Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26) (5 page)

It was a woman. What was that? Three of them? In less than thirty hours? Bram almost groaned.

This female wasn’t much to look at. Bram considered her for a moment or two. From where he stood, in the doorway, she looked like a whole lot of straight black hair and long legs. And while the legs were displayed in skin-tight leggings, they were fairly thin. Nearly shapeless. And then she turned around...

Whoa
.

Bram’s hand trembled minutely on the Colt. He nearly whistled. He’d been off a bit on his first impression. This was some woman. She was close to his height. She didn’t look like the prostitute selling her body for cash. Nor did she resemble the gambling woman, selling her soul for cards. This woman would look native, if her skin wasn’t so pale and pristine. Or her eyes less almond-shaped. Her lips a bit smaller. A thick headband held back her hair. He already knew it reached her lower back. That’s why he hadn’t noticed how small her waist was. Nor that it definitely highlighted some nicely shaped hips.

Whoa again
.

If he had to run into another woman, he couldn’t have done better. He was looking over a goddess. Standing right in front of him. In his home? It was pretty unbelievable. He blinked a couple of times. The view didn’t change.

“Um. I can...explain,” she said.

His glance snagged for a moment on the aqua hue of her eyes before he tipped his chin down, using his hat brim for a shield. It was a subconscious move. Instinctive. And self-preserving. He’d had to do something. A quick jolt zapped through him as he met her gaze. It resembled what had happened when he’d wired his abode without training or instruction. He’d learned. Electricity wasn’t to be played with. And yet he felt something similar now? That was really strange.

“Right.”

He eased the hammer back into place and spun his gun, sliding it into the holster with a precision he’d perfected decades ago. It was practiced. And flawless. He did it without looking. That move used to gain him respect. Silence rabble-rousers. Frighten off opponents. She wasn’t immune, either. Her gasp as he finished was loud. And appreciated.

“You...uh...live down here?”

He smiled slightly. “You could call it that.”

“I didn’t think anyone owned...the saloon. Or...anything else in Dobbin Creek.”

“No law against thinking,” he replied.

“Well!”

The word was whispered. Bram frowned slightly as the sound left her mouth. His view mainly encompassed her chin. Mouth. Shoulders. She had a very nice vein throbbing along her throat. Tempting. Tantalizing. His fangs tingled against his tongue before he conquered the impulse. Good thing he’d fed recently. And well. He didn’t need any complications in his afterlife. And she looked like a major complication.

He focused on her shoulder area. He daren’t look elsewhere. Something was awfully weird about this encounter. The room gained clarity, resembling the influx of new light when he changed bulbs in his lamps. The air thickened, gaining heft. And moisture. He licked his lips. There was a salt taste associated with it. That was another oddity. And then the vaguest rumble filtered through the space, almost loud enough to decipher and assign meaning. Nevada wasn’t prone to earthquakes, but they’d brought heavy equipment through the ghost town before...maybe a decade ago. It had sent the same vibration through the tunnels. Maybe that was what happened now.

Because it couldn’t be the woman.

No.

Impossible.

Bram narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore the barely-there shadow of cleavage below her throat. She didn’t appear to have much in the way of a bosom though it wasn’t possible to tell. She wore a cropped top that strapped any hint of breasts well into submission before they had a chance to get noticed.

“You’re really shy. Aren’t you?”

Bram’s frown deepened. “No.”

“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”

“Don’t want you to get enthralled.”

She snorted. His best guess was that she choked back a laugh. Her words made that guess a certainty. Especially as she chuckled after speaking.

“Oh. You’re cute, cowboy. But you’re not
that
cute.”

Bram straightened. She sounded like he’d said something silly, but the compliment took a bit of edge off her words. Or...was it complimentary? He wasn’t sure about the vernacular. He’d been called handsome more than once. Downright gorgeous by one fancy lady in Dodge City. But cute? That was a new one. Last he’d known, cute was for babies and small children.

Maybe he needed to get out more.

“What’s your name?” he asked finally.

“Marielle.”

“That’s it?”

“No. The long version is Marielle Astrid O’Donnall.”

