Bloodspell (12 page)

"I ... I have to study. So no." Angie's voice was a dry rasp.

"Ange, it's Friday! And I need my buddy!"

"So take her," Angie said, jerking her head in Victoria's direction.

"Tori, you should totally come. It'll be fun," Gabriel said, as if Angie hadn't spoken and pushed off the table. "We'll make sure you have a great time." He grinned, his teeth white and perfect. "See you later!"

Angie rounded on Charla the minute he walked away. "Seriously, Charla? You know he doesn't want me to come, why did you even ask with him right there? Sometimes you are so clueless, I can't even imagine how you function." Victoria gaped at Angie in complete confusion as she gathered her things and left without another word. Charla rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry about her. It's probably PMS."

Victoria shot her a disbelieving look. "Hardly. She looked like she was going to faint when he came over. What's with the story with the two of them?"

"They've always been like that. Like oil and water ever since I met them."

"Are they twins?" Victoria asked, curious.

A laugh. "No but they could certainly pass for it, right? They're like ten months apart, Gabriel's older, but Angie skipped a grade in junior high." Charla glanced over at Gabriel standing at the sit-down counter near the front of the diner talking to two juniors and frowned. "She told me once that it had something to do with their parents but never elaborated. And as much as you probably won't believe me, I didn't pry." She grinned and then sighed, pushing her hair off her face and resting her chin into the crook of her arm across the table. She kept darting furtive black looks in Gabriel's direction.

"Is Gabe your boyfriend?" Victoria asked, noticing what drew her attention. Charla's eyes clouded over and she wished she could take back the question.

"Ever heard of friend-with-benefits?" Without waiting for Victoria's answer, she continued. "Well, that's what I am. It's always about what Gabe wants. I wish he'd just commit, but we've been on and off for the last two years. So no, not exactly my boyfriend."

Victoria didn't know what to say. From the expression on Charla's face, it was clear that she was obsessed with Gabe. She couldn't imagine anything harder than watching a boy you liked flirt with other girls, just as Gabriel was doing with the two pretty juniors. The thought of Christian flashed through her head and she thought for a second what it would be like to see him smiling or flirting or kissing someone else.

Her stomach curled. They weren't even together and she knew it would be torture.

"I'm sorry," she said to Charla for lack of something better to say.

"Don't be," Charla said brightly, with a forced smile. "That's why I have you. I plan to live vicariously through your love-life, and see you married and with child within the year."

"Great, a knocked-up teen bride. Every girl's fantasy." Victoria rolled her eyes and they shared a laugh.

"So I'll pick you up tonight then?" Charla made a beseeching face. "You have to save me from making a complete fool of myself over him. Or at the very least, save those two unsuspecting tramps who're flirting with him. I can get a little Ted Bundy crazy where Gabe's concerned."

Charla must have seen her expression at the obscure serial killer reference because she made a face and said, "I'm just kidding. I pretty much just yell at everyone, and then cry, and then he comforts me. So everyone wins. No random strangling, I promise," she said, throwing her palms up in mock surrender.

"Or punching girls in the teeth?" Victoria said, smiling at her antics.

"Well, there's always Taekwondo. You can't say I don't keep things interesting."

Victoria glanced at her watch. "I just have to stop by the music hall first. One of the guys in the band today left his wallet in one of the rooms. And I have to finish an assignment. But I promise I'll come later, okay?"

They said their goodbyes at Willard's and headed back to Windsor where Charla dropped her off. "Say hi to the band geeks! See you later!" she shouted, driving off.

VICTORIA RETRIEVED THE wallet and walked past the hall with the grand piano. She saw that the lights were on and the piano lid was open with sheets of music strewn across the top. Someone must have forgotten to turn them off and put the music away. She was just gathering the sheet music when she heard a noise behind her. She whirled around, panicked, her hand to her throat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Christian said softly.

Even when recognition set in, Victoria didn't relax. Her body remained tense, poised for flight. "That's okay. I didn't know anyone was here."

"I was just ... practicing."

