Biting Nixie (22 page)

I twisted out of his sensual wrestling hold, put the hold on him. Sucked not so gently on his earlobe. When he closed his eyes in pleasure I lowered myself slightly, enough to open his vest and suck his nipple right through two layers of crisp cotton.

Even that didn't bring cleansing confession. So I drove my hand between us, down into his pants. What met me there overfilled my palm. Opening my fingers I rubbed the flat of my hand over him, fast, like sandpaper.

“Fuck, Nixie! I'm going to
rupture
.”

I palmed Julian to within an inch of orgasm. His eyes clamped tight and his head threw back in extreme need. Suddenly I stopped rubbing. “Why?” I said sweetly.

Any other man might have roared with pain. Julian's throttled groan was somehow five times as raw. “Nixie…oh, damn.” Eyes still closed, he set me down, gently, almost reverently. His lips were split by long fangs, and he was breathing hard through distended nostrils. “I was late. Nosferatu took that as an insult.” He opened his eyes just in time to see it hit me.

Julian was late because of our sex in the limo. “I haased the meeting?
Me
?” I was cold at the realization.

“If haas means something bad, no, Nixie, you didn't. I did. It was my responsibility to get there on time, my responsibility to successfully conclude the negotiations.”

Fuck. Responsibility again, rearing its ugly phiz. But in this case it was my lack of same that haased things. My lack of control that made keeping nasty vampires out of Meiers Corners just a little harder. “But you didn't—because of
me
.” I was ice to my core.

“No, Nixie. I didn't because of
me
. Because I let desire interfere with duty. Because I let impulse overrule self-control.”

He took my face in both hands. His eyes flared bright red. “I didn't because I wanted to fuck you so bad I thought I'd
explode
.”

“Oh.” I'm not a prude but that made my cheeks heat.

“So you see, it's my fault, not yours.”

Nice of him. “But I'm part of the problem.” A big part. Julian had broken his rigid self-discipline for me, with catastrophic results. I had led him astray.

Like that first rumored wild crowd. I remembered Dru telling me about the damage Julian had wreaked in his recklessness. How it had changed him, made him the stodgy suit he was today.

Surely this was just as bad. I wondered if he would now get even more puritanically proper.

Was this a replay? And had it been a woman the first time, too?

Red eyes narrowed. “What's going on in that devious little head of yours?”

“Devious?” I widened my eyes to maximum innocence. My eyes were so big I felt like a damn anime girl.

“Try again.” He lifted my hips until I was pressed directly against the big briefcase in his slacks, enlarged now to carry-on luggage. “How are you blaming yourself?”

Heat seared my crotch. “I'm not, exactly. Dru sort of said you used to be a lot more fun, but then something happened. I was sort of wondering if it was, you know. Like this.” I rotated against him, a little shiver running through me at the feel of his cock straining for me.

“No, Nixie. It wasn't anything like this. Nobody but you excites me so much that I forget my responsibilities. That I not only forget my responsibilities, I don't even care.”

He gave me a deep, hungry kiss. “You make throwing away my self-control not only right, but a joy.”

That melted through the guilt and the cold. “So…um. No negotiations. Does that mean you have the night free?”

I didn't think it was possible, but Julian's eyes turned redder. His fangs, which had been retracting, burst full-length. “Yeah,” proper, staid Julian Emerson said. “Oh, fuck, yeah.”

“Well, then.” I ground my pelvis into him. “Why don't we—” I was interrupted by
Home on the Range
.

My cell phone. My parents.

A dip in Lake Michigan would have been less freezing. Abruptly sober, I automatically flipped out the phone. Automatically said, “Hi, Mom.” Automatically braced myself for a lecture.

Julian's fangs disappeared like a retractable tape measure. His eyes went from crimson to slate in two seconds flat. Maybe he was bracing himself for a lecture, too. Gently, he set me down.

“That Braun boy was here,” my mother said without preamble. “He dropped something off for you.”

Terror gave way to relief gave way to curiosity. “Bruno left something for me there? Why not my townhouse…? Oh, yeah.” I'd only been living in Elena's old place a few months. Bruno apparently wasn't aware I'd moved out of the ancestral home. “What is it?”

