Phoenix Fallen (10 page)

In fact, he may never have felt this way in his entire life.

He stroked Rissa's hair and felt her purr, then curl into his side, tucked neatly against him as if she'd been made to fit just for that very spot. It should have worried him, made him uneasy how perfect she felt there, but it didn't.

Not at all.

Fan was right. He may have finally found what he'd been looking for. If it came with fangs….

Well, he had them himself now. If he could find a way to live with his, he could damn sure find a way to live with hers.

He fell asleep almost instantly. Without them exchanging a word. It hadn't been awkward, though. Not a bit. It had been sweet and comfortable and right.
Too right.

Rissa watched him sleep, her cheek against the solid curve of his shoulder. She ran her fingers over his jaw, enjoying the rasp of his stubble, then brushing the contrasting smooth fullness of his lips. Her stomach tightened, remembering what that mouth had done to her. She let her hand fall to his chest, her pale fingers stark against his darkness.

But Jules was more than darkness, he was light and heat. The man made her feel like she was bathing in sunshine, the bright warmth of it caressing every inch of her.

Inside and out.

Dangerous.
So very dangerous.
Rissa had promised herself long ago she'd never give anyone the power to hurt her again. No attachments, no getting in too deep. Yet, here she was, making those ties even when she should know better.

She'd wanted Jules. Sure. Right from the first time she had saw him, she wanted that powerful body wrapped around hers, wanted the feel of him inside her.

Now she'd had it. But in the time it had taken to get to the end goal, she'd gotten him inside her in ways she hadn't expected.

She cared for him now. Hell, she even cared for his damn friends. Was actually looking forward to meeting Miles and Kelsey in a couple weeks. Maybe she'd even entertained hopes of going with Jules to the wedding in Paris…

Damnit. She was a
fool.
Had the pain faded that much?

No.

She remembered the past. All too well. Her fingers tightened on Jules' chest and he stirred. Turning on his side, he wrapped a heavy arm around her, his head moving to the curve of her neck as he pulled her close. His voice was husky with sleep.

"Relax, Rissa. I'm here."

Yeah. He sure was.

That might be the problem. But for tonight she was going to shut off her brain and close her eyes and push the past away. Far away where it belonged.

Rissa's past was closer than she thought. Outside Jules' window, down on the street light glided lawn of the house across the street, Daimen Cross rubbed his jaw and spat on the ground.

Fucking hell. Rissa with a darkie? She always been a strange one.

Not wild. Not on the surface. On the surface, she'd been a good girl. His girl. Daimen smiled and the gleam of it cut through the suburbia night. He'd loved turning her.

Grooming her, along with the rest of his little band. They'd been quite the sight back in the old days. Long before the Reveal.

Him, Jacque, Rissa, Docie May and Betty. There had been others, of course. Some made it, others didn't. His eyes twinkled at the memories. He and those four, though, had been a family for almost fifty years.

Until the night everything started to unravel. The night Clarissa had left him. He'd let the bitch get away with it. But he'd kept tabs on her. From Pointe Coupee Parish to St. Louis. Every town she wandered to, he had been there. Watching and waiting for the opportune time. She worked on river boats awhile, singing for the crowds like she'd sang for him so many times…

His eyes flashed gold in the darkness. Daimen missed her voice nearly as much as he missed her body. How he'd loved using her, her pathetic efforts to throw off his control, to resist his will. He laughed softly, he was so looking forward to getting reacquainted with Miss Riss.

She moved out West last year, but she hadn't seemed to like Hollywood, though Daimen sure had. It had a brittle, frantic stage-like quality he'd appreciated. She'd only stayed there for a few weeks, more's the pity.

Just over ten months ago, he'd actually lost her trail briefly, thanks to another old distraction, before picking it back up a couple weeks ago. He'd followed her to Chicago and seen her with the nigger vamp coming out of that bleeder club just last night.

Daimen's lip curled as he stared at the faint glow from the upstairs bedroom window.

He was going to hurt her for letting that darkie touch her. He was going to hurt her
bad.
It was important to think this through first, though. He wanted to get it right and make the best impression on them
both.
His fangs ached in his jaw, threatening to burst forth, but he restrained himself. For now.

Daimen was quite the showman, it had been his life's blood in his first life. Before the War Between the States he'd been a traveling salesman. Then a barker at one of the first traveling carnivals, finally pulling together his very own freak show, Cross's Curiosities. He'd traveled the burned-out wreck of his homeland after the War, eking out a meager, but satisfying living, doing what he enjoyed. He'd loved putting fear and revulsion into the crowds who couldn’t resist his voice. Fantasizing about the nightmares he'd undoubtedly put in so many heads…

Until he'd been turned by one of the very 'specimens' he'd purchased. A specimen he'd enjoyed killing not too long later.

