Vampire$

at Kitty.

I must look at him. I have to. She did.

And she cringed.

He looks like a pimp, she thought. Lounging there in those incredibly tacky tight — what are they? toreador? — pants, he looked not at all like what he had seemed. He looked more like…

How odd! He looks like an imitation of all of that!

How odd. But how degrading. She grasped the side of the pool and vaulted out of the water, shedding drops in all directions, and skipped toward the poolhouse toward warmth and composure. She wanted to try to cover herself with her hands and she started to. But then that seemed silly after all that had happened, and maybe, even rude, so her hands stopped halfway and then she saw that Ross was in front of her, between her and the poolhouse and holding up a towel.

How, she wondered, did he get all the way around the pool in front of her so fast?

He was there, though, which was the point. She didn’t want to see him or talk to him or — God no! — have him touch her. But she couldn’t really avoid the towel because that really would be rude. She stopped just short of him, arms clasped in front of her chest for warmth, and turned her back to allow him to drape the towel about her shoulders and… and as he draped the towel the side of his hand touched her shoulder and there was that tingle once more and the chill flashed on her skin…

And the towel seemed to… coil… about her.

Like a knowing glove.

“Davette!” he whispered.

There was no alternative but to turn and face him and when she did she faced his glowing eyes and they held her and swelled down within her and the heat, the trembling frenzy, the… wicked ache… returned.

And soon it seemed they were back inside — Kitty with them, really with them — and they were laughing and hugging as they walked on either side of him, both women naked once more.

Into the kitchen, because they were starving. For steak. A big, thick super-rare steak, that was the craving. They sat Ross at the little counter that ran the length of the great house’s great kitchen while the two of them, still naked, prepared the meal.

Still naked. Bright kitchen lights and cold floor and no reason for it at all except to be… nasty and wanton and…

And as she talked to the Team she didn’t describe the way the two of them, she and Kitty, danced around in front of him making that meal. How could she tell them about it… how could she ever have behaved that way? Stretching up high to reach this, reaching way across him to get that. Bending over farther than she needed to for something else… She crimsoned at just the memory of it, of how she and Kitty, carnal tension sputtering in the air, had competed to see who could act like the cheaper tramp.

No. She couldn’t tell about that.

But she could tell them about the food.

“Ross never eats,” Kitty said chidingly when he said he didn’t want a steak.

Ross’s face had gone hard and he had used that Voice when he replied that he had his own diet and the smile he gave as he spoke softened it not at all. Davette had almost jumped at the tone, had felt a brief shiver of fear.

But learned nothing. She merely resolved not to question him about so sensitive a topic again.

The erotic atmosphere had been restored to its original tightness by the time the meal was prepared. Davette sat down but knew she was far too excited to eat.

“But you must be hungry,” whispered Ross, gazing deep through her eyes. “You haven’t eaten in twenty- four hours. And look at that thick juicy steak. Just what you need.”

And even as he spoke she felt her hunger rush back so strongly that nothing in the world seemed more tempting than the smell of that food. She fell upon the steak like a starving beast.

“All better?” he asked pleasantly when she had finished.

Davette looked up, surprised. She had forgotten he was there, forgotten anyone was there, forgotten everything but eating. She looked down and saw her plate was totally clean.

How weird, she had thought at the time. Like I was in some sort of a spell or something.

Of course she was in a spell. His spell. A spell he could twist and curl as it suited him. With a knowing smile, he gazed their passions back into them.

Seconds later the three of them ascended the steps to her room and there, in the utter darkness he insisted upon, Davette sought within her some sense of shame as she lay listening to the couple embrace beside her on her cool sheets. But she could find no sense of shame or jealousy or anything other than pounding, aching need for her turn to come soon.

Soon, it did, and with it a bizarre hope that her cries would be as loud and thrilling as Kitty’s.

When Davette paused a moment and Felix leaned forward to hand her the glass of water, she felt the heavy silence of the motel room. She realized she had looked at nothing besides the floor and Felix’s face for the past, two hours and she made herself look up and face their troubled expressions. They gazed uneasily back and she knew it was out of concern for her — she could read that. But she knew it was from embarrassment also. For the sexual charge was as heavy as the silence.

It’s not your fault! she wanted to shout.

But she knew they wouldn’t believe her. Not yet. They wouldn’t understand that it was not them, it was a piece of them. A piece the magic had tainted her with and a piece she now passed on.

They wouldn’t understand.

Still, she should try. And she did. She tried to tell them about the feeling of the bite, about the warping volcanic pleasure rolling through you, vibrating and caressing and powering you deep into your memory and far into your fantasies.

“Didn’t it hurt?”

She stopped, looked around. It was Carl Joplin. His face softened and he smiled at her.

“I’m sorry, sugar. But we are talking about someone biting you.”

“And sucking your blood out,” added Cat.

Carl nodded, but his tone remained gentle. “And sucking your blood. It must —”

“But you don’t know that!” insisted Davette. “You aren’t aware. You don’t know you’re losing blood. There’s so much else going on, you.

“You mean he’s also…” whispered Annabelle before catching herself and blushing.

Davette’s voice was harsh and bitter. “No. No sex. Vampires can’t have sex. Oh, the women can… pretend. And they do. But it isn’t real. It isn’t life. They’re dead.”

It was quiet for a while while they digested this.

And Felix thought, looking at her: There’s still something left to you, isn’t there, beauty?

But he didn’t smile. She wouldn’t know it was admiration.

Davette had another sip of water and tried to explain some more:

“There are really three stages to it. The first is… well, it just never occurs to you. Vampires? That’s for movies, you know?”

They nodded. Yes, they knew.

She had another sip. “It’s just sort of… kinky, I guess. And everyone has a part of them that likes and wants that. Vampires swell that desire inside of you and… Well, you’re enjoying it and it seems harmless.

“That’s the first stage.

“In the second part you’re so much of an addict for it, you don’t want to examine what’s going on. It holds you and controls you. You don’t really ever think about anything else — you don’t want to look at it. Because you… You don’t want to think about it.”

“And the third stage?” asked Felix. “You know then?”

Davette nodded wearily. “You know. The pretense is past. He lets you know. He lets you see it. And it’s awful to see, the things they do to the living, the terrible smiles they get when they twist us. And…”

She drifted off, looking at something behind her eyes.