Chapter 4
Mitch did not bother to put his sweater back on; he bounded across the room and flung the door open with an incoherent snarl.
“Well, hello, you must be Mitchell Greer.” I instantly recognized the voice, high-pitched, but with a slight lisp and a reverberating huskiness that almost caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Wrapping the red brocade spread around me, I slid off the bed and went to stand next to Mitch.
“Vivienne,” I said, my tone wary and cautious, “it is good to see you again.”
Her eyes raked over me, mocking, yet caressing and she pulled me to her briefly and kissed my cheek. “But of course, when I hear my sister has returned, I wanted to give her a welcome.”
I introduced them. “Mitch, this is Vivienne. I don’t believe you met her last time we were here.”
“Sister?” Mitch questioned, not taking his eyes from her. “Deirdre is an only child.”
Vivienne threw her head back and laughed her light metallic laugh. “I know that’s how she would wish it, but sisters we are nevertheless. And,” her eyes focused on Mitch’s bare torso, “I couldn’t miss the opportunity to meet my new brother-in-law. But I have interrupted a ménage à deux, haven’t I? I was so anxious to see you both, that I hadn’t thought you might be otherwise involved. Please forgive me.”
Vivienne headed for the door, then turned with her hand on the knob. “One other thing, mon chers, the days are long here and the corridors are completely safe from sunlight, so after your, ah, sleep, you may wander around as much as you like. And should you wish to join me for a glass of wine, I’d be happy to have you both. Good day.” Opening the door, she walked out with a slow, sensuous stride. I reached over, closed and locked the door, then looked at Mitch.
“You can stop drooling now, Mitch.” I was only half joking. Vivienne was equipped with more magnetism than should be permissible and even I, who knew her for what she was and could never trust her, felt the effect of the utter sensuality she exuded. Mitch hadn’t any previous experience with another female of our kind and I feared his response to her.
His face lit up with a boyish smile as his eyes searched mine. “Why, Mrs. Greer,” he drawled, enjoying the moment immensely, “I do believe you’re jealous.”
“Now, why would I be . . . ?” I started, then returned his grin with a smile of my own. “Yes, you’re right. I am jealous.”
“Good.” His smile faded with that one word.
“Good?”
“Yeah, it almost makes up for all the other men in your life.”
“Mitch, my love, there’s never been anyone else since we met. You know that.”
He frowned. “Except of course for all the men you had in England while I was institutionalized.”
“Mitch, that’s just plain cruel. I was not talking of food; I was talking of love. Surely you know the difference by now.”
“I try, Deirdre.”
I reached out and touched his cheek gently. “Yes, you do. And you are getting better. Now, speaking of love . . .” Dropping the spread I had wrapped around me, I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pulled him to me.
“And food.” His voice was warm and husky against my hair.
“And food,” I agreed. “I believe you made quite an interesting proposition before we were interrupted.”
“So I did,” Mitch said and pulled me down to the floor with him. Rolling on top of me, he hesitated. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“As if you could.”
Mitch’s eyes lit with passion. He eased his jeans off and lay on top of me for a while, not moving. Then he began to nuzzle the side of my neck, gently at first with just his lips and tongue. His mouth traveled to my breasts, teasing each nipple with his front teeth, but not using his sharpening canines, not yet. I gasped when he reached between my legs, probing and stroking until I felt ready to melt. Time seemed suspended as he continued his ministrations, touching, licking, nipping.
Finally, not wanting to wait for him any longer, I reached down, guiding him inside me. And as he plunged deep within me, his mouth came down on my neck, his bite punctured my skin and I screamed, past caring about where I was and who might hear. He continued thrusting into me and I felt the blood rushing through my veins to answer his kiss. My own teeth sharpened and found his neck, pulling his blood into my mouth, savoring the rich and salty taste that was his alone.
The only sound in the room was our muffled sucking and the slapping of our sweaty bodies together. We continued for a long time, an eternity it seemed, making love and drinking from each other, constantly stoking our passion, continually renewing our strength. Then he withdrew his mouth from my neck and I did the same. He kissed me. The taste of my blood on his tongue was intriguing, enticing and I shuddered over and over as our bodies reached their endless climaxes.
When it was over, he rolled from me with a sigh. “You know,” he said, finally, his voice low and breathless, “that has got to be against the law.”
My laugh was shaky. “Yes, but we are, after all, consenting adults.”
“Even so.”
I snuggled into his side and he rested his hand lightly against my hip.
“I hope we didn’t disturb the rest of the Cadre.” He sounded smug and unconcerned.
“Like hell you do. You wouldn’t have wanted Vivienne to miss out on what a great catch you are.”
“Deirdre,” he slapped me playfully on the thigh, “I like you like this.”
“Like what? All sweaty and sticky?”
“No, jealous. It makes me feel wanted.”
I gave him a little push, got up from the floor and stared down at him. “You should never have any doubt about that. But for now, I need a shower. Would you like to join me?”
“Hot water?”
I remembered the one shower we had taken while he was still human. The temperature of the water had been extremely uncomfortable for him. But it was not so now. I smiled at him, “Boiling, of course.”
