Phoenix Fallen (7 page)

The woman stopped at Rissa's side, giving Jules a wide smile, before turning to look questioningly at Rissa.

Rissa didn't turn her head. She was busy scrutinizing Jules with those intense blue eyes. He felt like she was fingering through the tattered remains of his soul, looking for an answer to a question he hadn't asked.

Still looking at Jules, Rissa said, "Caroline, I do hope you don't mind, but we will not need you tonight after all."

The blonde woman looked startled for a moment, her gaze flicking from Rissa to Jules and back again. Then she lifted a hand, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

"Of course, Rissa."

To Jules' surprise the two woman hugged briefly, then with a nod at him, Caroline walked away.

The sound of her footsteps had long faded before Jules spoke. "You didn't have to do that. I wasn't thinking…"

"Are you thirsty or not?" Rissa's voice was sharp.

"Yes." The true extent of that hit Jules in a rush and he staggered, one hand grabbing the doorframe as he shook his head, trying to clear it. Rissa's lips parted in alarm and she slipped an arm around him, guiding him through the doorway.

She didn't reach for the light switch. The room was already lit with a glow that perfectly simulated candlelight.

This, too, looked like a sitting room, albeit with a far cozier atmosphere than the communal Art Deco one they had passed through earlier. There was a lounge chair here, too. It looked a trifle delicate to Jules, who was always wary of spindly furniture, but when she took him to it, he sat without hesitation, his legs giving out.

Rissa moved away from him, her hands cupping her elbows as if she had caught a chill. "When did you last feed, Jules?"

He reached for the back of his neck again, rubbing it as he always did when he was nervous. With that thought, he forced himself to stop and look at her. "Not that long," he hedged.

"Last night?"

"Well, no. I was busy."

"Really? You came to the club." She'd seen him then, even though he'd ducked in and out. Just to get a glimpse of her.
Damn.

Jules shrugged. "Time got away from me."

"The night before then?"

He shrugged again.

"Please don't tell me you haven't drank for three full nights, Jules?"

Jules lifted his eyes then, not allowing his gaze to drop, even though his throat tightened. "Okay, I won't tell you."

Rissa held herself tighter and started to pace. Back and forth between two Eames chairs that flanked Jules' lounge chair. Faster and faster, her slender fingers clenched in tight, white-knuckled fists.

Finally she turned to him, her words clipped and furious. "Three nights, Jules.
Three fucking nights
. Are you suicidal? Tell me the truth or so help me god, I'll…I'll find a number for Rousseau and tell him!"

Jules drew back in shock.

"You wouldn't?" But she would, he knew it. He could see it in the stark fear on her face.

"No, Rissa." He said after a long moment. "I'm not suicidal. At least I don't think I am. It's just…hard. Fuck, it's so goddamn hard." His gaze dropped to his hands.

There was the rustle of silk as she settled next to him on the lounger. There was barely enough room for them both, but he didn't mind. He liked the warmth of her pressed up next to him. But he couldn't look at her. Not just now.

"I know it's hard, Jules. I do. I—"

"My entire family was slaughtered by vamps."

He felt the shudder as his words hit her, heard the sharp intake of breath. She didn't speak and for that he blessed her, because her silence gave him the strength to continue. "I was just a kid. They took them all. I barely made it away myself." He took a deep breath. "I hear their screams in my head every night. You really have no idea how I feel about being a vampire, Rissa."

She was quiet for a very long time. Her hand reached down and covered the top of his, squeezing lightly. So small and delicate over his bigger, darker one, but strong in it's way, too.

"You're right. I don't know how that feels and I can't help you with that. I can't make it better. I wish I could, Jules. But I can make sure you get what you need for tonight."

She pivoted off the lounge chair, her hand still on his as she knelt between his legs. Looking up at him, she tilted her head to one side.

Jules sucked in a breath. His tongue touched his lips. He couldn't look away from the delicate line of her throat; wisps of red-gold highlighting that creamy perfection. His head was drawn down as if by a magnet.

Jules pulled his hands out from under hers, and ran his palms up her bare arms. Her shivers made his grip tighten as need turned into ravenous hunger. He could see her nipples beading up through the fabric of her dress and he wondered if she were wet.

Unbidden, a growl escaped him just as his lips brushed that heavenly skin and with one bite he pierced right through it. When her blood hit his tongue, he shook.

