in her. She was pretty enough, but she wasn’t beautiful. She had a nice figure, good hair and skin, but men didn’t stop and stare when she walked by. Mostly, she was just average.

She found herself watching the clock all day long. At eight thirty, she hurried upstairs, changed her clothes, combed her hair, freshened her make-up, brushed her teeth, and practically ran out of the house.

She made it to the Crypt at nine fifteen.

Heart pounding, she stepped into the nightclub and glanced around the room, disappointment tugging at her heart when she didn’t see him.

With a sigh, she made her way to the bar. Maybe he was late, too. Thinking she might as well have a drink while she waited, Daisy ordered a margarita. She nursed it for over half an hour; then, telling herself it was just as well that he hadn’t shown up, she left the Crypt and headed for home.

It wasn’t until she was getting ready for bed that the tears came. Daisy told herself she wasn’t crying because Erik had stood her up. She was just depressed because she was missing her best friend. And even though she was happy for Jennifer and wished her all the best, she knew their friendship could never be the same, now that Jen was married.

Padding barefooted into the kitchen, Daisy fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate liberally sprinkled with marshmallows and told herself there was nothing to cry about.

But the tears kept coming just the same.

Erik shifted restlessly in his chair. His internal clock told him he had missed his date with Daisy, but it couldn’t be helped. Rhys had called a meeting of the Vampire Council and Erik had no choice but to attend. Rhys wasn’t just his friend, he was the current Master of the West Coast vampires, a fact that Rhys never let Erik forget, just as he never let Erik forget that he, Rhys, was older, wiser, and stronger.

Erik glanced around. The house itself was just an empty shell. There were no carpets on the floors, no lights. Except for three large tan leather sofas and a couple of chairs, there was no furniture in the place. No pictures on the walls. A medieval sword sheathed in a leather scabbard hung over the fireplace. It wasn’t merely for decoration. Rhys had used it on more than one occasion.

Rhys used the house as a meeting place to conduct vampire business; on occasion, he took his rest in the walk-in pantry that had been converted to serve his purpose.

Vampires rarely let anyone know the location of their lairs. As far as Erik knew, Rhys was the only one who knew where all of the others took their rest.

Besides himself and Rhys, there were seven other vampires gathered in the living room—five males and two females. Erik was acquainted with all of them to one degree or another. He trusted none of them, including Rhys, even though Rhys had been his closest friend for over two hundred years.

“…time to do something,” Damon was saying.

Damon had been a vampire less than ten years. Blond and blue eyed, he had been turned by his lover, Mariah, when he was seventeen. She had found Damon bruised and bloody, lying facedown in a culvert, a casualty in the war between rival gangs. Erik couldn’t imagine what Mariah saw in the kid. He reminded Erik of a weasel.

As for Mariah, she had been Nosferatu longer than Erik though not as long as Rhys. She should have been stronger than Erik. Unfortunately, she had been turned by a young vampire, whereas Erik had been turned by one of the old ones. His sire’s ancient blood gave Erik a distinct advantage in that he was stronger and more powerful than Mariah, even though she was older. She hated him for that. Erik grinned inwardly. Now that he thought about it, Mariah hated just about everyone.

“We’ve let this kind of thing go on for too long,” Nicholas said, glancing around the room. Nicholas was a tall, angular vampire with wispy gray hair and blue eyes. He had been turned five years ago, when he was in his late seventies. Rumor had it that Nick had paid a vampire ten thousand dollars in gold to help him cheat death.

“Damon’s right,” Mariah agreed. She ran a well-manicured hand through her pale blond hair. “We should have put a stop to this as soon as it started.”

Rupert, a handsome vampire who looked like a 1930s matinee idol, nodded. “Thanks to the Blood Thief and others like him, the Internet market for our blood is growing.”

“Better they take your blood than your head,” Erik remarked. They had been talking about the Blood Thief and what to do about him for hours. Solutions were few and far between, with the major consensus being to set a trap of some kind. “I think we’re worrying too much about this Blood Thief. So he takes a pint or two. If you want to get a vendetta going, why not go after the hunters?”

“Delacourt has a point,” Saul agreed.

With his bright red hair, pencil-thin mustache, and flamboyant clothing, Saul looked less like one of the Undead than any vampire Erik had ever met.

“Maybe so,” Rhys said, “but the Blood Thief has tagged one of mine.” He glanced at Tina and smiled. “And I’ve promised to avenge her.”

Erik grunted softly. “If she’d made a more secure lair, it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“She’s young,” Rhys retorted.

