Taming the Vampire: A Paranormal Romance Novella (2 page)

Of course she wasn’t working on English lit
or biochem. Liz had asked her to research any way for a demon
hunter to augment her power, and when Celia had called earlier
today she’d said she’d found something.

After her run-in with Jack, it felt good to
cross the crowded floor towards Celia. Jack always left her feeling
unsettled, off-balance, while Celia made her feel grounded and
centered. She was loyal and kind and smart, and Liz knew she was
lucky to have her—not just as an ally, but as a friend.

A few minutes later, Liz had completely
forgotten those fond sentiments.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Celia was grinning at her. “I’m telling you,
it’s all right here. A sure-fire way to increase your power for one
night. And all you have to do is—”

“Don’t say it!”

“—sleep with a vampire.”

Liz glared at her. “You’re joking. Right?
Because I’d hate to have to kill you after years of
friendship.”

Celia held out her hands. “Hey, I didn’t
write the text. I just translated it. I spent the whole day inside
with a Latin dictionary, while you were at the gym working
out.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be the brains
of this partnership. I’m the brawn, remember?”

The waiter who’d brought their coffee raised
his eyebrows when he overheard that comment from the diminutive
Liz, and Liz turned her glare on him. So what if she was five foot
four and a hundred and ten pounds? This guy didn’t know her. For
the thousandth time since she was called to be a warrior, Liz had
an urge to lift an ignorant human male three feet off the ground
with one hand, just to see his reaction.

“You asked me to find you a power source,”
Celia reminded her. Liz had the distinct impression she was
enjoying herself. “What if this is the only way to save the
city—maybe even the world?”

“Then the city is screwed,” Liz answered,
adding sugar to her cappuccino and stirring it with more force than
necessary. She took a quick sip before leaning across the table,
stabbing her finger in front of Celia’s face to make her point. “If
the only way I can save the world is by sleeping with a vampire,
the world is toast. So find me another way to stop
this...thing.”

“It’s a small price to pay for—”

Liz’s eyes narrowed.

“Okay, okay,” Celia said, laughing. “I didn’t
really think you’d do it.”

“So help me, if you made that whole thing
up...”

Celia shook her head. “What I told you is the
exact truth. If you do the ritual and accept a vampire’s seed into
your body, his power flows into you. The combination of your
strength and his would make you almost unstoppable. It would only
last for one night, but that would be enough time to go after this
monster and destroy it—once you find out what it is and where it
is. The vampire would be helpless while the spell lasted, but
everything would go back to normal afterwards.”

In spite of herself, the image of one
particular vampire flashed across her mind’s eye.

Liz folded her arms across her chest. “I bet
I know exactly who you have in mind for this...this
disgusting...”

“Well, duh.” Celia cupped her chin in her
hand and a wistful look came into her eyes. “Liz, he’s sex on
wheels. He’s right here in the city. And he’s helped us
before.”

“He’s helped you, you mean. He likes you. He
can’t stand me, and the feeling is mutual.”

“There’s a thin line between—”

“Do
not
finish that sentence.”

“Most women would kill to be in your shoes.
I’d
kill to be in your shoes. Jack Morgan is the most
gorgeous bloodsucking fiend I’ve ever seen. And you, lucky girl,
have the perfect excuse for jumping his bones! You’d be saving the
world from unspeakable evil. The mind-blowing orgasm would just be
a bonus.”

In spite of herself, Liz was diverted. “How
do you know there’d be a mind-blowing orgasm? Jack’s too handsome
to be good in bed.”

Celia shook her head. “That’s true for mortal
guys, sure. The gorgeous ones have no clue. But vampires? Don’t
tell me you haven’t heard the stories. Stamina, for one thing. And
they’ve got a vested interest in making you come. If you’re in the
throes of orgasm you don’t feel it when they bite you, and I think
the blood tastes better or something.”

Liz stared at her. “I can’t believe you’re
saying this. Do you mean to tell me you’d let a vampire bite
you?”