“I don't know, I'm sure. It looks like some sort of musical instrument.”

“It looks like a
what
?” If the Bear played anything, it was the kazoo. So not his instrument, then.

I started pacing the sidewalk. The next obvious question was, what kind of musical instrument. Except, to my mother, everything is either a flute, a guitar, or a drum. A tuba is a big flute, a violin is a small guitar. A clarinet is a black flute, even though I'd played one for over a decade. “What size? Big or small?”

“Big,” she said. “A big flute.” See?

So I imagined a bass flute. Bruno carries a variety of weapons and supplies, but nothing like a bass flute. So I thought bigger. Longer, wider…like a bass clarinet…or bassoon…oh, shit.

Bruno had given my mother the bazooka.

I muted the phone, turned to Julian. “I've got to dip out. The Bear hustled a burner on my mom, and I gotta turbo myself to the ancestral palace before she caps her ass.”

There was a moment's silence. Then Julian said in a mournful tone, “Will I ever understand you?”

“I don't know, Helen Keller. Will you?” I started off at a fast clip. Punched off the mute. “Mom? Don't do anything with the, ah, flute. Don't even touch it.”

Julian followed right behind. “Is your mother all right? Where are we going?”

With an irritated poke, I muted the phone again. “
You
aren't going anywhere.
I'm
going home.” Punching the mute off, I said, “I'll be there shortly.” I swiveled the phone shut and stored it.

“Nixie.” Julian grabbed my elbow and spun me to face him. “You're not going anywhere without me. Nighttime was already dangerous, and now Nosferatu is angry. If he orders the Lestat gang—”

“For heaven's sake, Julian! You don't need to walk me everywhere.”

“I think I do.”

I shook off his hand and trotted away. “Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Julian followed.

“You want to walk me home? Fine. Because, guess what, Horatio. You get to meet my parents.”

Chapter Seventeen

That shut him up. We started racing to my parents'—well, I raced and Julian sort of flowed—in silence. I have to hand it to him, though. He stayed with me like a second skin, despite the warning. Although, as fast as Julian moved, I guessed he was going to dip out as soon as I was safely inside Mom and Dad's house.

But once underway he started the old familiar refrain. “Nixie. About Nosferatu—”

The last thing I wanted was another earworm, especially not one tinged with guilt. Time for major distraction. “Dru told me you and she are just friends.”

“We are. But Nosfer—”

“Yeah, Nosy's angry, stay in at night, lock all the doors and use garlic deodorant. I get that. I'm more interested in what made you the Betamax Stuffy-lupagus you are today. Since it wasn't a woman?”

Julian blinked. “You're asking what made me decide to eschew puerile behavior?”

“Uh…yeah. I guess.” Sometimes I got the feeling we both needed a permanent link to Babel Fish. “What happened?”

He was silent for several seconds. Finally he said, “I'm not proud of it.”

“Tell me more,” I said in my best Suitglish.

His jaw worked, like he was chewing something rancid. “Fine. I'll tell you. Since you'll just torment me until I do.”

“
Torment
? No way. Coax, maybe, or urge—”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Um…yes.” And because his eyes were shading violet, I added, “Please?”

Julian took a deep breath. “In the early eighteen hundreds I got caught up in the Romantic movement. I fancied myself a poet.”

“Byron and those guys?”

“At first. At first all I did was hang around coffee shops wearing a big shirt, trying to get laid.”

I snorted. “Sounds like the beatnik era, minus the goatees.”

“There are cycles. Anyway, I got restless. I don't know, maybe it was some sort of middle-age crisis. A poet acquaintance had made the transition to vampire. He said my poetry was garbage. That I was not a ‘real' artist. William said ‘real' art was in throwing away boundaries.”

“Who?”

“William the Bloody. You wouldn't know him. I can't believe I let him get under my skin. Well, one night I got drunk with him and his cronies. Turned out his brand of artistic freedom and ‘real' art translated into slash and burn. Later I found out one of the buildings I burned had occupants.”

“Oh, Julian.” What began as an exercise in distraction now sent an arrow of sympathy straight through my heart.

Julian gave a laugh colored with self-disgust. “Fortunately for me, they were dead before I set the fire. Unfortunately for them, William and company also practiced the artistic ‘freedom' of torture.”

