The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals (14 page)

“And
nothing matters but the hunt,” I concluded.

“Indeed.”

“Have you
fed others before?” I asked then, unsure, really, why I needed to know.

“On
occasion,” he replied, a smile playing across his lovely lips.

My brows
shot up at the casual answer. “Are you usually so free with your life-force?”

Felix
shrugged. “Not my life-force.”

I frowned
at his blithe disregard for the red cells in his system, but I couldn’t argue. Vampires
didn’t kill their food. The thought was anathema, not to mention forbidden
worldwide. He lifted his arm, fingers in a loose fist, the crook of his elbow
bared to me in offering. My gaze zeroed in on the dark blue vein beneath his
opalescent skin and my mouth filled with saliva. I licked my lips and glanced
at him. His eyes twinkled like emeralds, bright and enticing. For a moment, all
I could think about was how much I really wanted him to make me his own
personal pretzel.

Then I
looked back at his arm, focused my gaze on his vein, let my teeth out, brought
his warm skin to my lips and inhaled his iced-coffee and anise scent, and bit.

A hot
rush filled my mouth an instant before the taste of Felix’s blood flooded every
single sense I had. My eyes flew wide at the first swallow, his sharp hiss
barely registering as I moaned and let my eyes close, giving myself up to the
luscious flavor, the tingling buzz of it racing through me. Decadent. Debauched.
Sizzling with power. Heightening my body’s responses until they all snapped
taut and settled wantonly in my lower body. Felix tasted like sex!

He laid
his free hand on my opposite hip, a hot brand that made me shiver as his
fingers flexed a tighter hold on me. I could hear him breathing heavier,
faster, beginning to pant, idly wondering if my saliva was having as much of an
effect on him as his blood was having on me. I squirmed on my perch at the edge
of the bed, feeling hot, and needy, wanting to press up against him until the
ache blooming inside receded in that glorious explosion I hadn’t experienced
with another in so, so long.

Bad
enough he had aroused me with his sniffing. How the hell was I supposed to
control myself with a liquid-fire libido-boost running through my system? I
went into the situation thinking one of us would be able to control themselves,
namely me, but one swallow of his blood had blown that plan right out the
cockpit!

Now
look at me; writhing against the bedspread, knees scissoring like the silky
comforter could relieve the pressure, sultry moans rasping from me with each
desperate swallow.

Felix’s
arm snaked around me suddenly, heaving me up and back, pressing my spine to his
chest and my ass to his crotch. He groaned low and pained against my ear, his
breath fanning my cheek as he pressed the hard length of himself against me,
our hips rolling in tandem, frantic, unthinking, his arm pressing tighter to my
lips, cupping my head.

Feels
so good…

I wasn’t
thinking. All I knew was the rush of exquisite blood hastening over my tongue,
of the scent of him surrounding me, his heat at my back, and his arousal
rubbing so wonderfully perfect against my cheeks.
So good.
My own
arousal overwhelmed all things as I arched my back and pressed and rolled and
bucked, seeking nothing but the culmination, the climax, the kaleidoscope of
promised ecstasy. Something, I knew, only he and his blood could give me with
immediate effect.

Felix’s
knees pushed mine apart, spreading my thighs wide. I released his arm with a
gasp, my tongue flicking out to draw his flavor from my lips. My lids felt
heavy, my body lethargic, my mind distracted and incoherent. Yet his blood
sizzled and surged through me, leaving me writhing on him. It drove me so
mindlessly for completion that licking the puncture wounds on his arm closed,
tasting his blood again, smelling his fragrance, almost had me biting down once
more.

“Ride me,”
Felix groaned, both hands gripping my hips, urging me on as he thrust up
beneath me. “Ride me, pet.”

“Yes,” I
gasped, gripping his wrist with one hand and reaching back to grip his hair
with the other, bucking to meet him, each reckless impact sparking something
hot and piercing right from the core of me. “Yes.”

The
pressure built with alarming speed, my pounding heart sending the potency of
his blood whipping through me like waves of heat, lingering at the wetness
between my legs and the tingling hardness of my nipples. I was on fire, burning
up, veins blazing to ash, breaths panting to smoke, skin aflame with every
lancing blast of pleasure Felix fed and I took.

