All Hallows Heartbreaker (8 page)

Emmy plopped down on the bed beside her, relieved to talk to her friend. “You’re not kidding. You wouldn’t believe the things that happened to me last night.”

“You mean tall, dark and horny?” Monica’s gaze brimmed with mischief. “I saw him carry you away. You didn’t put up much of a fight, so I left you to it.”

Emmy blushed and gave her friend a sideways glance. “What about you and Nicky?”

Monica moaned. “There’s something about vampire cock.”

“You know?”

“I had the bites to show it.”

Emmy chewed on the inside of her lip, before blurting, “Dylan said Nicky’s dangerous.”

Monica’s expression grew sly. “Yeah. He is. And he’s an amazing fuck.”

Determined to set her friend straight, but floundering for a way not to make him more appealing to Monica’s adrenaline addiction, Emmy asked, “How did you meet him?”

“I stopped for gas on my way home from work, yesterday. When I went into the store, he had a little shop girl up against the wall.”

“Screwing?”

“No. Killing,” she said matter-of-factly.

Heart in her throat, Emmy jerked to her feet, but Monica’s hand wrapped around her wrist, tight as a manacle. “Monica?” she asked, very afraid she’d made a terrible mistake.

Monica’s grip tightened as she slid off the bed. “Sorry, Em. Nicky wants to see you, again.”

Emmy winced against the pain and tried to pull her hand free. “Let me go.”

“No can do. He’ll be here shortly.” Her voice roughened and her face transformed. She flung her head back, shaking out her long brown hair. “Oh, much better. Nicky’s smart. He knew you’d come looking for me.”

Emmy raised the shoe with her free hand. “Monica, you don’t want to do this. We’re friends.”

“But what are friends for, Emmaline?” She grinned revealing a row of shiny jagged teeth. “What are you going to do? Stab me in the heart with my Manolo Blahnik pumps? Don’t make me angry.”

Emmy swung the spiked heel at Monica’s face.

With a howl, Monica released her wrist and raised her arms to cover her head.

Emmy pummeled her with the shoe, driving her back, until Monica’s legs met the edge of the mattress and she fell. Emmy threw the shoe at her and bolted for the hallway, making it to the living room before Monica barreled into her back. The wind whooshed from her lungs and she struggled, breathless, to flip the heavy weight off her.

Monica climbed up her body until she lay draped over Emmy. Her nose snuffled against Emmy’s neck. “Do you think he’ll mind if I take a little bite?”

With her face pressed to the carpet, Emmy thought fast. Monica was growing heavier and stronger. Emmy feared what that meant. “What does Nicky do to people who disobey his commands?”

“Dust them.” Her tongue laved the corner of Emmy’s shoulder, nosing away the collar of her blouse.

“Think Monica. Did he want me whole? What did he say?”

Monica groaned. “Can’t remember.”

Knowing Dylan’s mental faculties were impaired in his vampire state, Emmy injected a calm she wasn’t feeling into her voice. “Will Nicky be angry with you, Monica?”

“Maybe.”

“Monica, let me up. Let’s talk about Nicky.”

Monica licked her neck again. “Hungry.”

“I could make you breakfast.”

“Need blood. You have it.”

Good going, Em. You just reminded her you’re food.
“Remember, Nicky? Your new boyfriend? The fabulous fuck?”

Monica stretched like a cat on top of her. “Nicky here soon.”

“Yes, Monica. Nicky here soon. And Nicky won’t be happy.”

“Nicky mad?” she asked, her voice frighteningly deep.

“Yes. Get off, Monica. You’re not thinking straight.”

Monica rolled off her with a petulant sigh. And Emmy turned and sat on the floor, her eyes never leaving Monica’s monstrous face.

Emmy looked over Monica’s shoulder. “Is that Nicky coming now?”

Triumph suffused Monica’s face, and she whirled toward the door.

Emmy jumped on her back. She had to subdue Monica long enough to get out of the apartment. If Nicky arrived before she could escape, she was a dead woman.

