Angel at Dawn (39 page)
Authors: Emma Holly
Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories
“Maybe I do need reminding,” she admitted, her sex going hot and wet. “But I’m sure I need foreplay first.”
Since Christian’s idea of foreplay was what other people called intercourse, neither of them could object to that.
As he nuzzled toward her cleavage, Grace told herself this affair would last as long as it lasted. She wasn’t going to count the minutes. She was going to enjoy them.
Nineteen
T
he filming of
Teen-Age Vampire
finished without fanfare. They shot a chase sequence in the artificial woods the crew had created on Soundstage Six, enjoyed a relatively decorous party at Miss Wei’s home, and then most everyone melted away to pursue their next projects.
he filming of
Teen-Age Vampire
finished without fanfare. They shot a chase sequence in the artificial woods the crew had created on Soundstage Six, enjoyed a relatively decorous party at Miss Wei’s home, and then most everyone melted away to pursue their next projects.
Work on the actual movie, by contrast, was only halfway done.
Grace had already watched the first assembly cut with Miss Wei and Wade. This initial and very raw piecing together of the footage assured them the story was all there. Next, boring bits would be trimmed and performances massaged. Grace had offered her opinion when she was asked, but Miss Wei’s vision would dictate what ended up in the cut the studio vetted. Grace had no difficulty trusting her boss with that. Miss Wei’s directorial eye was keen.
It was the personal aspect of their association that was giving Grace trouble.
She paused outside the private editing suite in her employer’s basement, smoothing her businesslike white blouse and trying to compose herself. Though her boss hadn’t confronted her about the change in her behavior, each time they interacted, acting normal became harder.
“For God’s sake, don’t stand out there all night,” Miss Wei called through the door.
Grace turned the knob and entered the darkened room. Miss Wei was by herself, the picture editor having left at dusk. Lengths of celluloid hung in a tidy bin beside the director while she watched the Moviola project a scene.
The images reflected light and color on Miss Wei’s face, which was as masklike as it could be. She had an open legal pad propped on her right knee. She was jotting notes rapidly on it.
Looking toward the screen, Grace saw she watched a less rough version of the night scene in the abandoned boxcar, where Mary and Joe’s boys had joined up. The footage had been shot after Viv’s fight with Dare, and Christian’s protectiveness toward her, his affection and his respect, infused everything Joe did. What surprised Grace was how innocent he also managed to appear. Joe, as Christian played him, was a young man caught up in the wonder of falling in love for the first time.
The idea that he might have pulled those emotions from his experience with her made her squirm a little and shake herself.
Just because Christian loved her now didn’t mean she’d be enough for him forever.
But that wasn’t a worry she needed to pick at. Wade was a genius for capturing the layers of feeling in Christian’s eyes, as he was for getting everything else the camera saw to tell to the same story. The air of domesticity was exactly as Grace had hoped, created by Mary’s glowing portable radio, by Joe wrapping her in his jacket, by the lovers Philip and Matthew sprawled in the straw nearby. Charlie stood apart, fidgeting in the doorway over his moral struggle, but Wade had used an over-the-shoulder angle from behind Joe to connect him visually to the rest. Even without scoring or sound effects, he’d caught the mood they were going for. The characters looked like a group destiny had bonded, a little family of misfits.
Admiration for everyone swelled in her. Grace felt so privileged to have worked with this particular cast and crew that her vocal cords tightened. Once, she would have expressed that sense of gratitude to her boss. Tonight, she wasn’t inclined to.
“Did you want something from me?” she asked, willing herself not to clear her throat.
Miss Wei shut off the projector and turned to her. Her breath huffed out of her nose. “Something more than this endless civility, to be sure.”
Heat crept up Grace’s face. “I’m doing my job.”
“Yes, you are,” Miss Wei said coolly.
“I can’t help it if I feel differently.”
Miss Wei pushed up from her canvas director’s chair, the move too graceful to be human. She looked like she was rising through water. Fearing her breathing would turn ragged, Grace clutched her hands together in front of her diaphragm. She guessed they were finally going to have this out.
Miss Wei’s eyes glittered like black stones. “Christian told you what the pair of us are.”
Grace had remembered this for herself, but evidently her employer remained unaware of that.
“I expect he also told you how we met,” Miss Wei continued when Grace said nothing. “Spilled a few stories about what a cruel old devil I used to be?”
She was trying to lead Grace into explaining, which Grace had no urge to do.
“What trick did you pull on me?” she asked instead.
“Trick?”
“To keep Christian from being able to read my mind.”
“Ah, that.” The woman Christian called a queen regarded her thoughtfully. “I put a thrall on you to resist vampiric influence. I didn’t think Christian ought to have that advantage over a person I considered to be my friend. The spell keeps me from influencing you as well, and—if I say so myself—I’m legendarily good at them. I can’t undo what I’ve done.”
She took a step toward Grace, then stopped when her assistant tensed. “You’re not asking me to undo it, of course.”
Her certainty was annoying. “You’re preventing us from being as close as we could.”
Miss Wei laughed without humor. “I know a thing or two about you, Grace. You like to keep your private thoughts private. I’d wager quite a sum that knowing Christian can’t get into your noggin makes you more open around him. I did you both a favor. You should thank me.”
