Chapter 7

8.27.2005-8.27.2005

As I stepped through that curtain, I idly wondered how Xandria had known about my side job. And how in the hell did she know about Deacon’s vampiric nature? Weres and vamps tend to not get on very well due to the fact that vampires have a tendency to make lycanthropes their slaves. Unless they’re very liberal, vampires tend to stick to the old ways, since some of them were around before the Old Ways even became unwritten law. Bloodsuckers aren’t very democratic, and they definitely don’t want to share their power that they covet like some mortals do cold, hard cash.

A werewolf named Dexter had befriended me while I was under the careful care of Cortez. Hernando Cortez, the Spanish conquistador who brought about the destruction of the Aztec nation and their capital, Tenochtitlan, with his greed and bird-like cravings. Shiny, shiny! Many think that the plague he brought was small pox. Don’t believe that bullshit. He brought an armada of ships packed to the brim with hungry vampires and their minions. They raped, plundered, made the rivers run red with blood, and burned what they couldn’t steal. The history books make him a hero... but then again, they did the same thing for that scumbag Columbus.

My eyes fell on Deacon, looking like something from a nightmarish wet dream with his eyes dark like the grave and deep enough to drown in. The ultimate temptation: a demon in the guise of a woefully gorgeous man. He must have had dark skin in life, as his undead skin had a very light tan to it; his hair a very shiny and dark brunette that was thick and to his shoulders, pulled back casually and tied at the base of his neck. A few strands had escaped the tie, falling about his very masculine face fetchingly. He had a strong jaw and sharp nose, unlike your typical vampire, which attested to Deacon's age.

Most modern vampires have this strange idea that the only ones who should be changed are pompous prettyboys who'd be pegged as gay at first glance by today's standards. But not this man... He nearly oozed testosterone, as if he'd done lots of manual labor during his life. Had his skin not been smoothed by the change, I was sure his hands would have been rough and worn from long hours of toil. As it was, his body radiated power, as if his physical strength would be great with or without the supernatural boost.

He spoke to me then, his voice dark and caressing, a very small hint of a Southern accent underlying his words. "Come to me, my child..."

I couldn't resist, his voice tightening things low in my body. I fought to keep my mind blank of anything that could give me away, envisioning a brick wall solidly in my mind to shield my thoughts. He gave me a disarming smile and held his hand out to me, seeming to me like the serpent in the Garden of Eden: a temptation I should, but could not, resist. I placed my small hand in his, completely dwarfed in comparison to him. Granted, he wasn't a giant like Xandria, but he had to be at least six feet tall. Being petite is something I've always hated.

I had no more time to loathe my shortness as Deacon's big hand closed around mine and pulled me onto his lap. He was all solid like marble beneath his unremarkable black suit. I'd forgotten how the flesh of the undead is unyielding like rock when they haven't fed recently. I must have made a small noise because he chuckled softly and cupped the side of my face in his hand. "No need to be scared, sweet one. I didn't mean to startle you..."

My eyes were drawn to his lips, full and dark and inviting. I kept my stage voice that went with the name; soft, shy, and unsure. "This is my first night and I'm a little jumpy. I'm sorry..."

He smiled good-naturedly, seeming sincere. "No need to apologize, dear Whisper... Fear is the last thing I want you to feel..." His fingers trailed up the curve of my back, making me shiver at his touch.

Oh yeah... He was really good. And that was really, really bad.

I wanted to keep him talking, since I was getting the creepy crawlies from being this close to a vampire after so long away from their undead auras. Our minds may try to protect us, but there are some things that the body never forgets. The trauma I'd endured under Cortez was one of those things.

"Your name's Deacon, isn't it?" I asked with that whispery, demure tone.

He nodded idly, his eyes taking me in hungrily. I'd covered up with my dress back in the dressing-room, but he was likely remembering how I looked with next to nothing on. "How did you know my name?" he asked, not seeming too interested in the conversation.

"All the girls talk about you," I said, appealing to his ego. "They said they'd been trying to get your attention and were jealous that I ended up with all of it on my first night here."

He looked into my eyes and smiled then, those enticing lips looking beyond pleased. "What is your real name, dearest Whisper?" he asked lightly, his fingertips playing along the side of my neck and his dark eyes now focused there. His gaze made my pulse pound and I knew he could see it jumping beneath my skin. The raw hunger in his eyes gave him away.

