Wicked Game (12 page)

We do as we’re told, stepping from one white sheet to the next, like stones across a stream. The air holds a hint of soap. Shane covers his nose. His enhanced sense of smell must make chemical cleaning products intolerable.

Luckily, the stairs and upper level seem to be dry already. We pass a darkened room with a door slightly ajar, then enter a large bedroom at the end of the hall.

What I see there makes me sigh with longing. A high, queen-size bed with an oak frame sits under a vaulted ceiling, which is painted a slightly darker shade of peach than the rest of the room. The tall floor lamp casts a soft glow from one of those expensive full-spectrum bulbs.

“Sit.” She motions to the green velvet window seat. I obey and set my glass on a delicate wrought-iron table. Feeling conspicuous, I avert my eyes to check out the backyard. A vague structure sits in a corner near the flower garden, which is outlined by white stones.

“Are you going to watch or not?”

The woman’s voice brings my attention back to the room. Her gaze on me sharpens. I sit back against the wall and stretch my legs out on the cushion. She smiles again.

“Just be comfortable. And quiet.”

I suddenly wish this were all over.

She moves across the room to Shane, skirt lapping against her thighs. “Do the neck.”

“No.” His fingertips trace a line from her ear to her shoulder, making her shiver. “It’s summertime. You can’t cover it up. Better here.” He runs his hand over her waist, to a spot above her left hip bone.

“Whatever you think is best.” She moves to her night-stand. “I trust you.”

With a flick of her finger she turns on a small CD player, releasing a sultry instrumental tune, heavy on the baritone sax.

Shane looks at me for a long moment, as if he’s trying to store me in his memory, then turns back to the woman. Will he try to forget my presence, or will he revel in it, the way she clearly does?

Her eyes grow hooded as he approaches her next to the bed. He runs his hands over the fabric of her dress, up and down her back and her waist, inhaling the scent at the base of her neck. She moans and molds herself against him.

Shane slides down her body and pushes her skirt above her hip on one side. Without further ceremony, he presses his mouth to her bare waist.

She looks down. “What are you doing?”

He stops without raising his head. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Already?” She slips out of his grip and sits on the bed. “No preliminaries?”

Shane stands to face her, fingers twitching. “I’m thirsty.” He seems to be trying not to look at me.

“I’ve seen you thirstier.” She leans back on her elbows and runs a bare toe up the inside of his thigh. “Fuck me first.”

Oh, shit.

He stares at the woman. “What about your fiance?”

“We broke up.”

Shane glances at me. “Not in front of her.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” Her toes slip under his crotch. “Think of it as free advertising.”

“No,” he says, even as he spreads her legs and moves between them. “Just give me what I came for.”

“I know you can steal my blood if you want. But you won’t, with her here.” She tilts her head in my direction. “Wouldn’t want her to think you’re a monster.”

He looms over her, hands planted on either side of her body. “I’m not a monster.”

Shane kisses her then, so softly I catch my breath. I jam my fist against my mouth and try to pretend I’m watching a movie.

The woman peels his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. He looks at it, then at me.

She yanks him down on top of her, then slides her long nails up his back, hard enough to leave red marks in their wake. His body seizes and he kisses her again, harder.

Her legs curl around his bare waist, making her skirt fall above her hips. I try not to watch myself watching, fingertips between my teeth, and just watch. Forget what he might mean to me, forget what he did to me last Friday night. Forget the future and the past and just dwell in the pornographic present.

Shane breaks the kiss and grits his teeth. “No.”

“No what?” she says sharply.

“I can’t do this.” He pushes himself out of her embrace. “I mean, I won’t.” He unwraps her legs from his body. His face is contorted in what looks like pain.

“Because of her?” Frustration peaks her voice. She kicks out, and he catches her heel just before it connects with his balls.

“Don’t get violent,” he says.

She lets out a harsh sigh. “Girl, tell him you’re okay with it.”

I am, but I really don’t want to get involved. “Uh ...”

Shane cuts me off. “I’m not okay with it.”

She laughs. “It’s eleven o’clock on a Wednesday. Who else are you going to get at this hour?” She sits up and trails her fingers down his bare chest. “You’re getting colder.” She lilts the words like a taunting child.

