I gave him a look. “You know exactly what I mean, you sicko.”
The lines around his eyes deepened. “I do, yes.”
“If it helps,” I continued, “I noticed a while back that drawing animus from random onlookers feels completely different from drawing yours. You know perfectly well what effect you have on me when I feed from you. But with other people, it’s more like the meal I just ate. It’s pleasant. It feels nice not to be hungry... but that’s about it.”
“Hmm,” he nearly purred. “Then it sounds like I just need to keep reminding you on a regular basis of what I can give you that they can’t. And I’m certain you’re already aware of how your blood affects me. If not, I’ll direct your attention to the erection I’m still sporting after feeding from you more than an hour ago.”
I snorted. “Please. You’d get that from the blood of any succubus. ‘For an undead erection lasting more than four hours...’” I quoted in my best TV spokesperson voice.
“A moot point, since I have no intention of drinking from any other succubi but you, love,” he said. “Now, though—if memory serves, Vallecito is only a couple of hours’ drive from San Francisco. Since the warding will hide us from the wrong kind of attention, perhaps we can take advantage of those famously liberal California sexual attitudes to get you topped up. Preferably, without getting shot at this time.”
“Damn,” I said lightly. “And to think, I left all my latex fetish-wear in St. Louis. I guess that means you’re taking me shopping again.”
“And just like that, you have brightened my decidedly unpleasant day,” he replied in the same tone. “With luck, Nigellus will have left a car for us—in which case I propose that we find some people I can feed from locally tonight. After which, I’ll take great pleasure from feeding you, in turn. Preferably all night long.”
Warmth blossomed. I realized—with a slight jolt of surprise—that there was nothing to stop me leaning over and kissing him just because I felt like it, so I did.
“You’ll get no arguments from me,” I said, once I’d pulled back. “Shopping tomorrow, then? I want to pick up some non-kink related items, as well. I’ve been thinking about a little side project over the past couple of days, but I’ll need some supplies and tools first.”
Rans gave an easy shrug. “Whatever you like, love. For now, let’s go see what options—if any—are waiting for us in the garage. Hopefully it won’t be anything too tragic.” He sighed. “At this point, I rather feel that Nigellus owes us a decent set of wheels, if nothing else.”
* * *
‘Nothing too tragic’ turned out to be a dark blue Maserati Quattroporte, parked side by side with an Aston Martin DB11 convertible in British racing green. It was likely that the contents of Nigellus’ garage were worth more money than I’d earned collectively over my lifetime—and this wasn’t even his main residence.
Rans tutted over the Maserati and chose the convertible instead, grumbling something under his breath about anyone who’d buy an automobile without so much as a sunroof in fucking California. I ignored his muttered commentary in favor of rubbing my shoulders back and forth against the buttery tan leather of the passenger seat and pretending I was, I dunno—Princess Kate or something.
Surprise, surprise... Rans drove like a bat strung out on methamphetamine, ignoring speed limits as though they only applied to other people. And with the top down, the wind blowing my hair into insanity, and the engine growling like a sexy beast, I was loving every freakin’ minute of it.
Vallecito—population, four hundred and something—was basically dead after dark. We continued on to the town of Angels Camp, which boasted a questionable looking dive bar on the main strip. We were still a bit early for the serious drunks to be out and about, but it didn’t take long for Rans to disappear into the back of the place with a dazed-looking couple in their twenties.
Meanwhile, I helped myself to an animus appetizer from an overweight middle-aged man who tried to buy me a drink and didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word no. It was still such an odd feeling. This was a situation that would have been stressful a few months ago—if not downright scary—and it was now a complete non-issue.
I sat there, calmly shooting down every cheesy bit of innuendo that Mr. Creeper tossed my way, while pulling just enough life-force from him that he started to look a bit pale and clammy after a few minutes. When cool, familiar arms closed around me from behind, I leaned back against Rans’ chest—relishing the expression on my would-be pick-up artist’s face. It was a look that very clearly said, ‘Uh-oh.’
“Is this bloke bothering you, love?” Rans asked, a hint of the predator that lived beneath his devil-may-care facade creeping into his tone.
“Nope,” I said with complete sincerity. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he was just leaving.”
Mr. Creeper stammered agreement and lurched up from his stool, staggering a bit thanks to the amount of energy I’d drawn from him while he was too busy perving on me to notice. I felt Rans’ chest move with silent laughter against my back, and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips in response.
“Shameless vixen,” he murmured against the shell of my ear, and my smile grew wider.
Fifteen minutes later, Rans parked the Aston Martin on a deserted overlook outside the city limits. A short time after that, I found myself spread-eagled across the hood of a hundred-thousand-dollar convertible while he made good on the first installment of his promise to feed my inner demon... all night long.
SIX
WE SLEPT LATE the next morning. I was determined to make the most of this short break in the madness that was my life. Hadn’t I just been bemoaning the fact that I wanted time alone with Rans? Well, for the moment at least, time
