Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (2 page)

"If you have sex with Mr. O'Halloran," said the voice, obviously unimpressed, "you will be mated to him for the next hundred years."

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" 'Tis true," said the man… er, vampire. "But there are ways to find pleasure without making that mistake."

I asked, "There are?" when I meant to ask:
What's all this about vampire mating, buddy
?

My eyes were drawn to him again. I looked at his big feet, lingered on his calves and thighs, dipped to take another look at his… oh lord, had it gotten bigger? I dragged my gaze up to feast on those tight abs and pecs. Brown nipples poked through the curls of silky hair. By the time I got to the strong line of his jaw, the impudent curve of his lips, the aquiline nose, the silver eyes… I was on fire. I burned from the tip of my pinky toes to the tiniest hairs on my head.

"Aye," the vampire whispered, "there are."

"There are what?" I sounded hoarse and distant. I wanted to crawl into the Irishman's lap and kiss every beautiful inch of him.

"Stop that!" The fervent demand issued from the invisible speakers.

I blinked at the sharp tone. The hot, sweet tendrils of desire fell away, leaving me cold and vaguely creeped out. "Okay. What just happened?"

"It's a long story, Mrs. Matthews," said the exasperated voice.

I heard a steel scrape, and then
clang, clang, clang
. I looked at Mr. O'Halloran and nearly fell off the table. He'd put his hands on his knees and revealed that he was chained to the wall. I hadn't noticed because, well, I'd been looking at his genitals. That, and the fact he'd concealed his imprisonment by hiding his hands. The chains, maybe as thick as those that secured bicycles, looked too delicate to hold him. Swirls and weird words emblazoned the silver cuffs.

"You're a prisoner?" I sounded aghast. Given that I had been attacked by a snarling, hairy assailant, died viciously, and woke up munching on an Irish vampire, I had no right to be aghast. All the same, a thread of fear wound through me. "I thought vampires were super-duper strong."

He chuckled. "We are very strong. But these little beauties," he shook his arms, "have special charms on them. I cannot break them."

That Irish lilt was freaking deadly. Forget that whole "glamour" thing where vampires supposedly entranced their victims. Wait a minute. Earlier he'd mentioned magic, too, though I'd been distracted by the whole blood thing. "Special charms? As in…" I wiggled my fingers in a bad sorceress impression.

He nodded. "I had to be bound, love. Because of that ring you're wearin'."

On the ring finger of my right hand was the ring I always wore. My grandmother had given it to me just days before she passed on. I looked at it, as if doing so would make clear why the vampire needed chains to protect him from it. "My
Claddagh
ring?"

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"It's a
fede
," said the man. "A faith ring.
Claddagh
rings have hands clasping a crowned heart and have only been around since the sixteenth century. Yours is only the heart. It's made from the purest silver and it's very old."

This was news to me. My family knew the legend of the ring—it was one of the stories always told at holiday gatherings. "My gran said it was crafted by a fairy and given to her true love. The ring granted protection to her lover, but only as long as he remained faithful. He met a beautiful mortal woman and made love to her. So, the ring's magic turned him into stone. The fairy reclaimed the ring and threw it into the ocean, swearing to never love again. A fish swallowed it and was caught by a poor man, who gifted his wife with it. The man was Sean McCree. And his wife was Mary McCree. She was my great-great-great-great grandmother."

"A descendent of Mary McCree," he said, shaking his head. "And you have the ring. My father was right. About everything." He nodded to my hand. "If it was a true
Claddagh
ring, do you know that wearing the heart turned inward means
your
heart is unoccupied?"

"Yes," I said softly. "Why do you think I wear it like this?" I looked at the silver ring, then back at the silver gaze of the vampire. "Why does it bother you?"

"It was mine." His eyes lost their devilish twinkle for a moment and the sorrow I saw in that blink started my heart tha-thumping wildly.

"It was… yours? You're kidding."

"Take it off and look at the inscription on the inside."

I realized that he had probably examined the ring while I was in la-la land. "Just because you know there's an inscription doesn't mean it's yours."

"
Mo chroí
," he whispered. "My heart. Believe me when I say that the ring belonged to me."

"So that makes you the unfaithful lover?"

"No," he said. "Your quaint family tale is not true."

"It's just a story. And it's just a ring," I said softly. I looked around the room. Chances were good that surveillance wasn't limited to audio so I bet there were cameras in here, too. I crawled between his legs, afraid and trembling, and leaned down to whisper, "Can I break the chains?"

"Aye," he said. "But if you do, I'll probably fall upon that lovely body of yours and fuck you until you scream with pleasure."

His blunt words startled me, but probably not in the way he intended. I liked the image created by his rough description and the evidence of how well I liked it trickled between my thighs. "What's the bad part again?"

