Called By Blood

Chapter 10

Alex arrived a half hour after dark with a bottle of wine in one hand and yet another bag of groceries in the other. He gave her a polite kiss on the cheek and headed straight to the kitchen. God help her, he looked good. His skin was white again and his super short hair hugged his skull like a cap. It almost looked like it was supposed to be that way. Sure he was still a little thin and worn, but somehow that made him more appealing.

She needed some fresh air.

"Do you mind if I take a run while you cook?" She'd had a weird dream about Jeff and running the night before and had been dying to run all day to exorcise the memory. Or was that exercise?

He smiled with some secret amusement. "That's a great idea. I don't know if I can talk and cook at the same time anyway."

The house smelled incredible when she came back an hour later. Alex seemed harried but happy. The kitchen was full of steam and rattling pots. Saying he needed more time, he handed her a glass of wine and shooed her away.

The wine gave her a quick buzz, maybe because she'd been running, maybe because she'd not eaten for a while. She took a long, hot shower and tried to figure out what to wear when a vampire cooks you dinner. The obvious answer was a turtleneck. Har de har har.

Sweats? Too casual. Nice blouse and pants? Too fussy. In the end she put on the sweater dress she'd been wearing their first night together. It was a wrap style, comfortable but kind of classy, the moss green understated.

The run, the shower and the wine combined to give her a high flush. One that wasn't going to go away anytime soon. She combed out her hair but didn't bother blow-drying it. She didn't bother with jewelry or shoes or make-up either. No amount of armor was going to help her. They didn't need another confusing encounter. They needed to have an adult conversation. He needed to go back to New York.

Her pulse was beating hard. It wasn't the sort of thing she would have noticed before meeting Alex, but now she put her hand to the base of her throat and felt the thin skin jumping under her fingers. Alex would see it. She was sure of it. But she couldn't hide upstairs all night. She tiptoed down the stairs, but he must have heard her, because he popped out of the kitchen wiping his hands on her "Kiss the Cook" apron.

"Can I get you a re…" His sentence trailed off as he looked her up and down. Helena stopped walking. He studied her bare calves, her hips, her breasts as if he'd never seen such things before. Her nipples hardened while his glance raked over her chest. Ah jeez. As much as she wanted to cross her arms over her chest, she couldn't be that lame. She straightened her back instead. He took a deep breath and came forward, hand out. "A refill?"

In answer she shot her arm straight out, glass in hand. That kept them two whole arm lengths apart. And that was a good thing. He took the glass from her, his fingers brushing over hers. She jerked her hand away, but he didn't seem to notice because his attention had fastened on her throat. Her damp, flushed throat. Her beating pulse.

Better than on the tits.

His eyes darkened and went glassy.

No, worse than the tits. Much worse.

But it only lasted a second or two before he gave her his patented charming smile and returned to the kitchen to get the wine.

"We're eating in the dining room." He gestured that she should go in.

She never set foot in the dining room. When her parents were alive they had special dinners in there, otherwise the room was mostly shut up. Since she'd taken over their house she had no use for it at all.

But Alex had found the table cloth and lit the candles. He'd laid down two place settings of her mother's china and cut juniper boughs for the table.

"It's lovely," she said as he offered her a chair.

He vanished in an odd blur. She realized he was moving like Mikhail. Not pretending to be human. What surprised her about it was that it didn't bother her at all. He returned with two tiny little demitasse cups and set them in the center of their plates. Helena bent over hers and took a sniff of the clear, pale liquid inside. It smelled like chicken broth, but chicken broth by way of exotic places.

"It's an amuse bouche," he said.

"A what?"

"Something to wake up your palette."

"Not a soup course for a hamster?"

"Take a sip."

She raised the cup to her lips, and he did the same, his eyes sparkling expectantly.

This better be good, or I'm going to have to fake it and I'm bad at—holy cow! The soup, or whatever it was, washed over her tongue and exploded her senses. Savory chicken goodness, cumin, hot pepper, lemon, basil maybe, more that she couldn't identify, all harmonizing perfectly.