It was nectar, hot and wild and sweet, like the fiery kiss of a demon. His fingers twisted up into the glossy knot of hair at her nape, pulling it free, wrapping his fist in that silky skein. Forcing her up as his mouth came down harder, his fangs sliding deeper.

Rissa made a soft sound; whether of pleasure, encouragement or pain, it didn't matter.

Nothing fucking mattered.

The growl in his throat became louder, rumbling through the room as Jules got to his feet, pulling Rissa with him.

He felt so strong, so powerful, so alive for the first time since Paris. Life flooding into every vein. He could feel his cock lengthen, hardening inch by inch, pulsing for her.

Her.
He wanted her.
He'd never wanted anything so much in his life as to sink inside her, pierce that delicious skin over and over with his fangs, to fuck her deep and hard at the same time, to hear her scream. In pleasure or in agony, it didn't….

Yes. Yes, it
did
fucking matter.
Of course it did.

What the hell was he doing here?

Shuddering, covered in sweat, Jules tried to pull away from Rissa.

He was killing her.

Some dark, howling corner if his mind registered that fact, but the thought of pulling away from the exquisite flow of blood was torture. Time stretched, silence screamed in his ears.

It was a long while later he found himself on his knees in front of the lounge chair where Rissa lay.

She was white and cold as marble and just as still. His newly-invigorated heart clenched, burning in his chest. He hadn't…surely, it wasn't possible that he'd…

His fingers scrambled against the thick carpet as he shook his head like a wounded animal.

No.

Her eyelashes fluttered and relief surged and ebbed, leaving him weak. He'd stopped in time. Jules closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her shoulder, letting the coolness of her skin soothe his heat as he shuddered over and over. Her fingers came up, brushing down the nape of his neck, sending more tingles down his spine.

"You really
were
turned by Rousseau, weren't you?" Her whisper was shaky.

He helped Rissa sit up, his eyes wide with concern. His touch as gentle as if she were made of china.

"Yes, I was. But what the hell does that have to do with it?"

"Because in the end I tried to stop you and I
couldn't."
Her eyes searched his face, her face wan. "Didn't you feel me pushing you away, hear me telling you to stop?"

Jules swallowed as a sick horror surged through him. He'd never hurt a woman in his entire life. He'd always loved women, treasured them all the more perhaps, due to losing his mother as such a young age.

Knowing Rissa was too weak to sit up on her own was the only thing stopped him from yanking away. He shouldn't even be touching her. He wasn't
safe.

She nodded slowly, "I thought not. It's okay, Jules."

"No. It's fucking
not.
How can you say that?" His jaw clenched as he bit out the words.

"You. Were. Starving. It was understandable under the circumstances. And you
did
stop. You stopped on your
own.
Do you have any idea how few of us could have done that in your condition? Maybe one in a thousand, Jules.” Rissa took a deep breath and closed her eyes, leaning back into his hands for a moment.

"I was the stupid one, I should have realized the danger. I was so concerned about you, I didn't think. It had never occurred to me you would, or could, go that long without feeding or that..," her eyes opened again. Cool blue ice on his fevered gaze, "…that you could possibly be strong enough to overpower me. How long have you been a vamp again?"

"A little less than a month."

She laughed incredulously, pushing her tangled hair back with a trembling hand. "Well, that definitely confirms the stories about Rousseau.
Christ."

"I don't understand, why does he being—, "Jules couldn't make him say the words, 'my sire', "—why does what Miles is make any difference in my strength?"

"You mean with all your Cleaners training you never knew ...?" Rissa sighed, leaning into the graceful curve of the arm rest tiredly. "But I suppose, it is a rather closely guarded secret outside of vamp circles. More like a legend even to some of us. There are so few really old ones left anymore, and those that are still around sire rarely, if at all.

"Hell, I have never met anyone sired by someone even
half
as old as Rousseau is rumored to be." She blinked at him, folding her hands under her wan cheek. "You do know how ancient he is, right?"

Jules nodded. "Of course."

Kelsey might have been the one drilled by the Cleaners on Miles and his history, but Jules knew as much as she did, if not more. He'd been worried about her when she'd been given that assignment. Absolutely terrified, more like.

