Phoenix Dead (New Adult Dark Romance) (The Vampire Years) (4 page)

“The report didn't name Elliot, just an 'unknown' man.” He let go of my hand and touched my chin, gently forcing me to meet his gaze. It was dark, only one candle, but the room and his face were very clear to me. Like the quick healing, this sort of built in night vision had come into existence after the attack.

“Would Elliot do that, Lee? Would he put you in danger again to help your mom out?”

I hopped down from the table and pinched out the candle's flame. “Not like last week,” I answered.

“Are you sure? I'm pretty certain he knows more about Army than he's telling me.”

“Only because he wants to find Army and kill him. I mean, Army didn't 'help my mom out,' did he?”

I moved in front of Danny, knowing he was practically blind now that the candle was out. It was weird, having a guy know so much about me. Half my life I'd been hiding the truth from people. I shunned girls who wanted to be my friends because I couldn't risk what Paul might try with them if I brought them home. Boyfriends were equally out of the question.

Reaching forward, I found Danny's hands and grabbed them. “It seemed to be about the blood,” I said. “They screwed Sandy, didn't they?”

“Yes.”

"They didn't touch me like that.” I stepped closer to him, close enough that my breasts pushed against his chest. “Even cutting my clothes away, it didn't seem sexual. I think it was so it wouldn't interfere with them biting me.”

I heard him swallow but he didn't say anything. His hands gripped mine, squeezed them and didn't let up.

“I'm afraid they're going to come back, Danny.” It was a lie, but I wanted him to comfort me. I rested my head against his shoulder and inhaled his scent. He was starting to sweat in that cool dark room. I put my lips against his throat, felt the heavy throb of his pulse running through his neck. His whole body tensed, but he didn't pull away from me.

“We already have a watch on your uncle's house, Lee. They won't get you if they come back.”

“What about the people Elliot lets into the house?” I raised my body up on tiptoe until my lips were along his strong jaw line. His lower body was almost centered against mine now and I felt him stirring against me.

Letting go of my hands, he grabbed me by the shoulders and forced me to take a step back. “Lee, you're not asking me--”

“Asking, no.” My hands found his belt line and I curled my fingers around it. I softened my voice into something fragile even though my intent was predatory. I wanted Danny, wanted control of him. “Begging you. That's what I'm doing.”

I ran my hands up over his stomach, wrapped them around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a first kiss. I should have been afraid, tentative, shy, something other than the hungry monster I felt like, but I'd been living with this hunger and tension for so long now.

I ran my tongue lightly over his lips. Moaning, he threaded his fingers in my belt loops and pulled me closer. His mouth opened, his tongue came out to touch mine. I let him claim my mouth. As his tongue thrust inside, I arched my back and brought my hips to grind against his.

I knew the sensation building between my legs but this time it didn't frighten or shame me. Grabbing his hands, I guided them to the front of my jeans, helped him undo the button.

He broke the kiss, his whole body going stiff. “Lee, you're seventeen.”

“For two more weeks.” He had stopped at my undone button and I wedged my finger between his hands to unzip my jeans. “I want it to be my choice.”

“You're not thinking straight. I shouldn't have brought you here. The atmosphere…”

He was right about the atmosphere. It was charged with danger and sex. I could almost feel the men's mouths on me, feel their teeth penetrating my skin, my body naked.

“But I'm in control,” I argued. Even if his mouth was saying "no," his hands were having a hard time ignoring the temptation of my body. His fingers had slipped beneath the band of my underwear and were stroking the silk of my pubic hair.

“Your fear is in control, Lee.” He kissed me, hard, almost like he was angry with me. I felt his hands tighten along the edge of my panties, his knuckles pressing against my lower stomach.

“Take away the fear then. Please, Danny.” I stretched up, as high as I could so that his fingers slid lower down my body. His fingertips were far enough down that he could brush my labia with them.

He groaned, his breath hot against my cheek. “You're wet, Lee.”

“From you, from being close to you, having you touch me.”

“From fear, Lee. You're remembering what happened and your body's designed to protect itself, to prepare itself from even unwanted invasions--”

“I want this.” I pressed. “I want you in me.”

“Your body's confused, Lee.”

“No, it's not. I'm not!” I was about to snap. I could feel his excitement, hear the fast flow of blood through his body, feel the rise in his temperature, smell the need emanating from his skin.