He breathes hard, shaking his voice. “I can drink bank blood.”

“Tonight, maybe. But maybe next time you call I won’t be such a flexible donor.”

He jerks away from her. “You call this flexible? Demanding sex, then threatening me?” He yanks his shirt off the floor. “I’m not your gigolo.”

“Don’t you dare make it sound cheap,” she snaps. “You never used to say no.”

I can’t take it anymore. “Stop it, both of you. I’ll leave.” I get off the window seat and head for the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Shane says.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Looking back at him, I open the door. “You need to drink. I’m just in the way—ack!”

I grab the doorjamb to avoid trampling a little boy. He
stands just outside the bedroom, clutching a stuffed blue dog around its neck.

I look down into his wide dark eyes. “Uh, hi.”

“Oh, dear,” says the woman. The music shuts off. She comes over, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair. “Sweetie, Mommy has some friends over. We’re just playing a game.”

“I can’t sleep.” He looks at me. “Can I play?”

I lean back against the doorjamb and focus on the ceiling. It’d be really rude to barf on her freshly shampooed carpet.

The woman leads the child down the hall. After a moment’s hesitation, I go back into the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Shane is sitting on the bed now, holding his shirt in his lap, a mixture of guilt and frustration on his face. We look at each other, then away, quickly.

Muffled noises of love and comfort come from outside the door, along with a short stretch of water running in the hall bathroom.

Shane and I say nothing. I sit on the window seat and look outside. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I realize that the structure I saw before is a swing set.

The woman reenters the bedroom and locks the door. She turns to Shane and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Maybe you should just bite me.”

He looks relieved. “Yeah. Good. Okay.”

Thank God. A quick chomp and we’re out of here, then I can go home and scour my frontal lobe to forget that kid—

Shane pounces on her so fast, I emit a little squeak, echoed by the woman. He slides down her body until his knees slam the carpet. She runs her hands through his hair, sweeping it back from his face.

As he pushes her dress above her waist, his eyes open
and fix on me. My muscles lock into baby-bunny mode again. His triumphant smile skewers me a moment before his fangs pierce her creamy skin.

She cries out, and her hands tighten in his hair, as if to pull him away. Then they drop to the top of his shoulders, where her nails dig into his flesh as she hisses through her teeth.

His eyelashes flutter as he draws the first swallow. He groans, and the sound sends a hot, dizzy feeling creeping over my scalp from nape to forehead. A single drop of blood escapes to trickle down her waist. Mesmerized, I watch it disappear beneath the red silk of her bikini panty.

It lasts much longer than I expected. Pins and needles prick my feet, but I don’t dare move. The atmosphere in the bedroom feels fragile, every object connected by sticky, weblike strands of energy. If I move an inch or even breathe too hard, the balance between his survival and hers could tip.

Her legs buckle. Shane lowers her to the floor in a smooth, controlled maneuver that looks all too practiced. Her hair splays on the carpet like a dark halo.

Shane’s hair covers his face now, but I hear him breathe deep and long through his nose as he drinks. Though her body lies limp in his arms, Shane looks like the helpless one. His right hand clutches her thigh, knuckles pulsing in a kneading motion. He begins to rock back and forth to a rhythm only he can hear. Is it her heartbeat? Is it slowing?

Suddenly the woman’s body bucks and stiffens against him. Her nails rake over his bare shoulders, drawing eight thin trails of blood, red as any human’s.

With a thud, her legs and arms fall limp against the floor. A moment later, Shane rolls onto the carpet, panting
and staring through the ceiling. Blood stains his gums, setting off the white of his fangs, which recede in the span of a few seconds. With their pupils constricted to dots, his eyes shine brightest blue.

Lying on her back, the woman stretches like a cat waking from a nap. She draws a finger down his chest in a lazy motion. “Good?”

Between gasps, he manages an “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Under her eyes lie dark semicircles, accentuated by the new paleness of her skin.

Shane closes his eyes and groans deep in his throat, a noise that embodies sex and death. His back arches, and his fingers rake the carpet as if to pull it up like grass.

“Yes,” the woman whispers. “It’s all yours now.”

