Forever Starts Now Page 7

  He saw her lips move and form his name, and he almost asked her to say it aloud. Shaking his head at his own treacherous thoughts, he stood and offered her his hand. She hadn't answered, still, but he knew she would.

  * * * *

  Just a dance, he had said. It sounded so innocent, it was hard to say no. And that was how Claire found herself being led by the hand down the suspended bridges and staircases to the lower level.

  She saw some startled looks thrown her way, and even took some delight in seeing Sara stare at her with a mix of jealousy and incredulity. She wasn't solely going to dance with him, she wanted to tell her, but she also knew his name. Somehow, she was sure it was his real name; he wouldn't have hesitated if he had merely given her a fake one. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to shout it for all to hear or to keep it to herself like a precious secret.

  Matthew's hand felt cool as it clasped hers, but not cold as she had expected. She realized with a small amount of trepidation that it was the first time she had ever touched a vampire, and it made her feel just a little more naughty. ‘Stay away from vampires’ was the standard advice parents gave their children when they left for college, and despite her fascination for vampires, Claire had always heeded it—until that night.

  Stepping down the staircases seemed to take hours, especially with so many eyes turning their way. Unused to being the center of attention, Claire found herself looking away, down at the dancing crowd. She caught a glimpse of the vampire with whom Matthew always arrived; she was dancing with two men, one molded to her back, his hands on her hips, the other only a foot in front of her as she kept him close with her arms looped around his neck. Glancing at him, Claire noticed that Matthew had seen his companion too, and she wondered what he felt seeing her with other men. His face did not reveal anything.

  The dance floor was as crowded as ever, yet Claire forgot all the dancing bodies around her as soon as Matthew turned toward her, a blazing smile on his lips. He said something she didn't quite understand. All she could hear were the music and the rapid thud of her own heartbeat. She shook her head and leaned in closer, her face very close to his so that they barely brushed against each other. He seemed to understand and repeated, this time loud enough for her to hear:

  "You're not afraid, are you?"

  As loud as it was, the question was but a whisper against the shell of her ear, yet it echoed in her mind as Matthew pulled back, head slightly tilted to the side, his hand tight around hers their only point of contact. She wanted to reply that of course she wasn't afraid, but her throat and lips refused to form the words, and she was left to stare at him, overly conscious of the heat that was flooding her body.

  "Don't be,” Matthew murmured, leaning in closer again. “I won't bite."

  If anything, his words made Claire's heart thunder ever faster, and she could do nothing but follow his lead as he started dancing to the wild beat of the music

  She had watched him dance before, sometimes for hours at a time, and this certainly was nothing new. But all her observations had not prepared her for the sense of raw energy emanating from him as he abandoned himself to the music. She didn't know—maybe she would ask, later—how many years had passed since he had been turned into a vampire. If she had needed to take a guess, she would have said it had been very recently. His movements, unrestrained and wild and always so perfectly in tune to the beat, did not seem to hide any remnants of a waltz or minuet, or anything other than contemporary music.

  Although she didn't care much for clubs, Claire had danced before to different kinds of music, not to the point of being an exceptional dancer when following any particular musical genre, but enough that she could move on most beats without looking ridiculous. She had never realized, however, what a difference following the lead of a good dancer could make. Matthew made everything appear easy. All Claire had to do was watch him, hold on to his hand or waist, and let him guide her. It was thrilling, and exhilarating, and it made Claire yearn for a different kind of dance, one in which bodies listened not to music but only to pleasure and each other. If he listened to his partner's needs half as well as he did to the music, he had to be the wonderful lover his past conquests claimed he was.

  She doubted anyone looking at them would consider them well matched, but then, she didn't care all that much, not when his hands played over her arms and sides, sliding up and down in touches that were light enough to make Claire want to step closer and get more of them.

  Her wish was answered when the music abruptly shifted to something much slower.

