Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (4 page)

"Naked again?" I croaked, rising only after he pried me from his leg. "Is that really necessary?"

"No. But I like being naked around you," he teased.

Fortunately, I wasn't bare-assed, but it took one guess to discover who picked my outfit. I wore a shimmery pink teddy with matching, skimpy panties. "Been through my lingerie, have you?"

"Oh yes," he said. "It's a very interesting collection."

"Perv." I looked around, feeling well rested and well fed. I didn't want to consider what my sustenance would be once Patrick stopped offering his vintage self to me. After a moment, I realized this place
was
my bedroom. The furniture remained in the same locations, but the window was gone and the walls had been coated with some sort of metallic substance. My guess was that the new walls were the equivalent of sun protection with SPF 1,000,000.

Patrick stretched out, giving me a buffet-style view of his gorgeous body. Damnation. There was that delightful erection again. How easy it would be to just slide on over there and—
nope
. I scooted away from him, but he only grinned.

"Where are the chains?" I asked tartly.

"Now that you're Turned, it's easier to control my… urges."

"I don't know if I should feel delighted or insulted."

"You should feel blessed that the sunrise didn't turn you into ash."

"Good point." I felt properly chastised. "What happened?"

"Dr. Michaels—Stan—he pulled you onto the porch." For a nanosecond, his eyes went dark, but damned if I could decipher the emotion. "I arrived in time to put out the flames and get you to the bedroom. I forced my blood into you before you slept and it healed you."

"Thanks. Again."

I listened for the sounds of my children. With my new vampire senses, I tuned in to their slow, rhythmic breaths and the tandem beats of their hearts. They slept peacefully, thank goodness. Guilt dug into my conscience with poisonous claws. This was the first day in a very long time that I hadn't been there for my kids. I couldn't fathom not being the one to cook them breakfast or hurry them along for school. No more sunshine. Ever. I couldn't wrap my brain around that terrible fact.

Life's road often forked at unexpected moments.

Discovering my husband was not only cheating on me, but leaving our family for his secretary, the young,
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beautiful twenty-something Charlene, had been an unexpected twist in the path. Well, he didn't leave so much as I threw his ass out.

Six months after he packed his bags and moved in with her, Rich was dead. And sweet little ol'

Charlene, who had no family and no fallback job, now worked night shifts at the Thrifty Sip. You see, she still had to care for the baby she'd delivered prematurely that awful night. Rich had been rushing to the hospital to be with her and his SUV skidded out of control on the highway, tumbling down a ravine, killing him despite seat belts and air bags.

"Are you thinking of your children?"

"Yes," I lied. I had been thinking of myself, of my pain, of my inability to let go of the past. Oh hell. I had thirty-six years of a past. I glanced at Patrick, who studied the teddy with an interest that sent daggers of heat shooting through me. He had a much longer past. How much did he remember? How much could he forget?

"How old are you?"

"I was born in the year 1869, in what archaeologists now refer to as B.C.E., which means 'Before Common Era.'"

"So… you're old."

"I was born almost two thousand years before Jesus Christ walked the earth." He grinned. "So, yes, I'm old."

I did the math and stared at him in shock. "You're telling me that you're almost four thousand years old."

He nodded.

"Wow. You look good for your age." Well, hell, I would never have to be worried about being the December to his May. He had a good four millennia on me, now, didn't he? I chuckled. Patrick looked at me oddly and I realized he didn't know the reason for my laughter. I shrugged, offering a smile instead of an explanation.

"Bryan and Jenny believe that you have a very contagious flu bug. We let them see you on the cameras and that seemed to satisfy them. They had a lot of questions about the RV, my men, and the sudden security system. For dinner, Stan found some frozen pizza in the freezer and made one cheese and one supreme. I read two chapters of
Harry Potter
to Jenny. And your
clann
were tucked into bed by ten p.m."

As Patrick reported on the day's activities, his gaze lingered too long on my breasts, which were barely covered by the teddy's flimsy lace.

"Clann?"

"Children." Patrick smiled.

"Huh. Well, sounds like you have everything under control." I sounded sullen even to my own ears.

"You don't sound pleased."

