Sundown International: Unholy Trinity Page 3

  Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait.”

  Jamie waited.

  Paige thought a little more. Her head was so fogged with good sex that it took her a while, and Jamie really did smell good, and feel good -- felt great, in fact, hard and warm and reassuringly right. He made it rather hard to concentrate. But eventually she said, “Guys who pretend they just want to be my friend?”

  “Yeah. You always said honesty of intention was important.”

  “And so it is.” She hesitated, not really wanting to ask. “So… you never thought about making a move on me?”

  There was a rather significant pause.

  “Is there any way I can answer this that won’t get me kicked out of bed?” Jamie said. “My own bed, I might add.”

  The good-sex fog was rapidly receding.

  “Answer the question, Jamie.”

  “I’d never have made a move on you while we were friends, if that’s what you were asking.”

  “And yet,” she looked up at him, shifted her thigh to brush against his cock, which twitched, “Here we are.”

  Jamie looked uncomfortable. “I never lied to you. Paige, your friendship is one of the most valuable things in my life. I never pretended to you about that. And I’d never do anything to change or destroy that friendship.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “But I, er, may have sort of slightly misled you on a minor point or two.”

  She waited.

  Jamie sighed. He looked miserable. “Just because I never actually made a move on you doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

  Paige swung her leg off him, and sat up. Jamie swore.

  “Look, I never meant --”

  “Shut up.”

  “I didn’t want --”

  “Jamie, shut up.”

  “I --”

  Paige bared her fangs. Jamie closed his mouth.

  She took a breath, and closed her eyes. Sleeping with Jamie was one thing -- a shock to the system, but not an unpleasant one. Truth be told, there had been occasions when she’d realized Jamie was a hell of an attractive man, not to mention smart, sweet, funny, and even kind to small fluffy animals. But he was just Jamie, comfortable and lovable, like a pet or an old sweater. He’d never been someone she could see in a sexual way.

  Until bloodlust had tangled all the wires in her head and suddenly flicked a switch, and there he was, all hot and naked and in her bed, and now she was incapable of going back to seeing him as just comfortable old Jamie.

  The problem was, fantastic as the sex had been, she’d come here for comfortable old Jamie. And he was gone now. Now, Jamie was this hot guy she was in bed with.

  She glanced over at him. He was sitting there with the sheets pooled around his waist, the dim light gleaming on muscles she’d never imagined he had. He’d kissed her until her head swam. He’d sucked her nipples into his mouth. He’d been inside her.

  “Damn it,” she said, and raised her gaze to his.

  “Yeah,” he said, looking as miserable as she felt. “This is why -- well, you know.”

  Yes, she did know. Paige was acutely aware of the effect she usually had on men, and of the consequences this had with other women. Until Jamie, she’d never had a male friend, and hadn’t had many female ones either. There had, however, been plenty of guys who told her sincerely they didn’t want to fuck her -- they usually had girlfriends, or invented them to reassure her of their pure intentions. But invariably, these same men would then try to get her drunk and stick their tongues down her throat.

  The only one who’d never made her uncomfortable was Jamie.

  And she’d slept with him.

  And now everything was different.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said.

  “What, that I’ve been madly in love with you since the first time I set eyes on you? Yep, I could see that making our friendship so much stronger.”

  She sighed, starting to get annoyed. With Jamie for lying to her, and with herself for sleeping with him. For being so fogged and overwhelmed by the new demon inside herself that she couldn’t resist him.

  “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Paige. Didn’t want to lose you. I knew if I ever told you… then I’d be like the others. You’d get all disgusted and annoyed that I’d lied to you, and kick me out, and then I’d have nothing. Because at least if I didn’t tell you, then you were still around. We’d talk on the phone and you’d bitch about men who screwed you over, and laugh at my vampire research --”

  “Somehow I’m finding that less funny now,” she said, getting more annoyed. Her fangs were out. She wanted to bite him.