  A collective sigh rolled over the crowd as the lights dimmed ever so lightly, and couples drifted a little closer to each other. The music was still as loud, but its deep drums beat more slowly now, coaxing Claire's heart into a calmer rhythm.

  Matthew stepped just a little closer to her and pressed his hands at the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. Claire silenced the nagging voice in her head that insisted on ringing alarm bells and rested her fingers against his shoulders. His black shirt felt like silk, the muscles beneath it, steel. She had a feeling his skin would be just as soft, and felt a barely repressible urge to find out.

  He had teased her, back at the bar, about having bedroom thoughts when all he had asked for was a dance. The same thoughts were plaguing her now, renewed by his closeness and the sensuous way he moved against her. He was taller than she was, but he kept his head down so that his mouth was close to her ear. Now and then, as they swayed to the music, his lips would brush against the rim, light enough that it could have been a coincidence if it hadn't been happening repeatedly.

  If he suggested more than a dance now, she told herself with both resignation and excitement, she might not put up much of a fight. It had been a long time since a man simply dancing with her had made her felt like fire and life were coursing beneath her skin. She remembered, vaguely, thinking that he might have used thrall on his conquests. She knew he didn't need to, now. He just needed to be himself.

  When she sighed softly in contentment, his body replied in a way she couldn't possibly miss. The hardening of his cock against her hip was unmistakable. If she hadn't had that second glass of wine, she would have stepped back a little, or so she wanted to believe. As it was, and to her own shock, she pressed her body against his just a little more with each step. She felt herself blush, though, and while the dance floor was still rather dark, she had no doubt that he would be able to see the red spreading over her cheeks. She threw reserve to the wind, and rested her cheek against his chest, finding that she could tuck her head under his chin very comfortably.

  Her arms slid to his back to find a more comfortable position, and she absently began drawing circles with her thumb just above the waist of his trousers. In response, one of his hands started running up and down her back in a sensual motion. The other slipped just a little lower, to cup Claire's ass and push her a little tighter against him. She could feel her blush become even fiercer, and closed her eyes as though it would prevent anyone from noticing.

  With her eyes closed, it was easier to pretend that they weren't on a crowded dance floor any longer, easier to trust that no one would be watching his hand caress her back, edging always lower but without doing more than brushing against the top of her ass. It was easier, also, for Claire to imagine what else might happen if they were truly alone. The weeks had been long since her separation from Jonas, and her nights lonely.

  Would she undress him first, smooth, expensive silk sliding off his golden body? Or would she expose herself to him, her nipples distended and almost aching from waiting for his touch and the nest of curls between her legs slick and ready for him? The latter, she thought. She wanted to watch his face when her clothes slid off her body, and in her mind she could see him want her in that instant more than anything else in the world. She didn't care anymore that it would be for one night only, she wanted to be wanted again. She wanted praises to caress her skin along with his hands and then, only then, would she r
eveal him to her eyes. As close as they now were to each other, she could feel his muscles shifting with each movement, strength contained by silk. She could feel all too well, also, the cock nestled against her hip, and she longed to touch its hardness, and discover it with her hands and eyes.

  Her body burned with need, and Claire could only hope that rumors were true, and that vampires could smell the scent of lust on a human. She didn't want to have to invite him home. She just wanted to say yes when he invited her instead.

  * * * *

  Matthew had been a patron of On The Edge for years, now. Every time he and Diane were in Haventown, they made the club their hunting ground, in a pattern they had perfected through decades of practice. They lived together by day, went to the club together at night, accompanied their respective prey to their homes, and found each other again in the morning. It worked quite well for them, with the advantage of providing them with as much blood and sexual encounters as either might want, while keeping a close relationship between them. Between Sire and Childe, there was no jealousy to be had for conquests that were forgotten with the first light of sunrise.

