Page 18 of Blood Lovers (American Vampires #1)

The dream is me and him.

I lead Syrsee through the lobby , paying no attention to the two young women at the reception desk who are looking at me like they might panic. I don’t have to call ahead—although I haven’t been here in years, so maybe I should have because I don’t typically show up out of nowhere holding the hand of a human woman like I can’t wait to get her in my bed—so they don’t know what to think.

No one who works here is a vampire, of course. There is really only Paul. Lucia might drink blood, but a vampire she is not. And Josep doesn’t count for anything. But everyone here is part of the compound. They are a refined group of well-behaved halfbreeds who can be trusted to interact with the general public so Paul can make some money off his extravagant taste in mountain retreats.

We actually built this place together back in the late Seventies. The lodge was here, but it was someone’s mansion. Someone who died, or lost their fortune, or maybe they just got tired of fighting the cold, and the wind, and the snow and didn’t have the desire, or money, or vision to turn it into something like this.

But we did. Paul was excited about this renovation. I remember that. I remember thinking that was weird because it was hard to get him excited about anything at the time. This was before the little witch was born, so obviously he wasn’t obsessed with her yet. Plus, all his standby feeders were still young back then. Still pretty. He still spent time playing with them and feeding off them.

And—though I don’t like to admit this—I was here. We were together. And that, it seems, has always been his goal. To keep me near him.

Why me?

I have asked myself that question thousands of times over the decades. Why me? Of all the people on this earth, he chose me. Why?

Whenever I ask him this question, his answer is always the same. You’re so pretty, Ryet .

But he says that about everyone he likes. Because, of course, he only likes pretty things. So his answer is always meaningless.

That being said, the North Star Spa and Hot Springs is an absolutely gorgeous place. A tiny valley slotted between two nine-thousand-foot peaks that contain some of the best private black-diamond skiing in all of North America.

The main lodge sprawls up the side of the western slope and is surrounded by more than two dozen natural hot springs that we connected to private cabins. There are heated walkways that wind through a forest of hazy amber lights, little bridges that take you over flowing streams, and tiny waterfalls that never freeze no matter how cold it is outside. So there is a constant burble of water, and a warm glow of heat, and a sense of coziness inside the resort boundaries that directly contradicts the harsh winter going on all around it.

People fly in from all over the world to spend time at the North Star and getting here is a bitch because roads in the Rockies make no sense. So, of course, we have a helipad too.

That’s how I usually come in. I don’t think anyone at this resort has ever seen me drive a truck . So I’m sure they are having a good gossip about me right now. Probably on the phone with Echo—Paul’s new favorite halfbreed pet—telling her all about how I just came in.

I don’t care. I already told him I was with a woman. Not that I have to. But if we hadn’t had that conversation in my dreamwalk, I would probably have let him know. I would not call Paul jealous. That’s kind of a laughable thought. He just doesn’t like surprises. And having one of Lucia’s halfbreeds call him up to let him know I had just walked in to the resort holding the hand of a human woman would count as a surprise if he wasn’t already aware that I was with someone.

And then he would show up. Would start being possessive. Or probably want to share. And… we probably would. Because no one is capable of resisting his charms. It’s just not possible. If he wants you, you’re his.

I should know.

And even though I hate him—and I do hate him—I’m stuck with him. He and I are just a thing. There is nothing more to say about it. I try to stay away, and I do a pretty good job at it because he helps me stay away, always giving me jobs to do that keep us at a distance. And he does this not for himself, of course—if he had things his way, I’d be tied to his bed twenty-four seven—but for my sake because he knows I don’t want to be near him.

He does things to me. He makes me act in ways I don’t want to. He affects me. And I want him when he’s close. I can’t help it. It’s just… how the blood lust is.

So he leaves me alone, mostly. Our relationship happens over the phone—or in dreamwalks, lately—and not so much in person anymore. Unless he’s feeding me, of course.

My mind begins to drift back to the feeding he recently gave me and the way he keeps asking me if I’m feeling OK, and I’m just about to think a little harder about this when I glance at Syrsee. “Oh, my God. What are you thinking about?”

“What?” She looks up at me, surprised, her eyes wide and full of… what is that emotion?

We’re outside now, making our way to the cabin that is always ready and waiting for Paul or me, should we happen to show up, but I stop walking in the center of one of the little wooden bridges that pass over a burbling stream. “Are you OK?”

“Sure. Why? Yes. I’m fine.”

“Syrsee.” I kinda chuckle. “You look… terrified.”