  “Right. But we were good, weren’t we? As friends? I didn’t want to lose that.”

  “Oh right, and you were so sure you would lose it?” Paige snapped.

  “Ye -- what?”

  “You were so sure I was going to get all disgusted and uncomfortable with you? Jamie, did it never occur to you that if you said you were in love with me that I might not mind?”

  He blinked. The blood pounded through his veins; she could hear it. “Er,” he said. “Well. No. It never… did.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she said, running her hands through her hair. “You really have no idea, do you? Jamie, stop trying to protect me. I’m a grown woman. I’m a fucking vampire. I can take care of myself.” She swung herself out of bed and reached for her underwear. “You know what? I don’t want to do this.”

  I don’t want to bite you.

  “Neither do I,” Jamie said. He looked tired. “Look, you take the bed, I’ll go back to the --”

  “No.” Paige grabbed her clothes to herself in a bundle. “I -- I need to go. Away.” She closed her eyes for a second. It was all so confusing. She felt like she’d just jumped on a fast train and had no idea where it was headed. “Look. This shouldn’t have happened. We -- I -- look,” she said again, pulling on her clothes and trying to think. “Two days ago I had a career and a life, I was human, for God’s sake, and we were friends, and now -- now I’m a vampire, I’m the living dead, and we’ve had sex and it’s all… I don’t even know what’s going on. So, you know what? I think I need to get this under control.”

  Jamie was looking at her like he agreed wholeheartedly.

  “I -- I think I need help from that vampire friend of yours.” She fastened her shirt. “He’s nice, right? He’s not, like, evil or anything?”

  “No, he’s okay,” Jamie said, confused, “most of the time, but -- look, where are you going?”

  “To see your vampire.” Jamie opened his mouth and she cut him off. “No, listen to me.” She tried to think clearly. “I need to get this under control. I’m not in control right now. I should never have slept with you.”

  She saw the pain in his eyes at that, and cursed herself for it.

  “I mean -- I mean I’m too messed up right now, Jamie. And what if I hurt you? I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. When you gave me that blood earlier, it just… I can’t control myself. And if I hurt you I’d never forgive myself. So I… I think I need to go. And I figure vampires are nocturnal, right? So it’s not like I’m turning up in the middle of the night or anything.”

  His eyes were on the sheets. He didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t look like that, Jamie. It’s not your fault. I just need to sort myself out. Please? Can you help me with this?”

  He dragged his gaze up to meet hers, and it hurt to look at him. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said quietly, and Paige wanted to cry.

  Chapter Three

  The vampire lived in a crumbling medieval palace hidden behind a gated courtyard. Paige arrived with damp eyes and an aching heart and a raging thirst that had become worse with every second. Flinging a handful of euros at the cab driver, she covered her mouth with her hand and raced across the deserted courtyard with her blood thundering in her veins.

  Arguing with Jamie had roused the bloodlust. She hoped to hell this boss of his had some blood around. The
angrier she got, the more she wanted blood; and the more she wanted it, the less she could control herself.

  There was an intercom by the door, a surprisingly modern sight for such an ancient building. “I’m Paige Larsson,” she explained when it crackled into life. “I -- Jamie called --” Shamefully, she realized she hadn’t even asked for the vampire’s name.

  “Ah, yes,” said a smooth, dark voice. Even distorted by the intercom, it slid right down inside Paige’s body, grabbed the pulsing bloodlust, and amped up the lust part by a hundred percent. “I’ve been expecting you. Do come in.”

  And suddenly Paige felt like the idiot blonde in a horror movie. What the hell was she doing? She was walking into the monster’s lair.

  The need for blood hammered in her head. Her nipples were tight. Her pussy throbbed.

  She was the monster now.

  The intercom buzzed and the door clicked open. Paige squared her shoulders, tried to ignore the desperate hunger for blood and sex that pounded through her, and entered.

