Kiss Me, Kill Me Page 25

  When I frowned, he added, ‘Children. I couldn’t give you children, Ana. I know we weren’t thinking about kids at that stage in our relationship. However, one day, the maternal drive probably would’ve awoken in you. It happens to people all the time, that biological imperative. Once activated, it’s hard to ignore. You might have resented me then. I couldn’t stand for you to end up hating me over it. And I couldn’t stand to be the one depriving you of motherhood.’ He regarded me with such sadness. ‘I believe you would have been an amazing mother,’ he finished quietly.

  I stared at him. Children hadn’t even been on my radar. Greg’s pre-vampire days were during the early stages when all was new, and we were just busy enjoying each other.

  I had a go at imagining being hit with maternal hormones and wanting to pop out babies. Yes, I supposed I could imagine—at some stage—wanting them. But could I have hated Greg for not being able to give me children? Would I have decided the better option was to leave him and make the babies with some other man? Chosen the possibility of offspring over spending my life with Greg?

  No.

  No way.

  And not in a million freaking years.

  ‘Greg, I would not have chosen children over you. It would mean having to be without you. To live with another man.’ The concept was so abhorrent, I felt my face screwing up and I shuddered a little. ‘I could never be with another man. From the day I met you, it has been you for me. The end.’

  He closed his eyes as if what I had said was some profound thing. When his gaze met mine again, we had another wordless conversation. It mostly consisted of I love you and I adore you over and over and over.

  He pressed his forefinger to my mouth and traced my lips. Tapping them gently, twice, he said, ‘Hold that thought.’

  And then he was gone.

  I blinked at the spot he’d occupied.

  Moments later, he returned, holding the diamond ring—my ring—between his fingers.

  He knelt beside the bed. ‘My original plan involved a hilltop in the pre-dawn hours, a picnic-style breakfast by firelight, the holding of you while watching the sunrise, followed by the popping of the question. And if your answer was to my liking, there was to be the making of the love to you on the blanket under the tree.’

  OMG, that sounded perfect. Greg knew those things would speak to me so much more than dinner in some swanky restaurant, the proposal watched over by the waitstaff, a possible accidental swallowing of the ring that had been placed in a glass of champagne, the answer anticipated by all the restaurant patrons, the cheers and clapping following the yes, the smiling and accepting of congratulations from strangers. And then the waiting impatiently for the making of the love.

  I much preferred the idea of just the two of us on the hilltop with all the romantic stuff before the question and all the blankety lovemaking in the wild immediately after.

  ‘In your original plan, what would you have done if the answer was not to your liking?’ I asked.

  His lip curved in that devious way I loved. ‘Plan B was to tie you to the tree and torture you with my mouth and hands until you said yes.’

  I raised my brows. ‘You always have such good plans.’

  The amusement in his expression faded as he looked down at the ring he was holding. He lowered his hand, all the bling disappearing from my sight. ‘I probably should get rid of this. I don’t have anything to replace it with at the moment.’ He frowned. ‘I shouldn’t have even rushed off to get it. I can ask you the question and give you a ring after—’

  ‘Just ask me the question,’ I interjected.

  ‘Hm.’

  I wasn’t sure what that ‘hm’ meant (maybe she’s so bossy now that she’s a vamp), but he wasn’t frowning so hard anymore.

  ‘Kayana Castello Branco,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me, live with me, do romantic hilltop-type things with me, sex-swing things with me, laugh with me, dance with me, exchange blood with me, make love with me, and accept my love and adoration forever and ever?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. YES!’ I answered in what was possibly the most enthusiastic exclamation of my life.

  ‘And ev-er? he added, dragging out the word and giving me a solemn, meaningful look, reminding me this was not your average forty-to-sixty-year arrangement. Not a figurative forever and ever.