"Oh. Well, I'll let you get back to it." She eased past him.

"Tori? Will you play? With me this time?" His voice and eyes were gentle. Victoria stepped back, the automatic "no" on the tip of her tongue. "Please?"

Victoria's throat tightened. She could only nod despite the warning spark of her amulet, his nearness and startling sweetness overwhelming.

Reading the sheet music for
The Sleeping Beauty,
she played the introductory chords. She was clumsy at first, and what had come so easily the last time she'd played it seemed to take a lot more effort, but Christian was patient. Soon they fell into a harmonized rhythm and made it through to the end without too many jarring mistakes on her part.

"I think I've made you worse," she said.

"Let's try it again."

They played it again and after a while, she let the music take over as her fingers glided across the keys. Mindless of Christian sitting beside her, his fingers moving in accord with hers, she became lost in the melody, letting the memories sweep her away—back to Greenwich Village, back to her apartment and sitting beside her mother at the piano, back to when she was laughing and smiling and alive. She played until her knuckles—and her heart—ached.

"Beautiful," he said, breaking the spell that held her. "You're a natural."

"Thank you. I forgot how good it feels," Victoria admitted, as her fingers performed a scale exercise up and down the keyboard. "I'm nowhere as good as you are though."

"Years of practice. I actually don't really like the piano," he confided. She shot him an incredulous look. "Listen for a second and you'll see what I mean." Christian stood and leaned over near the side of the piano to take his violin from its case. "Pick something. Any composer you like."

"Vivaldi."

Without hesitation, he plunged into a rendition of Winter I,
Allegro Non Molto.
His eyes were closed as he started the beginning notes tapping the bow against the strings. Then the muscles in his forearm and neck clenched as he whipped the bow across the strings with such a driving, passionate intensity that she felt it in her fingernails. The bow was a blur until its pace slowed, and then built once more. Victoria felt the hairs on her arms raise as the music swept her along with it rushing toward its final conclusion. Her chest felt like it was ballooning into her throat.

When Christian stopped, she could only stare at him in silent awe. He was good at the piano, but he was astounding with the violin. It was nothing like she'd heard
anyone
play before. With the piece for the orchestra, she only now understood just how much he'd been holding back. She shook her head in disbelief and after a minute breathed, "I see what you mean." A self-conscious smile touched his lips as he replaced the violin.

"So what's your favorite music?" he asked, pushing back the hair that had fallen into his face and sitting on the bench next to her once more. She shot him another incredulous look at his blasé nonchalance.

"You should be at Julliard or in a concert hall in New York somewhere."

"I don't like the spotlight." His words were quietly spoken, and Victoria got the feeling that he wasn't just talking about music. She didn't want to pry, so she answered his earlier question.

"For classical piano, Chopin hands down. Vivaldi as you may have guessed. But on the flip side of that, I'm a big fan of popular music, movie soundtracks, Broadway, that kind of thing. And for violin, don't laugh," she told him, "but I love the
Bond
girls."

"Bond
?" He flashed perfect white teeth. "They're pretty good ... looking."

Victoria rolled her eyes skyward. "I guess the fact that they're four hot, half-naked girls playing strings doesn't hurt. But I like the fusion of classical and electronic. It's cool."

"Shall we?" he asked, notching an eyebrow toward the piano keys. "So Broadway? How about this one?" He struck the opening chords to
Phantom of the Opera,
and she grinned, her fingers recalling the notes of the song's upper register as he played the lower.

"Fitting," she said, and he laughed, a full-throated sound that made something inside of her tremble.

"I should be offended. You think I am some deformed, ugly guy behind a white mask stalking you."

"I don't think you're ugly!" Victoria blurted out, and then blushed as his silver light eyes found hers. Embarrassed, her gaze dropped to her fingers as warmth flooded her body from tip to toe.

"I don't think you're ugly either," he said softly. Victoria could feel the side of his thigh plastered to hers on the short piano bench, and the nearness of him was suddenly overpowering. She held every part of her, except her hands, perfectly still.

