Garnet Lacey - Tall, Dark And Dead Part 18

"I just want to go home," I admitted.

"You know what?" William said. "This works out. I mean, if everything you've said is true, Garnet. I've got to get busy. Magic is really out there. I just have to find it. I'm going to meditate for real tonight.

Maybe some G.o.d will inhabit me."

"Be careful," I said softly, not even certain he heard me over the roar of the engine.

We drove in contemplative silence, me watching out the window for favorite landmarks: the Capitol dome with its gleaming white Federal columns, the carousel, the lakes and parkways. I caught a glimpse of State Street as we pa.s.sed it, teeming with the post-bar crowd.

"Did you see that?" asked William. "I think that guy was a gigolo."

I craned my head to see.

"In Madison?" Izzy said, "Probably he just had bad fashion sense."

"No, I swear," William insisted. "He was totally doing that 'Pretty Woman' thing with the cars."

"It's called cruising," I suggested, though there'd been something familiar in that swagger. Did I know the guy? I hadn't really gotten a good look at him; it was more likely he just reminded me of someone.

"He's probably just gay."

"He could still be a gigolo," William insisted. We argued amiably about the viability of prost.i.tution in Madison the rest of the ride home.

Despite the open windows, the tang of bleach greeted me when I walked in the apartment door. I frowned at the arrow stub in the window frame and the hole behind the potted sunflowers. I'd really hoped to come home to discover it had all been a silly dream. f.u.c.k.

Both Izzy and William had offered me crash s.p.a.ce, but I'd declined.

I sighed in the direction of the smashed plaster and laths. Well, the Vatican now certainly knew about my existence. An earlier version of me would have pulled out the packed suitcase from the back of my bedroom closet, packed up Barney, cut my losses, and run at this point. After what happened tonight with Sebastian and Feather and everyone, I felt a deep bond forming. If I left now, it would be at the expense of my friendships. Last time, when I fled, I had nothing more to lose. Now it was different. I stayed for myself, yes, but for everyone else, too.

I straightened a few of the pictures on the wall, dusted the counters, and did a couple of other tidying/nesting things, and then finally I felt so exhausted that I couldn't keep my eyes open. I retreated to the bedroom, threw off my clothes, and crawled into bed. Barney hopped up on the mattress and snuggled on my chest. I ran a hand along her gray ruff and paused to scratch behind an ear. She purred contentedly. "Tomorrow," I told her, "we hunt Vatican agents."

I sat bolt upright when I heard the door creak open.

The Vatican. I reached for the oversized sweatshirt I kept at the foot of the bed and dragged it over my head. A weapon, I thought. I need a G.o.dd.a.m.ned weapon.

Standing up quietly, I glanced at the athame on the altar. It was a cheap reproduction dagger I'd bought at the Renaissance Festival, and it was duller than s.h.i.t. Though I loved the black-velvet-covered grip, the old thing could barely cut through the apple I sacrificed every year during my Halloween ritual. I had serious doubts it could damage a fully grown priest/a.s.sa.s.sin. Besides, the Order had turned the coven's daggers against them. The prospect of the same thing happening to me seemed far too likely.

So I dropped it in favor of the fist-sized sandstone rock I'd "liberated" from the Valley of Fire National Park in Nevada during my vacation there a couple of months back. It felt heavy and solid in my hands and serious enough to bash a head in.

Even so armed, I hesitated at the door before opening it. I listened carefully. For a moment I thought I'd dreamed the noise until I heard cursing coming from the living room. Either the priests had extraordinarily foul mouths, or it was Parrish tripping over the pile of books I'd purposely left in front of the door.

Leaving the rock on the altar, I grabbed Sebastian's sweatpants from where I'd tossed them over a chair earlier today and stomped into them.

"I didn't expect you back," I called as I made my way into the living room.

"Ever?" Parrish had found a change of clothes somewhere, and, amazingly, looked trashier than usual.

He still favored leather pants, but he now had on, of all things, a tank top that clung to his chest like asecond skin. It was very nineties, and it should have looked ridiculous on him, but it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the muscles of his washboard stomach.

"I thought you'd sell Sebastian's grimoire off to the highest bidder and skip town," I confessed.

He acknowledged the possibility with a faint shrug that set the fabric of his shirt stretching along the hard planes of his pectorals. "I considered it."

I'd wanted to play it cool, but I couldn't help but ask, "Is it safe?"