  The lobby of the house was huge, and a total surprise to Paige. Unlike the outside of the building, it was brightly lit and beautifully decorated. No expert on Italian antiquities, Paige could nonetheless tell that the contents of the marble-floored, silk-draped room were museum-quality.

  Each window was heavily shuttered, and painted over with a masterful trompe-l’œil daylight scene. Her heart twinged: this, now, would be the closest she’d ever get to seeing sunlight.

  “Hello?” she said, looking around the large room. For all the exquisite paintings, vases and delicate furniture, there were no people. “Mr, uh, boss-vampire?”

  “Hello, Paige,” said the smooth, dark voice, and a chill ran down her spine as she finally recognized it.

  The last time she’d heard that voice, it had been apologizing for tearing out her throat.

  She was exquisite, standing there like a frightened deer in the middle of the classically decorated lobby. Rafa watched her for a moment, watched her go completely still when she recognized his voice, and smiled.

  He detached himself from the shadows and let his footsteps echo.

  She turned -- not a fast spin, but a slow turn, deliberate and measured. He was impressed. He could smell her lust, delicious waves of it, a bloodlust she had little control over. And yet she was still moving like a normal person.

  He smiled at her.

  She scowled at him.

  “Right,” she said. “So is this the part where I scream ‘Oh no, a monster,’ or what?”

  Rafa’s smile widened. “You can if it’ll make you feel any better.”

  “No,” she said. “What would make me feel better would be shoving a fucking stake through your heart.”

  He laughed.

  Her eyes narrowed. “How goddamned dare you,” she said. She yanked aside the collar of her shirt, where an ugly pink scar was still raw and tender.

  He winced. “Ah,” he said. “I apologize --”

  “Yeah, you better,” she said, advancing on him. Her eyes flashed like emeralds. Her pale hair gleamed. Rafa’s cock hardened. “You goddamned killed me.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said.

  “Oh? So you accidentally tore out my throat? Is that it? Yeah, I’m sure it happens all the time.”

  “Only in the strongest throes of passion,” he assured her. She was absolutely incandescent with anger, he thought, and it suited her so much. “Jamie was right,” he said, “you really are magnificent.”

  Her mouth opened in outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean? I didn’t hear him say that over the phone. Did you -- did he tell you about me? What the hell is going on here? Did he, like, recommend me to you or something?”

  Rafa was quite enjoying this. She was only a few feet away from him now, and he could smell the heat of her skin and the tang of sex rising from her. So, sweet Jamie had finally had his woman, had he? And then sent her off to Rafa.

  This was actually quite delicious. Poor Paige was so fired up with bloodlust she wasn’t thinking straight. He could hear her heart pounding, could feel her arousal.

  “Dear Jamie,” he said, his cock hardening even more. “He talks about you all the time, you know. He’s completely in love with you.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Yes, so I’ve heard,” she said.

  She was wet for him already. Of course, Rafa was used to women creaming for him within minutes of meeting him. What had been so wonderful about Paige when he first met her was that she’d hardly reacted to him at all. He’d really had to work for her, and Rafa tended to value most the things he’d worked hardest for.

  “You’re hungry,” he said.

  “That’s not important.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You think not? Hunger is a vampire’s driving force. It lends us great strength and,” he smiled, watching her nipples strain against her shirt, “stamina, but it can also drive us mad if not properly satisfied.” He reached out and touched her face. She flinched, and he could see the tiny sensible part of her warring with the overwhelming roar of the bloodlust. “When did you first feed?”

  “That’s none of your --”

  “I created you, Paige, of course it’s my business.”

  She scowled, but said, “Tonight.”

  Rafa couldn’t hide his surprise. “Tonight? But I turned you two nights ago.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Reminding me is not a great tactic, bud.”

  Two days for a new fledgling? She was strong. Very strong.

  “But you’re hungry now,” he said, and she went still again.

  “I could eat,” she said finally.

  His cock throbbed.

  Without taking his eyes off hers, Rafa raised his wrist to his mouth and bit in. The scent of his own blood made the lust roar stronger in him.