Daimen knew presentation was everything. He would have to draw the baby vampire out of the city and somewhere they could all have a bit of uninterrupted fun.

He'd rip that piece of shit fancy nigger to death in front of Rissa's eyes and remind her who she belonged to. Who she'd
always
belonged to.

A couple passed him, walking their dog, a waddling pug that took one look at Daimen and pissed himself, whining as he pulled on his leash to get away. His masters were far slower on the uptake. The man gave him a nod and the woman actually smiled at him. Who
were
these people? It was two o'clock in the fucking morning, he was a man alone, wrapped in a ragged trench coat, staring at a darkened house with rage on his face.

Humans fucking
deserved
to be prey.

Daimen resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead smiled back at the idiot woman. She was a cute thing, in her striped pajama bottoms, flip-flops and slightly rumpled blond bob. And she had the softest-looking, pretty little mouth.
Hmm.

Her mind was soft, too, pliable as cream cheese. Too damn easy.

He reached in and took hold of her, His power warm and oily, slipping deep and tightening viciously.

"Come here," Daimen whispered. Instantly enthralled, the woman stepped closer. The man, finally alarmed, tried to pull her back.

Daimen took two quick strides forward and punched him hard in the throat. The man dropped the leash, both hands coming up as he fell to his knees, choking, his windpipe nearly crushed.

The dog ran off without a backward glance, crossing the street, the sound of its nails a fading staccato on the tarmac.

Daimen bent over and ripped out the man's jugular before he could make more than a labored gasp. The rush of blood was powerful and some of it escaped, spraying over the blonde like water from a hose. She just stared vaguely and swayed in place as the crimson splatters dotted her face and hair and clothes.

A minute later, he tossed the man aside, having drunk his fill.

Daimen cocked his head, his razor-cut curtain of pale blonde hair falling over one eye as he watched the man twitch on the grass. He considered, then looked up at the upstairs window of the nigger's house. Another surge of cold rage swept over him at what he knew to be happening behind that darkened glass. He looked forward to punishing Rissa for what she was doing, for how she was allowing her body to be soiled, but there was no reason he couldn't seek some relief himself until their time came.

He pointed lazily at the ground, and the blond woman obediently went to her knees beside her dying, bug-eyed husband.

At least Daimen assumed
husband
since they had a dog they were walking together in the middle of the night.

You never could tell though, Daimen mused, as he unzipped his pants. He worked his cock free, a smile forming as he eyed the man on the ground, who had started to flail. Daimen crooked his finger at the woman again. People these days lived all sorts of sordid lives, the goddamn sinners.

He sighed as those soft, cotton-candy pink lips encircled him, listening to the whistling sobs of the man bleeding out in the grass. The sound was sweet in his ears as the woman's mouth started to work on his half-limp dick.

After a minute, the warm, sucking pleasure leeched away some of his rage. Daimen closed his eyes, burying both his hands in the blonde's hair, growing hard as he pretended she was Rissa and the man now dead on the dew-beaded grass was that jumped-up nigger vamp. His hips pumped hard and fast, not caring in the least that he was hurting her.

Soon. Very soon he'd have Rissa back on her knees, right where she belonged.

"
Laissez les bons temps rouler,"
he grunted as he came down the vacant blonde's throat.

Smiling, Daimen opened his eyes and blew a kiss at the quiet house as pleasure and anticipation thrummed through his body.

"Soon, cher. Very soon."

When Jules woke up, it took him a second to realize what was wrong, because everything felt so right. Rissa was there, her heavenly body draped over his. Her smell on his sheets, on his skin. He sighed and rolled his head, unable to place the tingling at the back of his neck. The feeling that something was off, something was missing.

Then it hit him.
The quiet in his head.

The screams were gone.

Just
gone.

Jules took a long breath, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling in shock. His fingers tightened in Rissa's hair, his big hand cupped the back of her head. He could feel the silky warmth of her cheek on his bare chest, her slender legs tangled with his under the sheets. A smile flirted with his mouth as he realized that her smell was now in his bed. She was the reason for the silence in his head, he knew it.

Just like that, his wariness of her — his efforts to keep her at a distance — to
avoid
this kind of intimacy seemed incredibly foolish. Ridiculous even.

She was
his.
He'd known it unconsciously from the first time he'd heard her voice, seeping out of that lounge like some exotic potion, drawing him in. She'd soothed all the rough places inside him without even trying.

The truth of this was hammered home by the blessed quiet in his head. Oh, they were still there, the memories. They'd always be there, Jules was sure of that. As it should be. He couldn't forget his past. He didn't want to.