With Emmy holding on with all she had, Monica crashed into a wall, trying to dislodge her. Her hands reached behind her and she clawed at Emmy’s clothes, snarling and howling.

Monica slammed back into another wall and bits of drywall crumbled around them. With the next slam, pictures slid from the wall, the glass shattering. Finding it difficult to draw a breath, Emmy released her grip on Monica’s shoulders and slid to the floor.

Monica pounced, but Emmy was ready for her. She wrapped her thighs around Monica’s neck and squeezed. Monica’s hands clawed at Emmy’s legs, shredding her khaki slacks and raising rivulets of blood on her thighs, but Emmy didn’t let go.

Then Emmy realized she’d left two major arteries running down the inside of her thighs vulnerable to Monica’s powerful jaws and teeth. Hoping Monica wouldn’t figure it out too soon, Emmy decided to psych out her opponent with a little bravado.

“You may as well stop fighting me. These thighs are ‘Sommersized’.”

Monica’s head continued to thrash.

“I can crack a walnut between them. You be careful, or I’ll break your neck.” Emmy squeezed tighter, growing more worried by the moment that Monica would ravage her with her mouth. She pulled hard on Monica’s hair. “I’ll snatch you bald if you don’t stop moving.”

Monica held her head perfectly still.

If Emmy hadn’t been so frightened, she would have crowed over that little moment of victory. Monica might be a mighty vampire, but she was still not the sharpest tool in the shed. Emmy wondered how long her bluff would last. Monica should know her hair would grow back like a Beautiful Chrissie doll.

“What do you think she’ll threaten her with next?” Quentin’s amused voice drawled.

Emmy’s head whirled toward the front door. Dylan and his stuffy friend stood in the entrance.

Chapter Eight

Monica’s body stiffened between Emmy’s legs.

“You can let go of her now, love,” Dylan said.

Too shaken by the battle, Emmy realized her fingers were frozen in Monica’s hair. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll just stay here for a minute or two.”

Dylan approached and squatted next to the women. “Monica, tell Emmy you’ll behave now.”

Monica panted, then her body changed, softening. Her face reformed. Her round cheeks reddened with the pressure Emmy continued to apply. “You can let me go, Emmy. I won’t hurt you.”

Emmy drew a deep breath and let her thighs loosen their iron grip. “Am I ever glad to see you,” she said to Dylan.

Dylan helped her to her feet, and she looked up, prepared to thank him, but his face was a tight mask of fury. She stepped back.

“Quentin, get her to the car.” Dylan’s voice was taut and hard.

Quentin grabbed her upper arm to lead her out, but Emmy resisted. “You aren’t going to hurt her.”

Monica rested on her elbows on the floor and smirked.

Emmy wished she still had an extra shoe to throw at her. Didn’t she know better than to piss off Dylan?

“Get up,” Dylan commanded.

Monica rose slowly, dusting plaster off her clothing, mocking Dylan with her nonchalance.

Dylan grabbed her by the neck and backed her up to the wall.

Monica’s eyes rounded, and her hands pulled at his, but she couldn’t dislodge his grip.

Emmy stepped toward them, but was stopped by Quentin’s long-fingered shackle.

Quentin pulled her to him and slipped an arm around her waist, anchoring her to his side. “Wait,” he whispered in her ear.

“I’ll spare you tonight,” Dylan said, his voice low and deadly calm. “You were Emmy’s friend, but you’ll stay clear of her now or I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

Monica nodded, her eyes wild.

“And take a message to your boyfriend.”

“Yes,” she replied, sounding breathless. “What shall I tell him?”

“
Run
.”

* * * * *

As she followed Dylan into his house, Emmy still trembled from the aftermath of her battle. She’d actually had the nerve to attack a vampire with a shoe!

Quentin followed close behind and drew her into the living room, pressing her down into one of the sumptuous leather chairs on either side of a large, pale marble fireplace. He flipped on a wrought iron floor lamp and golden light spilled into the dark corners of the room.

Feeling measurably safer, Emmy waited quietly while Quentin lit the fire.