So Jules had drilled himself on everything to do with the man, even though it wasn't his mission. What he had found out hadn't done a damn thing to ease his fear.

Miles had been born in the end of the fourteenth century, into one of the bluest-blooded families in France. His father, and Miles with him, had been an ardent supporter of King Charles VII, while the future king had been merely a prince whose future was far from assured.

Miles had actually fought in the Battle of Orléans, led by Joan of Arc herself. They had been close friends, according to the dossier on Miles. He'd been one of the few men the eventual saint had trusted with impunity.

Joan lived to see Charles gain the throne but was captured when she fell from her horse retreating from one of the final skirmishes. Miles had been at her side and though witnesses asserted that he could've escaped, he'd refused to leave her and so had been captured, too.

After a year of captivity, Miles was to have been burned at the stake, just as Joan was, if without as much ceremony.

That very same night, in fact. But instead he'd been turned by the mistress of the prince in whose castle he and Joan had been held prisoner. Miles had been turned into a vamp while his friend—and some said lover—had burned.

He'd escaped the Burgundian forces sometime after and returned home, immortal and sick at heart. It was rumored that he never got over the guilt, not in the hundreds of years since that night. Speculation was that Joan was the reason behind Miles' numerous charitable organizations today, particularly his hospital that treated shades,
Pour Les Autres,
which translated meant
For the Others.
Joan had called her voices 'the Others.'

But between Joan's death and the last century or so, Miles had been decidedly less altruistic. The things Jules had read in that dossier still kept him up some nights.

Jules looked down at Rissa now, his voice quiet as her words sank in. "So, because of Miles being such a geezer, I'm stronger than normal?"

She gave a nod. "Way more. You overpowered me and I'm getting close to a three quarters of a century here. Not that a lady should admit such things." A faint smile curved her lips, a smile Jules didn't return. He got to his feet.

"So you're saying I have yet another thing to thank Miles for—the fact that I almost
killed
you."

Rissa reached for him, but he stepped away, leaving her to clutch at the settee.

"Lay down. I will tell them to send that woman for you. What was her name? Caroline. You need to drink again.

"And I need to get the hell out of here."

"Jules." Her voice stopped him with his hand on the doorknob. "You didn't hurt me. I'm
fine."

"But I'm not, Rissa. I'm so not fine it's not even fucking funny."

He left then, letting the door swing shut without a backward glance.

For the next two days, Rissa struggled.

Caroline had been furious when she had entered that room to find Rissa so drained, but Rissa had only been scared. Scared for him.

Jules needed help. He needed support, someone to guide him, to help him maneuver through this change. So many times she picked up the phone, intending to call Phoenix, or find some way to contact Rousseau and his fiancé. She even went so far as to call in some favors to get the number of
Pour Les Autres,
the hospital for shades that the Marquis ran on the outskirts of Paris.

She could never enter in the numbers, knowing Jules wouldn't not forgive her for what he would see as a betrayal.

Rissa tried to tell herself it shouldn't matter. What the hell was he to her? Just an itch she couldn't scratch. A momentary spat of hormones, and all for a man who didn't want her. Or at least, wasn't about to let himself want her. For every step he made towards her, he took five back.

She shouldn't give a shit about his trust. She should just do what needed to be done and then forget about him.

Forgetting Jules wasn't so damn easy, though. It seemed like every time the door opened at the club during a performance her eyes were forced to look, her heart catching just in case a familiar broad set of shoulders darkened the door.

Blooding between vamps was an incredibly intimate act. Far more intimate than sex. It did things to both giver and receiver, things that couldn't be undone. Jules probably hadn't completely understood that, but she
had.
And she'd done it anyway.

Rissa chewed her lips worriedly as she eyed herself in the dressing room mirror.

This would be the third night since she'd seen him. Friday night. Tomorrow they were supposed to go to that damn dinner party at his friends, but she hadn't heard a peep. Had he fed? She would've known if he'd came back to Crave, even though it was against the strict privacy policy. She had people on the staff who would have let her know. No word had come down.

She set down the pot of Leichner foundation she'd just finished applying and sighed. If he didn't show tonight, she would call Rousseau.
Goddamn him.
His demons were out of control and somebody had to rein them in for him. She refused to see another vamp she cared about seek the sun…

Cared about?

Her eyes widened in the mirror.

