Текст книги "Legacy"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 27

MY CAR ARRIVES BEFORE TOM’S AND I THROW him a two-finger salute as I pull away. He looks chagrined that I’m getting the jump on him. Too bad. He can always call Williams, make up a story about losing me. I have no doubt Williams knows where I’m headed tonight. He and Culebra and Frey seem to make my business their own.

It’s eight forty-five, already too late to make it to Avery’s by nine. Impatience nips at me, but there’s one more thing to do. I circle the block, come back and park a block away from the restaurant. When Tom pulls out in his big, black Escalade, I take note.

I know what kind of car to keep a watch for now.

He turns in the same direction I did moments before. The direction that takes him away from me.

Finally, I’m free.

Angst over what happened with my family, surprise at identifying Williams’ tail, irritation at allowing myself to be drawn into Gloria’s drama—everything is swept from my thoughts. Only anxiety, excitement and anticipation remain, making me feel like a teenager on a first date.

No, not exactly a first date.

Like the first time a girl knows she’s going to sleep with someone and she’s breathless with wanting.

Wanting it to be perfect.

Wanting not to be found lacking.

Jesus.

Sandra is female.

Doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

Concentrate on something else. Concentrate on driving.

There’s not much traffic on the highway to take my mind off Sandra. I take 5 North from downtown and head toward La Jolla, doing my best to ignore the tight coil of uneasiness unraveling along with my self-confidence.

Anxiety over Sandra is giving way to the realization that I’m soon going to be setting foot in a house that holds dreadful memories. David almost died there, at the hands of a man who spun an intricate web of desire and intrigue. For a time, I was Avery’s willing pupil, believing that he loved me and was honestly trying to help me understand my new nature. He was a doctor of medicine, devoted to the care of mortals. I thought he understood how important it was that I stay close to my human family.

Truth was, he did everything to sever those ties. He burnt down my home and kidnapped my partner, torturing him under the same roof where he made love to me. He played an elaborate charade, offering his help to find David when in reality he threw up one roadblock after another. He manipulated and controlled me.

And I let him.

More than let him. I was his eager protégée. I believed everything he told me. Questioned nothing. Blinded by a powerful sexual attraction and fueled by a new blood drive, I fed from him body and soul. It was powerful. It was an addiction.

It was wonderful beyond words.

Until I learned the truth.

Avery’s house is on Mount Soledad. It sits behind a gated wall, perched high over the Pacific. The gate yawns open at my approach, but I see no one in the gatehouse. I steer the Jag up the long, palm-tree-lined driveway fighting a sudden impulse to turn the car around and race away.

As strong as that urge is, though, a burning desire to see Sandra is stronger. It propels me forward, sends fingers flying upward to smooth my hair, to touch my lips, to trace the curve of my breasts through the silk of my dress.

I can’t control it.

My hands start to shake. I felt this way with Avery. Out of control. Bewitched.

I bang a fist on the steering wheel, hard enough to send a shiver of pain racing up my arm.

I won’t let it happen again.

The house looms ahead. Light spills out of every window, warm, inviting shafts of light that signal welcome like a beacon. I pull up at the front door. There are no other cars or motorcycles in sight but there is a garage in back. Sandra must be parked there.

I climb out of the car, closing the door gently. She knows I’m here. Just as I know she’s inside. I feel it like the breeze on my face. There’s a tickle of scent on the air. Jasmine. Rose. Something more exotic. Frangipani. I breathe it in. Closing my eyes, tilting my face. Stalling.

When I open my eyes again, I see it. Rising over the roof of Avery’s house. Sending clouds scurrying from its brilliance like rats from a golden scythe.

The full moon.

CHAPTER 28

THE FULL MOON.

I’ve never been a follower of astrological charts. Don’t read my horoscope or follow lunar timetables to determine when to change the color of my hair or seek out new friends.

I didn’t know the moon would be full.

Did Sandra? Is that why she wanted to see me tonight?