“You have nothing to fear from Dylan,” he said quietly.

“I’m not afraid,” she said, and then realized she truly wasn’t.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

Emmy shook her head. She raised her hands toward the fire to warm them and saw they still shook.

A tumbler was held in front her eyes, a finger of brown liquid sloshing in the glass. Rather than remind him she’d said no, she took it, but held it with both hands. She stared into the whiskey. She hated whiskey.

“It’s scotch,” he said, taking the seat opposite her.

“Smells like paint thinner,” she mumbled.

“Be a good girl and throw it back—in your throat that is.”

She glanced up.

He offered her a silent toast with his own glass, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth.

What the hell, she thought. Perhaps it would chase away the chilling fear she’d felt since leaving Monica’s place. Or deaden the sting of the deep scratches on her thighs.

The liquor burned all the way to her belly, and she gasped. “That was awful.”

He laughed softly. “You’ll feel better in a moment.”

Emmy’s hands clamped harder around the empty glass and her lips trembled, so she pressed them tightly together. But the sob she’d held inside erupted, and she set aside the glass to cover her face. “I can’t believe I attacked a vampire with a Manolo Blahnik pump.”

She sobbed a second time. “I’m not usually such a wimp.”

“You’re not a wimp,” Dylan’s voice broke in.

Great! He’d think she was a crybaby too. She rubbed her hands over her face to quickly wipe away the tears and then looked at him.

He was kneeling beside her chair. His dark eyes filled with concern.

“I think this is where I find something better to do,” Quentin murmured and left the room.

“Headstrong, stubborn—” Dylan said, his brows pulled together in a frown. “Lacking in common sense, perhaps, but not a wimp, my dear.”

Emmy wanted to argue with him over a few of those adjectives, but realized what she wanted more was for him to hold her. She bit the inside of her lip, and wondered whether he’d offer his shoulder. If he didn’t, she wasn’t going to ask. Besides, going
there
was only going to lead to heartbreak.

“Emmy, you’re thinking too much.”

Her chin lifted. “Are you also saying my intellect is puny?”

“I’m saying, come here,” he said, his voice firm.

“And I’m supposed to just fall into your arms?” A little resistance might convince him she wasn’t desperate for his attentions.

“It’s your choice, love.” Something in his voice jangled her alarms.

“What am I choosing between?”

“Coming into my arms…or being dragged there.”

Her body reacted instantly to the caveman vision that came to mind. “Oh.”

“Emmy?” his voice held an edge of warning.

She didn’t know where the courage came from, but she licked her lips, a slow circle that his gaze followed. There was more than one way to get his two arms around her. “Come and get me.”

“Witch,” he whispered, and then leaned forward to take her lips. His tongue swirled inside her mouth. “Mmmm. My favorite flavors.”

“What? Tooth scum and paint thinner?”

His lips smiled against hers. “Whiskey and woman.”

Her fingers combed through his hair and she pulled to seal their mouths. He kissed her, and then pushed her back.

Disappointed, she tried to follow.

He took her hands and placed them on the arms of the chair. “First, let me take care of your legs.” He reached for the button at her waistband and slipped it open, then tugged down the zipper.

Emmy winced when he peeled the fabric from her thighs. How had she forgotten about the claw marks Monica had left in her flesh? Drying blood stuck in places, but Dylan was relentless.

Whimpering by the time he’d finished, Emmy dug her fingers into the chair.

His head lowered to the first set of wounds, and he licked them. Long wet strokes that soothed her flesh along the angry red scores. As she watched, the pain receded, and the scratches healed, and then disappeared altogether.

“Your tongue could earn millions,” she said around a moan when his head bent over her other thigh.

He healed the last of Monica’s scratches. Then his hands circled Emmy’s hips and pulled her to the edge of the chair. She widened her legs, and he pulled her groin flush with his.

Emmy wrapped her thighs around his hips and rubbed her pussy along the long ridge of his desire. “Too many clothes,” she complained.