But the gut-wrenching screams had been silenced by her presence. Her presence in his heart. He wasn't comfortable saying 'love'—not yet anyway—but Jules knew damn well that was where he was headed. With a vengeance.

And he didn't care. He
welcomed
it. He looked down at Rissa, watching her breathe, his eyes narrowing.

She
wouldn't.

Hell no.

She was going to fight this, every step of the way. Good thing he enjoyed a good fight. Not to mention some nice morning sex. He flipped over and sank inside her in one smooth deliberate movement of his hips before her eyes had even fluttered open.

When they did, Jules gave her a huge smile and thrust hard and deep. Rissa gasped, her back bowing upward as sleep flew from her face.

"Good morning, beautiful. Time to wake up."

They spent the day together. Or what passed as 'day' for a pair of vampires. She enjoyed every second of her time with him, unable to pull away, even though she knew she needed to. If only for her own good.

But she stayed anyway.

Jules had woken her about four-ish, delicious bedroom activities had kept them busy for the next couple hours. She'd explored every damn inch of that body she had wanted so bad and could have spent the whole night on more of the same. But Rissa had her call at nine, so she reluctantly insisted they hit Crave before curtain.

It was still early and the club was totally dead. Ha-
ha.
Which was good as neither of them had dressed for the club scene. They went straight through to the back and did their business. Jules seemed almost relaxed this time, which made her happy.

It was only when they were coming out of the bleeder club that Rissa got a sudden chill.

She stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot, looking around with icy fingers tapping down her spine.

"Did you hear that?"

He cocked his head, wrapping his arm around her. "I didn't hear anything. What did you hear?"

"I…" She thought she had heard a soft whistle, just three falling notes, very faintly. That old melody she had used to sing for Daimen every night.
All raised on high the Bonnie Blue Flag…

Rissa shivered, hard. Jules pulled her in tighter, until her ribs started to protest.

"Rissa?"

She shook her head and pushed him off with a forced laugh. "I'm being silly. It was nothing." It had to be. The alternative was inconceivable. "You coming in before the show?"

"Yeah. But I can't stay. I got stuff at Phoenix."

She nodded, still distracted, looking warily up and down the dark streets before they slipped into Jules' Cadillac.

He was quiet on the way to Green Mills, but just as they pulled into the valet, he turned to look at her. "If you're worried about something, you need to tell me, understand? This is the second time you have freaked out a little out here." He looked around, his dark gaze sharp. But there was nothing to see. Only bits of paper and a lone plastic bag playing with the night breeze.

Rissa blinked rapidly at his words. Was he for real? Or course, he was. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes even as her insides started to quiver with traitorous pleasure at the thought of him worried about her. Feeling protective of her. Of someone having her back for the first time in
ever.

She shrugged it off.
Men.
Sleep with them and they got
ideas.
Stupid ideas. Yes, she had resigned herself to the fact that she liked Jules quite a lot and she was
very
happy they were finally doing the nasty, but he needed to rein it in.

"That's a real nice thought there, but I'm a big girl, Jules," she said the words with a bit of a bite in her slow accent.

Then she ducked out of the car before he could reply, but he caught up to her before she hit the door of the lounge.

"I don't care how big you think you are, Rissa, I won't have you scared. You're mine, and I take care of what's mine."

Say
what?
Rissa stopped with her hand on the door. Turning slowly, she settled her hand on her hip as she looked him up and down.

"Excuse
me.
What the
hell
did you just say?"

Jules had the sense to look a little sheepish before his jaw clenched. He spun her around with one hand, opening the door and guiding her inside.

"You heard what I said," he ground the words out as they made their way through the growing crowd. "And I know that freaks you out a bit, Rissa, but I can't help it. I know what you are to me now."

She whirled on him just before they entered her dressing room.

"What?
Explain that.
"
He took a step back from her, rubbing the back of his neck as he always did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. Usually she thought it was damn cute, even a tiny bit sexy, but right now she just wanted to slap his arm down.
"Jules?"

He sighed and dropped his hand. "It's just this feeling I have… No. You know what?
Screw that.
I'm not watering this down. Rissa. From the first time I heard your voice, I knew there was something about you. I just wasn't sure
what.
And then you being a damn vamp kinda set me on my ass, but after last night…waking up with you this morning… I just
knew.
This between us, it's gonna grow, Rissa. It’s going to get stronger, and you can't stop it. It's meant.
We're meant to be."

"Because I made your dick feel good?" She scoffed at him, her lips curved in a sneer, even as her hands tightened into fists. She wasn't sure if it was terror or exhilaration racing through her undead heart. 

He took an almost menacing step toward her, then stopped himself, as if he knew she needed space. Even though his next words gave her none.

