Simone stayed very still, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Folklore said vamp sleep looked like a particularly fresh dead body until you hammered the stake in, but she’d never been able to test the assertion.
Wonder if John would tell me. A silly question, sure. The air was still and dead, two of the bathroom’s walls—the outer edges of this home-for-an-hour—bearing that invisible almost-shimmer. Maybe she ought to be grateful he hadn’t forced her to settle on the bed, or moved her there like a tired toddler once she was out.
Now she had to get to the meet. After she’d possibly antagonized an old vampire who could probably keep her bottled indefinitely, and was perfectly aware of the fact.
While she’d been snoozing, though, some part of her had apparently been busy coming up with ideas. One sprang, full-blown and awful, to the forefront of her brain.
Oh, God, that’s awful. But it could possibly work. She’d done more difficult things, both before and after infection. Of course, a good girl wasn’tsupposedto fight dirty, to kill slavering vampires and demand prompt payment; a lady shouldn’t be threatening or rude. A good girl was supposed to be patient, long-suffering, wait to be rescued.
Getting to middle age meant discovering—and internalizing—there was nobody coming to save you, so you’d damn well better do it yourself.
The hardest part was stripping, folding her clothes neatly, and piling them next to the sink, her bag and boots tucked against the facing underneath. Deliberately not looking in the flyspotted mirror, she waited for the shower to gurgle into life.
Great water pressure, even if the spray never got truly hot. She wrung her hair dry and didn’t bother with the towels. Not part of her plan, and what she was about to do was nasty enough. No need to add whatever was on anemic, faintly mildewed terrycloth to the mix.
Watch, I’ll look out and he’ll be gone, that’d be hilarious.It took more courage than she’d guessed to twist the knob, pull the door open slightly, and peer out.
The room was just the same as it had been, except the bed was piled with shopping bags. A large black suitcase lay on the pillows, open and waiting, its lid against the headboard; the TV was on but muted, glowing at the old vampire who stood stock-still, staring at its glass face as if enraptured.
Men and televisions. It’s like a bug zapper, they can’t look away.Simone hesitated, wondering if the crazy, awful, long-shot plan was worth carrying out.
Black jeans, black shirt, plain silver belt buckle, plain black boots. His hair bore no crimp of the hat’s sweatband, turned into a half-tousled mass balancing the harsh planes of his face. Not gaunt anymore, but there was nothing soft about him either. An oblivious human might peg him as thirty, thirty-two tops, a rawboned good ol’ boy unremarkable save for those straight eyebrows and piercing blue peepers.
What did it take, to live a long time as a vampire? To get so old you could walk around in sunshine—what would a being like that want withher? All that leman stuff had to be horseshit. Some kind of con game.
He turned, a swift, graceful movement. His hat was on the cheap nightstand; at least he hadn’t left it on the bed. Did he know about the old superstition? Maybe he was older than a folk belief or two.
The idea that those blue eyes could X-ray right through the flimsy door was immediate, and hideously unwelcome. Simone froze.
“I, ah.” He made a short sound, almost like a nervous cough. “I brought you gifts.”
Really. Simone tried to process this, her brain briefly sputtering like a flooded engine.
“I don’t know what women of your era prefer,” he continued, reciting near-breathlessly as if racing through a prepared debate opener. “I will learn. All I ask is a little… a little…”
A little what?Simone realized she’d opened the door slightly further than she’d meant to. He was getting an eyeful of what infection had done to her body—best nip-and-tuck around, except for the faint fading traces of old stretch marks on her thighs and the sides of her breasts; the ones on her arms were almost gone, along with her varicose veins.
Hopefully the remainders wouldn’t interfere with her plan.
Simone let the door swing wide, padding into the motel room. The carpet was worn down to the weft in some places, delightfully scratchy save for the hint of grease lingering on nylon strands. She was still damp, but thankfully summer-scorch and winter snow both rolled right off vamp skin to a certain degree.
She pretended to examine the bags on the bed.Well, can’t lay on that, or at least, I don’t want to roll around on plastic. So he shops designer, huh. Wonder how he got those past the seals? He doesn’t take the shimmer down to pass through, I think.
So much she had to learn. So she turned, looking up at him, and found out he was closer now, a soft warm breath of moving air brushing her cheek. “You’re trying to buy me?”Should I flutter my eyelashes?
“Topleaseyou,” he corrected, and she found out it was entirely possible for an ancient being on a liquid-red diet to look hungry. John stared from under lowered lids, his lower lip pulled slightly in, blunt human-seeming teeth touching lightly. All his attention focused, those blue eyes nearly incandescent, and yes, he did appear absolutely… well, famished.
He said bloodsuckers could eat human food. Once she got through this, she was going to test the assertion with a bacon mushroom cheeseburger, a mountain of waffle fries, and a cookies-n-creme milkshake.
Withloadsof whipped cream. Any digestive trouble afterward would only be what she deserved.
For now, Simone regarded him with what she hoped was cool measurement. He could probably hear her heart hammering, but maybe keeping a straight face was worth a point or two. “Why?”
“You’re my leman.” As if that was supposed to mean something.
“But why?” she persisted.
His throat moved as he swallowed. Simone began to get the idea she had some kind of weird advantage here—unless he was indeed lying. But then again, maybe a male vamp could be led around by the little head instead of the big one, just like human guys.
