Sips of Blood Part 12

Liliana's shoulders shuddered. She wants your son's blood, Mr. Bridgewater. She wants to own him. Live off him.

"I was a bare minimum father. I took him to the doctor when he was sick. I saw him off to school each morning. Checked his homework at night. When there was a father-son function, I was there. Called the police on him when I found marijuana hidden under his mattress. I knew the sheriff would put a scare into him. Knew he wouldn't put my son away for more than a night."

"You sent your son to jail?"

"Spent only one night in juvenile detention. Picked him up the next day, and he was as brazen as ever. I tried to follow the rules and regulations of fatherhood, but I never allowed my heart to interfere. Never exposed myself to anyone else after Emmeline died."

He took a step closer to Liliana.

"But I don't want any harm to come to him. I can't say I love him as a person. I do love him, though, because he's my..." He glanced back at the tombstone. "Our flesh and blood. He's a part of Emmeline I can't put behind me and forget. Memories fade in and out. But when I see Wil and touch Wil and breathe his scent I'm in Emmeline's presence again." He looked at Liliana. "Please don't let your grandma hurt my son."

"Send your son away."

"He won't go. He thinks he's looking out for me. Wants to prove he loves me. But he can't, you know, because I didn't teach him how."

Something moved. She looked around to see what it was.

"Scared? Don't have to be. It was probably some animal scurrying across the cemetery. We probably invaded his property. Or at least he thinks we did.

"When I was a boy I wouldn't go near cemeteries. Dad used to tell fiendish tales about flesh-eating ghouls and bloodsucking vampires. Where he came from, if they thought someone was a vampire they would dig up the grave, cut the head off, and put it at the feet of the body. Facing downward, just in case the vampire was able to reach down and stick the head back on his shoulders. That way the vampire couldn't see where he was going. Guess they didn't think vampires were smart enough to twist the head around.

"But ever since Emmeline died, I'm no longer afraid of at least this cemetery. After she died I spent a lot of time reading." He laughed. "Still do. One book talked about the Aztecs and their belief in cihuateteo."

"Female vampires that died in childbirth," Liliana mechanically said.

"Yeah." His voice displayed his surprise. "Anyway, I used to come here and wait for her to rise. h.e.l.l, I would have let her bite me if I could have spent eternity with her."

Keith fell down on his knees before the tombstone. He m.u.f.fled his sobs with his shirt. Liliana went to him and placed her hand on the back of his wrinkled neck. Her hand slid down across the keratoses and moles, resting finally on the large festering mole.

Chapter 21.

Marie fingered the doily on the arm of the settee. Wil had offered to retrieve a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator.

Her eyes hurt. She stood and walked to the other end of the room to dim the lights. Keith had insisted on turning the lights on maximum. Thank G.o.d he's gone. She felt guilt and relief that her granddaughter had left.

Liliana had certainly looked fragile tonight. The diet she was keeping obviously sapped her strength. Her fingers were long and thin, and Marie couldn't help but notice that the skin withered under the girl's fingernails. Marie wondered what Liliana's body looked like under the layers she wore. When Sade had been forced to go on a bloodless diet in the Bastille, he had become bloated. Her stupid daughter, Renee-Pelagie had believed it to be the rich food. Marie had known better. Once she had learned of Sade's secret blood l.u.s.t, she had never let the man walk free in Paris until he shared the eternal gift with her. Bloated on rich food! More likely his gaseous pomposity enlarged his corpse. Vampires didn't absorb food the way the living did. They had no need. Blood sated a vampire's hunger. Blood and s.e.x, she thought as Wil called from the kitchen.

"We'll have to open a fresh bottle of Veuve Cliquot 'La Grande Dame.'"

"Go right ahead, my dear."

It couldn't hurt to have him a little--no, completely drunk, she thought. As for herself, she missed the elegant highs she had when living. Her serious highs now only occurred when drinking blood. And she wasn't sure the dead blood that her granddaughter consumed was absorbed. How unnatural! Perhaps for once she would join forces with Sade and attempt to make Liliana behave as a true vampire. But Liliana couldn't have Wil. That would be the only line Marie would draw in helping her.

Marie had worn a revealing black dress, hoping to emphasize her blood-hungry white skin. Alas, Liliana in a heather gray turtleneck dress still seemed to outdo her. Somehow Liliana had managed to shine like silver against the bland heather hue. How silly to envy one's own granddaughter, she chided herself.

"Where did you go?" asked Will staring at the empty settee.

"I'm here," she said quietly and rapidly moved herself directly behind her prey.

She smiled what she hoped was a pretty smile, but she had become a vampire too late to retain the freshness and youth that marked Liliana.

Marie walked around him and settled herself once again on the settee, placing her hand on the cushion next to her as an invitation. He handed her a fresh gla.s.s of champagne before taking the seat immediately next to her.

"I must say that I'm impressed with the quant.i.ty and quality of champagne you can afford."

"Why?"

"Your husband must have left you quite well-off."

"Husband? What makes you think I depend on a dead husband for financial support?"

In fact, initially the money had come from her husband. However, she was proud that her crafty investments had transformed the modest legacy into a fortune. The fees her clients paid her were pin money, taken merely to a.s.suage her clients' guilt.

For the first time she noticed that Wil's eyes had a touch of gold in them, a shine that appeared only when he thought something amusing. She meant to prove that she was more than just amusing.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" asked Wil.

"Truth."

"How solemn."

"So many people waste their time in games. I never waste a minute."

"Recently you seemed to have been biding your time." That horrible shiny glow lit his eyes once again. But those eyes could turn darker, she knew, and she would bring out the ebony in them.

