Vampire State of Mind (22 page)

‘Jessie.' Sil was leaning in. ‘Your lips have gone blue.' He leaned in further and kissed me firmly on the mouth and, for a second, the shivering stopped, as though he fed me warmth. He moved back and dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘You say you trust me. So prove it.'

Hands closed around my shoulders and he pulled me in, tight, against him, drawing my head up so that his lips could close over mine. I could feel his fangs sliding down half-inside my own mouth, one point grazed against my lip and I made a tiny sound of protest, but the warmth was too overpowering, felt so good against my skin that I was never in any danger of drawing away. As long as he was kissing me,
just
kissing me, it was all right. I could handle it.

So, what happened? One minute he was pouring heat into my mouth and I was kneeling there feeling the smooth, dry warmth from his skin, tasting the metallic tang of my blood on his lips, and the next I was kissing him back, running my tongue along the inside of his lip and feeling the hardness of the fangs as they locked into place. There must be a scientific explanation for the fact that I didn't fight his hands as they travelled across my body, a chemical reason for my reaction to his touch. My whole body felt his skin like electricity, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as his fingers traced around the clothes I still wore.

‘Jessica – ' His mouth left mine to whisper along my jawline, down my neck, across my shoulder.

‘Yes.' Single syllable, he could take it to mean what he wanted. Was he asking permission? Questioning the reasoning behind this? I didn't
care
.

He unsnapped the pink-and-black striped bra and I felt the pure heat of his body against my bare skin. His eyes flickered to mine; once, twice, and they were the bruise-grey of storm driven clouds, backlit with sunrise as I pulled his clothes away from his body and ran fingers down newly uncovered flesh. He kissed the score-lines down my face, stroked gentle fingers over the greenish bruising across my ribs, whispered words I couldn't understand into my hair. How long had I dreamed of this? How long had I waited, wanting?

I unwrapped him as one might a longed-for Christmas present. Slowly, prolonging the moment of the reveal, loving the way his breath caught in his throat each time I dragged fingertips over his skin.

The leather jeans had shrunk skin-tight during our river swim, fitting so tightly the fabric was stretched and thick across the fly so Sil had to help, unbuttoning with one hand while the other stroked my skin, raising goose pimples that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He was impressively ready for action, his skin damp and so hot that when I reached my fingers in to touch him it made me jump. ‘You're
really
hot.'

‘And you are dying of the cold. You just killed a demon, Jessica. I think, now, you are allowed a little fun …' He smiled against me, as though he understood that I had been dying of a heart forced to remain cool, which was now thawing into mush under the heat of his longed-for attention. His hands wound into my hair, my hands slithered around the silky hardness of him until I was aching, gasping, wanting him so badly that I could hear his name breathed out with every sighing exhalation. And then, with one movement, he was inside me, breathing my name in time, in rhythm, as his own name was in my mouth.
So warm.

We moved as though dancing, a tempo we'd never attained during even our most frenzied arguments; moved and turned and touched, and I felt every inch of him not only with my body but with my mind. I wanted to experience it all; to photograph it with my memory so that not one second of this pulsing beat would go to waste; that ever afterwards I would be able to call to mind the smell of his skin, the shadow moving behind his eyes, the drifting brush of his hair across parts of me rendered so sensitive that it was all I could do not to shout out.

I don't know what I'd expected sex with Sil to be like. I think that I'd expected more violence – there was something in the way he walked, something that hinted at things restrained. But I'd never expected tenderness. Never expected him to cry my name as he came, never expected his wanting to make me scream for him, too – and
God
, he was good at that. Years and years of experience behind that mouth, those fingers, all combined in teasing and leading me on until I lay, pinned beneath his weight, shaking with unspoken words sobbing in my throat.

And I hadn't expected him to hold me. Although I was glowing with warmth, he put his arms around me and closed me against him. I could feel his breathing slowing, the fluttering of the demon locked inside as it fed off the energy and the desire. ‘Christ, Jessie.'

Had he guessed? I refused to let him see my face. ‘What?'

