Just One Bite (5 page)

A
growl vibrated my eardrums a split second before a man plowed into me from behind. I stumbled, despite my ultrafast reflexes (this guy was
hea-vy
). My ankle twisted, pain zapped up my calf, and I pitched sideways.

Forget the “Are you okay, miss?”

Or a “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

Not even a “Watch where you’re standing, bee-yotch.”

No, the guy kept running. He hauled it toward the corner, leaving me flat on my ass, my left Zac Posen bootie completely ruined…

My screaming ankle pain shushed to a steady whine as I stared down at the chunky black heel that had broken in two. My stomach pitched and my chest constricted.

No way. No friggin’
way.

I’d sat on a waiting list for six months for these booties. Spent an entire month’s salary. Searched days for just the right outfit to wear with them. And for what? So that some bozo could send them to couture heaven on their first night out?

Not.

I bolted to my feet.

In a split second, I caught the guy by the back of the neck and put on the brakes. I lifted him until he was a good six inches off the ground, his legs and arms flailing. “I think you owe me for some booties, chick.”

His entire body went rigid as he turned to stare over his right shoulder. But then his head kept going all by itself, twisting on his torso until he faced me.

No, really.

Glowing yellow eyes met mine and he opened his mouth. A chorus of moaning and wailing burst past his lips, along with a rush of putrid breath. A glob of slimy green foam spewed down his chin and plopped onto the hand gripping the back of his collar.

My
hand.

I snatched my fingers away (I know, right?) and dropped him. He stumbled forward (or would that be backward, considering his head had done a one-eighty on his body?). His feet hit a pothole since he wasn’t looking where he was going, and he pitched forward (or backward). He hit the ground and struggled to his feet. Nearby, another door crashed open.

I whirled, ready to kick butt again, and slammed into a hard, blatantly male body.

The
male body that had fueled the occasional Ty-dumped-me-so-I’m-going-to-show-him-and-have-fantabulous-rebound-sex fantasy.

Ash Prince.

Tall, dark, and
oh, baby.

He wore a black leather bomber jacket, faded jeans, and a brown henley shirt. His black hair was cut short and cropped close to the head without a hint of product. Stubble darkened his jaw, circled his sensuous mouth, and crept down his throat. He had the blackest eyes I’d ever seen fringed with long, thick lashes. He was a demon (or so I’d guessed) and one of New York’s finest. He’d helped during Ty’s disappearance the previous month and I’d been lusting after him ever since.

Not willingly, of course. See, Ash wasn’t any old demon. He oozed sex appeal (rather than green slime) and women couldn’t seem to resist him. Nix your ordinary
Exorcist
variety. This guy was a bona fide incubus.

Which meant that said fantasies were totally NOT my fault. An incubus doesn’t just reek of S-E-X, he inspires it.

Still, let’s say for the sake of argument that I
had
been thinking about him—so what? It wasn’t like Ty and I had an actual relationship. I hadn’t seen or talked to him in a month. No phone calls. No e-mails. No text messages. Not even a measly comment on MySpace or Facebook. Nothing since our goodbye-sex marathon.

I had absolutely no reason to feel like an über-slut because my heart was pounding and I was thinking that Ash had really terrific pecs. And kissable lips. And a gaze that promised the most wicked things.

It wasn’t like I was committed to anyone, or even going steady.

Rather, I was a single, vivacious vampire having a normal reaction to a member of the opposite sex.

“What are you doing here?” Ash asked me.

“It’s bingo night.” He grinned and heat flooded my cheeks and a few other places, as well. “Not that I’m here because I have nothing better to do than play a half-dozen cards on a Thursday night. Hardly. I’m here for work.” I sighed. “I need a hot Catholic girl.”

“Don’t we all.” His eyes glittered hot and bright.

Suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything to say. My heart pounded and my hormones chanted that old Rick James song, “Give It to Me Baby.”

I know, right? Rick James is way over, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

Truth be known, I wasn’t thinking at all.

It was funny how the brain worked in times of extreme stress. How it was able to shut out all the self-doubt and second thoughts and send a great big
just-do-it
to the rest of the body. Just like that, anything seemed possible.