  ‘I will take you, Dr Greg Morgan, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this…um, no…from our wedding day…forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sick—’ Wait, vampires didn’t get sick. ‘Not sickness, ah…in crustiness and in health, until—’

  I stopped in my tracks again. The standard vows clearly weren’t going to work for us. We’d be writing our own for the special day. ‘Until the end of the world!’ I finished before figuring that mentioning the demise of the Earth wasn’t the most romantic way to round out your vows. I scrunched up my face. ‘I’ll work on the wording before the big day,’ I promised.

  Greg smiled at me with his eyes. The effect was like a full-blown, teeth-flashing, megawatt grin. The man has talented eyes. I may have mentioned this previously.

  ‘Now give it ’ere,’ I ordered, leaning over the edge of the bed and peering at the ring, my impatient fingers snapping towards my palm and up again in the universal give-me-that gesture.

  Greg attempted to bite back his smile—the one that was trying to happen on his mouth.

  Meanwhile, I began to understand poor Gollum and his precious.

  ‘So, you don’t mind that she had it on her finger?’ asked Greg.

  I recalled the sight of Desislava The Diamond Stealer’s arm flying through the air and landing with a thud on the ice. The only thing that made me unhappy about that scenario was that I hadn’t had the chance to personally remove my precious from her cold dead hand.

  ‘I cleaned the blood off and shined it up,’ he added, as if there was a need to do the hard sell on this particular pre-loved item.

  ‘Eh, I’m vampire. A bit of blood’s not gonna worry me. Also, if you don’t hand it over this minute, I will bite you. Seriously.’

  He lost the fight with his mouth-smile. Taking my hand, he slid the ring onto my finger.

  Lucky I was a vamp; I’d need the extra strength to haul the rock around. My smile matched Greg’s. ‘Thank you. I love it. Ssssso pretty.’ I rubbed it and stared at it lovingly, channelling that little hairless, grey weirdo.

  Greg laughed.

  I could have protested about the ring being too expensive (’cause seriously, we were in had-to-rob-bank territory). I would have protested in the old days. Now? I liked it. I had it. All was good. It was simpler to be rid of the bullshit pretence and going through the motions of doing what people expected. Life was too short. Wait. In actuality, it wasn’t anymore. Life was too long…to spend it not being happy. I’d have to work on my sayings/mottos and such, now that my species status had changed. Anyway, main thing: I was happy.

  Also, I was ecstatic. I’d be marrying my man. I met his gaze. He was watching me with so many emotions in his eyes, all wonderful ones. My heart went bananas. Gawd, he’s gonna be mine until the end of time!

  I’d been through a fair amount of crap to get to this point in my life: Stepfucker, the useless parasites (a.k.a. Stepsprogs), my non-supportive father, rapist-thug guys, Stewart, the car crash, the disappearance of boyfriend and accompanying emotional breakdown, the boobalicious potential boyfriend stealer and resultant estrangement from boyfriend, the Italian Freakball vamps, the jealous ex/diamond-stealing bitchface, plus, all the alleys.

  And in the background, the universe, constantly working to get me on my back and teabag me with its big hairy balls.

  I’d survived all that, and now was the time for all my good stuff.

  The grin I gave Greg should have cracked my face. Then I laughed. I chortled with delight. My joy was bubbling up, and like Champagne, it was making me slightly delirious. I may have seemed crazy, laughing my ass off. However, Greg didn’t seem worried.
/>
  He understood what it was about. He could read me like a book.

  And then he shut me up and sobered me up. By kissing me.

  Kissing. There should be another word, a stronger word, for what he was doing to me. For what I was doing to him. We were licking and tasting and loving each other’s souls.

  This man’s “kisses” completely undid me.

  He crawled up onto the bed, covered me with his body, took me in his arms and made love to me.

  It was the deep and tender kind of love. The kind where we gazed into each other’s eyes, we said things silently, we whispered words. We clung and held and caressed. Cried into each other’s mouth. Licked, tasted, loved, adored and cherished each other’s souls.

  It was life-changing.

  And profound.

  It was so, so beautiful.