  “Be my guest,” he said.

  He watched her try to resist it. Watched her little pink tongue dart out and lick those exquisite lips of hers.

  “I hate you,” she said, and then she grabbed his wrist and drank.

  Pleasure swamped Rafa. It was always glorious, being taken like this. And when the person doing the taking was a woman like Paige, it was all he could do to keep from coming in his pants.

  He could smell her desperate arousal, the slick wetness between her thighs, the ache of her breasts, the throb of her pussy. With his free arm he drew her closer, pressed her face into his neck, and without much prompting her fangs tore through his flesh.

  He shuddered. Her body was pressed up against his, warm and soft, and he tugged at her clothes, her shirt and her jeans, pulling them from her. She didn’t resist; in fact she helped him with the jeans, kicking them off and wrapping one bare leg around his waist. He tore off her underwear and palmed the smooth skin of her bottom, slipping one finger between the cheeks and finding her wet folds.

  For a second she lost her balance, then Rafa wheeled them around and braced her against a sixteenth-century marble-topped table. She tugged at his shirt, ripping the delicate fabric and sending it fluttering to the floor. Her breasts rubbed his chest, her nipples hard and tight. He ached to be inside her.

  Unfastening his fly, he guided her hand to his cock, which was huge and hard and throbbing desperately. Her fingers closed around it, not quite encircling it, pumping up and down, then pulling, tugging him toward her. Into her.

  Her pussy was drenched, her folds swollen and hot, and when he pushed inside she clenched tight around him. Oh God, yes. He’d never been inside a pussy this exquisite.

  She pulled on his neck in time with his thrusts, but before long her head had fallen back, her lips red with blood, her eyes closed, and Rafa pushed her down onto the cool marble. She stretched out beneath him, moaning, her skin so pale against his, whiter than the marble itself. Between her legs her pussy lips were pink, plump and wet and welcoming as he drove between them.

  He wanted to taste them.

  Pulling out from her, he flipped her over onto her stomach before she could protest
. Her curvy little bottom presented itself to him, her asshole puckered and tight, and his balls drew up tight just at the sight of it. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her legs wide and ran his tongue from her clit all the way up to her ass, making her shudder and cry out.

  “You’re delicious,” he murmured, then feasted upon her.

  She did taste glorious, so wet and so sweet. He thrust his tongue inside her, sucked her labia into his mouth, then moved up to her ass, rimming the tight hole with his tongue and making her shake.

  She came the first time with his fingers in her pussy and his tongue on her asshole. Then again, when he slipped his finger, slippery with her juices, inside her ass, and his cock back inside her pussy.

  Her whole body was shaking. Rafa tugged her upright, her long smooth back against his chest, her skin gleaming with sweat.

  “Come for me,” he breathed in her ear, and she clung to him, her arm reaching back around his neck, unable to support herself. He wrapped one arm around her, fondling her breasts, and slipped his other hand down to caress her clit. “Come for me, Paige.”

  Sobbing, breathless, she did, as Rafa sank his fangs into her neck and came deep inside her.

  There was no sunlight to wake Paige. Every window in Rafael’s huge house had been securely covered with bolted shutters, each painted inside and out to give the illusion of a real view. She found that incredibly sad.

  Her body ached like she’d just gone ten rounds with Ali. Rafa had carried her up to his palatial bedroom and set about seducing her all over again, and she’d let him. She’d just let him. He’d bitten her, licked and sucked and fucked her, and when her energy -- or her enthusiasm -- waned, he opened a vein and fed her some more of his dizzyingly potent blood. And then she turned into a nymphomaniac.

  Now, she ached and throbbed all over. A body shouldn’t have so much sex, she was sure. But just the tiniest taste of his blood had spurred her on and she just couldn’t stop. Even when she knew it was wrong. Even when she knew the last time she’d slept with this man, he’d killed her. Even when she thought of Jamie and his hurt-puppy eyes.