She segmented and stressed each name. Her first name was a fancy version of Mary. Common enough, everywhere. Her middle name was a clue. Astrid was Scandinavian. She could have some Viking ancestry. That would explain her height. Her surname was pure Irish. That accounted for the black hair. Pale skin. And eyes the shade of a Caribbean island lagoon.

He grunted finally.

“And I suppose now you’ll to tell me your name so we can finish introductions?”

“I’m Bram. Bram Stark.”

“Oh. Of course you are.”

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“Well, Mister Bram Stark. I’d ask if you are kidding, but your body language is vetoing that. So. I’m simply remarking that your name fits the view. Perfectly. And I sure hope you don’t need me to explain that.”

He frowned.
What view?

“Okay. Fine. You want specifics? You got ’em. I am not shy. So...here goes. Your name sounds like one they’d use in a romance for a hot cowboy. And look. You are a hot cowboy. Sexy, too. You’ve got sex appeal written all over you. Tall, dark, and handsome is a given, but then I gotta add in something I’m going to call smoldering. You’ve got a look that really takes the view right over the top. And that’s before I factor in your name. Maybe it’s the hat. I don’t know. I’m just saying if there isn’t a cowboy hero named Bram Stark, there should be. Okay?”

“Uh.”

He didn’t know what to reply. He was flushing or suffering something akin to it. Which was damned odd. He didn’t have physiological issues. He couldn’t. He didn’t. Because that would mean...?

He took a quick step back. Shook his head.

Oh no
. It wasn’t possible.

Just.

No.

“I really like the name Bram, by the way. Is it short for Abraham?”

“Uh...no.”

“Are you going to tell me, or keep me guessing?”

“What?”

“Are you just Bram? Or is it short for something like...Brammerton? Bramson? Ibram? Bramley?”

“Bramwell.” The name was growled, grating as it left his throat. And he could swear he felt the spot tingle.

Oh hell no.

“Bram...well. That’s unique. And really cool.”

Her voice had lowered when she split his name into two, making a caress out of it. His skin rippled with what could be a shiver. That was almost pleasant, if it wasn’t so odd. He decided to ignore it. He knew his name was rare, but he’d never heard it called cool before. That must be the reason behind the sensation of goose bumps along his skin.

He was a vampire. Undead. Been that way for a long time.

Any physical reaction was impossible.

It was also unwarranted. He knew his name was unique. That was a problem. Unique names got remembered. Spoken of. Written about. It was especially noticeable on Wanted Posters. No man wanted a unique name. Trouble followed in what had been his world. Akron was the only man that used it anymore. As if that was a cue, a cell phone in his pocket started rumbling. He lifted his right hand toward Marielle, index finger up, as he slid the packet of slim phones from his pocket with his left. He flipped it open with his thumb and put it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Ah. Bramwell. There you are. Finally. Was I mistaken with the instruction earlier? Weren’t you supposed to call when you got back to Dobbin Creek?

“Oh. No, Sir. And then, yes.”

“You are back then?”

“Yeah.”

“I usually do not keep new associates up because we are awaiting calls. LizBeth? You may go to your rest, dear. Tristan should be here momentarily. I’ll handle the desk until then. Yes. I’m capable enough. And no, that wasn’t rude. I’m flattered that you care enough to ask. Now, Bramwell. We have a job. Ready for the particulars?”

“Can it wait?”

There was a small silence. Akron pegged the reason instantly. “Trouble?”

“Yeah.”

“Minor? Or should I send a 4-D Team to obliterate everything?”

“Not 4-D. Uh. Not yet, anyway.”

“Specifics?”

“I got company,” Bram replied. He glanced at her as he said it. He immediately wished he hadn’t. A look of surprise had widened her stunning eyes. He had to turn aside or risk...

He didn’t dare put any more words to this. It was enough that her proximity affected him. Things were happening. Small things at first. But, as he stood there, he could swear he heard the tiniest hint of a heartbeat. It was more of a quiver, actually. Bram tightened his ab muscles and waited to see if anything repeated.

Akron spoke again, jolting him back to the here and now. “This is an interesting development. Male or female?”

“The latter.”

“The prostitute from the anonymous police call?”