"Veronica," I replied, not feeling the need to lie. If I was going to end up a his pet, he'd know my name eventually anyway.

"Veronica," he said slowly, letting each syllable roll off his tongue like a vintage wine. "That's a lovely name," he practically purred, his breath hot against the tender skin of my throat.

Shit! Now we were crossing into the danger zone. I had to think fast or he'd be chewing on me before you could say "Snack you very much!"

"Mr. Deacon... What exactly do you want from me?" I asked, knowing the answer already. Not much darlin'. Just your blood, body, and immortal soul! Well... maybe not the soul part, but definitely the body and blood.

He pressed a finger to my lips and hushed me, his lips suddenly on my neck. The contact was like lightning, hot and electric, more pleasurable than almost anything I'd ever felt before. The mere brush of his lips brought a deep, shuddering moan from my lips. It wasn't fair to have someone working their mind tricks on you at the same time that they ran their lips and tongue lovingly, hungrily, over an already super-sensitive area. I held to him tightly, my head thrown back and a fist in his thick hair. He crushed me to his chest with one arm, taking my hair down with the other as he kissed, licked, nipped, and sucked at my throat.

It seemed to me that he was testing himself, as he never once grazed my skin with his fangs. I knew he was hungry, horribly so, but it seemed to me that feeding was more than a simple act of biting to him. He ran his hands over me almost possessively, his hands drinking me in as if he were blind and I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever touched. His cries matched my own until he finally tore himself away from my throat.

I felt a flash of panic and fear; I hadn't even tried to fight back. He could have just drank me dry and I wouldn't have lifted a finger to stop him.

He looked up at me in adoration, the emotions there so close to love that I was terrified. "Veronica..." he said my name softly. He toyed with the hem of my sundress and gazed down at his fingers, seeming shy as he asked, "Can you take this off for me? I want to see that gorgeous skin of yours again, to be able to hold your pale flesh in my hands as I..." he trailed off, seeming to be lost in his fantasy.

I'll give the bloodsucker credit; he did give one hell of a mindfuck. As he talked about touching me, I could feel his hands sliding over my skin as if my clothes weren't there and even though his hands never once moved. I blushed then, and it was sincere. He smiled and tipped my chin up with his fingers so my grey eyes looked into his black ones. "But you seem uncomfortable, so I can wait."

Deacon let me up and stood with me, his big hands resting on my hips and nearly encircling my waist. I knew what he was going to do, but it still caught me off guard when he leaned down and seized my lips with his. There was no wash of magic as his lips and tongue caressed mine, only the cool and hard feel of his body against mine as his strong arms crushed me against his chest. It was fierce, it was passionate, but he was also gentle. He cradled me in his arms as if I were made of some fine porcelain that would crack and shatter if he held on too tightly.

When he finally broke the kiss to let me free, he gave me an almost sad smile. "Goodnight, fair Veronica. Until we meet again." He took my hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to my knuckles, his eyes filled with dark promise. "And we will meet again."

With those words he left me there, watching silently and in awe as he opened the curtain and left the room. The harsh lights from the hallway filtered into the room, making me squint. I sank to the red velvet chair shakily, cradling my head in my hands.

Xandria came into the room, nearly frantic as she asked me if I was alright. I nodded. "Fine. Just fine... If you consider having a vampire having a crush on you alright, then I'm just peachy-fucking-keen, Xandria."

I sighed, looking up at her. She'd taken off her sunglasses to see better in the dimly lit room. "Do you know Ace?" I asked her. She merely shook her head. "He's the one with the brown hair and pretty green eyes who was acting all cozy with the bloodsucker."

She gave me a small, fangy grin. "Ah, him. What of him?"

"He's the one who got my ass into this mess," I clenched my right hand into a tight fist and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I mentally counted to ten. "Can you bring him to me, please?"

She smiled and put her shades back on. "With pleasure, Veronica."

She left and I waited, pondering Ace's death. Now a vampire, who was likely not the one who'd helped mutilate and murder those victims, had a massive schoolboy crush on me. I growled under my breath. I was gonna take a chunk outta his ass the size of Rhode Island.