I could see why Julian hated the non-conventional. I would have to rethink my view of him.

“I haven't thought of that incident in years.” He shook his head, as if shaking the memory away. “Is that your parents' home?”

I looked up. Sure enough, I saw the familiar bungalow. We'd have to talk more later.

Mounting my parents' stoop, I turned to face Julian. “Well. Thanks for the ride.”

A slight smile broke through Julian's grim expression. “It was the least I could do.” I thought he'd missed the sarcasm, but he bumped his hips and flashed me a hint of fang. Oh, man. I'd forgotten about the
limo
ride. Sobering, he said, “You'll stay inside the rest of the night?”

“Do I have to?” I thought we'd passed the stage where Daddy had to lay down the law for the little girly-girl.

“I worry,” Julian said, and I felt my mad drain away.

“Yeah, okay.” I shuffled awkwardly, wondering if I should give him a kiss or not. Wondering if I
could
give him a kiss without having a whole fap-fest on my parents' stoop. “Well. Uh, bye.”

“Sweet dreams, Nixie.” Julian bent to give me a gentle brush on the lips.

That was when the door banged open.

“Helmut! Dietlinde's home!” My mother reached through the door and yanked me inside. “And she has brought home a
friend
.” The word had as much warmth as if she'd said “worm”. She inspected Julian as closely as a drill sergeant. “Who are you?”

Ever-suave, Julian straightened and held out his hand. “My name is Julian Emerson, Mrs. Schmeling.”

My mother eyed him with mistrust. “You're not one of those punky rock groupers, are you?”

“No, Mrs. Schmeling. I am an attorney at law.”

My mother's whole demeanor changed. She grabbed Julian's outstretched hand and tried to tug him in, too. “Oh, well, that's different, now, isn't it? Come in Mr. Emerson. Come right in.”

To his everlasting credit, Julian looked to me for permission. Not the vampire-over-the-threshold permission. But my actual approval for him to meet the folks. Struck speechless, I could only nod.

My mother's pretty strong but Julian entered under his own steam. He gave the place a cursory glance. I pictured my childhood home from his perspective. Nubbly, fifties-style beige couch. Cheap nylon carpet. Doilies straight out of the nineteenth century. No upscale seaboard manor this. He would be superior, maybe even disdainful.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Julian slewed me a look. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Schmeling.” His tone was entirely sincere.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Emerson.” A delighted smile crossed my mother's face. She took Julian by the arm and led him into the front room. “Sit, Mr. Emerson. Dietlinde, I made a fresh pot of coffee. Go get Mr. Emerson a cup.” I could see the gleam enter her eye. The predatory gleam of a mother in full husband-hunting mode. Maybe St. Bart hadn't won the race yet.

Mother practically pushed Julian onto the couch. Julian, though he didn't realize it, was just so much fresh meat. I hesitated. “Jul…Mr. Emerson was kind enough to escort me home. But he can't stay—”

“Nonsense. Have you had dinner, Mr. Emerson? We have ham in the fridge. A man's got to eat,
nicht wahr
?”

“A man must eat,” Julian murmured in agreement.

“So go, Dietlinde.” My mother shooed me off. As I hesitated she turned to loom over Julian like the Phantom of the Opera, complete with hover-cape.

Shizzle. Julian was dead. And did vampires even eat ham? “Um…isn't it kind of late for supper, Mom?”

“Late?” My mother said indignantly. “Late? It is not even six p.m. Practically the whole day is left. In the old days your grandfather would have worked the fields another five hours by moonlight.”

“And Großmutter would have sewn a dozen dresses for the Lutheran Ladies Aid & Relief Group with only a single candle. Yes, Mother.” I tried one last time to derail this disaster. “But Julian can't stay. Julian—”

The gleam returned. “It's
Julian,
is it? Julian, not Mr. Emerson?” She attacked Julian. “Just how long have you known my daughter, Mr. Emerson?”

Thankfully, Julian was unfazed. “We met at the mayor's office last week, Mrs. Schmeling. We're both involved in the annexation matter.” Implying we met under highly official and impeccable circumstances. For the first time I blessed his cool control.