“No.”

“Something a bit more serious?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

Akron started chuckling. Bram moved the receiver away a fraction until the sound faded.

“It’s not what you think, Sir.”

“Oh. It rarely is,” Akron replied.

“But—”

“You just handle things on your end, Bramwell. The job can wait. Most everything else can, too. I’ll contact you tonight. No. You’d better call us. Much better plan. I think you’re going to be...occupied.”

“But, Sir—” Bram tried again.

“This call has reached it’s time limit, Bramwell. Cheers.”

The line went silent. Bram regarded the now-dead phone in his hand for a long moment. His right hand was still lifted. That felt, and probably looked, stupid. He lowered his hand as he shoved the dead cell phone into a back pocket. These denims hadn’t been sewn with extra room. It took a bit of time to fit the phone. He should have worn a pair of his trail trousers. They were looser. Faded. Worn. Comfortable.

Nothing about this situation fit any of those descriptions.

Nothing.

“Well. That certainly pops my bubble,” Marielle said.

Bram tilted his hat brim just enough so he could peer at her from beneath the edge. That was still too much impact. He had to tighten his leg muscles to prevent a subconscious lunge toward her. There was no ignoring this. And no stopping it. And just to make certain he got the message, his heart gave another thump in his chest.

Hot damn
.

He swallowed any reaction, worked at keeping anything from being read on his face or what she called body language. When that failed, he settled with looking down again. At his own body.

Reanimating.

The heartbeat made it official. Everything vampirism had taken from him was returning. His heart had been reanimated from undeath. It inexorably continued pumping, sending blood through veins, racing returning sensation into every cell.

Because of her. His mate. The one. And only.

He sent a quick glance toward her again. Looked away before they locked gazes.
Whoa
. He was one lucky son-of-a-bitch. She was truly unbelievable. Slim. Stunning. Her words were hard to fathom, though. She was watching him with her eyebrows raised and a slight twist to her lips as she waited.

“What...um...bubble?” he asked finally. He should have waited a bit longer. He had to clear his throat between the words to keep emotion from coloring everything.

“You have cell phone service.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Well. Bramwell. What can I say? I was kind-a hoping for something a little different.”

“I have a land line, too.”

She laughed. “I didn’t mean that. I was referring more to this.”

She gestured with her hand at his coffin behind her. Bram followed her arm, then looked at her face, held her glance for long enough his ears rang, and then dragged his gaze away before anything else happened. He was in way over his head. His voice reflected it as it warbled.

“Wh-what of...it?”

“Well. Quite frankly. This coffin gave me hope.”

“Hope?”

Now she was completely mystifying. Was he hearing right?

“Look. I can’t explain it, but I’ll try. Okay? I’ve been in some weird kind of trance ever since I discovered that little trap door in the saloon. I feel like I’ve been on a steady diet of energy drinks, and that’s something that is a complete no-no with my immune system. I still remember how it feels, though. Amped up. Energized. Excited. Fidgety. Ready to leap tall buildings. Create all kinds of things. Knock other things down. Never mind. It’s not important. What I’m saying is I had this unreal compulsion to walk through miles of tunnels, got covered with cobwebs, and what did I find? Your lair. I still don’t know how. Or how to get out. You still with me? Good. Well. Finding this coffin gave me such a feeling of...I can’t explain it. Euphoria? Thrill? You have to understand. I’m an artist. I thrive on imaginative things. Finding a time machine is at the top of my list of dreamscapes, but meeting an immortal is second. I thought, for a bit there, that I’d actually stumbled into a fantasy realm. Or, I’m dreaming. Because I thought you were a vampire. A real one, not just some guy faking it with the underground den, a fancy-lined coffin, and a whole lot of sexy vibes. Stupid me. I know the truth now.”

“Oh, you do...do you?”

Bram was hard put not to chuckle. She might have been describing the effect of consuming energy drinks – whatever those were – but he knew exactly what she meant. Because he felt everything she’d listed. All at once. In a concert of emotion. He didn’t dare act on it. Not with something as precious as his mate. He was struggling with the need to take her. Taste her fluid. Hold her close. He trembled in place. And she thought it fake?