I’m
drunk off power,
I
thought, realizing the zing in my system was Felix’s blood blending into me,
healing me, reviving me as only Vampire blood can. I moaned louder, longer,
again and again, bouncing and riding him harder, faster, the barrier of our
clothes doing nothing to inhibit the sudden rapturous flash of an orgasm about
to…about to…

Oh
God!

I cried
out, spine going rigid, muscles clenching as blessed wave after blessed wave of
pleasure rippled through me, soaking me, ringing me dry. Felix barked a sudden
shout, bucking frantically, and immediately the air perfumed with the scent of
our combined climaxes, intermingled with his unique aroma and my arousal. He
went limp on the bed, and I collapsed against him, his breaths panting against
my hair as his hands left my sides to flop on the bed. His heart gave a single,
shuddering beat against my back, while mine pounded crazily, my own ragged
breath sawing from my throat.

“You
should have warned me,” I managed to murmur, knowing I should be feeling all
kinds of shame and humiliation.

“Indeed,
pet,” he huffed, and after a moment of silence, added, “I can’t feel my arms or
legs…” His tone was a little awed, and my mouth twitched.

“And we
didn’t even have to swap underwear.” I sighed.
So much for shame and
humiliation.
As it turned out, when Felix only grunted in response, I
couldn’t find the energy to make myself care. And as the pressure seeped away,
leaving my entire body a liquid puddle of sated hybrid, I smiled and closed my
eyes, the weight of my bliss unable to hold them open, and it didn’t take long
before I knew nothing more.

I felt
the warm, smooth surface of my trunk before I saw it.

The
trunk was made of two shades of cherry wood. One dark. One light. The dark was
smooth and glossy. The light was engraved with winding flowers and leaves. The
latches and hinges were brass and iron. The iron was dark and smooth, worn from
touch of decades, from generations of my family. The brass was warm, the
filigree barely even visible anymore.

I
reached out my hand toward it, knowing that the wood would be like a living,
breathing thing under my fingertips, and the latches would be cold, like frost
on glass. And as my fingers brushed the ornate carvings on the lid, they
felt weightless, like air, and I half-expected my hand to just float right
through the wood.

But
they didn’t.

My
fingertips brushed the grain, traced a leaf, and trailed down a vine, smoothing
to the edges. My hands, oddly pale, the nails dark, making me pause and look at
them…but I couldn’t hold the thought of why this would be strange to me. I was
pale anyway, though not this pale. Freckles decorated my skin usually, a
chaotic pattern of blemishes many considered cute. Now they were gone, replaced
by this milky white flawlessness.

I
looked back at the trunk, slid my fingers over the warm, familiar carvings, and
then gripped the edges to lift it open—

My hand
curled around soft, cool sheets as my mind came out of the warm, fuzzy blanket
of sleep. Moaning, I stretched my arms over my head and pointed my toes in a
deliciously feline stretch, and then flopped back onto the bed, my gaze lazily
moving around what was obviously a hotel room. Rich creamy carpet, thick velvet
drapes, white and gold furniture, ornately styled, entertainment center and
bar.

Flashes
of my dreams skated through my head, dancing in a myriad of flickering,
haunting images, and for a moment, my fingers tingled with the remembered grain
of that wooden chest. I knew what was in that old trunk, and pondered briefly
why such things were cropping up in my subconscious. Feeling better than I had
in a long time, all loose and liquid-like, I put the dream down to nothing more
than being in the company of the Vampire clan, which had also stirred up
memories of things I made a point not to think of.

Sluggishly,
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, and stared down at my feet, noting
that my shoes were off, and my socks, and my jeans… Hell, I was wearing nothing
but a vest-top and panties. Frowning, I tried to recall how I’d gotten to the
hotel and when I’d changed, but I had nothing.

Thinking
back harder—having to force, really, since I was feeling all lazy and languid—I
tried to figure out what Felix and I had…

Oh,
dear Lord, I dry-humped the Vampire to orgasm.
Dying.
Dying, right now.

Heat
flooded my face, my ears, my throat and chest as I recalled the…events…that had
been the result of my bite and his blood. My skin tingled when I recollected the
heat of him pressed to my back, the searing grip of his large hands on my hips,
how good the hard length of him had felt grinding against me, even with
clothes. Shivering when the images became too vivid, other places in my lower
body beginning to warm too, I dropped my face into my hands in utter mortification.