“What? No!” She scoffs. “I’m not… that’s dumb. I’m just…” She looks around. And although there is a lot to see from this particular vantage point—the steam coming up off the heated water, the mountainside covered in snow, the stars above us, and the glowing lights of cabin windows dotted across the slope—she’s not admiring the landscape. She’s… buying time.

I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say.

This ensuing silence forces her to come up with an explanation. “Sorry. It’s just… this is all…” She pans her hand outward. “It’s a lot.”

“It is.” I do agree with that. “But… we don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. We can go home—”

“Home?” She scoffs again. “We don’t live in White River, remember? And weren’t we eloping?” Her teasing tone is back. A little. Not like it was earlier, but she forces herself to relax her shoulders.

“Yeah. But, you know, in theory .”

“Hedging your bets with me already, huh?” Now she’s smirking at me, so whatever was bothering her a moment ago has been adjusted or put aside.

“Not even a little bit.” I squeeze her hand and bring her with me as I resume walking. And then I’m smiling again. She makes me happy for the very reason I explained to her earlier.

Childhood friend. If she was born ninety-three years ago.

I’m kind of jealous of her best friend. The one who came up with the ‘foxhole in Nam’ analogy. I’m stealing it. Syrsee is now and forever the girl who pulled me into a foxhole.

And it just makes me happy.

“This is your place, right?”

I look down at her as we start up the steps that lead to my cabin. “It’s my boss’s place. But I helped him build it so I’m welcome here anytime. I’m not a secret billionaire, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

She smiles big, not meeting my gaze now. “Dammit. I was hoping.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Now we’re at the top of the stairs and there’s nothing left to do but open the door to the cabin.

I do that and the lights come on automatically, transforming the dark room into something warm, and cozy, and right out of a fairytale. The room is big. This cabin is much bigger than the others, pretty much the size of a house, with two master bedroom suites, a loft on the second floor, and an elaborate back yard that qualifies as a resort in and of itself.

There are cream-colored couches facing each other in the center of the room, a real polar-bear rug on the floor between them—we killed that thing long before anyone cared how many were left in the wild—and trophies covering the walls.

I would not call Paul and I hunters, per se. I mean, I guess the term fits under the right circumstances. But we do have a lot of trophy heads on the fuckin’ walls in here. Mostly moose and big-horn sheep, but there are buffalo and elk too. And, maybe for the first time ever, it kinda disturbs me. Because it sends a message I’m not sure I want to broadcast and it reminds me of a time when things were not so good.

Syrsee and I step inside and I close the door, sealing us in with the warmth. All the cabins are heated, all winter long, even if no one is staying in them. In Montana, there is no such thing as turning off the heat without lots of plumbing consequences. So it’s not bad in here. Not get-naked warm—if you’re a human, that is—but plenty good enough to take your coat off. So that’s what I do to keep the nervous tension from coming back. I hang it on the coatrack made of antlers near the door, then wait for Syrsee to make up her mind about what’s she’s gonna do now.

I think she’s really stuck on those animal heads on the wall. It really does send the wrong message. But I’ve never brought a woman here before. And even if I did, I wouldn’t care what they thought about our trophies.

But I do now.

“I’m not really a hunter.”

Syrsee kinda shakes her head a little, still looking around, as she unzips her jacket and slips it down her arms. At least she’s staying. I help her with the jacket and hang it up next to mine.

Then she sucks in a breath and turns to look at me. “OK.”

“OK?”

She nods. “I’m OK.”

I smile. “We really don’t have to stay—”

“No. I’m just… processing, ya know?”

“I get it. We’ve spent the last couple days together like we’re an old married couple or something. And we’re not. We’re complete strangers.”

“Yeah.” She lets this word out with a sigh. Like she’s relieved that I was the one to say it first. “But I like you. I want that to go on record.”

“It is noted.”

She relaxes. “So. Now what? Do we fuck first and just get it over with?”

“Get it over with?”

“Yeah. You know. The preliminary fuck.”

There is no way to stop my laugh. “The ice-breaker fuck?”

She points at me. “That.”

I grab her hips and pull her towards me, grinning down at her like a fucking boy. “Would you like to start there?”

She looks up at me with mischievous eyes. “Why not?”

“I’m kinda looking for a ‘yes’ here.”

“OK. Then… yes.”

Before she’s even done talking, I’m cupping her face in my hands, my mouth already touching hers as the last of her yes flows past her lips. Our heads tilt in opposite directions, allowing our kiss to become something much more. I want to consume her. Bad choice of words, but not exactly untrue either way.

“You’re so hot.”

