Serafina and the Silent Vampire (9 page)

“Jason Bell,” Sera said, looking straight into his eyes. She read no recognition there.

“No, I’m afraid there’s no one of that name here. Who gave you my address?”

“Tony,” Sera said, plucking a name out of the air. “Maybe I remembered it wrong. You’re not Malcolm, are you?”

“No, I’m not Malcolm.” The man’s gaze was piercing, and for a moment, she thought her ruse wasn’t going to work, that he wasn’t going to say any more—especially when she discerned a distinctly amused gleam in his gray eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he said, “I’m Nicholas. Nicholas Smith.”

Sera stuck her hand out. “Sera,” she said, modifying the vowel slightly so the name might have been heard as the more common “Sarah,” especially to an Englishman. The man blinked a little sleepily, but he didn’t refuse her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said politely. And oddly, for so obvious a platitude, she got no sense of lying. He really was pleased to meet her. But she picked up very little else—perhaps because his attention had shifted to Blair, still and inevitably silent beside her. Nicholas Smith dropped her hand but not before she picked up a sudden wave of emotion from him, as intense as it was unexpected. It contained an element of surprise and fear and a lot of curiosity, overwhelmed by something she couldn’t analyze.

She cast a quick, surreptitious glance at the vampire, who, after all, was very good at inspiring both surprise and fear, but whatever he’d used on the Seelies or the drunks in Rose Street was completely absent from his face now. He looked as mild as it was possible for him to look.

“Would you care to use my telephone?” Nicholas Smith offered unexpectedly, and Sera realized his regard had switched back to her. His eyes were almost—concerned. Had he recognized Blair for what he was? Was he offering her a means of escape?

Alarm plunged through her stomach. Did he know something about Blair that she didn’t? Was she in more danger than she recognized?

Whatever, she’d no objection to looking round this house or conversing further with Mr. Nicholas Smith. She’d opened her mouth to accept, but then Blair waved a mobile phone in front of her while he nodded amiably to Mr. Smith and turned her away from the door.

She thought of resisting before discarding the idea as pointless. She knew the vampire’s strength.

“Thanks, Mr. Smith!” she said over her shoulder. And under her breath to Blair, “I could have learned a lot more in there.”

“It might have been the last thing you learned,” Blair said grimly.

“You shouldn’t trust him,” Blair said severely after several minutes of fast, silent walking. Again, Sera was following a mixture of “feel” and instinct to decide direction, and Blair seemed content to let her.

She retorted, “I get more trustworthy vibes from him than from you!”

“And why do you suppose that is?”

“Because you’re a vampire that drinks blood and kills people?” she suggested, walking even faster.

“And he’s—what?”

“Just a dude. Probably the wrong dude, since I’m still sensing vampires. I think Jason just walked past that house, probably en route to his own flat in Palmerston Place.”

“He’s just a dude who recognized me for what I am.”

Since the same thought had crossed her own mind, she spared him a glance. “Did he ‘hear’ you?” she asked uncertainly.

“I didn’t say anything. Offhand, I’d guess he sensed me, much as you do.”

“Then he’s psychic?”

“Almost certainly. Was his house the same place you saw the vampires congregated?”

“I don’t know,” she retorted. “You dragged me away before I could look.”

“Well, the girl in the black dress came here the night Jason died. He let her in like an old friend.”

Sera frowned in annoyance. “Then you knew about that house? Why didn’t you say?”

“I was hoping you’d find another place, where the vampires hang out the rest of the time.” He frowned. “A psychic who consorts with vampires,” he mused. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Or a psychic who was
threatened
by vampires,” Sera said defensively, though quite why she felt the need to defend the stranger, she had no idea.

Without warning, he grasped her wrist and swung her against the wall of the nearest building, closing her in with his tall body while he stared into her face. Before she had time to feel afraid, she felt a brush like a butterfly’s wing in her mind, much deeper and totally different from the surface sensation when he spoke to her.

“Get out,” she whispered, trying to push the butterfly away.

“Have you ever been hypnotized, Serafina?”

“No. Several have tried and failed,” she blustered. “My mind was always stronger than theirs.” They’d been therapists, recommended by doctors to one set of foster parents, to try to curb her unruly behavior. She’d laughed in their faces, much as she was trying and failing to do in Blair’s. But he was too close, his hips actually pushing her into the wall, while his eyes, so deep and terrible, glowed with some strange, almost golden fire. A trick of the streetlights, it had to be.

“Well, his is stronger than yours.” As Blair spoke, the butterfly merged into his voice, still present but not battering its wings anymore where it had no business to be. “And he’s a master of suggestion. Why did you suddenly trust him more than me?”

She shoved at his chest with no effect. “Can we go back to the drinking-blood-and-killing-people bit?” Worse than anything, her voice shook. “Get out of my head, you bastard,” she whispered.