Alex smiled around his cup. He already knew she liked it. How could she not?

"Can I trade up to the adult-size bowl?"

The answer was no. It turned out the rest of the amuse bouche was for him. She got her good friend the fish back, poached and garnished with parsley and mandarin peels. And new potatoes roasted with garlic and swimming in butter. Garlic! Did he do that on purpose? And a salad of endive and blue cheese. All prepared as beautifully as the soup. She'd forgotten that eating could be fun.

And while she'd expected it would be weird to be shoveling down food in front of him while all he did was sip soup, it wasn't. As they ate, and drank one bottle of wine, and then another, they talked. And talked. And talked. The crackling sexual tension that had afflicted them when she first came downstairs receded, their conversation became effortless. Ridiculously comfortable, in fact. Like they'd know each other for years.

They learned they were really different—no surprise there. He'd grown up in Brooklyn and Manhattan. Boulder was the biggest city she'd ever lived in. He had brothers, she was an only child. He was raised Eastern Orthodox, and admitted to going to church at Christmas and Easter. That flipped her out. Christian vampires. She came from generations of sturdy, practical Midwesterners who avoided church like the plague. More than anything else she learned how important family was to him. Another man might have talked about his career, his toys, his accomplishments. Alex talked about his family. He made his family life sound like a wacky ethnic sitcom—one that involved occasional exsanguinations. And in turn, she ended up talking more about her parents than she had in the past year. As she did, she could almost imagine them taking their places around the table to have their say. What would they think of Alex?

They ended dinner as they had started it, together, with tiny cups. This time they were filled with dark liquid chocolate infused with mint.

"You can eat this?"

He quirked a smile. "I can have about one tablespoon of chocolate. Believe me, I've tested my limits."

"I feel bad. I'm stuffed with good food that you didn't get to eat."

He rested his chin in his hand and thought about his answer. "I enjoyed making this food so much, and watching you enjoy it. It don't think it could get any better. I don't feel like I'm missing anything."

"But you must be hungry."

"That's a different question."

"It is," she agreed, suddenly sad. "When are you going home?"

"You tell me. I can stay at the hotel for a while. My laptop is all the office I need. What I mean is, would you like to see me again? Maybe go somewhere next time?"

"You mean go on a date?"

He nodded, his eyes turning so intense she had to look away. "I made a mistake when I came here. I should have started with a date just like this one. What I'm saying is that I'd like to start over."

"Tonight was lovely."

"But."

"But you're not looking for a date. You've laid your cards on the table. You want a wife. You want to make me into a vampire. I can't do that. I can't attack people. I can't give up lying on the beach, eating popcorn at movies, pumpkin pie. A billion things."

"You don't have to convert for us to be together."

"You're saying you don't want kids?" Helena shrugged her shoulders. She knew he did. And he'd be a good dad, she bet. But with someone else. "You'd say you were content, but deep down you'd want me to change. I used to live with a man who wanted me to be something else. It was hell."

"I'm not Jeff."

"No, but—" Helena broke off, startled. "How do you know about him?"

Alex fiddled with his cup. "I see things. Sometimes."

"You read my mind?"

"No. I just see things. Random things. Dreams. Memories."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "Wait a minute. The train dream. Were you in it? Was that you? Oh my God."

"It was my dream." He kicked back in his chair and folded his arms. "You barged in. And you came all dressed-up for the occasion." He bit his lip in amusement and managed to look lascivious while he did it.

"That's not…I didn't…those weren't my clothes."

"There's no sense in denying that we desire one another. It's going to come out in our dreams."

"But you knew it was me. I mean, that we were sharing a dream. But I didn't know. I thought I was having my own private dream. Don't you see why that's creepy?"

"How am I to know what you want? You weren't acting like you wanted me to wake you up."

"You could guess. You know I have issues about this kind of thing. About you taking things without asking."