  And I knew that no matter if we did this forever, until the end of the world, or for one million months of Sundays, it would never be too much.

  It would never be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Yum. So good.

  I’d been thirsty before this. A hot, dry, aching thirst unlike anything else. An undeniable craving that could only be quenched by one single thing. It had hurt badly.

  But now, everything was lovely. No more painful hunger.

  I swallowed big mouthfuls of thick deliciousness. Gulped it down like water after days in the desert. I sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, until the action of my sucking made a noise that told me there was no more.

  Grunting, I tossed the one I’d drained to the floor and grabbed another. Tore into it with my sharp teeth. Mmmm. Sinking into it was like heaven. The outside was dry and boring. Plasticky almost. I had no interest in the outside. Inside: that was where all the wetness was.

  Yummy, yummy wetness that made me feel so nice. So alive. It was better than a buffet where you could choose to consume different things because you preferred them. This was something entirely different. A need. A life-or-death type of need that could only be filled by this.

  I finished the one I currently had my fangs in. I withdrew and threw it to the floor. Flop it went, landing near the other ones I’d discarded.

  And finally, I was sated. Actually, I felt bloated and overfull.

  It’s hard to stop because it’s just so delicious.

  Before, I had been as dry as a dead dingo’s donger. That’s one Aussie saying I had never uttered before. I laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Bloody hilarious! I LOL’d my ass off. No, I was no longer dry. I was sodden, full as a tick with binge-eating tendencies.

  I lowered myself to the floor. Then I lay on my back. I felt like I was drunk. Woozy. Why is everything spinning? I waved my hand in front of my face. It was covered in blood.

  I was almost bursting.

  I didn’t need any more.

  I licked my hand anyway, simply because I loved the taste.

  Mm-mm-mmmm.

  My eyes were trying to roll back in my head, I let them and enjoyed the high.

  I fell asleep. I knew this because the next thing I was aware of was being woken by the sound of footsteps. Who was that moving around? Coming near me?

  They were loud. Talking rough and angry.

  ‘Jesus Christ. What has she done?’

  ‘Bleedin’ hell! What a cock-up.’

  ‘We’ve gotta clean this up and get her the hell out of here.’

  ‘Thank God no one found her before we did.’

  Someone patted my face over and over.

  ‘Man, she’s glutted herself. She must be drunk off her tits.’

  I recognised the voices. I opened my lids and there were Greg, Melanie and Scott, peering at me. I sat up. Blinked. And checked out what was going on around me.

  Satan at Sunday Service! What in the hell had I done?

  I was in the blood bank’s blood product storage area. Surrounded by empty blood bags. Loads of them.

  How did I even get here?

  I looked down at myself. I was covered in blood—my hands, my arms, my clothes. I could feel it dried on my face and throat. I must look like some demented creature who’d bathed in the stuff.

  I did another scan of the room—of the damage I’d done.

  I met Greg’s gaze then. He was frowning, looking dismayed.

  I burst into tears.

  Loud, sobbing, choking tears.

  * * * * *

  Much later, I was clean and in my bed. Tied to my bed, if I’m being honest. This was not part of some kinky sexcapade. I was tied to prevent me from escaping and doing some stupid shit, for example, organising my own all-you-can-eat blood buffet at a place that wasn’t actually a restaurant.

  That line of thought gave me an idea. Which I would investigate and deliberate upon in detail later.

  I lay there and considered what my friends had attempted to convince me of when they were struggling to calm me down after I’d woken at the scene of the crime and realised what I’d done. I understood it was better that I’d attacked blood packs instead of real-live humans. No matter how many times I told myself this, I still felt like crap for having stolen blood meant for patients in emergency situations.

  Trying for more look-on-the-bright-side, I contemplated how lucky I was that I had three vampires who’d been through their out-of-control phases and came out okay on the other end. Friends who were doing their best to guide me. Who’d bound me so I couldn’t get up to additional mischief while they cleaned my mess.