They played in silence, the music the only sound reverberating between them. After a few bars, Christian reached over her hands to the right and started improvising. He was so close that she could see the slow pulse in his neck beneath the thin sheen of sweat from his fiery violin performance. Distracted, she faltered, her fingers fluttering and then going still.

Christian pulled his arm away and she saw something desperate flash in his eyes before he grinned, and brought his fingers down on the keys in a swift version of
Chopsticks.
He raised his eyebrows with a challenging smile, and she joined in laughing at his over the top performance. He played faster and faster, and she kept up with him, their fingers moving at an incredible, unbelievable pace, until Christian was the one to stop, begging for mercy. Exhilarated, Victoria threw back her head and laughed out loud.

"Quitter!" she teased.

"You are a pianochist."

Another laugh. "That's not even a word."

"Pianist meets masochist. I think it's appropriate."

Victoria gave him a playful shove with her shoulder. And instantly regretted the action as the length of her arm came into contact with the lean muscle of his. His face hung inches from hers. In that single moment, they were back in her car sitting in his driveway and the laughter in his eyes transformed into something else, something liquid and unsettling. Her eyes glued to his, she leaned toward him in unconscious response, the amulet scorching her skin beneath her shirt.

He met her halfway and then froze, his lips a hair's breadth away from hers, almost unwilling to bridge the last remaining space between them. Her pulse leapt, uncontrolled. Christian's cool breath fanned against her lips until she saw it in his eyes, the familiar coldness emerging and then shutting her out as the planes of his face transformed into a furious rigidity. He pulled away and Victoria jerked back as if she'd been burned.

"I can't," he said through clenched teeth, standing and backing away from the piano to put as much space between them as possible.

"I'm sorry." Those two words eclipsed any sense of hurt she felt and she scowled at him.

"What is your
problem
?"

"I'm sorry, it's complicated and—"

"Save it," Victoria said, easing herself off the bench and gathering her things. She was proud of the firmness of her voice. "I heard you the first three times so the message is pretty clear. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I get it."

“Tori—”

"If you don't like me, just stay away from me. Go play your mind-games with someone else!"

She kept walking until she got to her car. Victoria couldn't understand Christian Devereux. He was like a human rollercoaster. One minute, they were laughing and having a great time, and then the next, he was angry and withdrawn, the latter usually after being in close proximity to her. He'd wanted to kiss her too—every instinct inside her had known that. But just like the other times, he'd let her get close and then pull away leaving her jolted and confused, and utterly devastated.

CHRISTIAN SAT ON the piano stool, feeling like a total cad. All the laughter in the room had left with her. He sat in the silence, his body shaking as the hunger ripped through him, razor-sharp. His control had been iron-clad until the moment she'd leaned into him, her natural appeal impossible to resist and his lips had almost been touching hers when he'd felt the points of his teeth pressing against the inside of his mouth. Reality had come swiftly—and violently—after that.

Victoria couldn't be more wrong; it wasn't that he didn't like her. He liked her far
too
much. He could recall every part of her face as if it had been etched into his mind—the wide, slanted emerald-green eyes, the dimple that flashed in her right cheek when she succumbed to a full fledged smile, her inky, blue-black hair flashing tortuous glimpses of the long neck that dipped sinuously into the curve of her collarbone. She walked with the provocative grace of a dancer, and when she stepped into a room, he could think of little else.

Christian knew he was being reckless when it came to Tori Warrick. But for some reason he couldn't control himself when he was around her. He hadn't felt his human age in years but something about her made him feel like a fumbling awkward teenager. The moment she'd stared at him with those eyes on the piano stool, it was all he could do not to take her in his arms and do, well, what it was that he did. It had taken every ounce of his strength to step away.

Every vampire instinct in him wanted her with a savagery so intense it was decimating, and the only way he could control it had been to stay as far away from her as possible. But fate had not cooperated with his intentions, throwing them together at every turn. And despite his repeated avowals to stay away, each time he failed, drawn like a moth to a flame mindless of its own destruction.