Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

Still, I hold my head in my hands and groan.

What have I done?

On the nightstand, there's a decanter of coffee and a china cup, along with a single red rose in a crystal vase and a note that simply says, “You were wonderful.” I feel as if I'm living a scene from a bad romance novel.

I groan again. The night is a blur in my mind, but I remember that there was sex—a lot of it—and the taste of blood as intoxicating as any wine.

You were wonderful.

No, it's not a romance novel, it's a bad fantasy novel complete with a rakish vampire and his eager protégé.

I finger the note. Very eager protégé, evidently.

I put a tentative hand to my neck, but there's nothing to feel. No puncture marks, no raised skin. Did I remember to do the same for Avery?

I swing my legs out of bed. That I feel. I'm sore and chafed, and as I stumble off to find the bathroom, I wonder if Avery is having the same trouble.

The thought that he might be a little tender today, too, brings a smile to my lips.

Where are my clothes?

I get the answer when I swing open the bathroom door. My dress has been neatly hung on a hangar, my panties and bra folded on the edge of the tub. It's a big tub, with Jacuzzi jets and a lot of decorative bottles promising perfumed delights.

I succumb.

I'm soaking in a jasmine-scented whirlpool when the first dose of reality hits.

Max.

What have I done?

I sink deeper into the water.

I was protecting, Max, wasn't I? From myself. And it's not like we're married or engaged or anything.

Right.

Well, we've never even talked about it. We've just had—what?

What have Max and I had?

I lay my head back on the cool tile. I'm already thinking of him in the past tense.

The reality brings a wave of sadness. I love Max. I think. We've been together for almost two years—well, as together as a couple can be when one of them is an undercover Drug Enforcement agent. It's the first long-term relationship I've had in years, and it's built on mutual respect and trust.

At least it was.

Trust.

I trust Max, and Max trusts me.

Would he trust me now, if he knew about Avery?

About Avery? Hell, what if he knew about me?

I'm a vampire, for chrissake. A vampire.

"And a very beautiful one, I might add."

Avery's voice startles me into sitting straight up in the water. I jump so high, water splashes over the side and onto the floor in a mini-riptide. I turn and glare at him.

Don't do that. Don't sneak up on me.

He laughs and moves toward me, stripping off a tie and shirt as he comes.

I knew there was a reason I had that tub installed.

He steps out of slacks and boxers and stands naked, looking down at me.

I reach out, smiling, and caress a muscular thigh.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?” he says at last.

But I don't answer, my mouth is otherwise engaged.

Later, back in the bedroom, I stretch and yawn and look over at Avery. Don't you have to go to the hospital?

Avery is leaning back against the headboard, his arm around me, sipping coffee from that elegant china cup.

I went in while you were asleep. Checked on a few patients, cleared the rest of my schedule. I thought you and I might spend the day together.

Avery, I can't spend all day here. I have to get home. I just wonder if there will be a welcoming party waiting for me.

Avery sits up straighter. I've been thinking about that cop who picked you up last night. You know, he may not have run your license. He wouldn't want it on record that he stopped you, particularly if you suddenly disappeared. Unless he wrote your license number down somewhere, he might not be able to trace you. I'll call Captain Williams later and see what he can find out. You didn't get a badge number or name or anything, did you?

I shake my head . I wish I'd thought of it. Everything happened too fast.

Well, just don't drive that Jag for awhile.

I roll toward him. “Why don't you come home with me? We can take a walk on the beach. I can show you some of my favorite haunts."

He doesn't answer, but what he's thinking comes through loud and clear—too loud and clear. It's a good thing I can read what he's feeling as well as his thoughts. He feigns horror as he contemplates dingy, smoke-filled dives with sawdust-strewn floors populated by hygiene-challenged, shaggy-haired surfers.

"Very funny,” I comment. “You've been breathing this rarified air too long.” Oops, wait a minute—we don't breathe air anymore, do we?

There's a sardonic twist to that sexy mouth.

"After what happened in that bathtub,” he says, “you have to ask?"

It's noon when I haul myself out to my car and gingerly climb inside. It's been the most bizarre twenty-four hours of my life. I've been kidnapped by the police and had sex with a three-hundred-year-old vampire, during which I actually drank his blood and enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it.

All of it.

I turn the Jag towards home. Avery wanted me to wait for him, to leave my car there, but I'm anxious to get back. I told him I'd put the car right into the garage where it won't be seen. I want to shower and change clothes and check in with David. He's probably called about a dozen times and will be frantic because he couldn't reach me.

David is like that.

And it's time we get back to work. I'm sure Jerry will have jobs lined up, and I need something other than this new “nature” of mine to think about.

I reach for my purse and shake loose my cell phone. David's number is on speed dial, and I punch it before I remember he's in LA with Gloria.

I'm just about to disconnect when he answers with an abrupt, “Jesus, Anna. Where have you been?"

"David? You're back home?"

"Never mind that. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way to the beach. Why?"

"Get here as fast you can."

"You're at the cottage?"

There's a brief pause. “What's left of it.” His voice softens. “There's been a fire."

A fire?

I drop the phone and concentrate on driving. I've just passed Grand Avenue when I see the smoke. Panic twists my stomach. I'm a half-mile away, but I can't get closer because fire equipment blocks Mission. I leave the car in the parking lot of a Seven Eleven and start running.

I see David first, standing with a group of firemen. Only the firemen aren't holding hoses or wielding pick axes. In fact, they aren't doing anything at all except standing around chatting with my ex-football player partner.

It makes me angry. Why aren't they fighting the fire? I open my mouth to yell, but something stops me.

I look down the street, toward the cottage.

I know now why the firemen are clustered in their little circle, with David holding court. He may as well. There's nothing left of my home except smoldering debris.

I stop short, heart hammering so hard I think it will burst my chest.

Nothing left.

I feel someone touch my arm.

"Anna."

It's David.

But I turn away from him and walk toward the burned shell that used to be my grandmother's cottage. I hear him call out to me, but I don't stop and I don't turn around. I can't.

There are two firemen picking through the rubble. One of them notices me and comes over. He's young, but his eyes are somber, and his voice full of compassion when he asks, “Was this your home, ma'am?"

I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from his partner. He's moving through the debris, dousing little tongues of fire that lap to the surface here and there as the air hits.