“Another mistake like that, and she won’t get any older,” Erik retorted.

“Enough, you two!” Mariah said impatiently. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. The demand for our blood is spreading. I’ve heard there are others like the Blood Thief in Chicago, New Orleans, and St. Louis, and who knows where else. They’re invading our lairs, taking our blood, and in some cases, heads.”

“We need to retaliate!” Damon said, his voice rising with excitement. “Take out a few hunters.”

“I agree, let’s shed some blood!” Julius spoke up for the first time. “We haven’t had a good rumble in years.” He pumped his arm in the air, displaying the red and black snake tattoo that seemed to slither down his left arm.

That was Julius’s answer to everything, Erik thought, but then, it wasn’t surprising. A former drug dealer, Julius Romano had been turned when he was twenty-three. With his short brown hair and mild brown eyes, he had often passed himself off as a high school kid when looking for new customers. Now that he was a vampire, he still preyed on the young and the innocent—the younger the better.

Rhys snorted. “Taking hunters out is sometimes easier said than done. And from what Tina told me, the Blood Thief didn’t leave so much as a footprint behind. No scent, nothing.”

Rupert shrugged. “Maybe Tina imagined the whole thing.”

“I did not!” Tina exclaimed hotly.

Erik crossed his arms over his chest. It was almost eleven. If Daisy had gone to the Crypt, she had surely left by now. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he muttered. “I’m going home.”

“Erik…” Rhys spoke mildly, but the warning was there, just the same.

But Erik wasn’t listening. Moving with preternatural speed, he left Costain’s house. Impatience, anger, and disappointment intensified his hunger and he preyed on the first lone mortal he encountered.

Later, strolling toward home, he told himself it was just as well that there had been a council meeting that night. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a mortal female like Daisy O’Donnell.

Daisy went hunting the next afternoon. Driving through the city, she tried not to think about Erik, but the more she tried to put him out of her mind, the more firmly entrenched he became. She couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t showed up. He didn’t have a job, so he hadn’t been working late. Maybe he had just decided she wasn’t his cup of tea. Maybe he had arrived at the Crypt before nine and found someone he found more appealing. Or maybe he had lied about being married and his wife wouldn’t let him out of the house.

She spent two hours driving up one street and down another, and at the end of that time, she had nothing to show for it. She glanced at the compass again. The needle remained gold, unmoving. Muttering, “Oh, well, you can’t win them all,” she turned the car around and drove into town. After picking up her mail at the post office, she had a quick lunch at the coffee shop, and then, on impulse, she decided to treat herself to a manicure and a facial before going home.

She felt better, inside and out, when she left the salon. There was nothing like a little pampering to chase away the blues.

Later, at home, she couldn’t seem to settle down. She wandered through the house, her thoughts constantly turning toward Erik. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. Like it or not, his image seemed indelibly imprinted on her mind. Where was he now? Why hadn’t he shown up?

“Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re not the first woman in this century to be stood up, and you won’t be the last.” But it hurt just the same.

She ate dinner, then turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. It must have been down-with-love night, because every movie channel featured ill-fated lovers, from Dracula and Mina to Heathcliff and Cathy.

With a wordless cry of frustration, Daisy tossed the remote on the coffee table. Drumming her fingers on the arm of the sofa, she glanced at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock. Was he at the Crypt, hoping she would show up? Maybe he had a good explanation for last night. Maybe he would have called if she had given him her number.

Chiding herself for being a hopeless fool, she grabbed her handbag and her keys and headed out the door.

The Crypt didn’t do much business on a Monday night. Daisy sat at a table in the back of the room, an untouched margarita in one hand. There were perhaps a dozen people at the bar. The dance floor was empty. Three young men were shooting pool. Two women shared a table near Daisy’s. The younger of the two was pouring out her heart to her friend. From what Daisy could overhear, the younger woman had just discovered her husband was being unfaithful.

Maybe Mr. Right didn’t exist for anyone. Well, except for Jennifer, who was off on her honeymoon and, according to her last letter, having the time of her life with the love of her life. But who knew how long that would last? These days, some marriages were over almost before they began. Daisy sighed. If there was a Mr. Right in her future, she certainly wasn’t going to find him in a place like this.

She glanced at her drink, still untouched, and decided she didn’t need it. What she needed was to go to Boston and visit her family. Her parents had their differences and their disagreements, but they had managed to survive thirty-five years of married life without killing each other. Maybe that was the best you could hope for. Maybe she would take her mom’s advice and go out with Kevin O’Reilly. And maybe she wouldn’t.