The book said the full moon, though a werewolf’s reminder that he must change at least once a month, is not an edict. When I walk in, will I be met by an entirely different Sandra than the one I remember from Beso de la Muerte?

Do I care?

Not really.

I’m more concerned about how I’m going to handle being in Avery’s house.

Unlike the gate at the front, the front door does not swing open at my approach. I press the bell with a hand that shakes in spite of my commanding it not to. I hear the chimes and, again, am transported back to the first time I found myself on Avery’s doorstep.

Dread mixes with anticipation in a strange concoction of emotion that makes my stomach lurch at the same time my libido jumps into overdrive.

This is ridiculous.

Maybe I should turn around and go home. Let Sandra come to me. Meet on my turf. I haven’t read that last chapter. Wait until I’ve read it. Wait until the goddamned full moon is past.

“Hello, Anna.”

The melodious voice floats on the air, and for a moment, I look around stupidly thinking she must have snuck up behind me. Then reason returns and I remember the security camera over the door. I frown into the blinking lens.

“Are you going to let me in?”

She laughs. “Of course. I wanted to warn you first. I have a pet inside, and she tends to be protective. Be a good girl and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

What the fuck? A pet?

The door doesn’t open. She’s obviously waiting for me to agree not to attack her on sight. Why would I? She still doesn’t get that I’m not going to fight her about Avery’s estate. It’s not lost on me, though, that in effect, she’sthreatening me. I’ve never suffered bullying well.

“Either you’re going to let me in or I’m going home. Makes no difference to me. If I do come in, you might want to put a leash on that pet. You may have forgotten what I’m capable of. Avery made the same mistake.”

There’s a moment’s silence, then the door opens.

Sandra stands in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of a fireplace in the living room behind her. I get a flash of Avery in that same spot, inviting me in, a party in full swing behind him. I’m dizzy with conflicting emotions. I vowed never to come here again. The pain of finding David, of betrayal, of lost love sweeps over me with such force, it sends panic rioting through me.

As if reading what’s in my head, Sandra lays a reassuring hand on my arm. “I understand it is difficult for you to be here. I promise to make it better. Please come in, Anna. We have much to discuss.”

The touch of her hand, the touch of her voice reaching into my psyche brings me back with a jolt. Avery fades. The party fades. I’m back in the present staring into the eyes of a woman who seems able to read my soul.

But that’s only the first shock.

When my senses return, and I look, really look, at Sandra, disbelief chases any other emotion right out of my head. She’s wearing a red dress. A Badgley Mischka gown of silk cut low at the neck and slit high at the sides. The gown Avery gave me before our last meeting. The gown I threw in a wastebasket after I killed him.

CHAPTER 29

SANDRA TAKES A STEP BACK AND TWIRLS AROUND. “Isn’t this the most beautiful gown? I found it in a closet upstairs. I couldn’t resist trying it on. Fits me well, don’t you think?”

The eyes are too wide, the voice too breathless, the innocence stamped on that smiling face too pronounced to be real. She knows exactly whose dress it is. Or was. Where did she get it? The last time I saw it, it was crumpled in a wastebasket in David’s condo.

“How did you get that dress?” It erupts like a growl.

No pretense in the emotion that shows on her face this time. Cunning. Self-congratulatory pleasure in having shocked me. Arrogance in the belief that she now has the upper hand.

Mistaken arrogance.

I purposely keep my voice low. “How did you get the dress, Sandra?”

She blinks back to innocence. “I told you, Anna. In a closet upstairs.”

She lets a heartbeat go by, then before I can reply, adds, “Why do you ask?” She lifts a hand, trailing a finger between her breasts. “Don’t tell me. Was this your dress? Did Avery buy this for you? He has been a naughty boy, hasn’t he?”

Her eyes have turned cold, glittering in the dim light of the foyer like blue diamonds on snow. She’s watching me, head tilted, eyes narrowed, body still except for the fingers that continue to move in a provocative path down to the depths of her décolleté and up again.