  After they sorted that, they planned to move me to Scott’s resort. I didn’t need a crystal ball to foresee that there would probably be a bit of cage time in my future.

  A lot.

  There would be a lot of cage time in my future.

  Epilogue

  Greg and I emerged from the cage after days and days (okay, weeks) of fucking and sucking—and the other type of sucking that usually accompanies the fucking. Cage time was no hardship, not when Greg was on the inside with me. I was so enamoured/obsessed with these activities, at one point, I’d asked him how the devil he’d controlled himself for so long. Told him if I’d been the only vamp in the relationship, I would have attacked him, taken him to the ground and sunk fang into him. Three times a day before meals.

  He’d made a painful-sounding groan against my throat, said raggedly, ‘Christ, Ana, you have no bloody idea.’ And then he attacked me and did the things I’d just described.

  When we finally surfaced from our confinement, we sat down with Melanie and Scott and caught up properly. As a result, I have knowledge of all the gory details of their stint as a couple of frenzied, bloodlusty creatures causing havoc up and down the east coast of the country. Thank goodness they’ve calmed down now. Saves me from smacking them both upside the head.

  In other good news: I’ve calmed down now, too. My bloodlustiness has settled into something manageable. I didn’t go through the totally wild and feral stage like Greg, Melanie and Scott. To this day, I have not killed anyone. Nor do I plan to! My theory is that Greg kept me so busy with all the S&F activities that I had no inclination to go running around draining blood from random victims. Greg doesn’t even need to tie me to the bed anymore. Although he does sometimes for the BDSM activities. Big plus: I have not recently been found on the floor of a blood bank, sucking on packs of blood and depleting stocks and such.

  A while back, before Melanie was turned, I’d pretended to hear her having sex with Scott. I’ve heard them for real, recently. The reason I’m there to hear them is that we’ve all moved into the villas at Scott’s resort. Which, by the way, is a spectacular place to live and is working out quite well as Vampire Central. But getting back to sex stuff. I had said to Greg, upon hearing Melanie and Scott going at it, ‘Good Lord, I’m going to have to bleach my ears!’

  Greg’s reply had been that you can’t bleach your ears. Only your eyes.

  ‘I can’t see anything, so treating my eyeballs is totally pointless,’ had been my retort.

 
Greg had smirked.

  And dragged me off to bed.

  Due to the sex noise and Melanie’s new vampire talent (which I’ll get to soon), the menfolk suggested we build and live in underground concrete bunkers. Melanie and I had yelled our displeasure, simultaneously.

  Me: ‘No bloody way am I living in a concrete box! Who knows—if I turn the air-conditioning temperature too low, I might have freezer-room flashbacks or something.’

  Melanie: ‘Bollocks to that! I might have PTSD after being locked in that cage. You’re not putting me in no damn box!’

  There is a reason Mel and I are BFFs.

  It was around that time that I realised I was kind of interested in hearing other people having sex. I sure don’t want to see my BFF and her boyf going at it, but listening appeals to me for reasons I have yet to discover.

  Is there a word for people who are listening voyeurs? I must remember to Google that.

  I was happy to discover that Alexi survived his skewering.

  Greg gave me some additional information about the whole situation. It was said with that strange, unholy light burning in his eyes, his voice a snarl (his beastie was surfacing to help deliver the message). The content: if he hadn’t been informed that Alexi was following orders under duress, and been begged by Mel and Scott to let the man live, he would have killed Alexi in slow, painful and terrible ways.

  In the next breath, he said, ‘But I need to tell you, I don’t particularly care about motivations. In future, if someone’s trying to hurt you or kill you, they’re dying. End of story. That’s just how it is. I can’t be any other way.’

  His inner beast is all kill first, ask questions never. I suspected the beast was still hankering to dispatch Alexi in all of the ways.

  I only nodded in response and thought that, along with the impressions of Lorenzo’s torture, I’d carry the image of the sword bursting from Alexi’s chest with me forever.