‘That was – I haven't had sex like that since – before.'

‘Before what?' My voice sounded thick because I was trying not to cry. Trying not to think that now it would all be different, that I'd never again be able to watch him drag another girl into some back room, and heckle him when he reappeared ten minutes later all dishevelled and unfocused.

‘Before the demon.' His voice sounded as heavy with regret as mine did with tears. ‘I'd forgotten how good it felt to come without wanting the blood at the same time.'

‘And usually you do?'

‘Oh,
yes
.' He moved beside me as though even the thought of it made him hard. ‘I want it, all the time, watching her throat, watching the blood rise, and knowing it's there, for the taking.'

It made me uneasy, the cool lust in his voice. Made me wonder how many times he took the blood, whether it was offered or not. ‘But you didn't want mine?'

A half-laugh. ‘I wanted more than your blood.'

‘So what was it like with me?'

He went very quiet then. Lay almost totally still. ‘It was like it was with my wife,' he said at last. ‘Human.'

The lump in my throat was almost insurmountable. ‘What was her name?' I asked.

‘Christie. Christina Margaret.' He said the name slowly, as though he'd had it in his mind for a very long time but had forgotten how to say it. ‘Christie,' he said again, faintly.

‘And what was your name?'

‘Does it matter?' Sil sat up. It made me feel awkward and I found I was scrunching myself up, trying to cover myself with bits of my clothes.

‘I'd like to know.'

‘What, first fuck in four years, you want my name and address?' Sil gave a ghostly smile. ‘Jonathan. I was Jonathan Charles Wilberforce.'

Jonathan. Jonathan and his wife, Christina.

‘What about your children?'

‘Stop it, Jessica.'

It hurt. God, how it hurt. Every word, every name, every detail, let me know how different it was now. That our friendship was gone, blown to dust by one momentary dream-realisation.

‘I thought you might like to talk about them. You never do, and it must be hard to pretend that they never existed, particularly when, well, when you've done something like this.'

For a long, long time Sil sat with his forehead resting on his knees. ‘Joseph,' he said at last. ‘Joseph and Constance.' And then he cried and I wrapped my arms around him.

Sil had to wait until Jessie fell asleep before he could even start to examine what had happened. His body felt better than it had for years – no sign of any adverse reaction to the immense high that he'd ridden, nothing but a slight heaviness, a slowness of thought and that, he concluded, was probably a result of the sex rather than the blood. Or it could be the feelings he was finally allowing. He glanced across at her, head pillowed on what was left of his shirt, skin still glowing from the heat he'd transferred to her, and there was a sudden contraction in his chest as his demon jolted.
All these years. All these years I have managed simply by never acknowledging what I lost, Christie, Constance, Joseph.
And the slow realisation of what he had become crept through his mind.
I have never sat down and looked back at the things that made me human because, now I know that is how we must live, we vampires. We are only able to exist by never admitting that once we loved, once we, too, laughed and cried … because to accept the things we lost means that we must admit our loss of humanity. We deal with the guilt for the killings and the using of the humans by pretending that we were never one of them.

How many years now has it been? The flu pandemic was in 1918. Nearly a hundred years ago, and I'd been a vampire for four years by then …

His breath caught and broke into staccato gasps as he fought the tears again.
First Constance, then Joseph. Seven and eight years old, too fragile to fight the virus that took so many; might have taken me, if I'd still been human enough to be subject to infections. Left Christie alone. Weeping and grieving and I'd been unable to comfort her; that's when I lost what was left of my humanity, not when I was infected, not when the demon hatched, but then, that night when the children died and I could do nothing, not even help my wife through the pain.

He wept again then, this time without Jessie's arms around him.

‘God, Jessie!' Rachel met me at the front door. ‘Have you been out all night?'

I pushed past her to get into my room. ‘There was … a party.'

‘You could have invited me. I've still got that blue dress I borrowed from Laura for the Run thing. Anyway, why is your hair all straggly?' Rach followed and perched herself on the end of my bed, wide blue eyes innocently regarding me from under her poodle-curly fringe. I stood for a second, trying to think of an explanation. Then, quite unreasonably, I burst into tears.

