Biting Oz: Biting Love, Book 5 (31 page)

But he’d never felt like this before. With all the women through all the centuries, he’d never had this connection. Junior’s taste, her smell…the way she was genuinely interested in his tchotchkes…and he just plain liked her.

The kicker was when she’d listened about his childhood. She’d stiffened her spine and supported him. Caressed him. Held him. No woman had done that.

What he felt for Junior could be true love—the kind that lasted a lifetime.

He wanted a lifetime. She kept surprising him, with her courage, her inventiveness in sex, her diverse talents. His heart glowed at the thought of a future with her.

Centuries of restraint pulled him back. If he truly loved her, he had to consider, not just what made
him
happy, but what was best for her.

She put duty to her parents first. Even going to New York was based in the practical reality of supporting them. She couldn’t do that if he took her with him.

Wales, the only place he felt something approaching peace, was home only two months out of the year. The rest of the time he traveled, troubleshooting for Elias. Junior could come with him, but bouncing around the country would kill any career. She’d have neither duty nor dreams.

He could go to New York with her, but how long would he last without Wales to center him?

Their lives were headed in different directions.

His Wales visit was scheduled right after the show closed. Up until this week, he’d been looking forward to it with hungry longing. Now he wouldn’t even discover if his feelings for her were real before he was gone.

Maybe after he returned, they’d take up where they’d left off.

Unless she found someone else in the meantime. Two months were an eon in the life of a young human.

She should find another love. Glynn could only give her a secretive nature and no real past. She deserved more. A real life. A family. A home.

Loving Junior meant letting her go.

Good. One thing decided. Glynn turned from the garage and glided back to his room. Now to decide another.

Camille.

He and the female had a past. Nothing like his relationship with Junior, though Camille’d had delusions. But his past could have an impact on Junior if both stayed here.

Camille got jealous.

Worse, she took out her jealousy on, not the male in between, but the other female, though never directly. Junior wasn’t in any physical danger—if she were, he’d have dealt with Camille as he dealt with any rogue. Decisively.

Not directly, but Camille was the queen of sin. She’d make Junior’s life hell with temptation, suffering and crushing Junior’s happiness any way she could.

All because Camille wanted Glynn for her own.

She couldn’t have him. He’d told her that centuries ago, but said it in a way that didn’t burn bridges. Long-lived vampires waved adieu, never goodbye.

But with Junior’s happiness at stake, he had to be sure Camille had gotten the message clearly. Junior’s safety was paramount. If he had to, he’d even completely burn the bridge. Best case, Camille would hate him instead of Junior. If that didn’t work, he’d destroy Camille, her minions and the whole damned Coterie. Whatever it took to make sure Junior was safe. And happy.

In a life without him.

So for Junior, he needed to clarify things with Camille. But for Camille, he’d do it in person. For what she once was—or rather, what they’d all been to each other.

He waited until just before dawn, when Mishela was snuggled in for the day and Emersons were at it again—for the fifth time. Before Junior, Glynn would have raised an eyebrow at the waste of time. Now he was envious.

He strode out into the cool air, noting the bright moon and stars. No clouds to ease his return if he wasn’t finished before sunrise. He’d just have to deal with it.

One try to talk Camille into leaving. Into abandoning whatever plan Nosferatu had here with the club. They’d been friends once. Hopefully that still counted for something.

The windows he passed were dark, the humans still abed, so Glynn kicked into the gliding run of his kind. Mist would have been faster, but the mental focus needed to hold the dispersed form made it viable only for short distances. The glide got him there quickly enough.

Glynn paused outside the black marble facade of Fangs To You. If anyone saw him here, it might be considered betrayal. Talking directly to the enemy? He wasn’t sure he’d disagree.

He firmed his resolve and shouldered his way through the door.

This late—or early—the bouncers were inside. Again two, different from last night but in the ubiquitous black. Without a line to manage, they simply stood on either side of the door, the muscles bunched up by their aggressive, cross-armed stances prominently displayed in their sleeveless T-shirts. Glynn tested the air for vampire.

Hot scent crashed into his nose, a heavy wash of perspiring humans, cloying perfumes and smoke both legal and illegal. A stench like burning rubber snaked up from trays of little cheese curds scattered around the room. The stink all but masked any vampire signature.

But Glynn was trained to observe too. The larger bouncer’s working jaw and clenching fists did not completely hide fangs and claws. Judging by build, the male was older, perhaps two hundred. Not a fledgling, but not Glynn’s strength either. The other was either a small vampire or moderate-sized human. If it came to a fight, Glynn would win.

Suddenly cinnamon and anise bit into his nostrils like shards of sugared glass. His nose wrinkled.

Camille.

He could take the bouncers, but she was another story. She was his age, and not only knew all the tricks—she
liked
to fight dirty.

No. He had to believe he could still connect with her somehow.

“Glynn, darling. How good of you to come.” Fingers curled over his shoulder, nails pricking. “I have a room waiting for you. All the pleasures.”

He turned and beheld her. Glossy black hair, perfect skin, pouting lips and green eyes lined in thick black—just as beautiful, just as treacherous as he last remembered.

“This way.” She glided through the crowd as serenely as any queen or goddess. He waited for the pang of unwanted desire to hit, never able to avoid it, only barely able to suppress it and then only using his considerable will.

But this time, nothing.

He followed, slightly off-balance. He felt—nothing. No distracting desire, no disturbing attraction. For the first time in eight hundred years—or actually seven hundred, as the first century she’d been sweet without the bite—he felt nothing for her. He shook himself, reached out for it—still felt nothing.

Except free.

Well. Elias was right again. When the right woman came along, all the others faded away. Too bad he and Junior had no future. It would almost be worth giving up his home for this bliss.