“Thanks.”

“No.” She laughs into my mouth. “I mean, yes.” Her eyes are sparkling with fun when she pulls back enough to look up at me. “You are very handsome. But, I mean, you’re hot too. Like you have a fever. Are you feeling OK?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I’m fine. I’m just… hot. What can I say?” I wink at her, trying to pull off the little joke. But she’s got a look of concern on her face. “What?”

“If you’re sick—”

“I’m not sick, Syrsee. I promise. I’m fine.” I’m still holding her face in my hands, my mind still very much on the sex that was inevitable just a second ago. I don’t wait for her to agree with me or make another objection. Instead I take my mouth to her neck.

Probably a bad idea because that familiar feeling of blood lust is suddenly all I can think about. Her neck is warm and soft. And when I open my mouth, I’m only half sure I won’t actually bite her.

I don’t bite her. But only because she gasps and I come to my senses. Instead, I kiss her, dragging my lips up to her earlobe. That I do bite, but she’s ticklish, so this makes her shrug up her shoulder and hiss out a little laugh.

We could banter here. Have some wordy fun. She’s good at it and her teasing makes me inexplicably happy. But all I really want to do is rip her clothes off and lick her all over. Taste her. Take her. And then do it all again.

While I was thinking this, I have removed her shirt and I’m now walking her backwards to one of the couches as I pop the button on her jeans.

She grins when her knees hit the cushion and then she’s falling back against the pillows. Her tits are fucking glorious, practically spilling out of her light-blue bra. I kneel, pull the bra down, releasing her breasts, and then put my mouth right on her nipple and take it between my teeth.

I can feel her suck in a breath and hold it, probably wondering how hard I will bite. But if I were going to bite her, this wouldn’t be the location of choice. So I just suck on it as my other hand pulls her zipper down and forces its way inside her pants. She arches her back, hissing when my fingertips find her sweet spot, and then she’s sliding her hands under my shirt and a moment later I have to stop everything I’m doing so she can pull it over my head.

She tosses it across the room, smirking at me. Then her eyes drop down to my chest and they linger there for a good long moment. I was twenty-eight when Paul turned me into his scion. A working man, I think, since I have never been anything but lean, and cut, and strong. So my body is exactly the same today as it was back then.

Since she’s interrupted my intentions, I figure we should just get rid of the pants to avoid any more ill-timed delays.

I lean back, swipe her boots off her feet, toss them over my shoulder, and then, in one quick motion, I grab the hem of her tactical pants and pull them down her legs.

She squeals in surprise, those green eyes of her dancing again, her legs opening up and sliding in next to my hips. This releases the sweetest, most intoxicating scent and I am instantly out of control.

I push her legs open wide with both hands on her knees, then I place my mouth over her already wet panties and suck on her. She grabs fistfuls of my hair, pushing me down and encouraging me. So I slip her panties aside and flick my tongue against her sweetness.

Then I have a finger inside her. And she’s writhing, and moaning, and begging. Reaching for my pants, taking my cock out and handling it roughly as she massages her palm up and down my shaft.

My whole world turns purple in this moment. I want to object. But if I do, I’ll have to pull out of my reality and concentrate on the dream.

And I don’t have the will. I just don’t. I want to fuck this woman. Hard. All night. I want to eat her out, and put my fingers in her mouth, and make her suck me. I want to kiss her whole body. I want to flip her over and pull her hair as I take her from behind.

So that’s what I do.

But I do it all in the purple. The haze flowing around me like an angry mist. A fog that only partially conceals how fucked up I am.

But the purple turns to lavender and that’s when I know he’s here, watching us.

But I don’t care.

The dream is me and him .

They almost always are. I hate him. I hate Paul with a passion. I wish I had never seen him. I wish I had never said yes. I wish I was dead already.

But then, when I look at him, he becomes my whole world and all I can think about is how he will bite his lip and I’ll suck on it while he smiles at me like I’m some plaything that gives him joy.

We are in bed. We almost always are. And we’re naked. Also something we’ve done on occasion. Who am I kidding? Sixty-five times—probably more, since sometimes I feed on him more than annually—is not a small number.

His blood consumes me the same way I consume it.

I don’t even care. I stopped caring a long time ago. This is just my life and even if I could stop drinking him, I don’t think I would.

He feels way too good.

I’m sucking on his wrist and he’s looking down at me like we’re soulmates or something. But then there’s a crack in the dream. Because when he opens his mouth, the words don’t spill out in his voice.

“Take more. Take all you need.”

It’s Syrsee’s.