“Great.”
We slept undisturbed until early the following evening. Mitch woke first and by the time I opened my eyes, he was already completely dressed, sitting on the side of the bed. “Good morning,” he said and kissed the end of my nose. “Did you sleep well?”
I stretched slightly and yawned. “Yes, actually, I did.” I gave a little smug smile. “The plane trip really tired me out.”
“Only the plane trip, huh? Well, if that’s what it takes to get you a good day’s sleep, I guess we’ll have to fly every night.”
“Fine by me.”
He reached toward me, then over me, and picked up the phone from the bedside stand. I gave him a questioning look.
“I’m calling Chris,” he said, his expression changing to worry, “I thought he’d want to know we were in town.”
“That’s a good idea, tell him I said hello.” I got up from bed, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, allowing him as much privacy as was possible. I washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, and inserted a pair of contact lenses. When I came back out, Mitch was unpacking his suitcase, hanging up what little he had brought with him in an ornate carved armoire. He stopped and looked over at me.
“Chris wasn’t home. I left a message and this number. Do you think that’ll be okay?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? But I’m sure if it’s not, someone will let us know.” I went to my own case, opened it, and pulling out some underwear, my black leather jeans and an ivory tunic sweater, began to get dressed.
“Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that the entire setup here was wired, phones and all, with Victor being so extremely security conscious.”
“That may be true, but you can’t really blame him. He takes his responsibility for the Cadre very seriously.” I glanced over at him while I zipped up my pants. “The same way you would, if the job were yours. The two of you are very similar.”
Mitch threw his head back and laughed. “That’ll be the day—Mitchell Greer, the grand-exalted Pooh-Bah of the Cadre.”
“You never know, my love. Another couple of centuries and the position might be open.”
“I doubt it,” Mitch said, “Victor’s just too damned pompous to die.”
I shivered at his words. “Please don’t talk about it. I just barely survived the death of Max with my sanity intact. God knows what would happen if Victor . . .” Suddenly, I wanted to weep. I sat down on the edge of the bed, curled my legs underneath me and put my hands over my face. I felt him move to me and stand by my side. Gently, he laid his hand on my shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Deirdre?”
Shaking my head slightly, I moved my hands down my face and clasped them together under my chin, as if in prayer. Then I looked down at them, flexed my fingers and dropped them in my lap. “I don’t know, Mitch. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere here—it’s so confining, so old. Maybe it’s being called back here and being coerced into killing another vampire. Damn it all, I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to see Larry Martin ever again, and when I do, I have no real desire to kill him.” I jumped up from the bed and paced around the room, searching for something, I didn’t know what. “I need a window, I need to see outside. I’d go crazy if I had to live here for long.”
He stood, staring at me for a while. “Well, maybe you can’t kill him, but I can.”
“I don’t want him dead.” The desperation in my voice filled the room.
“How can you say that, Deirdre? I guess that after all he’s done, you’d just like to invite him over for a drink. How could you have any sympathy for him at all? You should hate him. Have you forgotten what he did to Gwen, what he tried to do to you, what he did to me?” Anger crept into his voice, overlaying the concern for me and the confusion caused by my statement.
At the mention of her name, I was reluctantly swept back to the night that we had found Gwen dead, staked to my bed, her dying blood coating the room around her. I remembered the night Larry attempted to drive a stake through my heart at the Ballroom. I remembered Mitch after his last, almost fatal encounter with Larry; my fear of losing Mitch to death was what had forced me to perform his transformation. I had good reason to hate Larry and hate him I did, desperately, with a fervor beyond any comprehension. His death would be just and deserved. But, another part of me wailed, he was part of me, part of my life, and my blood flowed in his veins. We were bonded together like mother and child.
I gave a choked sob. “God, Mitch, don’t you understand? When I killed Max, he didn’t die—he stayed with me. That was bad enough and I loved him. But if I had to live with Larry inside me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d rather walk out right now and wait for the sun.”
“But if I were to kill him, he probably wouldn’t . . .” his voice trailed off.
I walked over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “The true fact of the matter is that no one knows what will happen. No one, not even Victor.”
“But didn’t Victor tell you that what happened between you and Max was a rarity, that his possession of you was unusual?”
“Now look who’s taking Victor’s side. I wouldn’t like to trust my life and my sanity to his assumptions, thank you.”
He ran his hands down my arms and pulled me to him. “Then what do we do?”
I looked up at him with a half smile. “Damned if I know, my love. If we’re lucky, we won’t be able to find him at all. Hopefully, he’s already left town.”
“Larry, leave town?” Mitch gave a small snort. “I wouldn’t bank on it—not when he’s having such a good time.”
“No,” I said sadly, “neither would I.”
We stared at each other for a long time, needing no words, then he kissed me, leisurely, passionately, as if our love was the only thing that mattered. And when our lips separated and he moved away from me, I sighed.
Mitch smiled. “So, shall we go?”
“Where?”
“Where else?” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The only lead we have and I wish to hell it had burned to the ground years ago. The goddamned Ballroom of Romance, of course.”