"What the hell are you thinking there, Clarissa Jean?" She whispered at her reflection. "We don't care. We
never
care. Not like
that,
not anymore.
Remember?"

Her freaky schizo convo with herself was cut short by a scuffle in the tiny hall outside her door. Benny's voice, raised in irritation. "Look man, I don't give two shits. You can't go in there."

"Who's going to stop me, eh,
man?"
Jules' voice. Deep and quiet. The pot of crème blusher she'd just picked up fell out of Rissa's nerveless fingers.

She raised her voice without thinking. "It's okay. Benny. He can come in."

"Oh, fuck you both," Benny's temper flared and then faded. He wasn't a man to hold onto anything for long. "Fine. Go in. But she's got a show in less than fifteen minutes."

"I know." The familiar rumble preceded the door opening. Rissa forced herself not to turn. She picked up the blusher from the jumble in front of her and started applying it with fingers that were only slightly unsteady.

She also didn't turn when the door shut behind him. Or when his reflection showed up in her mirror.

Jules looked tired. Drawn.

Damnit.

He hadn't shaved. He even looked
rumpled.
Wearing khaki's and a dark blue House of Blues T.

A
T-shirt
for god's sake. It was the first time she hadn't seen him in a suit.

She continued to ignore him with an effort, smoothing a bit of the blusher into each cheek, blending with feigned care until Jules made a low noise that brought her eyes to his in the glass.

"Got something you want to say, big guy?"

"Goddamn it, Rissa. I'm getting awfully tired of apologizing to you."

She raised her eyebrows and spun in her chair. "Then maybe you ought to stop doing such stupid shit."

He barked out a laugh, then scrubbed his jaw with one weary hand.

"You might have a point there." He looked her up and down, drinking her in like she was a tall glass of water and he was a very thirsty man. It made her shiver slightly, especially considering what he'd nearly done to her last time they'd been alone together. "You look good, Rissa."

"I
am
good, Jules.
I'm fine."
She emphasized this last bit before her eyes narrowed. "You however, don't look so good."

"Why am I not surprised?" His voice was weary, too.

"You back to using Spears again?"

He sighed. "Did you think I was going back to Crave after what happened last time?"

"So
you
think starving yourself or surviving on that crap out there is going to help? That is what put us both in that position the other night, you idiot! You need a steady supply of good, strong blood, Jules. You need to feed
every
night, at least for awhile. And you sure as hell need to stop this crazy train you are on and get with the program. If you ever want to get a handle on what it means to be a vamp, you need to get yourself together and make it happen—"

"I know." His quiet words cut her off. "I
know,
Rissa. That's why I'm here. I need your help."

She froze, looking up at him, having more than a vague idea what those words must have cost him.

"Oh."

He gave her the faintest smile. "Yeah.
Oh.
I don't know that I can do this, Rissa. That I can be….
this."
He gestured up and down at himself, his face twisting with bitter distaste. "A vamp. That
I
can survive being a goddamn vampire.
Jesus
. I really just don't fucking know.

"But I
do
know I have to try and give it a shot before someone gets hurt for real. I can't do it alone. You were right about that. You've tried so many times to help me and I know I've been a dick about it, but I am asking now.
Will you help me?
Because I think maybe you're the only one who can.
"

For a moment, Rissa just sat in her chair, feeling numb. He was in serious trouble if he was speaking to her like this.

She hadn't known him for very long maybe, but she knew damn well what kind of pride this man had. He was acknowledging he was at rock bottom. Something inside of her released in that moment and Rissa knew no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he'd gotten to her.

It was way too late not to care about him.

She got to her feet, moving in front of him, reaching her hand out to cup that rough, dark jaw.

"Of course, you big dummy. Stay here and after the show, we'll go over to Crave together. We'll take it slow. Get you back to a happy medium, at least for tonight…" her voice trailed off when his hand came up to cover hers. Her skin heated instantly, trapped between his jaw and his palm.

The look he was giving her didn't help. It made her tummy do loop de loops. She swallowed.

"Jules, you got to quit that if we're going to do this, okay?"

Instead, his fingers tightened, but she yanked away, flustered and frustrated, spinning around to her table, putting her hands on it as she got her breath under control.

"Look, I know you don't feel it like I do, but I can't help my reaction to you, alright?"

"What?"