A frown flickered across his brow. “You hate that, don’t you? Not being in control. Not doing the manipulating.”

She gazed at him, loathing him, failing to find the words. Although the scary glow didn’t vanish from his eyes, they seemed to soften. His body didn’t. It still pinned her helplessly to the wall. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek, trailing his fingertips down her jaw to her throat. She gasped.

“Serafina,” he murmured in her head. “Some things are just stronger than you. They don’t necessarily hurt you, and they won’t necessarily defeat you.”

Distracting her from his surprising words, the bulge in his jeans was hardening, both alarming and exciting her. After all, he had the kind of face and body to die for. Sera had no intention of dying.

“Okay, celebrate!” she spat. “You’re stronger than me.”

His lips twitched. “I was thinking of Nicholas Smith. But now you mention it, yes, I am.” His fingers lingered over her vein, stroking. She shivered, trying not to feel the spurt of physical pleasure that was in danger of drowning out her alarm, especially when he swayed his hips in a slow, sensual caress. His erection rubbed against her tummy, and she had an insane urge to stand on tiptoe to feel it grind between her legs. “And, you know, I like that too.”

“Why?” she got out, reaching wildly for the smart comment that somehow eluded her.

His fingers slid upward to her face once more, and he traced the outline of her lips. “Because I can kiss you without you feeling the need to stop me.”

She narrowed her eyes threateningly, although her heart seemed to plunge right through her stomach to her womb. “It won’t be the need that’s lacking,” she managed.

“But you like the way I look,” he pointed out, pressing gently on her lower lip to part it from the upper. “I’ve read it in your mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you slobbering all over me!”
Oh Jesus, what would it feel like?

“I won’t slobber,” he promised and bent his head.

She couldn’t have avoided it. She refused to dent her dignity further by trying. So she glared into his face, daring him, while her heart thundered in treacherous anticipation. His lips hovered over hers for an instant, just long enough for her to panic that perhaps he was changing his mind and wouldn’t do it, after all. She felt an urge to close the distance herself—only to break the tension, of course. And then he did it, sliding his fingers away from her lips to cup her face and sinking his mouth into hers with blatant, wonderful, terrifying sensuality.

There was none of the buildup she was used to, the gentle brushing of lips, the soft, quick kisses that grew deeper and longer. It was an outright assault on her senses, and it was devastating. His lips were cool and firm as they moved on hers, savoring, almost as if he were drinking from her.
Oh shit, don’t think drinking here!
He opened her mouth wider for his tongue, which swept around her teeth and curled around her own, drawing it into his mouth. She tried to speak, but the attempt got lost in the shock of his long, sharp teeth under her tongue. Blood drummed in her head, a tattoo of fear all mixed up with wonder and sheer, unadulterated lust.

A weird sound came from her mouth, and he deepened the kiss, almost grinding his mouth into hers, demanding the response she found it impossible not to give. There had never been a kiss like this one, fierce and overwhelmingly sexual, driving all thought from her head but the gratification of desire. She melted into it, opening wide for him, winding her tongue around his, sucking and biting his lips, drawing him deeper in.

At some point, he’d begun to grind his hips too, rubbing himself against her, and she found herself moving with him, standing on tiptoe and pressing back to try to assuage the aching need between her thighs.

When she almost ran out of breath, he broke the kiss and smiled. “Oh yes,” he whispered in her mind. “All night with you. All night and day, and all night again…” His words drove her to fever pitch, eliciting a helpless mewl of desire as she reached for his mouth once more.

He gave it with enthusiasm. His hands were on her hips, stroking down to her thighs and dragging upward inside her jacket and over the sides of her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, felt his thumbs caress her desperate nipples over and over. She wanted them on her naked breasts. She wanted no clothes at all between them. She wanted him buried deep inside her, pounding her to the greatest, sweetest orgasm of her life. More than that, she yearned to blast his control to hell, to make him lose himself in the pleasure she could give him. She was sure no one had ever wanted her this much before.

She squirmed against him, dragging her arms free at last to loop them around his neck and comb her fingers through his soft hair. His hands cupped both her breasts, making her gasp, and swept downward to the fastening of her jeans.

She tore her mouth free to gasp, half laughing, “Oh stop! We can’t! This is a respectable street! People are bound to pass.”

“I don’t care. I want you now. Just for starters. I want to make you scream as you come the first time, see your face in the open air as you fall apart around me. Oh yes.”

She caught his head as he plunged back for her mouth, his fingers determinedly unfastening the buttons of her jeans. “Blair, no!”

He paused and raised his head, his eyes black and clouded with lust. “Admit it. You want me to fuck you.”

She caught the golden flash in his dark eyes, glimpsed the pointed fangs between his parted lips, and swallowed hard. “Does it come with blood drinking?”