Grace wanted to tell her not to hold her breath. Then again, since she was a vampire, Miss Wei could hold her breath for a while.
“Is there anything else?” Grace asked politely.
Her employer frowned, the tiny flicker smoothing away so quickly Grace told herself she’d imagined it. Miss Wei was as beautiful as a porcelain doll, incapable of feeling—much less of being hurt.
“No,” she said. “Enjoy your evening with your boyfriend.”
Grace left . . . but wished her ribs weren’t contracting with the suspicion that she might be a teensy bit in the wrong.
Twenty
C
hristian glowered at his reflection in the full-length mirror of his bedroom at the Chateau Marmont. He wore a tuxedo shirt and white dinner jacket with a pale pink bow tie. The manager at Mattson’s had informed him this would look rebellious without overdoing it. Despite the excellent cut of the jacket, Christian wiggled his shoulders and wished he were comfortable.
hristian glowered at his reflection in the full-length mirror of his bedroom at the Chateau Marmont. He wore a tuxedo shirt and white dinner jacket with a pale pink bow tie. The manager at Mattson’s had informed him this would look rebellious without overdoing it. Despite the excellent cut of the jacket, Christian wiggled his shoulders and wished he were comfortable.
“Got too used to T-shirts,” Roy observed from the door.
He wore his own monkey suit, but it was the standard black version. Christian had asked Roy to look out for Grace this evening, since Christian was assigned to take Viv to the premiere. Christian’s costar would ride behind him on his Harley, which he’d drive right onto the red carpet. The stunt was Grace’s stroke of promotional genius; otherwise he’d have refused it.
He’d much rather have escorted her.
“You want your box now?” Roy offered. “I can hang on to it if you like.”
“No,” Christian said. “I mean, yes. Or maybe I should just check it.”
Roy strode to him grinning, the glossy black Harry Winston box balanced on his palm. “I had ’em give the stone an extra polish before I forked your cash over.”
“Great,” Christian said, then realized Roy was joking. Exasperated with his own nerves, he blew out his breath.
When he opened the double-hinged lid, the ring was perfect: big and pear-shaped but elegant as well. The softest wash of blue ensured the diamond would complement Grace’s hair.
“Marilyn Monroe wouldn’t refuse that rock,” Roy proclaimed.
Unfortunately, Marilyn wasn’t the female he was asking to marry him. Grace was independent, and not in the way this decade’s women were painted to be in ads. She wasn’t going to stay home cooking her husband dinner on the latest kitchen appliances. That wasn’t freedom to her. She had a career. She’d been supporting herself since she was eighteen. She’d rented her own apartment, away from Nim Wei, the day after post-production on
Teen-Age Vampire
wrapped.
Teen-Age Vampire
wrapped.
Although it was true Christian spent most of his nights at her place, the only expenses she let him cover were prime rib and orange juice. She liked to tease that he benefitted from them as much as she did.
Roy slapped his back and burst out laughing, jarring him from his train of thought. “Son, if you could see how green you look, you’d be shocked.”
Christian stifled a sigh. “I ought to feel more sure of myself. We’ve been together five months now.”
“If you were sure, you wouldn’t be in love. You’ve got something at stake with Grace—no pun intended.”
He had more at stake than he wanted to think about. He didn’t just want Grace to marry him; he hoped she’d share his immortal life. An uncharacteristic sweat prickled under his pink bow tie.
Maybe he should have mentioned his hopes to her earlier. This was a big decision for anyone.
He was relieved when a knock sounded on the door. A distraction was exactly what he needed.
He zipped to open it before Roy could, the visitors he found a surprise. One was a tall, huge-shouldered man with the bluffly handsome face of an English farmer. The other was a rangy, auburn-haired female who reminded him of Katharine Hepburn when she first came to Hollywood. Both were vampires, though the woman was new to it.
“Graham,” Christian said. “And Pen. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Graham grinned and Pen stepped inside to offer him a rib-squeezing hug. New to her powers or not, she was strong, a trait she probably enjoyed. Pen had been a “modern” woman in the 1930s—and a born adventurer. The three of them had worked together to defeat a rather terrible foe.
When Pen finally let Christian push back from her, a smile stretched across his face. He was happier she was here than he’d have thought possible. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were changed.”
“Five whole years,” Pen said, poking his chest with one slim finger.
“You could have sent us an invitation to this shindig,” Graham added, “instead of leaving it to the bitch queen.”
“Don’t call her that,” Pen scolded. “At the least, it’s not diplomatic. Hey, there, how are you, Roy?”
The pair exchanged greetings while Christian studied Pen. She seemed at ease with her altered nature. Graham had let her live a decent number of human years before transforming her. Grace was only in her twenties, but the thought of waiting twenty more to change her made him itchy. Her father was still out there, and who knew what other dangers. In his opinion, Hollywood wasn’t as safe as it should have been.
Pen punched his arm to regain his attention. “We saw
Teen-Age Vampire
’s billboard. ‘He’s a vampire with a conscience. She’s a helpless human, risking her life for love.’ Made me want to stand in line.”
Teen-Age Vampire
’s billboard. ‘He’s a vampire with a conscience. She’s a helpless human, risking her life for love.’ Made me want to stand in line.”
“I didn’t write that,” Christian said in his own defense.
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