Rach began to fuss around. She pulled my duvet from the bed to draw over my shoulders, then hustled me out of the bedroom, settling me on the sofa. ‘Can you tell me what happened?' She put her head on one side. ‘Or is it some kind of Official Secrets thing?'

I laughed through the tears. ‘I work for the council, not MI5.'

The duvet must have slipped, taken my collar down with it, because Rach's eyes were suddenly on my neck, pupils wide and her face paling. ‘Oh
no
, Jess, no.' Her hand flew to cover her mouth, fingertips between her teeth. ‘No, please.' Now there were tears in her eyes, too. ‘You're my only real friend and I've always thought your job was just silly stuff and you've always been so good at it, and the Treaty and everything is working and this hardly ever happens any more!'

Her reaction stopped my own shock dead. ‘What?'

Rach pointed at my neck. ‘The bite. You're … you're going to be a
vampire …
' Heavy sobs broke her words into single, almost inaudible fragments. ‘I … can't … my … family … noooooo …'

I raised a finger and touched the mark. It was healing fast, as vampire bites did, but was still visible; precise and raw. ‘Rach, listen. Yes, I got bitten. It was … look, it's all a bit complicated to explain but the important thing is that
he didn't seed
.'

‘You're sure?'

A sudden flashback to Sil, fighting his own demon for control, those glowing coals of eyes dying back to the clouded grey. ‘Honestly.'

Rach stood up and slowly made her way to the kitchen. I heard sounds of the kettle being filled and Rach trying to compose herself with the aid of kitchen roll and much nose blowing. As my own eyes continued to leak tears and my body shuddered, I wished my own emotional state could be so easily calmed.

‘It's not Liam, is it?' Two brimming cups of PG Tips arrived on the low table, accompanied, to my amazement, by half a packet of chocolate digestives.

‘Why is everyone fixated on Liam?' I wiped my eyes and nose on a corner of the duvet. ‘He's not a vampire; thought you'd be able to tell, what with his total lack of style and his
Doctor Who
obsession. And where did these biscuits come from? I thought you regarded all processed foods as Produce of the Devil?'

‘Jessie, even
I
get pre-menstrual.' Rach sipped at the scalding tea. It reminded me of the heat from Sil's skin. But right now, even the cuckoo-clock which hung tastelessly from the shelf reminded me of Sil. I could still see his eyes, feel his fingers, taste him on the roof of my mouth … ‘You're crying again.'

‘I think I may have done something really,
really
stupid,' I sniffed. ‘I've – well, look, I've – oh, sod it, I slept with someone last night.'

‘Yes? And?' Rachel took a biscuit and ate it without even looking at it first, which told me all I needed to know about her alleged suspicion of wheat-based comestibles. ‘I've slept with hundreds of men and I hardly ever come home in tears.'

‘Really?
Hundreds
?'

‘All right, maybe not hundreds. But some. So why has this one made you cry?' Then she added with sudden wide-eyed comprehension, ‘is he married?'

‘No. Quite the opposite.' The tea was helping calm me.

‘So he's single …'

No, Rach
, I thought.
The opposite of married is vampire. No attachments, no faithfulness. No happy-ever-after
.
How can I possibly expect her to understand?
‘Look, forget it. It'll be fine. I'll have a quick shower and go to work. That'll take my mind off everything.' And besides, Liam
would
understand. I suddenly wanted to pour my heart out to my co-worker, rather than my best friend, and I knew that was terribly wrong. ‘I'll drink my tea first.'

Rach was looking at me oddly. ‘What's happened to you, Jessie?' she finally asked. ‘You used to be so … normal. You'd come home from work and we'd watch
Desperate Housewives
, me eating something nutritious and you shovelling down crap. Then we'd talk about men and … well, mostly men. Now this weird shutter thing has come down.'

‘It was a tough party.'

‘Not just this morning. For a few days now.' She tilted her head and looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

‘I'm sorry, Rach. Things have been a bit strange lately.'

