'Bloody fool! Bloody, bloody fool!'
Zachary Trevelyan fought the hysterical urge to laugh like a lunatic.
Of course, he was a bloody fool – he was a fool for blood. With an effort, he managed to control his mania but the irony still made him smile.
For decades he'd coped and adapted and made a semblance of a life for himself, without ever really fitting in. But ever since he'd seen a pretty brown-haired girl in a local street on a warm spring night, then followed her into a coffee house, it was no longer the placid existence he'd carefully nurtured.
And tonight he'd made it a hundred times more complicated. He might have gently tampered with Teresa's perceptions, but it was only a matter of time before she cottoned on to the anomalies. And he couldn't blank out his own memories of that kiss – or the natural and unnatural responses of his body.
In the sanctum of his workroom, he reached into the small beer fridge he kept there. It had never actually contained beer, although he did drink ale now and again. Instead the shelves were stacked with a row of small vacuum-sealed bottles. After flipping the top off one, he flung himself into his big leather wing-chair and took a long quenching drink.
His eyes fluttered closed as the rich familiar taste filled his mouth. The dangerous coppery flavour that defined him.
His roaring hunger calmed immediately. Heart, veins, cells, they all glowed and returned to equilibrium again. The acute stiffness in his penis transformed from pain into a potential source of pleasure. Taking another long drink from his bottle, he laid the fingers of his free hand across his groin.
That had been a close, close call in the kitchen. Flicking his tongue over his lips, he captured a drop of the red fluid there, and then, still lightly cupping his genitals, he passed it slowly over the biting edges of his upper teeth.
They were altered again, just as they'd been ten minutes ago. Kissing Teresa, he'd felt his fangs descend as the crimson madness of desire, so long and so carefully avoided, had gripped him like a stranglehold.
What the hell had possessed him? He'd been at risk of revealing himself since the very day she'd moved in, and he still couldn't work out what had possessed him to ask her. But still he'd done it, wildly embracing the threat to his hard won peace of mind.
Oh, but the taste of her. The touch of her. She was everything he'd dreamt of, everything that had driven him time and again to red fits of frenzied masturbation. And all it had taken was the welling up of sympathy – his for her and hers for him – to tip him past the point of no return.
Zack remembered the first time he'd set eyes on Teresa.
Like any man, he'd first noticed her shiny teak-coloured hair, and her slender yet shapely figure as she'd strolled along, looking in shop windows. But then he'd watched, fascinated by an inner beauty, as she'd knelt down to talk to one of the homeless who sometimes bedded down for the night in the larger doorways. She'd stayed a while, actually talking to the man rather than just flinging the odd coin into his tin and scuttling away. Her face had been warm and animated and she'd stroked the mangy dog tied up to the man's pack. Then, eventually, she'd straightened up, and left, turning back to wave – but not before slipping what looked like a couple of banknotes into his hand, with an encouraging squeeze.
Later, in the coffee house, he'd been compelled to approach her, and expecting wariness and suspicion, he'd been greeted by a sweet open smile and an easy invitation to share her table. She'd welcomed him, a pale and probably rather odd looking total stranger, and generously engaged him in conversation.
Sympathy again. Sympathy, from beauty, for an outcast? Was that it? Was that what had made her the one to change his long cultivated habits?
You're a good woman, Teresa, and you're kind. But would you still have sympathy for me, if you knew what I am?
Would you give yourself as freely as you were about to if you knew that your hypochondriac housemate was really a bloodsucking fiend?
'It's a bit hot in here ... OK if I wind down the window?'
Not only was it warm in Zack's beautiful classic Mercedes, it was also getting difficult to sit still. Breathing in the scents of polished leather and Zack himself was making her crazy. She loved his old-fashioned floral cologne, but in a confined space it was acting like a drug. She kept drifting into a dreamy erotic fantasy.
Clenching her fingers on her bag with one hand, and a fold of her skirt with the other, she fought the pounding urge to slyly touch herself.
'Of course ... sorry. I always forget that other people are warmer-blooded than I am.' Zack's eyes were intent on the road. If she didn't know better, Teresa would have said that he was avoiding looking at her. Maybe he was having wayward urges of his own?
But that was nonsense. Zack was always the perfect, controlled gentleman. Alas.
Reaching for the window winder, Teresa frowned. There was something up with Zack tonight. He was different. Odd. Not his usual still calm self at all. And his beautiful rosy mouth was twisted as if he were smiling at a particularly bitter joke. Teresa eyed his perfect profile, and suddenly, as if he sensed her puzzlement, he turned briefly towards her with a warmer, less ambiguous, smile.
A second later, he was all attention to the road again and it was Teresa's turn to purse her lips, frustrated.
If you're not interested that way, Zack, why have you made yourself look so sexy?
She'd never seen Zack look all grown up and groomed this way before. Instead of his usual dark jeans, and floppy shirts that looked as if they'd come out of a dressing up bag, he was wearing a proper suit and smart shirt for a change. They were both dark midnight blue, and looked stunning with his pale skin and black hair. The look was restrained and semi-formal, and made a naturally dramatic man look even more dramatic. He'd slicked back his wild curly hair too, and that only added to the effect of sombre gothic elegance.
A quip about Count Dracula rose to her lips but, before it could get there, her head swam strangely. Pressing a knuckle to her mouth, she held in another gasp, all the time grappling with the impression that she was floating upwards in the car as if it were a space capsule.
Frames from a movie flashed before her eyes. And she was the star, seeing it from the inside.
Zack was kissing her, touching her, and holding her against his rampant body. His mouth was at her throat. Pain spiked there, but it was a sweet pain that induced pleasure between her legs. And as the stinging ebbed, that pleasure grew, and Zack lifted his face to look at her.
His eyes weren't periwinkle blue any more, but a wild and violent red – crimson to match the blood on his gleaming lips.
'Are you all right, love?'
No, I'm all wrong.
That hadn't been just a passing erotic fancy about Zack as a vampire. It had felt like a memory, not a fantasy. She could feel it in her sex.
She could feel it in her neck.
Her fingertips flew to the place where there had been a red mark. She'd dismissed it as a nervous blotch, but what if it'd been something else? And what if that slightly funny turn in the kitchen yesterday hadn't been due to her just being hungry?
Get a grip, Teresa, she reprimanded herself. Zack is your friend, and your house buddy, and you fancy him, that's all. There are no such things as vampires and you haven't even kissed him, so how could he have given you a love-bite?
'Teresa? Are you all right?'
His soft voice shocked her back into the real world of car journeys and impending weddings.
'I'm fine, thanks ... just wool-gathering. Car trips get me that way.'
She glanced sideways again, and their glances clashed. Zack's blue eyes looked cautious and wary in a way she'd never seen before.
'We can stop for a while, if you like? There's a service area coming up soon.'
He was trying to be kind, and the offer was tempting. The sudden change of atmosphere in the car – from dreamy sensuality to palpable tension – was uncomfortable. But they'd soon reach their destination anyway, and then they could both retreat to their separate rooms ... and their own space again.
'No. Thanks. Let's push on, shall we?'
'OK. Good idea.' With a smooth change of gear, he put his foot down.
Teresa sucked in her breath again, and stole another sideways look. Zack seemed calm and unruffled again, totally focused on the road. If he'd sensed her inner madness he wasn't showing it.
Turning to the window, and the darkness outside, Teresa squashed down her crazy notions – and thought of nothingness.