When I move, it’s so fast, she has no time to prepare. I grab that hand and bend it backward at the wrist. She flinches, gasping, trying to relieve the pressure. I step back with her, holding tight, and bring my face close to hers.

“Where did you get that dress?”

Then, before I can stop it, she’s yanked her hand free and is pushing me, forcing me back until I’m rammed with ferocious force into the wall. Now it’s her face that looms above me, her hands that hold mine in a grip I can’t break, and her voice growling in my ear.

“I told you to play nice, Anna.”

Her eyes are animal eyes. Her body has lost its softness, as if the feminine has been swallowed up by a hard and masculine anger. Her scent has changed. Gone is the subtlety of roses and pheromones, the promise of sex. In its place are musk and testosterone and an odor I don’t recognize until I see the burning in her eyes. It’s the smell of rage, sharp, pungent, threatening. Violence a flicker, a kiss, away.

I stand still and wait for it to pass. Wait for the instant she no longer perceives me as a threat and the animal retreats.

She burrows her face close to my neck. She inhales my scent, licks the skin, her tongue rests on my jugular. She’s interpreting my intentions the same way I did hers.

At last, the fury drains from her body. I feel it, in my head and in the physical release as her muscles lose their rigidity, and the softness, the feminine, returns.

She straightens up and stands back. She turns, head down as if embarrassed, and walks away, into the living room. She doesn’t say a word or look around to see if I’m following.

I slump against the wall for a moment, waiting for my body to stop shaking and for my head to clear.

She’s strong and fast. Faster than I am. Stronger? I’m not sure. She caught me off guard and tossed me into that wall like a rag doll. I’ve fought centuries-old vampires and won.

Not this time, though. The first round goes to Sandra. I realize now I cannot let my guard down for a moment with this one. Not if I want to survive.

I watch her, in front of the fireplace, her back to me, her posture relaxed. She raises her hands and runs her fingers through her hair. She stands with one hip slightly thrust forward, a model’s stance that draws one’s eyes to the curves of her body. It’s a cultivated pose. She knows I’m watching.

The siren is back.

CHAPTER 30

I PASS A HAND OVER MY FACE TO GATHER MY WITS, clear my head before moving to stand beside her at the fireplace. She does not acknowledge my presence. She’s grown still. She’s staring into the fire, eyes dreamy and unfocused, head tilted, her thoughts obviously turned inward. She seems to be listening. To what or to whom, I have no idea.

“Sandra?”

The sound of my voice brings her back. It’s subtle. Her shoulders straighten a bit, her eyes brighten. She half turns toward me, an eyebrow arched, as if trying to remember who I am or why I’m here.

The ambiguity passes quickly.

“Anna.” She gestures toward one of the chairs placed on either side of a large coffee table. “Please, sit down. We have business to discuss.”

No indication, no mention of what transpired between us. She gathers the long folds of the gown and eases herself into a chair, waiting for me to do the same.

“I want to know about the dress,” I say, still standing.

She looks up at me with a hint of impatience drawing the corners of her mouth into a small frown. “I told you. I found it upstairs.”

“Not possible. It was my gown, and I know where I left it. It was not in this house.”

She waves a hand. “God. What difference does it make where you left it? It may not be the same dress.”

“It’s the same. It was an original.” I hesitate a moment, wondering if I should say anything else. When the expression on her face darkens into irritation, it trips my own. “I know it because Avery told me it was. The night he gave it to me.”

“And you believed everything he told you. How did that work out for you?”

Her fingers begin to move restlessly, picking at the dress, pinching the silk, plucking at the neckline. It’s as if they are acting to relieve the agitation I see building again in her eyes. She’s fighting to control—what? Herself? Me? I’m having a hard time recognizing the woman who bewitched me in Culebra’s bar with the sound of her voice, the warmth of her smile. Suddenly, I feel foolish. Why am I standing here dressed to seduce or be seduced by a woman who doesn’t seem capable of either?