"Yeah, you sure as hell
did
make my dick feel good. And you can put it down to killer sex right now if you want to, Rissa. You can joke and make light. Fuck, you can fight it all you want, but I am not going anywhere. This isn't going away." He gestured between them and Rissa's stomach clenched.

"You think what you want," she sneered it a little in her fear. "I can't stop you." She waved an airy hand as she opened the door, shaking her head as if he was nuts, but she knew that he wasn't fooled. Her insides had turned to so much jelly.

Rissa turned to see Jules smiling at her. There was destiny in that smile.

She took a step back from him and sat down. Hard.

This hulk of a man, standing in her dressing room, so out of place and yet so
not.
Big, handsome and solid, just looking at her, his dark eyes sure.

“You can’t tell me you don’t care about me, Rissa.”

“Of course, I care about you, you stupid man!" Frustration had her spinning away from him, her eyes falling on the scratched surface of the old make-up table. Anywhere to get away from him. "I think you’re just
swell.
But geez, give a girl some breathing room. You go from Mr. Stand-offish to Mr. Destiny overnight. That’s a little scary, Jules. And more than a little crazy.”

She lifted her gaze to see him shrug in the mirror. “I’m a crazy, scary guy, haven’t you heard?”

She couldn't help but smirk at him, a smirk that turned to a gasp when he stepped behind her. His hand slid down inside the shirt she'd borrowed from him. The garment was huge on her, loose and silky, one of his button-ups. His warm palm captured a full breast and squeezed as he brought his lips to her throat, whispering against her skin. “You
are
mine, Rissa. I figured it out, now you’re going to.”

She didn’t protest. Not that she could as he kissed her until the room spun around them. When he released her she slipped down in the chair, a warm puddle of goo.

“I gotta go. Kels and Miles will be holding their conference for the gala just before dawn in Paris, and I'm backing them with live shots at Phoenix. We’ll be done before four…do you want me to drop by and take you back to my place?

"Or not?” His gaze was unfathomable.

She shook her head slightly, still dazed from his kiss. “Not. Not tonight, Jules. Just let …let me breathe. You can call me tomorrow, okay?”

After the slightest hesitation, he nodded and left without another word. But the bastard was smiling as he walked away.

Rissa let out a long, shaky breath.

You’re mine.

It was strange because her sire had said pretty much those same words to her, years ago.

While she found both men's statements terrifying in the extreme; Daimen’s words had left her cold and disgusted, whereas Jules…Jules saying them gave her a warm ache for something she had long given up on.

A future with a man who cared about her. With
anyone
who cared about her.

Rissa looked in the mirror and tried to conjure up her stage presence, but found herself burying her face in her hands instead. 

An hour later, Jules was whistling when the connection for the tele-conference went through to Paris.

All through the huge three-story glass atrium of Phoenix, lights dazzled and gleamed. The monitors flickered as Dustin, the young computer whiz who had taken over the bulk of Phoenix’s IT duties after Sammy, his predecessor, had been killed under the shadows of Notre Dame the same night Jules had been turned.

Jules didn’t see the strange look the gangly Chinese American with the brush of pink-and-black streaked hair was giving him, but he did hear Kelsey’s incredulous laugh come through the speakers.

“Since when do you whistle?”

“Didn’t you know? I like whistling. Whistling’s my favorite.” He said it in his best Will Farrell voice and even Miles snorted, looking over Kelsey’s shoulder at Jules’ with raised eyebrows. The sight of the French vamp couldn't faze Jules today. Nothing was going to faze him. He felt awesome. He didn't even give a damn about Rissa not wanting to see him tonight, not really. He was going to win her over, he'd seen it in her eyes already.

Kelsey’s eyes had narrowed. “Bullshit. You got laid. You got really,
really
laid. Who is she, Jules and why have I not heard of this development?”

“Since when do we share our sex lives?”

“Oui,
since when?” Miles looked down at his soon-to-be bride and her blush flared though all three monitors.

“You know what I meant. Do I get a name or do I call Fan?”

Jules let out a snort of his own. “Like you won’t anyway.” Actually he was somewhat surprised Fannie hadn't called Kelsey already.

“Well, yeah. But this way you are respecting our friendship by telling me yourself.”

“Respect my
ass.
You just don’t want to wait.”

“I respect your ass just fine.” Miles cleared his throat at Kelsey's words and his hand tightened on her shoulder, but she just covered it with her own and gave him a quick grin, before turning back to Jules, “but I want a name, damnit.”

Dustin lifted his head. “I bet it was that red-headed vamp Foley saw you with at that bleeder club the other night.”

Jules turned slowly, his eyes finding Dustin with a look that would have made a lesser man tremble, but Dustin, despite being the most flamboyantly gay man Jules knew, was also as tough as nails. Pink ones, maybe, with little tassels on the end, but nails nevertheless.