She shrugged. ‘And you're obviously not going to tell me any more. Well, good luck with that.' Rach leaned in and removed the chocolate digestive that I was about to dunk. ‘Perhaps you ought to go to the office. Then you can eat your own biscuits.'

‘Grief, Jessie!' Liam coming up the stairs to the office surprised me. I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at its empty screen. ‘It's a bit early for you.' He began fussing around, putting down his bags behind his desk, fetching out the coffee jar and searching out clean mugs. ‘Why so crack of dawn? And where's Sil?'

‘Couldn't sleep.'

‘But you went home, oh, right, I get it.' Liam tapped the side of his nose. ‘Right. Say no more. No questions asked.' He picked up both our mugs in one hand and headed out on to the landing towards the kitchen, but then reappeared, head only, poking through the doorway. ‘Well, just the one. Who, what species, did you stay at his and how was it? Oh. That's four questions. Never mind, give.'

I turned my eyes on him. Eyes that had watched a vampire cry while I held him. There was so much to say, so much on my mind, that I didn't know how to even start to let it out.

‘Ohhh … kaaay, sorry I asked.' Liam's head disappeared.

Not fair, I know. It wasn't Liam's fault that I'd fallen for Sil all those years ago, or that I'd ended up having wild sex in a storm drain. And I only had myself to blame for the aftermath, when the vampire had finally broken down, wrapping his arms around me and weeping for his lost family. But not blaming Liam didn't help
me
; didn't take away this feeling that I'd blown possibly the most precious relationship I'd ever have into a thousand smoking smithereens; so, right now, Liam was on the blunt end of something that had the other end impaled inside my heart.

‘Where's that
bloody
coffee?' was all I could think of to say, so far.

‘Coming right up, boss-man.' Liam carried a tray through, which was unusual. Normally he balanced the cups in his fist and then complained about scalded knuckles all morning. ‘I've put two sugars in because you look like you're in shock. And I've brought the biscuits, because I've got a feeling that you're going to say something that's going to put
me
in shock.'

‘I think I killed Malfaire last night.'

‘Whoa, there it was; shortbread I think, for that one.'

‘And two wights attacked Sil and me; we only just got away.'

‘And a chocolate HobNob –'

‘And then we ended up in the river and spent most of the night trying to avoid hypothermia.'

‘Sod it, I'll open the custard creams. Anything else? Because I think there's some emergency Kit Kats in the cupboard, if you haven't found them already.'

I tried really hard to keep my mouth shut. To regulate the flow of words so that I could be cool, emotionless, tell Liam what had happened with a joke and a shrug. Bit the inside of my cheek and everything, but it was useless. ‘Sil – ' and then the tears came again.

I was dimly aware of Liam's, ‘Oh shit,' and then frantic rummaging in a desk drawer before I was presented with a large box of tissues and a hug. ‘Jesus, Jessie, couldn't you have spread this out over a week or so?' He smelled nice, I registered, of clean shirt and aftershave, with a hint of baby sick. It was great to be able to lean in to someone who'd understand the full implications of last night. ‘You've set a new world record for workplace stress, by the way. In fact, announcements like that probably contravene Health and Safety guidelines.'

‘It's just shock.' I hiccupped, trying to breathe.

‘Jesus, what did he do to you!'

I gave a snotty laugh. ‘How graphic would you like me to be?'

A hand stroked my hair. ‘If you wouldn't see it on
Doctor Who
, then I don't need to know, all right?' There was a long silence, during which Liam uncomplainingly hugged me. Then he let out a sigh. ‘Okay. Can we go back to “you
think
you killed Malfaire”? I mean, what happened, did you plank him or what?'

The cold feeling came creeping back. ‘No – he – ' and another lump of tissue was brought into play – ‘there was blood, he couldn't breathe.'

‘I'm going to run the channels,' Liam said firmly. ‘If there's any news on him, we'll know. Or someone will.' His hand lingered on my shoulder. ‘How are you doing now? You up to this?'

