Jeanne Stein - Haunted

That’s what I meant when I told Frey a life-and-death battle against a godlike demon tends to forge bonds. During the entire time we were together on that “adventure,” Stephen didn’t flinch or turn away from what I was. And when we were safe, back on Earth, he stayed with me.

Is that love?

Yes.

I think so . . .

I don’t know.

Damn it, Frey.

I give myself a mental thump. Bringing John-John here, giving me a glimpse of what the three of us could share, has burrowed into my subconscious like a tick. Frey is smart. He knew exactly what he was doing. After that one conversation, he never again mentioned love or sharing a life with him. He didn’t need to. The time he and John-John and I spent together was magical. It implanted the notion that it was possible for me to have a family, a family that included a child. A notion I’d given up on.

Cunning.

From downstairs, the trill of my cell phone.

I jump up and run to get it.

“Hey, you,” a familiar voice says. “Where are you? I thought you were coming to pick me up?”

I shoot a startled glance toward the mantel clock. It’s after two. Shit.

“Oh my god, Stephen. I’m sorry. My watch must have stopped.” A lie. I was lost in my daydream.

“Well, get over here, girl. I can’t wait to see you.” A pause. “No. I have a better idea. I’ll take a cab. It’ll be faster.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just make sure you’re naked and ready when I get there.”

“I’m ready now. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too. See you in a few minutes.”

Perfect timing, Stephen. You’re just the antidote I need to chase Frey’s fantasies right out of my head.

I ROLL OVER AND SMILE DOWN AT STEPHEN. HIS EYES are closed but I know he’s not sleeping. His lips are curled in a little smile. Satisfied. Spent.

His head rests on the pillow, his right arm curled up behind it. He doesn’t look any worse for the two weeks he’s been gone—a little thinner maybe, but that only accentuates the square cut of his jaw, the razor-sharp cheekbones that look so good on camera. His hair is mussed, longer than I’ve seen it, golden blond touched on the temples with silver. It gives him an air of quiet confidence, of maturity that in spite of his young thirty-some years, attracts viewers and makes his evening news show one of the most watched in Southern California.

I brush a lock of that hair gently off his forehead. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? God, you must be. We’ve been at it for hours.”

He opens his eyes and grins up at me. “Have we? You make me lose track of time.” He glances toward the slider. “When did it get dark?”

I laugh and sit up. “I have some bread and cheese downstairs. Not much. But I figured you’d want to go to dinner at some point.”

He pulls me back down against his chest. “Not yet.” His voice is gruff. “We have two weeks to make up for.”

I slide my hand down between his legs. “You’re hard.”

His hand travels down my stomach, fingers stroke, probe. “You’re wet.” He brushes his lips against mine. “Can you go again?”

“Chosen One, remember? Stamina woman.”

He lifts his chin. “What about you? Are you thirsty?”

An offering. I realize I am. I nuzzle close, touch the spot with the tip of my tongue. I listen for his heartbeat, for the pulse of his blood. His excitement builds. I feel it, not only in the hardness of his erection, but in the quickening of his blood.

I straddle him, pin his shoulders to the bed with my hands, his hips with my knees. I lower my own hips, advancing, retreating, until I have him completely inside me and he’s groaning with impatience. He wants to thrust up, but I don’t let him.

Until the moment I break the skin. His back arches, he gasps and moans. But he doesn’t fight. He surrenders. To the pleasure, to the rhythm, to the vampire.

His blood tastes of cold desert air and snow. Simple food. A bit of fear. Longing. I’m there in his sleepless nights.

The realization that I’ve become a part of him fills me with sudden alarm. Then, confusion. Isn’t this what I’ve wanted?

He’s nearing climax. His body tenses, his hands grip my hips and he forces me down, deep. I’m swept up, too. I stop drinking and meet his movements with my own—frenzied, turbulent, using the overpowering physical sensation of a mind-numbing climax to shatter the uncertainty.

STEPHEN AND I FINALLY COME UP FOR AIR. WE’RE downstairs at the kitchen table. Stephen wolfs down a cheese sandwich like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten. Makes me wish I could share that simple pleasure with him.

Nothing different here. Frey eats, too, you know.

The voice unwanted, unbidden whispers in my ear.

So what now? I’m comparing Stephen with Frey?

“Something wrong?” Stephen’s eyes are on me. “You look upset.”

I shake away the specter with a shake of my head. “No. Just wishing I could share that sandwich. It looks good.”

“It is. Got to rebuild my strength. You took a lot out of me, you know.”

He leans toward me and I meet him. Our lips brush. He whispers, “I can’t believe how amazing sex is with you. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I think you may be ruining me for anyone else.”

Anyone else? I pull back a little.

He catches it. Takes my hand. “That may not have come out right.”

“Is there something I should know?”

“God, no. In fact, I have something to ask you. I’m hoping it’s something you’ll like.”

Excitement shines from his eyes. I hope panic isn’t shining from mine. “What is it?”

He pushes his chair back and takes my hand to pull me up with him as he stands. At least he isn’t getting down on one knee.

“I’ve had a job offer. A great job offer.”

“What kind of job?” An automatic response to hide the confusion rattling around in my head. I don’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment. What was I expecting? One moment I’m insulted because I perceived him to be comparing me with someone else in his life, the next I’m aggravated because it’s a job offer he’s excited about and not me.

What is wrong with me?

Thank god he can’t read my thoughts. He’d be suffering whiplash. He’s still talking, hands windmilling the air.

“The network recommended me for the post of White House liaison. This junket was to see how I got along with the Press Corps, with the president. He’s given the thumbs-up. The job is mine if I want it.”

He’s running out of air. He breathes in, exhales a forceful breath. “What do you think, Anna?”

“It sounds great. But that would be quite a commute wouldn’t it?”

He laughs. “Yeah, it certainly would. But I won’t be commuting. If I take the job, it’s full time. I’d have to quit the local affiliate. I’d be stationed with the network bureau in Washington.”

He doesn’t give me time to process what he’s said before adding, “I want the job, Anna. And I want you to come with me. I want us to live together in DC. Think of it. For a reporter, there couldn’t be a better or a more exciting assignment. A front-row seat to history in the making. And we’d be right there in the middle of the action.”

I turn my face away. I have to. It’s an impossible situation. I couldn’t leave San Diego. How could I? Everything I know is here. Stephen is looking at this as if I’m human. He sees the simple obstacles of moving—selling or renting my home, giving up my business. Things easily overcome. But there are other things, things much more complicated. I’d have to find a place in Washington to feed, introduce myself to a new supernatural community, not to mention a new mortal one.