"Yes," he said, with a glance at a pile of leather in the corner that my brain eventually pa.r.s.ed as saddlebags for a motorcycle. "I even brought it back."

My apartment wasn't the best place for the grimoire, especially since the Vatican would be back in the morning. Even so, part of me was relieved. I wanted it close.

Parrish's finger stroked the shaft of the sawed-off arrow. The soft, almost loving, caress he gave the wood sent goose pimples rising on my arms. "You've had some fun without me, I see."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest lest Parrish see the effect he was having on other parts of me. "I wouldn't call it fun, precisely."

"No? From your note I'd guess you had a visit from our friends from Rome. Besides, this place stinks of spilled blood." His mouth twitched up in an admiring smile. "How many did you bury this time, Garnet?"

"None," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. Parrish made it sound like a game, but the Vatican could easily have killed Sebastian, like they'd murdered my friends before. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"You never disappoint, Garnet." A seductive smile spread across his face. "I'd tell you how ravishing you look, but you wouldn't believe me."

I laughed, feeling an old familiar warmth stir deep in my breast. Parrishhad come back. His actions showed me what I had always known: he was trustworthy. I could count on him in a pinch. When the world fell apart, Parrish would be there to help pick up the pieces.

Not like Sebastian. He'd proved to be something other than I'd expected tonight.

"Baggy sweats turn you on, do they?" I said more than a little flirtatiously.

He nodded, very seriously-far too seriously, in fact. "I've never gotten used to women in slacks. It's so...revealing. Without a corset and petticoats, you might as well be bare, the way your body moves under that fabric."

I suddenly felt the absence of a bra keenly. To hide my consternation, I said, "Why are you working so hard, Parrish? You look like you've fed tonight."

Even though the room was mostly dark, other than the lamp I'd left on for him, his skin looked healthier, more natural. I suspected he'd spent his time away in the arms of some willing victim of his many charms.

He gave me the barest twitch of a smile, and his eyes studied the floor almost as though he wereembarra.s.sed. When we were dating, I will admit I never liked the fact he had s.e.xual or at the very least near-s.e.xual relationships with his "donors." I tried to tolerate it. I mean, he had to drink to survive.

Parrish had usually bl.u.s.tered at my jealousy. The way he studied his boots made me think he seemed almost ashamed.

"What's wrong, Parrish?" I asked.

He sat down on the couch with his arms resting along the back, opened in a welcoming, come-hither pose. With the barely there shirt accenting his muscles and the slight spread of his legs, he looked like a Playgirl calendar boy.

Oh, s.h.i.t. Now I knew who the gigolo we saw on State Street reminded me of: Parrish.

Could it be? Was Parrish selling himself-or his bite- on the street?

No, no way.

But then I remembered what he'd said about leaving Minneapolis. He was out of money. He had...

what had he implied? Some embarra.s.sing incident caused him to beat a hasty retreat?

"Nothing," he said. It was unnerving that he wouldn't meet my eyes.

I plopped myself down on the couch and settled in the crook of his arm. I wedged an arm around his back and gave him a bear hug. His skin was cold, like the wind that blew in over the lakes. He'd been outside, probably for a long time. The more he'd been exposed to the elements, the longer it took his body to warm up to room temperature. I wanted to ask him about it, you know, to find out if he'd been out doing something debasing in some alleyway, but it seemed unkind.

"You sure you're okay?" I asked instead.

His voice was quiet and sad. "When your life is a series of f.u.c.k-ups, eternity can be a very, very long time."

"Ain't that the truth? Well, maybe that's what you and I have in common, Daniel Parrish."

He laughed. "Had a bad day, love?"

"The worst."

"Me, too." I could feel his body relax a little. His hand came up to play with the short spikes of my hair.

"The pixie cut suits you," he said. "It makes you look tougher. Wiser."

Jadedis what he meant, I thought. I looked more like a woman who's had fate kick her in the teeth a couple of times.

"Yeah," I said, enjoying the feeling of his fingers ma.s.saging my scalp, the knots in my neck. "It's easier to take care of."

"Hmmm. Smells good, too."

Irish moss. It was in the stuff I used to give it a little lift. I returned the favor and breathed in his scent:leather, sweat, and s.e.x. Parrish was comfortably what-you-see-is-what-you-get.

I guess that's why I let him kiss me. His lips were chilly against my forehead, but they were smooth, firm, and familiar. I never forgot Parrish was a vampire. Strangely, I found comfort in that. His cruelty would never surprise me. He was what he was.