"That dream was spectacular. Best of my life. I'm not ashamed of it. I won't apologize for it."

"You're unbelievable, Alexander Faustin."

"No, you're unbelievable. How many chances do we get at love, Helena? And you're going to get all nitpicky about 'your boundaries'."

"Nitpicky?" Helena threw down her napkin, images of blood orgies in her mind, nights without dawns, weird Russian vampires that invaded her dreams at will. This was not nit-picking.

Alex leaned forward, his face bright with passion. "I hate what he's done to you. I should have found you six years ago."

"This isn't about Jeff. It's about you. It's about you being a vampire. Don't you get that?"

"This is about control. You don't trust yourself, so you're afraid to trust anyone."

"Trust is earned."

"Then let me earn it."

Helena held his gaze as long as she could. It never wavered. He didn't even blink. She gave up and leaned back in her chair, sad and tired. A long silent minute stretched between them.

I'm not scared. I'm reasonable. I know what I can do and can't do and it's not fair to let him hope.

But did she know? Was she sure? Could she send him packing tonight and not wonder about him the rest of her life? As much as it frightened her, the answer was no.

What I need is more data. Facts. Other sources.

Alex got up. "Would you like some coffee?"

"How would you make me into a vampire?"

He sat back down, carefully, like there were eggs on his chair. "Well, we'd share blood."

"I'd bite you?" A sudden image of him on the train, his neck thrown back, flashed before her eyes.

"At first you'd drink from cuts. Your blood changes mine, but mine changes yours more. Slowly you'd become like me." He grimaced in frustration. "I'm not describing it well. It's not so much about your body changing, it's about us becoming one. We see into one another, all our secrets, all our fears, and we accept one another despite all that. No, because of all that. Look, let's put it this way. My pop is a tough old SOB and the only time I've ever seen him tear up was when he told me about how he and Ma bonded."

"So you're saying all this mutual blood sucking is very romantic."

He nodded.

"And pleasurable."

"Hell yes."

"And just how do you feed from a lover?"

"Little bites. Tiny little bites on the pulse points."

She thrust her wrist at him. "Show me."

His eyes darted suspiciously between her face and her wrist. "You want me to feed from you?"

"Just show me how you do it. Just a little. So I get the idea."

Alex swallowed and nodded. "For it to feel right you have to be relaxed." He moved his chair next to hers and took her hand. "You're so stiff."

So are you, she thought. Both of them were tense as cats. "It's hard to relax when I know you're going to bite me."

"It won't be like in the basement. Not at all." He stroked her fingers one by one and massaged the webbing between them. As he worked, his hands softened and his movements fell into a soothing rhythm. "I'm so sorry that happened. You've seen the worst of me, over and over."

"Have I?"

"I don't have any more dark secrets if that's what you mean."

His strong hands traveled up her forearm, his thumbs methodically rubbing away all points of tension. He paused to roll her sleeve up high, and continued this slow assault until her entire arm went heavy and lax in his hands. Her eyelids drooped with wine and fullness.

Maybe it was okay to let go sometimes.

When she was close to sleep he kissed the knuckles of her hand, and then turned it over to kiss the palm. "You have beautiful fingers," he whispered as he kissed the tip of each one. All the while, his thumb circled her palm.

She grew warm between the legs, as if there were a line of communication between her palm and her clit. His mouth closed over the first joint of her little finger and he sucked hard. Helena gasped with pleasure. He moved to her ring finger. This one he circled with his rough tongue. She imagined it was her nipple. Her middle finger he licked like a piece of candy, drawing his tongue in spiraling circles up and down its length. Helena watched with hooded eyes, fascinated, intrigued. Alex was rapt. He savored her fingers as she'd savored his food.

Her forefinger he drew all the way into his mouth, fellating it. There was no other word for it, and she couldn't have imagined it could feel so good. Applying sucking pressure, he slid his hot mouth up and down its length. Her entire hand turned warm and tingly.