She was glad her friend had the grace to
blush. “Probably not, in real life. But I have to admit that
sometimes, when I’m, you know, fantasizing—”

“Celia!”

“They’re just fantasies,” she said
defensively. “Who dreams about vanilla sex when they’re alone in
bed at night? And why are you being so judgmental, anyway? You know
I’m just talking. My fantasy life is all I’ve got these days.
Neither of us has had time for a boyfriend since we started this
supernatural gig.”

There was no denying the truth of that
statement. “Okay, so we’re sexually deprived superheroes. Isn’t
that an occupational hazard? I mean, we do have other things to
think about.”

Celia grinned. “You’re the only superhero
here. I’m a sexually deprived sidekick, thank you very much. But
you’re missing my whole point. This is your golden opportunity to
not
be sexually deprived.”

Liz shook her head. “I’ll never be desperate
enough to beg Jack Morgan to sleep with me. Not even to save the
world. Especially since he’d just turn me down, which would be
very, very bad for my ego.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Celia agreed,
which oddly enough was a little depressing. The least her friend
could do was insist that Jack wouldn’t be able to resist her, or
something.

Which would be a lie. Jack Morgan hated her
every bit as much as she hated him, and he would have no trouble at
all resisting her.

Not that it would come to that, of course.
Liz was completely confident—or, well, mostly confident—that she’d
find a way to defeat this new enemy all on her own.

Only a few hours later, that confidence had
evaporated.

Jack was in a rotten mood. The city stank of
evil, and for the first time since he’d gotten into the
evil-fighting business, he hadn’t been able to find out a damn
thing about whatever was killing people in his beloved city of
Boston. Rumors were all he’d gotten hold of, most of them
contradicting each other, until it was impossible to separate truth
from fear.

All he knew was that the threat was real.
Three people had turned up dead, and while the local police had no
clue what had caused their deaths, Jack had taken one look at the
bodies and known immediately that something supernatural was
involved.

Which meant it was his enemy to fight.

Despite what that vampire-hating bitch
thought about him, the alliance he’d made with the Fae was more
than skin deep. He was committed to protecting his city and the
people who lived here. That was the mission that kept him going,
that gave meaning to his existence. For the past thirty years it
had been his sole focus.

It should be his sole focus now.

He was pacing back and forth across his
living room, thinking about his next move. Or trying to think about
his next move.

If only thoughts of Liz Marlowe didn’t keep
intruding.

He pictured her as she’d looked earlier that
evening, her witch black hair tumbled around her shoulders and her
green eyes full of loathing. There was so much energy in her, so
much passion, so much life. She was more fiercely alive than any
creature he’d ever known.

He hated knowing she was out there somewhere,
looking for trouble. Spoiling for a fight. Drinking that green
poison, risking death with every sip. It was like watching
something beautiful and precious hurtling towards the edge of a
cliff, knowing destruction was inevitable and that there wasn’t a
damn thing he could do to stop it.

Not that she wasn’t a good fighter. She was
an incredible fighter. She more than made up for her slightly
lesser strength with speed and skill and naked ferocity.

The night they met, he’d known immediately
that with a little more time and training she could stand shoulder
to shoulder with the Green Fae. But instead he’d found himself
arguing with Yana after Liz had gone home, advising her to turn Liz
away from the clan.

Yana had refused.

Applying cold logic to the problem, he’d been
forced to acknowledge that, for whatever reason, he had trouble
being objective where Liz was concerned. So he’d done his best to
avoid her, even though his alliance with the Fae meant a few
encounters were inevitable.

The fact that she hated his guts made it a
little easier to stay away. From the very beginning, Liz had
treated him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her
shoe.

She didn’t trust him. She’d never trust him.
So how could he convince her to stay out of this particular fight?
To let him handle it? His concern for her was starting to affect
his ability to think clearly about the mission in front of him.
Maybe he could lock her up in a basement somewhere until it was all
over. Maybe he could—

There was a sharp knock at the door.

He wasn’t exactly in the mood for company,
but it might be an informant. He strode to the door, glanced
through the peephole, and froze.