And maybe it was time to call it a night. It was almost eleven.

She was reaching for her handbag when there was a subtle change in the atmosphere in the room. Even before she saw him walking toward her, Daisy knew Erik had entered the Crypt.

She clutched her handbag. Seeing him, she felt suddenly foolish. Why had she come here? He would know she had come here looking for him. How pathetic was that? Why hadn’t she stayed home where she belonged, and let him come to her, if he had a mind to?

She would have fled, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. And then it was too late.

“Daisy.”

Just her name, but hearing it on his lips made her stomach curl with pleasure. “Erik.” She pressed her handbag to her chest. “I was just leaving.”

“So soon?”

She shrugged. “It’s late.”

“Not really.” His gaze moved over her, warming every place it rested. “At least give me one dance.”

“There’s no music.” The band didn’t play on Monday or Tuesday nights.

“There’s always music when you’re around,” he murmured.

Daisy frowned as a slow ballad emanated from the jukebox. How had that happened? No one had put any money in the machine.

“One dance?” Erik coaxed.

She knew it was a mistake, but she couldn’t resist the thought of being in his arms again. “All right, maybe just one.” She dropped her handbag on the table, then let him lead her onto the empty dance floor.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he murmured as he took her into his arms.

With a sigh, Daisy melted into his embrace. Later, she would demand to know why he had stood her up, but not now. Now all she wanted was to forget everything else and enjoy being close to him. But a little nagging voice in the back of her mind had other ideas.

“Where were you last night?” The words slipped past her lips before she could call them back.

“At a business meeting.”

“Really?” she said, her voice frosty. “I didn’t know men who didn’t work had meetings.”

“It wasn’t work related. Simply a meeting of an…an organization I’m heavily involved in.”

“What kind of organization?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

She frowned at him. “Very funny.” Irritated, she tried to pull away, but his arm tightened around her waist. “Let me go.”

“No. I’d tell you if I could, but I really can’t talk about it. I’m sorry about last night. Believe me, I’d much rather have been here, with you. Forgive me?”

She wanted to hang on to her anger, but how could she when he was looking at her like that? He had the most expressive eyes, deep and black, with thick lashes that any woman would envy.

He smiled a slow, sexy smile. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.” The music ended, but he didn’t let her go. She felt a little silly standing there in the middle of the dance floor, swaying back and forth when the music had stopped.

“How about that date?” he asked, “now that you know me better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Still a little angry about last night?”

“Maybe.”

He blew out a sigh. “Will you meet me here tomorrow night?”

“I don’t know. Will you show up this time?”

“I promise.” Bending down, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I didn’t promise last time.”

“All right. I’ll give you one more chance.”

“What time will you be here?”

“Eight thirty.”

He nodded. “Eight thirty. Tomorrow night,” he said with a grin. “It’s a date.”

Daisy woke Tuesday morning with a smile on her face. She told herself not to get too excited. Just because he had promised to show up didn’t mean he would. But she couldn’t stop smiling.

She showered and dressed, made her bed, ate a quick breakfast, read her e-mail, and left the house, her mind filled with thoughts of Erik.

Daisy had been driving around the north side for almost an hour when she realized that the only lairs her compass was leading her to were houses or hideouts she had already visited. The same held true for the east side. Since she hated to visit the same lair more than two or three times, she decided it was time to widen her net. Up until now, she had avoided the slums on the south side, and the upscale west side, but that was about to change. She had orders to fill.

Making a sharp U-turn, she drove south. She seemed to recall her father telling her that one of the New Orleans vamps had recently taken up residence in this part of the city. If anyone would know, it was her dad. He had been a vampire hunter most of his adult life.

Daisy had only gone a couple of blocks when the needle on her compass changed colors. Muttering, “thanks, Dad,” Daisy made a quick left turn.

The lair was located in a run-down motel that, by the looks of it, had gone out of business quite some time ago. The windows were boarded up. The grass was dead. The pool was empty. Several sun-faded signs warned against trespassing.

Daisy parked out of sight behind the motel. After spraying herself with Scent-B-Gone, she grabbed the tools of her trade and followed the compass. It led her into the motel office. Following the now bright-red needle, she went through the office door and down a narrow hallway that led into a small room that held nothing but an old-fashioned, beat-up, boxlike freezer.