How
the hell was I supposed to face him now? He must think me such a little
strumpet after that!
 
Jeepers, Red, nice going. Since you met
this vamp it’s been all about getting your wide-on.
I mentally shook my head.
What
happened to that touch of class you always professed to have?

It’s
in the laundry…along with my sanity.

And on
top of all that mortification, was my guilt. It was cold, heavy and ultimately
familiar. Being brought to climax by someone other than…other than Glenn. Other
than my husband. Though he had died the night I was bitten, though I had seen
all the blood and his body, had felt the cooling of his skin as he whispered to
me to run, I still felt a little dirty, like I’d been unfaithful. My commitment
to a memory, to a shadow of what I knew, was still a strong sense inside me. I
never want to be with another man, to love another man. To dishonor the
sacrifice Glenn had made in such a way would break my heart all over again.

But could
I resist the Vampire? Did I want to? I sighed when I realized the answer was a
big, fat, resounding no.

Kicking
into action, I shuffled off the bed, decidedly
 
not
 
wondering if Felix had changed me
or seen me naked, and traipsed over to my duffel bag, sitting at the foot of a
long, wide, cream-colored leather sofa. Dropping onto the cool seat beside my
stuff, I blinked sleepily at a note sitting on the table. A long, black zip-up
clothes bag was laid out beside it, and there were
 
Victoria’s Secret and L’Oréal
Cosmetics bags on the floor. Arching a brow at the VS bag, I lifted the note,
blinked furiously to focus my lazy brain, and read.

Be
ready at
 
8 PM. We’re going
hunting.

~F

P.S. I
can still smell you.

Bloody
Vampire.

Scrubbing
a hand over my face, I dragged the bags closer and peer inside. “What the…?” I
pull out a box of hair dye, frowning. “Golden Caramel Brown.” I read, and tore
it open to read the instructions before tossing it on the table. Then I pulled
out a little box of blue contact lenses. I snorted. “Incognito, eh, bat boy?”
There was a bunch of cosmetics, right down to foundation and nail polish. I
shook my head, not really wanting to know how he knew what to get. I looked in
 
Victoria’s bag next, and gaped, then
gaped a bit more.

I lifted
out a pair of black lace French panties, pinched between thumb and forefinger,
and then promptly dropped it back in the bag. “I can’t be dealing with this
before shower and coffee,” I grumbled to myself, coming to my feet and making a
beeline for the bathroom with the hair dye.

After a
long, a very long, dousing in a steamy, multi-jet power shower, and a brief
inspection of my completely healed back, I was feeling less like Zombie Red and
more like Chain-saw-wielding Red once more—albeit a honey-highlights brunette
one. It was kind of nice, to change my appearance. It was a shame that by
morning, my immortality would have burned the color out of my hair, returning
it to its natural, dark strawberry blonde. I pulled on a thick terry robe that
swamped me, all cozy and cuddly like, and towel-dried my hair while I waited
for food and coffee to arrive.

I’d just
got the blue contacts in—slippery little shites—when the food arrived. I
multitasked as my hair dried, eating my cheeseburger and fries while painting
my toenails a bright, blood red color and messaging Jade on my phone. Thank God
for blackberry messenger, otherwise my text bill alone would be colossal.

Me: How’s
the club?

Jade: Meh
.
Chicago
 
is a
mean city. Even the locals call in sick with flu! Shouldn’t they be used to
this fucked up weather?

Me: Damn inconsiderate
humans,
 
I said, thinking about duck-walking it
over to the windows to peak past the drapes.
 
So
I have a question.

Jade: Uh
oh.

Me: It’s
not that bad!
 
I replied instantly.

Jade: You’re
oldest.
 
If you don’t know, how the hell will I?
 
She had a point, but I persevered anyway.

Me: Ever
dry-humped to orgasm?

I managed
to paint all my toes by the time she answered, and I could just imagine her
sitting at her desk staring at her phone, dark hair in a high ponytail, eyes
fixed and rereading, trying to gauge my seriousness. I grinned when my phone
finally bleeped a happy reply.

I’m
going to stop talking to you now.