A man could climb a fifty-foot tree to escape a charging bull. A woman could lift a three-thousand-pound car to save her crushed child. And die-hard romantic
moi
? I could slide my arms around Ash’s neck and hump his brains out without an iota of remorse or a single, solitary thought for Ty.

I
could.
If I’d wanted to.

“If you’re looking for a woman,” I heard myself say as my body chanted
me, me, me!,
“I would be more than happy to hook you up with someone. Catholic. Hare Krishna. Born vamp. You name it.” I waved a DED card. “All you have to do is come in for a profile, hand over your credit card, and Auntie Lil will do the rest.”

“Nice try, but I can find my own date.”

“I hate to point this out, but it’s a beautiful night in
the
hottest city around, and you’re at
bingo.
”

“I’m not here scoping out women. I’m on a takedown.”

Which explained the two men (Ash’s scrumptious brothers) wrestling with the slime machine a few feet away.

“Nice job, by the way,” he told me.

I shrugged. “You know me. I live to kick ass.”

“I thought you lived to shop.”

“When I’m not kicking ass.” I glanced down at my hand. The slime had dried to a sticky mess. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Kleenex or a wet wipe on you?”

He patted the back pockets of his ultra-tight jeans. “Sorry. Look, you weren’t planning on sticking around here, were you?”

“Maybe. Why?” Even as I asked the question, my mind raced with possibilities.

“Because I was thinking that since you’re here and I’m here, maybe we could share a bingo card. And go for a drink afterward. And get to know each other. And do some primo mattress dancing.”

“Because you’re in the way.”

“I’d love to—” The words stumbled to a halt and the smile died on my face. “Excuse me?”

His lips went from full and kissable to drawn and tight. His gaze hardened. “You compromised this apprehension.”

“Hello? I helped stop a slobbering criminal.”

“You gave him a way out.” He glanced past me as his brothers hauled Foamy to his feet. “You’re just damned lucky he didn’t take it.”

“What are you talking about?” The stench of spoiled, rotten meat pinched my nose as the trio scooted past us toward the back door. The sound of gnashing teeth grated across my eardrums and a coldness prickled my skin.

I stiffened and Ash’s gaze hardened even more. “You shouldn’t have gone after him. You put yourself in a shitload of danger.”

“In case you haven’t heard, I’m not exactly helpless.” I stiffened against a sudden wave of fear. I know, right? I’m a
vampire.
Invincible. Ballsy. Bitchy.
Brave.
The scared-shitless chromosome hadn’t made it into my DNA cocktail. I flashed a little fang to emphasize this point to Ash. “I can totally hold my own.”

“Against another vampire.”

“Or a were,” I added. My gaze collided with his and I arched an eyebrow. “Or a demon. In fact, I think I’ll stick around and pass out a few more cards.” I could handle anything, even if I had led sort of a sheltered life before opening my dating service.

Basically, I’d lived at home with my parents and spent the majority of my time with other born vamps. While I’d learned about Others—everything from made vamps to weres, demons to Big Foot—I’d never actually met any of them face-to-face until recently.

Ty had popped my cherry in the made vamp category. Viola had been my up-close-and-personal with a were. And Ash had been my first demon.

While the jury was still out on Big Foot, I felt certain I could do damage in the other three categories.

My hand itched and I remembered the glob of slime running over my fingers, dribbling down my palm.

I swallowed. “That is, I would love to stick around and pass out more cards
if
I didn’t have a ton of work waiting back at the office.” All right, already. My aversion to blood also extended to bodily fluids. “I can see you’ve got the situation totally under control now, so I’ll just leave you to wrap things up.”

That is, unless you wanna, you know…

“Later.”

Guess not.

I turned and so did Ash. I limped a few steps before I heard the door rock shut behind me. I was just about to whistle for a cab when my super-deluxe ears perked and I heard the creak of hinges.

My pulse leaped and a zing of excitement went through me, followed by a needle poke to the chest (a feeling I might have mistaken for guilt had I had anything to feel guilty about—which I so did NOT).