She raised her eyes to his face in the mirror at his incredulous tone.

"Oh, give it a rest. I have been hitting on you since day one, you know damn well the effect you have on me. I'm a 'tad obvious', remember? It's who I am, I can't help it. If I want something, I can't hide it. But it's not fair of you to play on that when you don't want me the same way—"

"Hold the fuck up. Look at me, Rissa."

She turned around slowly, her chin up.

"Did that kiss at Spears slip your mind?"

Rissa waved that away. "It's not the same, Jules. I'm not saying you don't find me attractive at all, but you don't have this…
argh,
I don't know, damnit. This goddamn craving, like I do. You don't want me the way I do you."

"Really?" His already deep voice went so low, she could have sworn she felt the vibrations sneak along the floorboards below them, under her bare feet to shiver up her legs and tickle between her thighs. "You're fucking sure about that, are you?"

Rissa gulped at the look in his eyes.

“Damnit, Rissa. You seriously think I don’t
want
you?” In one swift movement, Jules had her up against the dressing table. Her hands pinned behind her back, held in one of his. His hips trapped her as his mouth found her ear. “Are you out of your mind, Rissa?" He whispered. "Feel me. Feel what you do to me! Every fucking second I am around you, this is what I have to deal with.”

Thick and rigid, his erection pressed into her hip and belly. Need for him, the primal, demanding need to have him inside her shot through every nerve Rissa possessed, making her quiver from head to toe. Her throat worked as his lips moved down it; a demanding, seductive dance of his velvet mouth, hot tongue and the soft sting of his teeth.

Rissa's head fell to the side with a moan. The ice-blue robe twisted as she pushed against him. Her nipples were so hard and aching the slide of the heavy satin against them stung.

Jules pulled back and growled once as he looked down at her. He grabbed the tie of her robe and yanked, watching the garment slither to the floor between them. She heard him suck in a harsh, rattling breath. There was nothing beneath the robe but her.

"Jesus Christ, Rissa."
His voice was strangled and a touch reverent.

Her breasts were full and heavy, her upturned nipples a pale rose against alabaster white. He lifted a big hand and palmed one, squeezing lightly before caressing the tip with his thumb. The contrast of their skin was so stark and beautiful it took Rissa's breath away.

She trembled down to her toes again as heat spread outward from his touch.

"Jules," she whimpered, wanting more, needing more.

"Fuck, don't say that.
Don't say my name, Rissa."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Why?"

Before she could even finish the word, he spun her around, so fast it made her dizzy. He bent his knees, pressing up against her from behind, his hips cupping her bare ass and lifting her. The delicious feel of his cock pressing into her, sliding against her skin with only the thinnest barrier between them made her moan and push back into him to get more.

Their eyes met in the mirror. The sight of him there, looming over her naked body had Rissa's lips parting as she struggled to not to beg. She wanted him so bad it quite literally hurt. In one helluva a good way.

His breath was harsh in her ear. "Because when you say my name it makes me want to
fuck
you. Now. Here. Fast and
hard."

He yanked her back into him with one big hand, grinding against her. His other hand played with her breasts, tugging first one nipple then the other as Rissa started to shake, barely able to stand on her own two feet.

She didn't know this Jules yet, but she wanted to. God,
yes.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Damnit, woman, when we do this for the first time, it's gonna be in a bed and it's gonna take all night. It will be something
more
than a five-minute fuck up against an old desk before your curtain call."

"You're too damn particular." She breathed, every inch of her protesting his words. She didn't mind a fuck. She wanted a fuck.

Fuck
yes.

"You won't be complaining about that later." His words were final.

Rissa whined in defeat as he stepped back. "I'm complaining
now
. How am I supposed to go out there like this?" She pouted at him in the mirror.

Jules gave a raw chuckle as he pulled her up from the desk. "You aren't going out there like
this,
or we're gonna have an entirely different problem."

"Like what?" Rissa pushed her hair from her flushed face with shaking hands, watching Jules' gaze run over her naked body like a branding iron.

"Like me putting out the eyes of every man in the audience."

She smiled and opened her mouth, just in time for them to hear Benny's voice outside the door — right before he opened it.

"Shit!" Benny's eyes flickered from bare-assed Rissa, to Jules, who immediately stepped in front of her, his dark eyes trying to shoot rays of death at the sax player.