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"That's because a mother wants to feel needed while invoking her right to bitch about how unappreciated she is."

"I see." His tone indicated his confusion. You would think that a man with centuries and centuries to study the human condition would figure out a few things about women. Just one or two really important ones. Hmph. Too much to ask from an immortal, was it?

I felt useless and helpless and very much alone. Last night, things happened so fast. The events had been so surreal that I hadn't really believed I'd been attacked and brought back from death. But here I was again, drinking blood, getting visited by Patrick, the hunky vamp, and contemplating a very long life that had no meaning.
A life where I would outlive my children
.

Pain riveted me to the bed and the sheets twisted in my agitated grip.
No, no, no
. Patrick and his crew had disturbed the natural order of the parent-child relationship by saving me. I hated the idea of Bryan and Jenny struggling in a world without their parents, but I couldn't fathom a world without them in it.

"Put it away,
a thaisce
," said Patrick. "If you try to figure out everything at once, you'll go mad."

I took his advice. I'd think about the vampire mom thing later. I would figure something out. I always did. Patrick rolled closer to me and stroked my hair. His kindness gave me the courage to finally ask the question I'd dreaded. "Why didn't you tell me you were the Lorcan?"

Patrick looked startled. He lifted up, leaned on one elbow, and frowned at me. "
The
Lorcan?"

"Isn't that the name of the creature that hurt me… and probably others, given that Dr. Michaels called me the first victim?"

"It's his name," he admitted softly, "but it's not a variety of monster, love. Lorcan is a Gaelic name given to sons. It means 'little fierce one.'"

"Half of it is right." I glanced at Patrick. "He had eyes just like yours."

"He's me brother, darlin'." His silver eyes glinted. "Me twin brother."

Brother?
Brother
! I had almost wrenched off the neck of Patrick's twin. I didn't know how to feel about that. What if I had known without a doubt that the thing wasn't Patrick? Fear and repulsion skittered through me on tiny rat claws. I would've killed it.
Him
. I would've killed Lorcan to protect my children and myself. Was that the mother in me? Or the vampire?

Patrick seemed to be waiting for my reaction. I didn't know what to say or do so I went with, "That's why he had an Irish accent."

He was on me so fast I didn't see him move, not even with my improved vision. Before I knew it, I was underneath him, his hands clenching my shoulders, his face an inch from mine. "He spoke to you?"

Fear thumped inside my still heart. My stomach roiled at the fierceness of Patrick's gaze. His grip was painful. "I… he… damn, Patrick, you're scaring the crap out of me."

He closed his eyes, probably searching for patience, and after a moment or two, he opened his peepers.

He looked less intense, thank God, and his grasp on my shoulders relaxed. He tucked me into a more
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comfortable position, which included fitting his semierect penis between my thighs. My breasts were flattened against his chest; my nipples, rasped by the teddy's shimmery material, peaked into hard buds.

Patrick's growl let me know that he noticed the reaction. The cock between my thighs hardened, pushing against some really sensitive bits that hadn't been touched by male flesh in a while. I swallowed my moan.

"Tell me about Lorcan. What did he say to you?"

"He apologized," I whispered. His gaze reminded me of silver fire, leaping and crackling with restrained emotion. Was it anger? Did ol' Stan tell Patrick I almost beheaded the beast brother? Or was that desire sparking there? I relaxed against the bed, soaking in the feel of his skin against mine. I didn't care that he wasn't warm, that I couldn't feel his breath on my neck as he bent to nuzzle my collarbone.

There's something wonderful and safe about a strong man with his arms wrapped around a woman. And erotic. It had been a very long time since I'd felt a man above me, dominating my body in a gentle way, taking what I offered, asking for what I wanted.

Patrick lifted his head. "No," he muttered more to himself than to me. He pushed up on his forearms, his fists clenched near my shoulders. "Tell me the exact words."

"
Sorry. Very sorry. Please
… And he was crying when he said it."

Patrick rolled off me, the intimate mood vanishing under his sudden all-business movements. He muttered some words under his breath and to my astonishment, clothes appeared on his body. Wearing a black T-shirt, faded denim jeans, and a stylish pair of sneakers, he looked cuter than a vampire should.

