Jeanne Stein: Crossroads

But I resist.

I’ve treated sex too cavalierly in the past. I want it to mean something from now on. Something more than just scratching a biological itch. Something like what I have with Stephen.

I already miss him.

For now, the blood has to be enough. It awakens every cel in my body. It revives and restores. My skin warms. A flush of heat floods my cheeks. My senses become needle sharp.

The feel of the host’s skin against my lips, the smel of his arousal, the quickness of his breath, I experience it al. His heartbeat. Steady, rhythmic, until he nears climax. Then his heart begins to race until it reaches a crescendo and his body tenses. He moans, grinds against me, one hand clutches the sheet, the other moves faster and with more urgency.

I keep feeding until the last shudder of release passes and he is quiet beside me. I use my tongue to seal the puncture wounds, watch as the marks fade. He does not speak or move. In a minute, his breathing becomes deep and regular, and I know.

He’s fal en asleep.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” I ask the snoring host.

I close the door quietly on my way out.

WHEN I JOIN CULEBRA AT THE BAR, HE LOOKS PAST

me toward the door to the back room. “Is he stil alive?”

He hands me a bottle of Dos Equis with a lime wedge propped on the rim.

I squeeze the lime down into the bottle. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

He takes another beer from a cooler under the bar and motions for me to fol ow him to a table. When we’re both seated he answers, “You looked hungry when you walked in.

How long has it been since you fed?”

I shrug. “A while.”

He watches me drink. “It’s been a while since we talked, too. Two months to be exact. I have a lot of questions.”

I figured. One of the reasons I’ve stayed away.

Culebra picks that thought out of the ether. He frowns. “I thought I was your friend.”

He shuts me out of his head. He’s angry or disappointed.

Maybe both. I can’t tel. But the result is the same. I give in with a sigh. “Sorry. You are my friend. I should have been in touch sooner. I guess I figured Frey would have fil ed you in.”

I glance around the bar. It’s almost empty this early on a Sunday morning. There are a couple of vamps sitting with two human women. The snatches of thought I catch from the vamps are that they’re wel fed and wel sexed and are looking for a way to leave graceful y without offending the female hosts. They may want a repeat performance down the line. The vibes the females give off tel me they wouldn’t object. I watch them a few moments until Culebra is back in my head.

You’re stalling.

I’m granted another reprieve when my host appears at the door. He grins at me with a look calculated to let anyone watching think I’d sucked more than his neck. I’m tempted to make a snarky remark but don’t. I simply let him swagger over to the other table. The females greet him and in another moment, al five leave with a parting wave to Culebra.

We’re now alone.

Culebra waves his bottle in the direction of the door. “I assume that look was a bit of bravado for the benefit of his friends.”

I laugh. “You’l need to change those sheets.”

The moment passes. “What did Frey tel you?”

“What you told him. The chal enge. Lance. The way you handled Chael. Sounds like you did wel for yourself.”

Did I? What I didn’t tel Frey, what I’m hiding from Culebra now, is that nothing was settled. Not real y. There is a schism forming in the vampire world led by the leader of the Middle Eastern Tribe, a powerful old-soul vampire cal ed Chael. I met his chal enge at the counsel cal ed to proclaim me the Chosen One, but it did nothing to lessen his desire to pursue his own course. A course designed to elevate vampires to the top of the food chain and relegate humans to nothing more than fodder, an expendable food source whose only existence would be to serve their vampire masters.

Culebra’s voice breaks through my dark thoughts.

“What are you hiding from me, Anna?”

“Nothing.” Everything.

His thoughts are like a laser, trying to bore into mine. I know you better than that. What aren’t you telling me?

I raise the beer bottle to my lips, drain it. Rise. “Have to go, my friend. I’l be in touch soon.”

Culebra doesn’t answer. Like Harris eyed me earlier, I feel the heat of his gaze as I stand to leave.

“Wait.”

I’m halfway to the door; I turn, pause.

“I have a message for you.”

“Who would leave a message for me here?”

Culebra crosses to the bar, reaches behind it for a folded piece of paper. “Somebody who is afraid you wouldn’t return his cal s if he tried to reach you directly.”

He holds the note out to me. As soon as I see the signature, I understand why he’d go through Culebra. He’s right. I wouldn’t have returned his cal s.

The note is from Max.

I stare down at the note. Culebra feels my anger build.

Max is an ex-boyfriend. Human. Couldn’t take off fast enough when he found out what I am, even though it’s because of what I am that he’s alive today. To make matters worse, he decided that sex with a vampire while acting as a host was a pretty damned good way to get his rocks are So he comes here to enjoy fucking vampires. Anonymous vampires. It’s me he doesn’t want to fuck anymore.

My hand curls into a fist, crushing the note. “When did he leave this?”

Culebra avoids my gaze. “Today. I told him you were on your way.”

“So the coward didn’t wait to face me in person? Why would you take this? You know how I feel about Max and his new hobby.”

Culebra holds up a hand. “Max hasn’t come here to be a host for some time. Whatever he needed to get out of his system, he seems to have succeeded.”

“You mean me, right? He needed to get me out of his system.”

Culebra shakes his head. “Read the damn note, wil you?”

I drag my eyes back to the note, open my hand, smooth the paper against my thigh. I can’t imagine being interested in anything Max has to say to me. The bastard left without so much as a good-bye.

The handwriting is cramped, uneven. As if he wrote the note in a hurry.

Anna. I need your help. Call me. Max.

“Wow.” I wave the note toward Culebra. “This makes me want to drop everything and ring him right up. He doesn’t even say please. Christ. Why would I want to help him?”

Culebra lifts his shoulders. “It must be important.”

“He didn’t tel you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Didn’t tel you what exactly?”

“For Christ sake, cal him, wil you?” Culebra’s irritation flares, radiates outward from his thoughts and burns into my head. Don’t be so goddamned stubborn.

I don’t even know if I still have his number. A last whining excuse.

Of course you still have his number. In your cell.

He’s right. Not that I’l give him the satisfaction of tel ing him. Just like I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing deep down I want to cal Max. Only to satisfy my curiosity.

Only to find out how Max plans to grovel his way back into my good graces. Only to enjoy turning down whatever he wants.

His leaving was no laughing matter, but tel ing him to go to hel would be good for a laugh, not to mention my ego.

I turn my back on Culebra and stomp out, letting one thought drift back.

Fucking men.

ON THE DRIVE BACK HOME I DEBATE WITH MYSELF.

Do I want to cal Max? It’s been eight months since the last time we ran into each other in Beso de la Muerte. He was on the arm of a vampire, stinking of sex and blood. My stomach stil roils at the memory.