His lips curled into a feral smile. "None. But I'm not of a mind to worry about things like accidental mating rituals. Are you?"

Well, yeah. I was horny, not stupid. I backed away, until I got to the end of the steel slab. I sat down
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with my legs hanging over it, and swung them like an antsy kid at the doctor's office. I glanced at my fellow inmate, but his face was expressionless. He'd probably had centuries to perfect the ultimate poker face. Hah. Check me out. I'm sitting in a room with a chained vampire that I would, even now, do the horizontal bop with, and everything's so surreal and strange… I'm dreaming or I'm in hell. Otherwise, I was handling this freaky situation with considerable aplomb.

"My name is Patrick O'Halloran. But you,
a thaisce
, can call me Patrick."

"Jessica Matthews," I said. "Um… thanks for… you know."

"Saving your life with me own blood?"

"Yeah."

"Any time, love. Any time."

My gaze, unable to stop staring at his crotch for more than a minute, delved between Patrick's thighs just in time to see his penis jump, either involuntarily at the idea of wild, sweaty sex or voluntarily to tease me.

I looked away, my cheeks feeling like I'd stuck my head in the oven and set it on broil. I had a million questions. What had attacked me? Why had these people saved my life? Was Patrick O'Halloran dangerous? Why was he a prisoner? What did
a thaisce
mean? And… oh yeah… "Why are you naked?"

"The better to feed you, m'dear." He pointed between his legs and my gaze roved along his cock. Then I saw his forefinger tapping his inner thigh. "Femoral artery."

"Riiight. And the major vein in your neck wasn't good enough because… ?"

One black brow winged up and those delicious lips curved into a naughty smile. "Ah. Because then I wouldn't have had an excuse to get naked."

"Or get chained to a wall."

"Hmmm."

"Why are you scared of my jewelry?"

"I'm not, love, but perhaps you should be. It is foretold that the one who wears the
sidhe fede
crafted by Brigid herself is my soul mate."

"What? No way."

His smile was feral. "Have you known any others in your family to wear it?"

Weirdly enough, no one in my family had worn the ring—not since Mary McCree. My grandmother had worn it on a chain around her neck, which was how all women before her had worn it. When Gran bestowed it on me, she slipped the
Claddagh
onto my finger and said, "Ah. At last." At the time, I thought she'd meant she was glad to pass along the heirloom to me. But what if she'd meant something else?

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The door clicked open. Seconds later, the persnickety voice said, "Come along, Mrs. Matthews. We have a lot to discuss."

"Who is Damian?" I asked the fussy little man who sat on the other side of the steel table and stared at me through thick glasses. As soon as I'd slipped through the door, with one last wave to Patrick, I found myself in this room. The differences from the previous space was that it was bigger, it had another handleless door through which Dr. Michaels had entered, and it had a steel table with two steel chairs.

"Damian is Mr. O'Halloran's personal guard. He insisted Damian be dispatched to watch over your home while we helped you. I assure you that your children are still in bed asleep."

"And I'm supposed to believe you because…"

He tapped on the little square object in his hand then faced its tiny screen toward me. I saw a split screen in full color—live camera feeds of Bryan and Jenny, both asleep in their beds. In the top frame, Jenny was splayed in her floppy doll fashion, her little chest rising and falling. Bry had burrowed under the covers, but I saw his usual squirming. The boy never stayed still, not even in sleep.

Somewhat mollified, I nodded and Dr. Michaels put the PDA on the table, tapping on it with the stylus.

"Gee, thanks for asking if you could install cameras in my house."

"It was necessary," said Dr. Michaels. "We are implementing measures for your protection."

"Really? I think we're a little late on the protection angle here, aren't we? I've already been attacked and killed."

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Matthews, there are other dangers to worry about."

"You're just full of good news," I said.

Dr. Michaels tapped on the electronic device. It looked like the iPodBryan had been bugging me to get for his fifteenth birthday. Dr. Michaels used the stylus like a painter with his brush.
Tap. Tap. Tap.Ping .

Tap. Tap. Tap
.

"Um… hel-
lo
?"

Dr. Michaels looked up. "Oh. Yes. Right. You must be very frightened."

"Or really annoyed."

"Indeed." He sighed, put down the toy, and folded his hands together. "The creature that attacked you escaped from our transport unit as we arrived in Broken Heart. I find it fascinating that there's a town called Broken Heart. Is it a Native American reference?"

"No. Much ofOklahoma wasIndian Territory , but near the end of the nineteenth century, the government held land runs. Our little piece of sunshine started out as five farms staked by the Boomers."

At the doc's blank look, I rolled my eyes. "Boomers are the people who came from all over the place to
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participate in the land runs. Our area was staked out by five families during the first one held in 1889.