  He had had dozens of women in his arms and in bed. Hundreds of them. In this very club, he had lost the count of how many warm bodies he had danced with before accompanying them home for a few hours. But Claire was more than a warm body, more than a random girl picked up for dinner and a night in her bed. He had certainly not planned this. It was never his habit to approach his girls, let alone dance with them, but he couldn't regret it. What he did regret was the necessity of what would come later. She would hate him, when he was done with her, and fear him as well, and she would be that much safer for it.

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  Chapter Six

  Even with dozens of other bodies dancing around them, some humans and some not, Matthew could still discern Claire's scent as clearly as though they had been alone. She smelled of fuchsia flowers, wine, and clean perspiration. She smelled, also, to his great chagrin, like all the women who threw themselves at his neck, night after night. He would need to teach her better.

  The string of slow dances ended, and immediately the lights and music pulsed back to an intense vivacity that didn't lend itself for coddling and romances. Several couples made their exit, stepping up the staircases hand in hand, or sometimes so wrapped in each other that they barely reached the first landing before stopping to embrace in a passionate kiss. Matthew knew, as clearly as he knew his own name, that Claire expected something of the sort to happen between them, and with a reluctant sigh that she probably didn't hear, he dropped his hands from her back and gently stepped away from her.

  What he was about to do was necessary, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. On the contrary, after having basked in her heat and scent, after having enjoyed touching her and being touched by her, to stop now was a challenge. Matthew knew where his duty lay, however, and he wouldn't yield now, not even if her eyes shone with both hope and desire when she looked up at him and smiled. The difference between this needy woman and the one who, less than an hour prior to that instant, had scoffed at the idea that he might want to bed her was stunning.

  Taking her hand as he had earlier, he arched an eyebrow at her, making a silent suggestion that he hoped she would refuse. Her smile brightened just a little when she nodded her assent.

  He pulled her toward the staircase, then freed his hand from hers to place it at the small of her back instead. It allowed him to guide her just as well, but the touch felt more intimate, and indeed she shivered when he first laid his hand just above the curve of her ass.

  Up the stairs they went, stopping on the first landing for no other reason than Matthew's weakness. If he had to give her up like he had given up another woman so much like her before, he would at least taste her lips once.

  He did so like a man dying of thirst, trapping her between the wall and his body and plundering her mouth with a desperate intensity. The flavor of wine was strong on her tongue as it slid against his own, and he told himself that was the reason why she was taking such risks, trusting a vampire with her mouth, her body, and even if she didn't seem aware of it, her very life.

  He broke off the kiss with a feeling of guilt that annoyed and angered him. A little more harshly than he meant to, he grabbed her hand again and walked up two more flights of stairs, reaching the last landing before the first floor. Again, he pushed her against the wall. She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer even as she closed her eyes and licked her lips.

  Matthew growled and dove for her neck instead of her mouth. He bit down right where her neck and shoulder met in a graceful arch, and even though he used only blunt teeth, he felt her freeze up and tense. He remained still for a few seconds more, resisting easily when she tried to push him away, then let go of her neck and whispered into her ear.

  "You're dead. Or you would be if I was hungry."

  He took a step back and observed his work. Her heart beat wildly, and her scent screamed her fear, all lust forgotten. Her eyes were wide open and blinking furiously. She brought a hand to her neck, where he had bitten, and looked at her fingers in disbelief, clearly surprised not to find them covered in blood.

  "Wh ... why?” she stammered.

  Matthew gave her the iciest smile he could summon. “Because vampires are dangerous, sweetie. You shouldn't play with fire."

  He could tell at once that the endearment had been a bad idea, and he cursed himself for the slip. Whatever impression he was made on her, the fear was transforming into uncertainty, now, as though she weren't quite sure whether he was joking or serious.

  "What? I'm not..."

  He leaned in closer to her again, and she pressed back against the wall behind her, fear taking the advantage again.

  "All humans who come here play with their lives,” he said, his words dripping with contempt. “You're too intelligent not to realize that."