I nodded and sniffed. Shock did funny things to the system. I would never have cried in front of Liam in the normal course of events. It made him come over all
Master and Commander
and hyper-butch.

‘You're not up the duff are you?' Liam's sudden question came over the top of the monitor. ‘Sarah cried for seven months when she was expecting.'

‘That was because she knew you were the father,' I replied.

‘Ah, the return of the Jessica Grant we all know and love.' Liam sighed. ‘Before we go any further, Jessie, are you going to tell me what happened with you and Sil? The thing that made you cry – and don't try giving me that “shock” crap. I've
seen
you in shock and it makes you want to rip heads off, not sit around with a lifetime's supply of tissues – oh. Oh, whoa.'

‘What?'

Liam stared at his computer for a few more seconds, then swung the monitor to face me and turned up the volume on his speakers. Malfaire's image filled the screen, his face a bleached-bone white but his marmalade eyes full of a kind of triumph. His clothes were messy, torn-about looking, but there was no sign of any wound. I glanced at Liam. ‘What is it?'

‘News clip. From this morning, some minor station that deals in Otherworlder affairs. Picked it up in a general sweep.'

‘Can you re-run? From the start?'

Liam blinked. ‘Hold on a sec,' and he fiddled with his keyboard for a moment. The image on screen pixellated and broke, then the position of Malfaire's head changed and we were back at the beginning.

‘While I admit that I was grievously injured, my healing abilities were only slightly compromised, and I appear before you today to show the demon world that I am, indeed, immortal. Our victory against the humankind is assured.'

Liam switched the screen off so quickly that the monitor rocked.

‘Not dead.' I was alarmed by the sweep of relief. I wasn't a murderer.

‘No.'

My mobile rang. I snatched it out of my pocket and threw it to Liam. ‘See who it is, will you?'

‘Why? Who aren't you speaking to?'

‘
Liam
 – '

‘All right, all right.' He flipped down the screen. ‘It's Zan. Are we open for business, or shall I tell him that you're having a breakdown?' Great. Like I wanted
Zan
to know.

‘Is he webcamming?'

‘Probably. The number's his internet phone.'

‘Right, flip him up. I want to shout at him.'

‘I know you're in shock, Jessie, but – is that wise?'

‘D'you know, I don't think I care?'

On screen Zan was looking paler and taller than usual, as though he'd spent the last few weeks in a dark cupboard. ‘Jessica. I have seen the latest broadcasts. They have not yet reached the human channels, and hopefully he will be dismissed as another scaremonger, but …' A frown creased his otherwise perfect forehead. ‘I fear danger may walk abroad.'

‘
That
bad? So he's more than just a nutter?'

Zan gave a muted shrug. ‘He seems truly invincible. If
you
could not kill him, then … who can?'

I had a sudden thought, a memory of my mother … of
Jen
, sitting at the farm table, head in her hands, mourning. ‘My family – Zan … are they in danger? He threatened …'

The low-level shrug was repeated. ‘His invincibility may save them. If he feels himself supreme, then why should he concern himself with a petty collection of humans? I fear that they are beneath his notice now.' He glanced down at something on his desk. ‘You, however, have taken a stand against him and he will have you punished as an example to others.'

A movement behind Zan. ‘Hey.'

‘Hello, Sil.' My heart shot up into my throat at the sight of him and I had to do some special breathing exercises to get over the feeling that I was going to fall off my chair. While I was wearing the first clothes that I'd stepped on, he looked sassy and slick. Black shirt over black T over black jeans. It made his hair almost purple-dark and his skin very pale. No trace of the tears or the anguish, or of the ecstasy either, come to that. ‘How are you this morning?'

His face appeared in front of Zan. ‘Yeah, I'm good.'

My heart sank down into my stomach. His tone was brisk, upbeat, nicely impersonal; no softness in the way he spoke or looked at me. Everything that had happened between us,
everything
, was nothing to him. ‘Well, that's nice.' God, I was proud of myself.
Jonathan
, whispered a tiny voice deep in my mind,
his name is Jonathan
. And another piece of me folded in half and curled around itself. I focused on the webcam.