Liz Marlowe stood in the hallway, blood
staining her fingers where she pressed them against her side. Her
breath came in short, sharp gasps.

He pulled open the door, and powerful flavors
assaulted his senses. The metallic tang of blood, the pungent reek
of adrenaline, and beneath it all the faint, subtle scent that was
uniquely Liz. His jaw clenched tight.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he
growled, forcing himself to look at her face and not the red stain
on her hand.

“Bleeding to death, you idiot.”

“And you thought I’d finish the job? Put you
out of your misery?”

She took a ragged breath. “Very funny. I
thought—I thought maybe you’d have some bandages.”

There was a short silence. “You’re serious,”
he said finally.

“Of course I’m serious!” she shouted, the
effort making her grimace. “I heal faster than normal people, but I
still need to get patched up.”

She was glaring at him, fury making her eyes
seem greener than usual.

She was obviously in pain. He took a grip on
himself and risked a glance downwards, confirming that she’d taken
a deep slice in the belly.

As far as he knew, she’d never been seriously
injured before. Her reflexes were like lightning and she was one
hell of a fighter. What kind of creature could have been strong or
fast enough to...

“I don’t believe it,” he said suddenly, his
eyes snapping back to her face. “You’ve been fighting
that...thing.”

She didn’t ask him what thing. She knew
perfectly well there was only one
thing
they could be
talking about.

“It’s more than I can say for you,” she said
through gritted teeth, and wound or no wound he had to take a deep
and unnecessary breath to keep from hitting her.

“Get inside,” he said instead, and when she
crossed the threshold he slammed the door behind her. “Sit down,”
he ordered, and without waiting to see if she obeyed he went to the
bathroom for supplies.

When he came out she was still standing,
which came as no surprise. She was panting a little, like a wounded
animal, and she looked fierce and defiant and—yes, afraid. He
didn’t think he’d ever seen Liz Marlowe look afraid before.

Her white tee-shirt was stained with blood,
and her jeans were covered in dirt and grime. There were smudges of
dirt on her face, too, which for some reason made her look very
young.

Her black hair was tucked behind her ears.
Her skin was pale and her eyes looked too big for her face, but
that might just be the pain.

“Fine, don’t sit.” He sat down instead, on
the leather chair by the fireplace, and gestured for her to stand
in front of him. She did so, a little hesitantly.

“I need to see it,” he told her, pointing at
the hand she held pressed to her side. When she didn’t move he
reached out, intending to be rough, but found himself touching her
wrist almost gently. She jerked her hand out of the way.

The cut was four inches long and at least an
inch deep. It was a good thing he didn’t need to breathe, he
thought. The sight of the blood was bad enough.

“Only you would be stupid enough to come to a
vampire with an open wound,” he said, reaching for alcohol and
gauze.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly my first
choice,” she answered coldly. “There’s something I’ve got to talk
to you about when we’re finished with this.”

The creature who’d done this to her,
presumably. For the first time in her short life Liz Marlowe had
run up against something she couldn’t deal with on her own, and she
wanted his help.

She’d never come to him for help before.

He touched the alcohol-soaked pad to her skin
and felt her shudder. “This is going to need stitches,” he told
her.

“Fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I haven’t handled a wound
this serious in a long time and I don’t have any anesthetic. You
need go to the hospital and—”

“I don’t need anesthetic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Trying to prove how
tough you are, Liz?”

There was a short silence. It was the first
time he’d ever used her first name.

“Screw you,
Jack
. And stitch me the
hell up.”

He almost smiled. “Keep a civil tongue in
your head, or you’ll find this can hurt even more than it has
to.”

“Just do it, okay? And spare me the sweet
talk.”

It did hurt—a lot. But the vampire’s hands
were unexpectedly gentle, and Liz found herself relaxing in spite
of herself. Remembering Yana’s teachings, she willed herself into
greater calm, deeper breathing, a slower, stronger heart beat. All
of which would help her torn flesh to heal.