  He slipped again, praising her when he ought to have called her on the stupid decision that coming to On The Edge had been. It was a slip in another way, too, alluding to things he ought not to have known if he had never known of her before today. But he knew she had graduated from college with honors. He knew too many things to let her throw away her life.

  She shook and struggled to get a grip on herself again, but finally she stopped cowering and raised her chin high, meeting his gaze without flinching anymore.

  "What are you saying?” she asked, anger taking over her voice. “That I am suicidal? That I came here to die?"

  He didn't know why she had moved so fast toward anger. He would have expected that to come later. But anger could be good, too, as long as it convinced her never to set foot in the club again.

  * * * *

  The first moments when Matthew had pretended to bite her had been pure terror for Claire. She had forgotten in the blink of an eye her attraction for him, and the deep ache for a lover that dancing with him had conjured. It sobered her up so quickly that she couldn't pretend to herself anymore that a couple glasses of wine had affected her mind.

  However, to hear him try to scare her with a pitiful warning about the dangers of vampires chased away the fear, and brought forth a wave of anger. Jonas had once given her the same speech when she had asked about what the vampires he hunted were like. Couldn't they see that curiosity did not make her a child?

  "You are not making one bit of sense, you know that, right?” she snapped, sliding to her left so that she wasn't trapped between Matthew and the wall anymore. “First you do your best to seduce me and now you warn me off?"

  She hadn't dreamed the way his cock had pressed against her. She knew he had been as turned on as she had. None of it made sense, and especially not the way he chuckled, the sound low and dangerous when earlier she would have called it playful.

  "That wasn't my best, far from it. If it had been, we'd be in a bed and starting round three or four by now."

  Understanding continued to escape Claire's grasp
. If Matthew hadn't threatened her just a minute earlier, she would have thought he was flirting with her now as he had been at the bar. The mixed signals were just too hard to keep track of.

  "You think because we shared a drink and danced together I'd ... what? Take you home? Sleep with you? Let you bite me?” She snorted. “You know nothing about me, and pretending that you do is really pathetic. If you get off on—"

  "Enough, already!” His outburst startled her to the point that she took a step back, and nearly tripped over the staircase behind her. “Stop throwing a tantrum and. Go. Home. Now."

  More than his tone or words, it was the glimpse of a fang that set Claire in motion, and she took another stumbling step back and up the staircase, grabbing the handrail for support. She had never forgotten what he was, what he could do, but as she stared at him she realized that she had not taken the threat that he and all the vampires in the club represented. On The Edge was supposed to be a safe place for humans and vampires to socialize. The truth, she started to understand, was that safety depended on the good will of beings as dangerous as they could be fickle.

  Matthew's anger seemed to have redoubled, for no reason she could understand, and the idea that she had caused a vampire's anger was far too uncomfortable. Walking backwards up the staircase, she didn't dare take her eyes off him until she had reached the upper level. When she did, she ran to the street and hailed the first cab she could find.

  She tried to calm down, as the taxi took her home. She told herself, repeatedly, that he had had no right to talk to her as though she had been nothing but a child, and that she ought to be angry, not afraid. But if the fear faded slightly, it was only to be replaced by shame and embarrassment. She had made a fool of herself, letting that vampire play with her before he had rejected her so soundly. How could she have believed for even a second that he might be attracted to her?

  From the game he had played with her to Jonas’ lies, there was only a small leap to make, and her mind was prompt to it. Jonas’ deeds had been more hurtful by far than the vampire's, but in that instant, with the help of tiredness and a little too much alcohol, both men melded in her mind. She was crying when, high-heeled shoes in hand, she stepped out of the cab and made her way to her front door. She was crying because of the still acute pain of losing a man she had loved, because she had been stupid enough to think the vampires at On The Edge were innocents she had to protect from Jonas, and because she still felt so guilty at failing to do anything to protect them. She knew none of this made sense, she realized her thoughts were contradicting each other, but at that moment she did not care. All she hoped was that she'd feel better after a good cry.