Pulsing heat and music assaulted him as he followed Camille to a glass elevator. The inside pulsed with psychotic red lights. When she reached past him to insert a key in the pad, she crowded him, deliberately pressing her large breasts against him, her pulse pounding with sexual invitation.

Glynn felt the start of a headache at all the pounding pulsing.

One floor up the doors opened to air both cooler and quieter. The headache receded.

An exposed walkway overlooked the seething mass of people. Glynn took note of the layout, automatically cataloging tactical advantages and disadvantages. He wasn’t planning to fight his way out, but he’d lived this long by being prepared.

Several doors lined the walkway. Glynn let his senses extend, smell and hearing but also taste and touch. He’d saved a dozen humans once sensing a drop in air temperature just before a vampire attack.

The smell of drugs and sex, the coos and shouts of ecstasy were unexpected. Free beer, yes. Maybe even a bit of marijuana as a naughty curiosity. But he couldn’t believe the good townsfolk of Meiers Corners would allow the kind of depredations he sensed here, much less indulge in them. Perhaps visitors to the second floor were all vampires from Chicago. “You’re using prostitutes?”

“We call them sex workers, darling.” Camille gave him a simpering smile over her shoulder.
 

Long ago, her smile would have been sweet and he’d have returned it. Later, he’d have felt the sexual tug of those glossy, plump lips. Now he felt—nothing. Amazing. He was truly free. “Vampires?”

“A few. Mostly humans though, especially for the marks too drunk or stoned to care. It’s cheaper and easier. More cost effective. Your little plaything would appreciate that.”

The barb jabbed home. Junior, a businesswoman, would appreciate cost-effective.

Then he rolled his eyes. Camille had become the goddess of trickery. One person’s time might be paid more than another’s, but one
person
was never more valuable than another. Junior would approve of cost-effective goods or work, never cost-effective
workers
.

And that was their difference. Junior saw the humanity behind the business. To Camille, these people were nothing but numbers.

But it meant his hope of calling on their old bonds of friendship was dimming.

She opened the last door and stood back, waiting. Wary, Glynn looked in.

Red-flocked walls, black lacquered furniture and iron candelabras dripping guttering candles gave the room a heavy, oppressive feel. Thick, yellowed mirrors skewed what illumination there was into a mockery of light.

The heart-shaped bed, covered in red silk, should have been a valentine. The mirrors and candles twisted it into a dungeon piece. The trio of shackles hanging from the ceiling didn’t help.

The naked human women writhing in the shackles were certainly Camille’s crowning touch.

“They’re for you,” Camille purred. “Just titties. I remember you don’t like danglies as much, though I don’t remember why.”

“Are these locals?”

At her sly smile and coy nod, Glynn stifled his immediate reaction, which was to tear the chains from the ceiling and smash the funhouse mirrors. The young women weren’t frightened—he’d have smelled it. Still, the drugs he could see in their blown pupils might have made a mockery of their will. Something stronger than marijuana and, he’d guess from the eyes, hallucinogenic. Which might explain why the shiny-new, as Nixie had called it, hadn’t worn off and life hadn’t returned to normal. How had Camille gotten local folk to try drugs, much less get hooked? “Let them go, Camille.”

“But darling—”

“I said release them.” He turned on her with a snarl. “Unless you want me to walk out right now.”

“Pooh. You’ve become such a spoilsport.” But she waved her hand.

A scrawny human male, naked but for a slave collar and black leather lederhosen—Glynn closed his eyes; only in Meiers Corners—applied key to shackles. When all the women were loose, they and the young man shambled out, stopping just outside the door.

Glynn stalked into the room, far enough that he couldn’t see the waiting humans. He spun. “Why, Camille?”

The vampire woman sashayed past him to pick up a crystal decanter and gold-rimmed glass from a tall blackwood table. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him; perhaps her tribute to what they’d all been to each other, perhaps just caprice. “Why? To make money, of course. I’d certainly rather be at my downtown club. It’s a hell of a lot more fun, but expansion is good for business. If you’re not growing, you’re dying.”

He lost his temper. “And corrupting the humans? Is that for money?”

“It’s because they’re
humans
.” She whirled. “We’re
better
, Glynn. Nosferatu woke me up. These damned short-lived apes are already corrupted—by death.” She slammed the decanter down on the blackwood, shattering it and slicing her hand.

Glynn’s nostrils flared at the punch of blood-scent. His fangs descended, but not with desire.

She considered the slash on her palm. Her eyes rose to his. Slowly, she licked the trickle clean.

He scowled. “You’re being a bit obvious, aren’t you?”

She flushed and looked away. “Besides, these Meiers Corners humans are such babies. So easy to corrupt.”

“So it’s
their
fault you tempt them? Their fault you drug them?” His blood flamed. “We
ought
to be better, Camille. We live long enough. But we aren’t better at all.”

“Of course we are. Watch.” She beckoned with one long, red fingernail. The lederhosen man came like a puppy. Smiling all teeth, she petted him like one. “Is this not proof?”

Treating the man like a dog. Glynn shuddered with the memory of Fychan, treating Glynn like an animal or worse. “Oh, indeed. It proves things quite well.”

“Somehow, darling, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.” She pushed the man away and he wandered out the door. Then she smiled at Glynn. “Perhaps this will help you see my point.”

She released a tie at her nape. The drapes covering her breasts fell.

Glynn, watching her shoulders for an attack tell, couldn’t avoid seeing her round globes bared.

As a new vampire, Camille had been pretty. Conical little breasts with dainty coral nipples. As she grew into the change, her breasts became large as musk melons yet high as a teenager’s on her chest.