When his lips touched mine, I pulled him in for a hard, bruising kiss. I wrapped my hands around his neck and levered myself around so that I straddled his waist. He looked surprised, but I could tell from the pressure between my legs that he was pleased with the new development.

I probably shouldn't start something like this, but I was still angry at Sebastian, and Parrish was oh so kissable. I pulled back and let my fingers roam through his hair.

And he had such gorgeous hair. The color always reminded me of burnt sienna, a deep, rich red-brown.

There was just enough of a curl to give it fullness. I twirled a lock in my fingers, feeling the silky smoothness.

"Do vampires have to wash their hair, or does this come naturally?"

He blinked up at me for a moment and then laughed. "Your moods are mercurial."

"What?"

"You're easily distracted," he said.

"Am not," I said with a faux pout, kissing him again.

"Yes, you are," he insisted between kisses. "It's part of your charm. I often have to work exceedingly hard to keep your attention."

"So you like the challenge?"

"I do."

To show me just how much he liked it, his hands found their way to the front of my shirt.

His palms cupped my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, while his thumbs expertly teased the erect tips of my nipples. Not that he'd needed to do much to excite me at this point; warmth had arched along the fibers of my nerves the moment our bodies touched. When he pinched my nipples and gave them a slight twist, it was unexpectedly pleasurable.

I forgot to breathe.

"I command your attention now, don't I?" Parrish smiled, and his fingers continued to pull and stretch.

"Oh, yes," I said. My body rocked against his as he kneaded my flesh. The hollow between my legs ground into the hardness of his erection. My fingernails dug into the skin of his broad shoulders.

"Good," he said, giving me a tweak painful enough that I cried out. "Because I have something I need to tell you." "What?" I asked breathlessly. Releasing my white-knuckle grip on his shoulder, I tugged my sweatshirt off over my head. The cool air on my naked flesh made me shiver.

"I'm jealous of Sebastian," Parrish murmured into my skin. His hands moved lower to grip my b.u.t.tocks, while his mouth covered my aching nipples. He sucked hard enough for me to almost wish his fingers were still there.

Almost.

"Sebastian who?" I said between moans. At this point I wanted him so bad it was starting to hurt.

I felt his laugh vibrate against my rib cage.

He pitched forward, and we tumbled onto the floor. Or rather, I fell, and he pounced. His lips locked on mine; his c.o.c.k, still restrained by his jeans, pressing me to the floor. His kiss was deep and probing, and I responded unthinkingly, pa.s.sionately. I pushed hard against him, sliding along the shape of him until I dragged out a fierce, low growl. Propping himself up on his hands, he lifted himself from me long enough for me to work the buckle of his belt and unzip his jeans. With his help, I squiggled out of my pants.

Parrish chuckled darkly at my anxiousness.

"Oh, shut up."

It took me a moment to register that Parrish had no underwear on. I got his pants down as far as his knees, and then considered them his problem. I had other things on my mind. My hand stroked the smooth hardness of him, drawing out a shuddering moan from him.

I was so ready that he slid deep inside in one smooth stroke. Even so, my breath caught on his shoulder.

My own heat insulated me from some of the shock of the coolness of his flesh. Luckily, Parrish didn't give me much time to contemplate the wrongness of feeling the strength of his erection versus the clamminess of his body. When he started moving urgently, my body responded in kind. Kisses smothered my lips, my hair... my throat.

When his mouth covered the s.p.a.ce behind my ear, I tensed, expecting to feel the sting of fangs. Though he didn't bite, I twitched as he continued down the line of my neck. Once he reached my shoulder, his lips came back up to nuzzle beside my ear again. "Do you want me to bite you?" he asked, punctuating the question with a hard thrust.

Maybe some quivering part of my inner thigh did, but after watching Sebastian rip into Feather tonight, the only answer could be, "No."

Plus, there was something about how Parrish phrased the question that felt wrong, like it was some part of a rehea.r.s.ed script.

I managed to say it again, stronger this time: "No."

His fangs had already descended, and I could feel the tiniest p.r.i.c.k against my neck. Just when I was ready to fight, he stopped. Pulling back to look me in the eye, he sounded stunned at being denied. "You said no?"

"Yes." Then I realized how confusing that might be, so I reiterated my point: "I said, no." Parrish nuzzled my neck with his nose. "No, really?"