"Holy shit. Can I do that?"

Patrick looked at me over his shoulder. "In time. There's much for you to learn, love. Until then, you'll have to do things the old-fashioned way."

"Poop."

He smiled, revealing a glistening set of fangs.
Whoa
. "I must feed," he said. "I will meet you later."

"Hey!"

He was gone before I finished shouting the word. Who or what did he plan to nosh on? A horrifying thought struck. Were my kids in danger? I dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. I may have only been dead for two days and I may not know much about Patrick, but sipping from innocents didn't seem his style. Plus, he'd probably guessed that I'd stake his ass if he so much as wiggled a fang in their direction.

I got dressed in a crop top, jean shorts, and flip-flops, which was the necessary uniform of a woman battlingOklahoma summers. I brushed my hair and pulled it into a ponytail. The myth about vampires not seeing their own images in mirrors was a bunch of hooey. I could see my image just fine and, if I say so myself:
Wow oh wow
! My brunette hair sparkled like burnished copper; my dishwater-brown eyes seemed dark and mysterious; my lips looked as full as a ripe plum. My skin had cleared up of blotches, pimple scars, and sunspots. The laugh lines around my eyes and lips had disappeared, too. Forget cosmetics, honey. I no longer needed CoverGirl.

I pulled down my shorts and marveled at the lack of pooch. My stomach was as flat and smooth as a
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twenty-year-old's. I peeked inside my top.
Still a B cup, damn it
. The stretch marks on my abdomen and breasts—the badges of honor for any mother—were gone. Maybe I should feel a little sad about having those physical reminders erased. But, hell, I had a woman's vanity, too.

My butt felt higher, my breasts perkier, and merciful heaven, my thighs thinner. My body was now a pearlescent white, as fine as silk, and as taut as a supermodel's starved frame.

Huh. Guess being undead had a few perks.

I visited Jenny's room first. She slept deeply and I wondered if her unparalleled rest was due to vampire influence or drugs. Before I realized what I was doing, I was somehow in her mind, in her body, and knew, right away, she had not been tampered with. She shifted restlessly, and I soothed the ripples in her mind, crooning a silent, tender lullaby that she responded to with a sweet, girlish sigh. I knew, without a doubt, that Jenny was healthy. I smelled her, and noticed the baby powder and lavender scent she emitted.

"Mine," I whispered and placed my hand upon her bare neck. Something electric and powerful leapt from my palm to her skin and when I drew away my hand, I saw the faint impression of a honeysuckle flower on her nape. It faded quickly and made me wonder if I had imagined it.

InBryan 's room, I sat on the edge of his bed and lifted the blanket. He, too, slept deeply, wearing only a baggy pair of gym shorts. I checked him for vampire and narcotic influences, too. He smelled like German Chocolate Cake. I could almost taste the gooey caramel coconut frosting. I sensed nothing awry with my son and felt a surge of relief that he, too, was healthy. Being an immortal with powers had some advantages for a mother. I placed my hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Mine." The same jolt I had experienced with Jenny occurred again and when I lifted my hand, there was the fading impression of the honeysuckle blossom on my son's skin.

"Mom?" Bry blinked awake, staring at me through sleepy eyes. "You feeling better?"

My throat knotted. How would I ever explain to my babies that I was dead, but still walking around? I brushed a lock of hair from Bry's forehead and said, "Sleep." To my shock, he slumped against his pillow and started snoring.

Instant knowledge of health
and
the power to ensure obedience? Being a vamp mom might not be so bad. After kissing his brow, I shut the door to the Pit and headed downstairs.

July inOklahoma sucked (har har). Walking into the summer night from an air-conditioned house was like walking into a tepid lake. The evening brought some relief from the aching heat, but the humidity was unrelenting.

The RV's middle door opened and Dr. Michaels, no,
Stan
, gestured me inside. I found myself in a room that had ceiling-to-floor consoles on either side. Two men manned the electronic doohickeys and neither gave me a glance. Well, so much for smooth skin and flat stomachs. Stan led me into the same room in which he'd interviewed me the night before. I looked up and saw that the hole I'd made had been patched.