Frowning, Daisy stared at the needle and then at the freezer. She tapped the compass lightly, but the needle continued to point at the freezer. Daisy grunted softly. The vampires on the popular TV show
Moonlight
had slept in freezers. She had never heard of real-life vampires doing such a thing and thought it rather odd, but, hey, the whole vampire thing was odd.

Shrugging, she reached for the lid, only it wouldn’t open. Locked from the inside, perhaps. Time for the crowbar.

It took several tries, but she finally managed to pry the lid open. A shiny black coffin rested inside the freezer.

With a shake of her head, Daisy put the crowbar aside and lifted the lid of the coffin. The vampire inside wore a flamboyant red dressing gown embroidered with silver dragons and green pagodas. His bright red hair made a sharp contrast to the white satin lining.

Daisy was reaching for her syringe when the vampire’s eyelids flew open. His eyes, a pale brown, quickly turned a hellish red as his hand—his cold, dead hand—snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist. His grip was like iron.

For a taut moment, they stared at each other. Then, with a shriek, Daisy yanked a wooden stake from her jacket pocket, only then realizing that, with only one free hand, she couldn’t hold the stake and use the mallet at the same time. In a panic, she raised the stake and drove it into the vampire’s heart.

She had never staked a vampire before and she was surprised at how easily the wood pierced its flesh, and how quickly the body turned to ash, until all that remained was the gaudy dressing gown looking like a splash of fresh blood on the white satin, and her stake.

Daisy pressed a hand to her chest as her legs went out from under her and she slid down to the floor.

She had destroyed a vampire, killed something that had once been human. The idea filled her with horror and revulsion. She had taken a life.

Turning her head to the side, she was quietly sick to her stomach.

Erik drummed his fingers on the bar top. Either Daisy was late, or she wasn’t coming. Was this her way of getting back at him for standing her up the other night? Or had something happened to her? Perhaps she was sick, or injured. Humans were such fragile creatures. The thought of her in pain distressed him more than it should have. He hardly knew the woman, although that was something he hoped to remedy as quickly as possible.

By ten thirty, he accepted the fact that she wasn’t going to show. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such keen disappointment.

He was about to leave the club when Rhys appeared at his side. Vampires were notorious for keeping their emotions well hidden, but one look at Rhys’s face and Erik knew something was wrong.

“It’s Saul.” Costain’s words, though quietly spoken, were edged with steel. “He’s been destroyed.”

After taking a long, hot bubble bath, Daisy put on her favorite pj’s and her fluffy white robe and curled up in a corner of the sofa. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t get the image of the vampire’s hell-red eyes out of her head. She hadn’t wanted to destroy him. All she had wanted was a little of his blood. Was that so bad? Strange that there had been no blood when she drove the stake into his heart. Maybe he wasn’t really dead. Maybe he had just disappeared. Worked a little vampire voodoo and vanished. Wishful thinking, that.

She told herself it had been self-defense. She had seen her death in the vampire’s hellish gaze and her instinct for self-preservation had kicked in. She’d had no choice. It had been him or her. And he was already dead.

Drawing her robe tighter around her, she went into the kitchen for a cup of hot tea heavily laced with honey, hoping it would calm her nerves.

It didn’t. Maybe she should have added a shot of brandy, only she didn’t keep anything stronger than root beer in the house.

Knowing she was never going to be able to sleep, she turned on the TV and skipped through the channels until she found an old comedy she hadn’t seen in a while. But even Gene Wilder couldn’t chase the memory of what she had done from her mind.

She glanced at the clock, hit Mute on the remote, then picked up the phone. She knew her dad was in bed at this time of the night, but she needed someone to talk to.

The sound of his sleepy hello made her feel a hundred percent better.

“Daisy?” His voice sharpened. “Is something wrong, honey?”

“I…I destroyed a vampire tonight.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

“Yes. Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard. What happened?”

She told him, as quickly and succinctly as she could, what she had done.

“It was you or him, honey, you did the right thing. I’m just glad you’re okay. Do you need us to come out there?”

“No.” Now that she was feeling a little better, she was ashamed of herself for calling home. But then, it had been calling home that made her feel better. As far back as she could remember, her father had been her bulwark. He had never made light of her fears, never chided her for being afraid. Instead, he had helped her face her fears, whether it was her dislike of spiders, or her irrational fear of the dark.

“Do you know which vamp you destroyed?”

“No. But I think he must have been an old one, otherwise he wouldn’t have turned to ash. I don’t know if it was the one you told me about or not.”

“An older-looking vamp with gray hair?”

“No, this one had red hair. Bright red.”

“Ah, Saul.”