"There's a difference between biding one's time and being... polite. And I think we know enough about each other to drop the charade."

"You mean from now on you're going to be impolite." The amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes had begun to sting her.

Marie rose and began to disrobe--not with any special speed. No, casually she discarded her dress and stood before Will in a heavily laced black corset. She lifted the cushion on which she had been seated and pulled out a flogger, one of her fanciest with gold leaf on the handle and studded with emeralds. She allowed the deerskin thongs to fall across her right thigh.

Wil leaned back on the settee and stretched his legs, resting his feet on the coffee table. Whimsy didn't leave his pupils as he sipped the champagne.

"What's your preference, flogging or whipping?" she asked.

"The floggers I use are made of harness leather, not deerskin."

"I have a selection."

Suddenly Wil leaned forward and made a grab for the flogger. Her hand instantly tightened on the handle, and she could feel the tension spread up her arm into her neck, tensing her lips.

Wil simply turned his hand palm upward and waited until she released the handle of the flogger into his palm.

Placing his feet back on the floor, Wil moved forward in his seat and began to brush the thongs against Marie's shapely leg.

"Your body's in good shape."

"For an old bag."

"Better even than many young purses."

They both laughed. Wil put his gla.s.s on the table and stood. He kept his long body straight as he removed his jacket.

"And the shirt," she suggested.

He smiled. That d.a.m.n shine of amus.e.m.e.nt never seemed to leave his eyes. He switched the flogger to his left hand and rubbed the back of his right hand across his lips. After taking several steps backward, he practiced using the flogger in the air.

"From the way your chest had looked the other day I wouldn't have expected you to be able to use the flogger so expertly."

"I switch."

The amusing shine in his eyes glowed.

"I don't."

"Shame. You can't be good at one without being good at the other also."

"Bulls.h.i.t." She smelled him now. Not just the odor of his blood but the testosterone violence building in his body's cells. Maybe that had been what she had sensed all along. Not the weakness and submissiveness of this young man, but the potential cruelty and power he could wield. He definitely needed to be tamed.

His movements were fluid, confident, and professional.

"Another way you earn a living?"

"And I now know how you can afford all that expensive champagne."

"I don't do it for the money."

"And you don't do it for free."

"No, a good psychiatrist always makes sure the bill is paid."

His eyes lit up like fire as he went into a fit of laughter. He attempted to speak, but garbled his words. Finally: "It's my turn to say bulls.h.i.t."

"I do it for the blood." Her voice sounded stern and level, filled with no humor.

"For the sight of blood?"

"For the feel of the thick juice rolling across my tongue, settling into my pores. Keeping me alive."

"A wanna-be vampire. I don't give of my blood until I've drawn my partner's."

Wil tossed the flogger onto the settee, picked up his jacket, and walked to the front door.

"Will you be seeing me out as a lady should?"

The sarcasm sparked the fire of her need. She lifted the flogger and came at Wil.

Quickly he dodged her swing. She heard his laughter through the door he had slammed behind him.

"One has no conception of what anguish is suffered by the wretch who from hour to hour awaits his ordeal, from whom hope has fled, and who knows not whether this breath he draws may not be his last."

Justine.

by the Marquis de Sade.

Chapter 22.

Garrett stood over the toilet retching. He heard his son's loud music as a thumping through the wall that separated him from his son's bedroom. After puking on and off for several hours, Garrett now had the dry heaves and painful cramps. His teenage daughter screamed at her brother so loudly that her words sounded garbled.

He used a wet towel to wipe his face.

A gentle rap introduced his wife's voice.

"Honey, are you all right? I can call the doctor's service, or perhaps I should drive you to the emergency room."

"No! G.o.d, no! Just leave me alone."

"Whatever it is, I hope it's not catching." She lowered her voice. "Remember the children are here."

The old family Saint Bernard barked wildly. Garrett's son and daughter had most likely come to blows again. The battles never amounted to much, but Garrett didn't like the idea of his son hitting his sister. He didn't like the idea of any violence within his household.

He rubbed another layer of Preparation H into his crack. He had the s.h.i.ts all morning, and now the burning and pain made it difficult for him to walk. Quickly he had disposed of his silk boxer shorts lest his wife see the blood staining them. Black and blue marks covered his a.s.s. He checked his c.o.c.k for any blisters or sores. Too early, he supposed, but h.e.l.l, he couldn't believe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't bother to use protection. He guessed his real worry would be the c.u.m that the guy had squirted up into his a.s.shole. His stomach roiled with the memory of having the f.a.g's d.i.c.k shoved into his mouth. He remembered the hook-like shape that seemed to force its way down his throat and the metal ball piercing the tip that had slid against his tonsils.

Talking about a.s.sholes. Why the h.e.l.l did he allow the f.a.g to tie him up? Because he was stupid? Because he was suicidal? Perhaps because he wanted to bring a little gift back to Maitresse? Whatever the reason, he rued the previous night's activities.

Painfully Garrett bent over to pull up the black silk pajama bottom from around his ankles.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't even get into any blood sports. That probably was a blessing. His nipples were sore from the clamps that had looked like miniature wine presses. Cautiously Garrett picked up the pajama top. He hated slipping it over his tender nipples, but there were some suspicious bruises marking his back, and his wife would surely to notice them. Stiffly he stretched his arms into the sleeves, but before b.u.t.toning up he pulled the Band-Aids from the medicine chest. He placed an inch-wide strip on each nipple, then closed the pajama top. Not perfect, but better, he thought.

Another gentle rap.

"Honey, the lawyer's on the phone."