Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

“You’re sniffing my neck,” he replies, and I can’t decide if he sounds afraid or curious. I wish he was more afraid of me—it would be safer for him.

I sigh and drop my head again. He’s so warm, even out here in the chill night air. “I guess I do need to feed.” I don’t know what to do. I should phone Theo, but that means admitting that I’ve failed.

I’m not ready to do that.

He nudges me so I have to pull back and look at him. Our eyes meet: gold on silver. I catch my breath; I can’t help it, he is so beautiful.

He touches my cheek with warm fingertips and something inside me breaks. The tide of loneliness that I hold back, day after day, rushes through the breach, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying. Remember what you promised, I tell myself. No more tears. Never again.

He is stroking my face, pushing my tangled hair out of the way, and his eyes are filled with compassion beyond his years. It reminds me, just a little, of the way Theo looks at me when he is in one of his better moods. The lump in my throat expands to the size of a fist.

Adam’s expression is deadly serious. “Feed from me,” he says. His voice is steady and sure.

I blink and try to push him away. This isn’t what I expected. I thought maybe he’d help me find one of Theo’s London contacts. Or even that he might offer to steal hospital supplies with me—his Houdini superpowers would come in very handy for that—but this ... this strangely innocent offer is a surprise.

I shiver against him and shake my head. “No, you’re too young. You don’t know what you’re offering.”

Adam puts his fingers beneath my chin and forces me to look at him. “I don’t care. You got hurt because of me—let me help you.”

“There are other ways you can help, Adam. You don’t have to open a vein.”

“I don’t mind a little blood,” he replies. “Djinn have a long and complicated relationship with it.”

We don’t have time for a history lesson on the Djinn. I frown at him and once more attempt to wriggle out of his arms, but I am weak and he is stronger than he looks. He is also determined.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him. I mean it, too. I didn’t think I would care about him so quickly. I wish I could toughen up. All very well to be able to talk the talk, but if I can’t walk the walk when it counts, then my attitude is all for shit. My image was taking a pounding right here in the back alley of a London theater. How embarrassing.

Adam shrugs out of his jacket and bares his throat. “Go on, do it.” There’s a challenge in his voice, but no fear that I can detect. This boy is something else.

I lick my lips and breathe him in. He smells of cinnamon and sunshine. His scent reminds me of the hot spices that drift from the Indian restaurant down the block from Holly’s apartment.

My fangs extend, and the hunger grabs hold of my gut. I cry out as my whole body spasms and rips open the slowly healing gash below my chest. I snarl with helpless need and pull Adam toward me.

“Give me your wrist,” I pant, barely able to get the words out. “That will be enough.”

He shakes his head and puts burning hot palms on either side of my face, pulls me toward him and presses his dry mouth to mine. My fangs nick his bottom lip, and a bright bead of blood wobbles there for what feels like centuries. I watch with fascination as the dark crimson blooms and begins to flow.

My hands are in his hair, and I press against him, kissing him back, not stopping to think about the fact that he’s a lot younger than me. Okay, on paper it’s only a year. In reality? No, I really wasn’t going to let that thought take hold in my head. Not when he kisses like he really knows what he’s doing.

I wonder if he is thinking of Hasna.

Adam kneels on the wet ground, and I straddle him, overcome by the rich scent of his blood. It is like nothing I have ever experienced before—he tastes exotic and other. My body opens up with need as I wrench his head backward with both hands and plunge my teeth into his throat.

* * *

We are standing outside the stage door, having followed the badly concealed trail that the Afarit left behind. It obviously wants to be found, an insight that doesn’t sit well with me.

I cleaned as much of the blood off Adam as I could before we crept out from behind the tall buildings, and he did the same for me. Although we don’t speak about what happened between us back there, the awareness is palpable. Not just awareness of the act but of how we both feel about it afterward.

How do I know what Adam is feeling? Because I can feel it. My heart beats in time with his, and I can taste his pulse on my tongue. We are connected in a way that I never imagined could happen with anyone other than Theo. I don’t mean that after one random feeding we are suddenly in love. That’s ridiculous. He’s a half-human and I’m a vampire, not to mention the fact that he’s mourning his girlfriend’s death.

So, no, not love. But something else almost as strong. His blood is inside me, and it feels wicked-good. Normally, after I’ve fed from my Maker I feel ashamed. It’s as though I’ve done something wrong and twisted; as though I am a monster and my desire for Theo’s blood just goes to prove it. No matter how many times he tells me that it’s natural to feed from the vampire who made you, I cannot allow that to be true. I worry about what that might mean.

I never let Theo feed from me; not since the day he turned me.

With Adam it’s different. This is the first time in a decade that I don’t feel suffused with shame after feeding. I glance at him through the dancing shadows, and he takes my hand in his. He is no longer as warm as he was ... before. I have stolen some of his heat, and I feel deliciously alive. Adam told me there are legends that Djinn have fire running through their veins. After feeding on him, I can almost believe it.

I could get used to feeding on Djinn blood. My wounds have healed, and I’m glowing with the power of the sun.

Seems we have to stop the Afarit from taking the “next step.” The book contains incantations that will free the creature. Adam tells me: “The Djinn love to travel. Think about it ... As Islam spread West, so did the old legends and stories. Only, the Djinn aren’t just mythical creatures after all—I’m evidence of that. My mother is a powerful Djinn; I’ve only met her twice in my whole life, and the first time I couldn’t possibly remember. That was after she’d given birth to me and left me with my father. Dad, in turn, handed me over to an endless supply of nannies and carers while he worked overseas as an anthropologist. Afarit, however, are creatures of habit. They love their homes, and many of them live in the Middle East.”

So the darkling that wears Bilal’s face wants to go home. And to do that, it needs to remove the binding placed on it—a binding that holds it here on English soil. It can’t travel over water until it breaks that spell.

Which is where the book comes in; the same book that Adam needs to save Hasna’s soul. The same book that I must retrieve and deliver to Theo.

Adam can teleport inside the theater, but I’m not so lucky. However, what I lack in Djinn powers I more than make up for with vampire attitude and a recent intake of fresh blood. I kick down the door without a second thought and feel like Wonder Woman. I don’t care whether anyone hears, though Adam looks at me with wide-eyed horror and makes exaggerated “shushing” motions.

I roll my eyes at him, crack my knuckles and stride into the darkness. I’m tired of sneaking around. There’s an Afarit inside that’s long past due for an ass-kicking, and I’m damn well going to be the one who delivers it.

* * *

Shaking off Adam’s restraining hand, I push on ahead and allow my nose to guide me. My senses are supercharged right now, and I don’t want to waste the additional power. I’m not afraid of anything, not with the heat of Adam’s blood still warming my belly. He knows it, too, and doesn’t argue with me. He seems subdued, and I wonder if it’s because I’ve weakened him or whether he is simply thinking of Hasna.

We walk through narrow corridors and work our way into the theater itself. It is strange being here after hours; there is a magic in this place that is all its own. Not Djinn magic, but the kind of enchantment that inhabits old buildings dedicated to art. Maybe that’s why the creature chose this place—there must be a ton of residual energy in the building, from its foundations to the concrete pillars and all the way up to its beautiful arched ceiling. We talk in hushed voices as though we are in a church, and there is definitely something sacred in the dusty air.

We reach the main auditorium, and I am unsurprised to find it lit by an ethereal brightness that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. And why not? After all, we are chasing a spirit in possession of a human girl’s soul. We left “normal” behind way back in the basement of that occult bookstore.