I laughed
aloud, but didn’t reply. I had to paint my fingers and messaging would prove
too tricky, so I swapped the little buttons of my phone for the touch screen of
my iPad, browsing through news, gossip and theories on what Immortals were
calling ‘The Collector’. Since none of the kidnapped victims had turned up,
dead or otherwise, the title seemed creepily appropriate.

After my
nails were dry, I did my hair, piling it on top of my head, allowing stray
tendrils to fall about my face and neck. I added a little artificial blush and
eyeliner, and the effect made my now-blue eyes look huge. The result guaranteed
no one would remember the rest of my face. I also removed all the hoops from my
ears and replaced them with simple silver and diamond studs.

With
nothing left to stall me, and noticing I didn’t have much longer until Felix
would be by to collect me, I took a deep breath and approached the clothes on
the table by the couch. I’d avoided them, opting for the cosmetics bag
that seemed safer. However, I reasoned that turning up wherever we were going
in a terry cloth robe was probably not going to help us blend.

So, with
an open, unthinking mind, I went through the
 
Victoria’s
Secret bag, began removing tags and putting on the very pretty, very sexy, red
and black satin and lace get-up. It was a long way from what I normally wore,
though to my chagrin, not by much. Along with the black lace French
panties, there was also an already laced black satin corset, with fine
detailing etched out with blood red ribbon and lace, and a matching garter
belt.

I was
starting to see a theme.

I dragged
on the fine silk black stockings, hitched them to the garter, and then turned
to the zip-up hanger bag. As I lifted it, I noticed there was a heavy weight at
the bottom, and frowned as I took it to the bathroom door, hooked it over the
top, and tugged down the zip.

I sucked
in a reverent breath as I pushed the bag back, taking in a stunning black satin
dress. It was strapless, giving reason for the corset, and had an empire waist
cinched with an inch-thick band of— can you guess? Blood red ribbon. As I
pulled it out, I scowled that it would fall all the way to the floor, making
any kind of maneuvering a test to the imagination. Then I grinned when I saw
Felix had included a black satin, red silk lined shrug jacket that cinched with
a discreet hook under my breasts, to cover my scars.

Bless
him, he remembered.

As the
last of it fell from the confines of the zip-up, two
thunks
sounded and
I bounced back, staring at the floor. A pair of shiny black court shoes lay
there, each with a glossy black five inch stiletto heel, and a yummy red sole. I
could have drooled if I wasn’t instantly examining the outfit and all the ways
it would hinder me.

Sighing,
I brushed my fingers over the dress, noting that the lining of the skirts was
red too. Taking it from the hanger, I dragged it over to the full-length
mirror, and wiggled into it. The zip was on the side, and once up,
completely hidden. The dress, like the underwear, fit perfectly, the shrug too,
and when I slid my feet into my new shoes, I noticed they didn’t even pinch. Not
the tiniest bit.

How
the hell did he know my sizes?

Shaking
my head, I turned back to the Armani bag, and rummaged around until I found the
lip gloss. I puckered up and applied, dabbing until my lips were a plump,
glistening dark red, enhancing the effect of my pale skin and big blue eyes.

I hardly recognized
myself.
Shivers.

A sharp
knock at the door made me flinch from my reflection, and I hiked up the long
hem of my gown and strolled to the door. Felix was on the other side, leaning
casually against the frame, and my breath literally stopped as I took him in.

His dark
hair was slicked back, his face cleanly shaven, bringing out all those sharp,
dashing lines and making them positively devastating. My breath came out in a
shuddering sigh as my eyes scanned down him, admiring the way the sleek black
tuxedo fit his broad shoulders, how the satiny lapels lay smoothly over his
chest, and matching my dress. 

 
The sharp white points of his shirt
collar were a bright contrast to the black tie. It, too, shimmered slightly,
like his lapels, and the snake-skin pattern on his tie matched the same one on
his glossy waistcoat, as his slim waist tapered into narrow hips. His
black-clad legs were crossed casually at the ankle, his hands in his pockets,
his sharp lime and jade eyes examining me in kind.

I tilted
my head. “I don’t think,” I began, “that you were ever a British noble.”

He arched
a brow. “You sound so sure.”

I clicked
my tongue. “At first glance, you could pull it off. But, on closer examination,
you look too much like a rogue.” I spun on my heel and sauntered back into my
room, breezily pretending his stunning appearance didn’t make my heart pound
with want. My cheeks heated with flashes of a memorable orgasm.