Dylan grabbed her collar and pulled her shirt apart, popping buttons. A few clattered on the tile hearth.

Desperate to free her breasts, Emmy reached between them for the clasp of her bra and unhooked it.

His mouth descended on hers, and he skimmed her blouse and bra from her shoulders and let them fall. Her nipples pebbled instantly, and she scraped them over the fabric of his shirt.

Clumsy with frenzy, they ripped at the rest of their clothing until they knelt naked before the fire.

“I sure hope you have something my size in your closet,” Emmy said, as Dylan’s mouth skimmed over her collarbone and descended to her breast.

“When are you going to need clothes?” He tongued her nipple, and then sucked it between his teeth.

Emmy pressed his face harder against her breast. “Right, tomorrow’s Sunday. No work. Play?”

He raised his head and took a breath, “Not play, loving you is a death sport.” He pushed her back onto the carpet and lay over her body.

Her hands gripped his ears. “You should know all about it.” Directing his mouth to the neglected nipple she contemplated a night and day of lovemaking. “Do you have real food in your fridge?”

“You mean,” he said, his voice sounding somewhat garbled, “something other than organ meat or pig’s blood?”

Emmy made a face. “Something vegetarian?”

“And if I say no?”

“The only organ meat I want is yours.” To make sure he got the hint, she lifted her hips to nudge her bush against his…organ. “We’ll order pizza. They deliver.”

“So do I.” His cock pressed into the entrance of her vagina.

Emmy winced, still sore from the previous night. “Perhaps, we should try a smorgasbord, instead. Cafeteria-style. No sausage. Little edibles.”

“Emmy.”

“Mmmm?”

“Stop talking.”

“Ahem.” The sound of someone clearing his throat sounded loudly in the room. She glanced toward the foyer and saw Quentin standing in the shadows with a bundle under his arm.

Emmy squealed and became aware that Dylan was lifting off her body. She wrapped her legs around him. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m naked.” Her hands rose to cover her breasts.

“Before you get too deeply into the pepperoni,” Quentin said, with wry humor in his voice, “may I have a word with you, Dylan?” His gaze flickered over Emmy, assessing, almost clinical. “Doesn’t she put you in mind of a Boticelli?”

Emmy removed her hands from her breasts and let her arms fall to her side on the floor. He was the one interrupting coitus. She didn’t have a thing to feel ashamed of. Besides, if she was honest she enjoyed his perusal.

Dylan scowled. One of his sexiest looks, Emmy thought. As worthy as any Calvin Klein pout. “Quentin, is there a purpose to this interruption?” he said, his teeth gritted.

“I just wanted to remind you that you have a meeting to attend later.” Quentin’s smile fell short of innocent. “And to bring you pillows.” He indicated to the bundle beneath his arm.

Dylan raised a hand and caught the pillows as they were tossed. “Now, get lost.”

Quentin winked, then turned on his heels and left.

“Where were we?” Dylan asked, urging her with a hand to lift her hips.

Unclasping her thighs, she put her feet flat on the floor and pushed up. “Swallowing sausage?” she asked, grinning.

He slid one of the pillows beneath her hips. “No, going vegetarian.” He pressed her knees apart.

Feeling overexposed, Emmy placed a hand over her pussy. “I’ll take cucumber.”

He raised a pointed finger. “I’m bringing the carrot.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think this analogy is getting tired.”

“I agree. Too much roughage.” His gaze dropped to her open thighs. “I’m up for something…creamier.”

“Potatoes?”

He lifted one eyebrow.

“All right, I promise to shut up. If you put your tongue to better use as well.”

Dylan bent and kissed her inner thigh, nipping gently toward her core.

Emmy groaned, eager for the lash of his rough tongue.

He didn’t disappoint. He stroked long laps over her outer lips, alternating with short darts between that fluttered against her clitoris.

Liquid seeped from inside her, bathing her vagina, and her legs turned to jelly, falling farther apart.

He dipped inside. “Ambrosia.” He moaned, and the sound vibrated on her sensitive flesh. His tongue delved deeper.