I turned, fully expecting Ash to pull me into his arms and lay one on me. Or, at the very least, stare down into my eyes and ask me out for a cup of coffee. Instead, I found myself staring at a head full of snow white hair.

My attention fell to a pair of clear blue eyes surrounded by a million tiny crow’s feet staring up at me.

“Are you Miss Lil?” He was a short, stout old man wearing gray overalls and black loafers. He had a tool belt cinched around his waist. A walkie-talkie sat on one hip while a giant key ring dangled from the other. “Lil Marchette?”

“Last time I checked.”

Relief filled his pale eyes. “You left this in one of our storage closets.” He held up my purse, and the past half hour rolled through my mind.

Schmoozing the bathroom line. Following Carmen into the storage closet. Helping Carmen in the storage closet.

I’d set my purse aside and completely forgotten about it.

Way to go, dumbass.

“I hope you don’t mind that I opened up your wallet,” he went on, “but I needed to see your ID to know who it belonged to. Mighty nice picture, by the way.”

“Thank you.” The realization of what had almost happened hit me and relief rushed full-force through me. Forget my wallet. I’d almost lost my makeup bag, complete with the new Hot Toddy Terrific lip gloss I’d bought just yesterday.

“It’s all present and accounted for,” the old man went on. “Three bucks, fifty-two cents, and nineteen credit cards.”

“Actually, it’s twenty, but I left my Barney’s at home.” I’d reached my limit and couldn’t use it until my next payment. “Thank you so much.” My hand plunged into the bag. My fingers closed around the tube and I smiled. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Glad to be of service.” He grinned. His blue eyes twinkled and his stats flashed like the marquee in Times Square.

Earl Hubert Stanley. Father of four grown daughters—one of whom was a pediatrician in Rockaway Beach. Husband of fifty-two years to Emmaline Louise Stanley, who’d passed away last spring. He’d been the custodian at St. Michael’s for the past twenty-eight years. He’d meant to retire last year (he and Emmaline were going to buy an RV and head for Branson and Dollywood on account of Emma was a huge Dolly Parton fan). But then Em had died and he hadn’t been able to watch a rerun of
Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
since.

His oldest girl had been after him to join a bridge club or a senior golfers group or
something.
She said he needed to get out more and meet people. Maybe a nice woman to share dinner with once in a while, instead of eating TV dinners all by his lonesome. He kept telling Susie he didn’t need a dad-burned dinner date and that he liked Hungry-Mans. Particularly the fried chicken. Sure, he thought it might be nice to have company once in a while, but he couldn’t quite accept the thought of breaking bread with any other woman besides his beloved Emmaline.

Awwww…

“You take care now, Miss Lil, and don’t talk to strangers. The city can be mighty unforgiving at night.” He started to turn.

“Wait.” I touched his arm. “I’d really like to repay your kindness.”

“Oh, no.” He waved me off. “I couldn’t take any money. It wouldn’t seem right.”

I was liking this guy more and more. “What about a date?” I handed him a DED card.

He studied the white vellum for a long moment before he shook his head. “It’s mighty kind of you, but I don’t think so.”

“I could help you find your soul mate.”

“Already found her.”

My chest hitched and an image of Ty popped into my head. Not that he’s my soul mate or anything. Or that we have a connection that goes beyond the physical. He’s a made vamp and I’m a born vamp (oil and water), and the mental connection is simply a byproduct of my drinking from him and him drinking from me. It doesn’t mean anything, certainly not that we’re destined to be together or forever linked or anything silly like that.

Fughedaboudit.

“What about a companion?” I asked, eager to ignore the depressing thought. “I could help you find someone to spend your free time with. Someone who likes the same things that you like.” I handed back the card, along with a mental
You should call me because Emmaline wouldn’t want you to be lonely. She would want you to have fun and make the most of the years you have left. Really.

He seemed to think. “But it wouldn’t be a date, right? I’m not looking for romance.”

“We’re talking companionship only.”

He gave the card another once-over. “She has to like chicken. And golfing. And poker. I’ve been playing online, but my dream is to go to Atlantic City and break the bank.”

“No problem.”

“And
Reader’s Digest.
I love the funnies—” The loud crackle of his walkie-talkie drowned out the rest of his words.