I feel her watching me. When I meet her eyes, the frantic movements have stopped. Her expression is once again calm, detached. Then, as if having conjured up my last thought, she rises from the chair.

“We can do whatever you want, Anna,” she says, her voice rough as new wine. She slips the straps of the gown off her shoulders, and it falls in a silken puddle to her feet. “All you have to do is ask.”

CHAPTER 31

DRAW A QUICK, SHARP BREATH. HER BODY IS MORE beautiful than I imagined. Reflected light from the fireplace bathes her in a golden, flickering aura. It catches highlights in her hair and throws them back like quick, bright sparks. She’s slim where she should be, trim waist, sculpted hips and thighs, and lush where she should be, perfect breasts, firm, round ass. She has no pubic hair, no body hair at all. In spite of the woman’s body, it gives her an air of innocence, of vulnerability. I want to cover her nakedness. Ask her to slip the gown back on. To protect her.

Sandra lets me look at her, drink her in. She knows I have no choice, that I can’t look away. She fills my mind, whirlwinds my senses.

In the next instant, everything changes.

Now I’m panting with desire. My blood races, my skin heats up with such intense passion, I’m on fire, from within and without. The vampire is dangerously close to taking what it wants. The human Anna, the Anna whose common sense is screaming to get out of here, is slipping away. I no longer want to protect Sandra. I want nothing more than to cover her nakedness with my own. To explore her depths with fingers and tongue. Taste her. Find her pleasure points and make her cry out with the same aching need possessing me.

“What are you waiting for, Anna?” She opens her arms, inviting me closer. “You want me. I feel it.”

I do. More than I’ve wanted anyone since—

Her eyes burn into mine. Hereyes but different. Familiar. Threatening.

“It would have been so good, Anna. I waited so long for a worthy companion. I reveled in finding you, in showing you what could be. I loved you. I loved you.”

Her voice. Her voice but different. The words spoken with anger, disappointment, unbearable sadness.

My god.

I take a step back, mind reeling. Sandra’s face, Sandra’sface, is devoid of expression. Only her eyes are different. They’re his eyes, sparked with life. They’re his words. His last words.

Avery.

CHAPTER 32

I MAKE NO CONSCIOUS DECISION TO FLEE. ONE moment, I’m staring into Sandra’s face, into Avery’s wide, unforgiving eyes and the next, I’m racing out the front door, into the night, away from the apparition.

I know in my head what I saw wasn’t real. My heart, though, is sending adrenaline pumping and thundering the message to get away. The animal fights for self-preservation. I’m in my car and spinning out of the driveway, tires screaming in protest, and miles down the road before rational thought returns.

With it comes the shaking. It starts with my hands, jerking on the wheel, then my body spasms with such a visceral physical reaction that I have to pull over. I stumble to the side of the road and retch until my ribs throb with the effort. I vomit blood, black, thick, burning my throat like acid.

I fed from Lance last night, but blood is absorbed directly into my system. There’s no detour through a digestive tract like food in a human. Where this blood is coming from, I don’t know.

I don’t care. I’m too sick too care. Too weak from the exertion. I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach, head falling forward to the pavement, and pray that this sickness will pass.

From far away, like sound muffled by water, I hear the approach of a motorcycle, the deep, guttural roar of a Harley. Fear that it might be Sandra brings me staggering to my feet. I get back behind the wheel of the Jag and slide down until I’m hidden, waiting for the bike to pass.

It does.

I sit up and stare at the figure riding away from me.

Long, black hair flows from underneath a helmet. A broad, masculine back hunches over the handlebars.

A stranger.

Not Sandra.

Relief, then a deep feeling of futility washes over me. What did I do? Did I think Sandra would not have recognized my car at the side of the road? Was slinking down in the seat supposed to protect me?

I lean my head against the steering wheel. I have to get control of myself. I don’t know what happened back at that house—at Avery’s house—but I do know I’ll never let it happen again. I’ll never go back.