“Oh yes,” said Blair again, fervently.

Oh bloody fuck and shite!
“What am I doing?” she wailed, pushing him away. Rather to her surprise, he went. She didn’t imagine for a moment that the choice was not his.

Hastily, with fingers that trembled, she rebuttoned her jeans, straightened her top, and strode up Palmerston Place on legs that still shook. She’d no idea what to do except revert to Plan A—which was to go to Jason Bell’s flat. Appalled by the speed and intensity of the lust that had overwhelmed her in Blair’s arms, she was terrified he’d follow her in a frustration-induced rage and was equally afraid he’d go off and sulk.

What she didn’t expect was for him to stroll along beside her, watching her with a smile that was more predatory than angry.

“It’ll happen one day, you know,” he said softly.

“Vampires read the future now?”

“No, but they know what they want. And they can read desire.”

“You’re dead,” she retorted. “You’re not supposed to feel any desire.”

“On the contrary. Some human feelings are certainly not there anymore, but those that are left are intensified and much more—urgent.”

Her hot body flamed all over again, and as if he felt it—which he probably did—his smile grew. Wildly, she searched around in her mind for something to distract him. But it seemed he’d already moved on.

“Is this where Jason lives?” he asked casually.

Piqued by the speed with which he seemed able to throw off the shatteringly sexy interlude, she walked even faster. “I think it’s that block there. With the scaffolding round it. They’re working on it, which is why he’s meant to be staying with his parents.”

Jason’s was the main-door, ground-floor flat in a Georgian building. She hadn’t needed to track him there; his father had given her the address. But now she held on to the purloined cufflink and reached out for the growingly familiar sense of undead.

Or at least, she tried to. All her senses seemed to be wrapped up in the wrong vampire.

Oh, for Christ’s sake, get a grip!
she raged at herself.
What are you, some sniveling teenager with a crush? Grow up, and do your job!

With a quick glance at Blair to make sure he hadn’t overheard her thought—he didn’t appear to, since he was staring thoughtfully at the dark ground-floor window—she curled her fingers around the cufflink once more and focused on the being who had once been Jason Bell.

“I don’t think he’s there,” she said at last.

“He isn’t. He’s probably out hunting.”

She glanced at him uncertainly, a thousand questions clogging her lips and dying unspoken. Because right now, she couldn’t really handle the answers. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “I pace myself,” he said, apparently by way of explanation. “A little here, a little there.”

“I hope you brush your teeth in between,” she retorted and was appalled with herself.

Blair, however, laughed inside her head. It was an extraordinary feeling that communicated mirth so much more effectively than ordinary laughter while his smile grew wide and amused. Sera had to fight down a responsive chuckle.

He said, “Our bodies don’t absorb or pass on toxins. Shall we go inside?”

Since a young couple were passing at the time, and coming the other way, a man was walking his dog, Sera said, “We’d be seen. I’m not that quick at picking locks.”

“That probably counts in your favor,” Blair observed, staring at the lock on the door. “In some circles, at any rate.”

A clear, clicking sound came from the region of the keyhole. Sera felt her eyes widen as she gazed from the door to Blair. “Did you do that? How did you do that?”

Blair stepped past her, pushed open the door, and bowed elaborately for her to precede him. “Vampires have an affinity with doors.”

Like metaphysical doors? Portals, gateways between the states of living and dead, which he seemed to straddle, a foot in either camp. Sera had always looked on her own gifts as a gateway. Perhaps she could do it with solid doors too—they were, after all, built for the same purpose of division as the barriers between the living and the dead.
Note to self: try it in secret…

But another issue distracted her. “So how come you didn’t do this to Nicholas Smith’s door?” she demanded in some frustration.

“I wanted to see if you’d stop me.”

Sera gave up and closed her mouth. It was time to concentrate on the present.

Jason’s flat was a mess. There had clearly been some kind of major leak, because the whole place showed signs of water damage. Much of the wallpaper had been stripped off, and the wooden flooring was badly stained. However, signs of Mrs. Bell’s visit showed in the spotlessly clean and bare kitchen, and in the main bedroom, which had been cleaned and aired and the bed neatly made. It hadn’t been slept in.

Sera began a systematic search for information, rifling through drawers and desks for names, numbers, notes, anything that might lead them closer to who’d killed Jason and why. Soon, the absence of any personal papers at all—apart from an electricity bill—led her to sit back on her heels on the wooden floor and say flatly, “I think he’s taken everything away. Or someone has.”

“Then there is a connection to find.” Blair strolled toward the window and looked out into the darkness.

Sera frowned. “A connection between the vampires,” she said slowly. “C & H, for one. A vampire came out of the C & H building with Jason last night. Why would your southern vampires target C & H people?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Someone with a grudge over a bad investment? Do vampires make investments?”