The slow slide of his lips made her want to slide her own lips over the broad, red head of his cock. She reached for his belt, but he clamped his free hand over hers, decisively lacing their fingers together. There'd be no reciprocation. He squeezed her hand.

And bit the tip of her engorged forefinger. The blood spurted out. She cried out in surprise—at the release, and the pleasure. He flicked his tongue over the bleeding tip, fast as flame, tickling, teasing, building pleasure. Not just in her finger, but everywhere. Her lips, her nipples, between her legs, down in her toes. With a gasp of surprise, she came. It was a funny, shuddery little orgasm. Not deep, but it rolled across her skin from head to toe.

"Alex!"

He paused to give her a knowing smile, then dragged his tongue over her palm. All the nerves in her hand were exquisitely sensitive. His mouth opened at the base of her palm and his teeth flashed in the candlelight, longer and sharper than she'd ever seen them. They closed on her upper wrist.

Her hand flew open and went rigid. The bite hurt, yes, but that wasn't the primary sensation. What she felt was a body-deep tug. At his call, all her capillaries and veins opened wide and her blood raced to his mouth. She watched Alex's face. His eyes were closed. He looked like he was praying and God was talking back.

Helena swayed. It was a rush. A head rush. A cunt rush. A full body rush. She nearly toppled out of her chair.

Alex raised his head from her wrist. A smear of blood stained the corner of his mouth. He looked as dazed as she felt, but he still held her other hand tight in his lap. They both breathed hard while he waited for her to say something.

She said, "More."

He swept aside the cups and candlesticks and laid her out on the white tablecloth. It pleased him to see her like this. She could see it in his eyes. They seemed to grow larger as she watched, their black depths burning hot. Quiet as a phantom, precise as a surgeon, he circled her, choosing his points of attack with meticulous care. Her right ankle, the inside of her left thigh. The hollow behind her right ear. Each bite made her climax. Each bite left her more languorous. Each bite left her wanting another.

This must be what opium is like. This is how you die of pleasure.

He loosened the tie on her dress and spread it wide. He wasn't toying with her extremities anymore. He might bite her neck. He might lose control and kill her, like the elk.

His face taut with desire, he scanned her exposed skin. Her body ached for his touch. She twisted under his gaze, rolling from one hip to the other, her fear melting into raw desire. Touch me, please. Kill me if you want, but just touch me.

He covered her breasts with his hands, unclasping her bra as he did, like a magician. The bra fell away and her breasts gleamed like ivory in the candlelight, the tips pink and hard. Unspoiled.

Needing his mouth.

His teeth.

A little moan of anticipation escaped her.

"Helena," he murmured, and he crawled up on the table with her, bending low to suckle her breasts, first one and then the other, lashing the nipples with his tongue, then sucking the points into his mouth. He sucked until they were swollen and tender.

And finally, as she knew he would, he bit her breasts, incising four points around each nipple, pushing her further and further into the netherworld between pleasure and pain. But she never said no. She never wanted to.

Instead she held on tight to the table's edges, riding each bite like a dark wave. Thin rivulets of blood trickled their slow way down her belly, down her sides.

Alex gathered her into his lap, opening the cuts wider so they bled freely, laving her with long, steady strokes. His low, satisfied moan vibrated through her body.

"Beautiful. So beautiful."

It took her a while to realize that he wasn't speaking aloud.

But that was about the time he slid his hand down her panties.

He took a deep pull on one breast while he rubbed two fingers over her slick labia. It happened fast. Her toes curled. She took a deep breath. And another. And another. There wasn't enough air. All she could see was golden light.

"Come for me, Helena."

The golden light behind her eyes coalesced, contracting and then exploding outward like a sun. Alex took her throat while her climax shook her, and she knew he was feeding off the white hot light inside her.

The sun inside her.

When it was over, she opened her eyes to slits and saw his face above hers, streaked with tears, his eyes glowing with adoration.

"Thank you, solnsta moyo. My sun. My only light."

An ear-splitting shriek pierced the peace between them.

Lacey stood in the doorway.