I also know that Sandra’s hold over me is broken. Whatever magic she possesses, I won’t give the bitch a second chance at me.

My heart has stopped its wild pounding. My body no longer jerks and quakes. It’s time to go home.

CHAPTER 33

I’VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY TO BE HOME. IT’S EARLY, only ten o’clock but I head right upstairs. I brush my teeth until my gums bleed, and then I rinse until I can no longer taste the blood. I strip off my clothes and climb into bed. I lie there, covers pulled up to my chin, trying to make sense out of the day. How could things have gotten so crazy? What happened to me at Avery’s? How did Sandra make it happen?

I think about Frey’s book. Maybe the answers I need are in that damned chapter seventeen—the one I haven’t yet read. I start to get up, to get it, when I realize I’ve left it at the office. Damn. I don’t have the energy to get out of bed and drive back to the office.

A car alarm shrieks. I jump at the noise, sitting straight up in bed. Has Sandra followed me here?

Then I collapse back into the pillows. Damn it. It’s out on Mission, not the alley in back of my house, and it’s certainly not my car, locked in the garage.

Locked.

Did I lock the doors downstairs? The windows?

Frantic drumming starts again in my chest.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I throw off the covers, no longer wanting to sleep. I grab my purse and dump the contents on the floor. Start shuffling through the contents.

There it is.

I snatch up my phone and dial the number printed on the card in my hand.

Please let him be home.

“Hello?”

“Lance. It’s Anna. What are you doing right now?”

There’s a lilting laugh. “Coming to see you?”

I release a pent-up sigh of relief. “How soon can you get here?”

CHAPTER 34

I GREET LANCE AT THE FRONT DOOR WET FROM A shower, towel twisted like a sarong around my body.

He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt, flip-flops on his feet. He doesn’t say a word, lets me draw him inside. When the door is closed, he kicks off the flip-flops, pulls the tee over his head. He reaches for the towel.

I stop him. The memory of being sick beside the road is still fresh in my memory. “I don’t want to feed. I want the sex.”

He smiles. “I think I can accommodate you,” he says. He unzips his jeans, peels them off. He’s already hard. This time when he reaches for the towel, I let him snatch it away.

His hands start their exploration while his mouth covers mine, his kiss urgent and savage. One hand holds me at the hollow of my back, pressing his body against mine, letting me feel his hardness against my thigh. The other goes to work, massaging my breasts, pinching my nipples, tracing a path down my stomach. I try to hold back, to control the tidal wave building too soon, but when his fingers find their way inside me, desire, hunger and turbulent need take over. I pull Lance down to the floor, lock my legs around his waist and force him between my thighs. Only when he’s inside, matching his movements to mine, do I relinquish the lead. His movements become deliciously slow and deliberate. Teasing, languid. He’s watching me through the veil of his hair, his eyes glowing.

The pressure builds. For him, too, I feel his sex swell, filling me.

Still, he holds back. He wants me to cry out for release and when I can no longer bite back long, shuddering moans, he brings me to the brink and over. With a single thrust, he comes so deep inside, I feel it to my very core.

After, he waits for me to grow still, for the heat to subside. My muscles refuse to relax. I’m reluctant to let go of him. He’s in no hurry. He moves gently, lowering himself on his hands until our faces are within inches of each other. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose.

“You are beautiful, Anna Strong,” he whispers. “Why are you so alone?”

The question raises the hackles at the back of my neck. I put both hands on his shoulders and push him up and away. “I’m not alone.”

An eyebrow arches. “Oh?” He makes a parody of looking around. “There’s a husband I don’t know about? A boyfriend? A steady fuck buddy?”

I start to protest, but he’s hard again and he moves just enough so that the hot, wet friction sends ripples radiating through me. He smiles and rocks a little faster.

“I’m not alone,” I whisper again.

He isn’t listening. He doesn’t care.

In another second, neither do I.