Slowly his body relaxes as he returns to our plane of existence. He looks at me, blinks hard, and sits up.

“Hang on,” he whispers.

He rises to his feet in a fluid motion and grabs a box of gauze pads from the dresser. Eyes glazed, he tears two pads open, then kneels and presses them to the wound on the woman’s waist.

She sighs and places her fingers over the cotton squares. “I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Shane glances at me again and wipes his mouth. “Let me clean up, then we’ll go.” He heads into the master bathroom. The door shuts, and soon I hear the mundane sound of toothbrushing.

The woman lets out a deep sigh. She seems content to remain on the floor.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask her.

She smiles dreamily up at me. “Smokes. By the window.”

I fetch her a cigarette. She puts it in her mouth and motions for me to light it. Her first exhale sounds ecstatic.

“You look like you could use one, too,” she says. “Help yourself.”

“I don’t smoke anymore.” My hands are trembling. “But I think I’ll make an exception.”

She flicks her long fingernails in the direction of the bathroom. “What’s he to you?”

I light the cigarette, then take a shaky drag. “I don’t know yet.”

“Shane’s a good man. Almost too good. I bet when he was alive he was one of those guys whose female friends complained to him about their jerky boyfriends but never noticed he was right there waiting to make them happy.”

I consider introducing myself, but decide I don’t really want to know her name. The opportunity passes as she falls asleep. I snatch the cigarette out of her hand before it burns a hole in the carpet.

Shane opens the bathroom door and gives me an apologetic look. “I hate to ask, but—I can’t reach.” He motions behind him. I set the smokes in an ashtray and join him.

He hands me a moist washcloth, which I draw slowly over the cuts on his back. With the blood wiped away, his skin is perfect again. If anything, it looks more luminous than ever, like he’s had a full-body seaweed wrap.

“Thanks.” He takes the washcloth and rinses it in the sink. “I’m running out of shirts without bloodstains.”

“Nice.”

He wipes his face and body dry with a towel. “We’ll talk in a few minutes. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

The woman moans when he picks her up—as easily as I could lift a kitten—and lays her in bed. With tender
motions, he dabs iodine on the wound and covers it with a butterfly bandage.

As he draws the sheets over her, she mumbles, “Get my purse. On the dresser.”

I grab it, but when I turn back to hand it to her, Shane signals me to stop. Too late. She takes it and wakes up enough to rummage through her wallet.

“Don’t,” he says.

“Let me pay you.”

“I’ve told you, no. No fucking way.” He picks up his shirt and jams his arms through the sleeves. “This is the last time you offer, or you’ll never hear from me again.”

The thought seems to frighten her, and she looks to me for help. If she hands me the cash, I’m keeping it as emotional restitution.

“Just go to sleep.” The softness returns to Shane’s voice. He kisses her forehead and smooths the hair from her face. “Remember, extra iron for the next few days.”

“Eat my spinach. Promise.”

He holds her hand and looks into her eyes. “Thank you. Again.”

Outside, the night’s humidity has dropped a notch, and a tepid breeze stirs the leaves of the small trees that line the sidewalk.

I wait to vent until we reach the main road. “Why didn’t you tell me she had a kid?”

“He never woke up when I was there before.” Shane clears his throat. “I’m sorry about what happened. Not just the boy, but before. If I’d known she would insist on sex this time, I would have called someone else.” He rubs his stomach and winces, as if he has a cramp. “She thought I would do anything for the blood.”

“How do you find these weirdos?”

“Anymore, it’s easy, thanks to the Internet. Type ‘mortals seeking vampires’ into any search engine, and you’ll see what I mean.” He glances back at the street we just left. “This one moved from Baltimore to Sherwood to be closer to me. That and the better school system.”

“But these mortals on the Internet, are they actually seeking real vampires?”

“Most of them, no. They think it’s a fantasy, and they’re bummed when we show up without capes.”

“What happens when they find out you’re real?”

Shane slows his pace, scuffing his Chuck Taylors against the sidewalk. “I’ve always been careful. Too careful, the others say. If I think a potential donor won’t play along, I get out before things get—” He comes to a full stop. “If they don’t want to be bitten, if they scream and fight back, it triggers our . . . instincts.”