I shifted my weight, the movement and the pressure of his fingers parting my lower lips. He was touching my clit now and his hand trembled inside my pants.

“Please, Danny. Just keep touching me. You'll see I'm not confused.” Finding his mouth, I kissed him again. He didn't pull back; he didn't press forward. He stood like stone, letting me cover his palm and fingers with my wetness. I rubbed against his hand, moaned into his mouth.

Breaking my hold on him, I tried to push my jeans down. He threw an arm around my waist, pulled me closer.

“No, Lee. If you do that…”

He was breathing hard, his whole body starting to shake. “Let me take you someplace else.”

I had him. If we left, I might lose him. He might send someone else to question me next time.

“Lee, I'm begging you now.” He cupped my mound, squeezed the swollen flesh. “Not here.”

Slowly, I relaxed my hold on him, let him put some distance between our bodies. With clumsy fingers I zipped and buttoned my jeans before following him meekly back into the garage.

There was only a single bare bulb in the garage, but it was enough to show me his face. He looked stricken, numb even. He motioned me into the car and then he opened the garage door. Leaving the house, he left the garage door open, the ends of the crime scene tape fluttering in a light wind. His hands trembled on the steering wheel.

Gently, not wanting to startle him, I put my hand on his leg. “Where are we going?”

“Back to your uncle's.”

Chapter Seven

Not meeting my gaze, Danny parked the unmarked police car in front of Elliot's house and handed me a cell phone.

I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to take it.

“Lee, I can protect you better with my badge, not by…taking advantage of you.” He put the phone in my lap. “Please, take it. You can text or call me any time you want to. If you're afraid, if you remember something…if you just want someone to talk to.”

I shoved the phone in my jeans' pocket and got out without saying good-bye. The curtains on the front window fluttered and Elliot opened the front door as I reached it.

“Everything okay, baby girl?”

He'd been using while I was gone. I could smell it on him, now more easily than ever. Shrugging, I stepped into the darkened front room. At least a dozen beer bottles were on the coffee table and two of his buddies were sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

“You were gone awhile.”

“Took me for a burger,” I lied. At least that much had been accomplished -- I wouldn't have to listen to Elliot bitch about my not eating. At least for tonight.

The guy on the far end of the couch lurched forward, his hand flying out to knock a beer bottle from the table as he reached for it. The glass shattered on the linoleum floor. He bent down, his hand hovering over a large shard.

“Don't,” I said. “I'll get a broom and clean it up.”

“Thanks, baby girl.”

Without looking back, I offered Elliot another shrug, pissed that he'd let these guys into the house. For all he knew, they were friends of Army's or the guy I had begun to think of as Nestor.

Sweeping the broken glass into the dust pan, I watched Elliot and his friends. Elliot was the least far gone, but he already was unsteady on his feet, his eyelids drooping. The jerk that had dropped the bottle was one drink away from passing out. The third was somewhere in between.

I stood up, an idea forming in my head. “More beer?” Through a mix of grunts and hands raised, I knew all three wanted a fresh one.

I came back with the beer. Elliot was rolling another joint. I left them to it and went down the hallway to the bedrooms. Casey's bedroom door was open. She wouldn't be home yet; Joan kept her at a sitter after school, always picked her up on her way home from work. Brian's door was shut. I didn't have to test the handle to know that it was locked.

I'd spent enough nights in the house before the attack to be familiar with the drill. When Elliot was on a bender or had his friends over, the sane people in the house retreated to the bedrooms and locked their doors. And that meant Casey would be sleeping with her mom tonight.

I went into the bedroom, shut and locked the door and waited. A little after midnight, I stepped out into the hall. Elliot was passed out on the floor in front of his bedroom door.

Nothing unusual there.

In the front room, the two guys were sleeping -- one on the couch, the other in the recliner. Leaving the lights off, I went into the kitchen and pulled the shards of glass from the trash, cleaned the debris off them, and then grabbed a juice glass and a dish rag.

Back in the front room, I studied the men, trying to decide which one was least likely to wake up when I cut him. I settled on the guy in the recliner and placed all but one of the pieces of broken glass on the floor beneath his chair.

Holding my breath, I made the cut, my shaking hand only increasing the wound's authenticity. Blood poured into the juice glass, slowly at first until I massaged the vein in his arm. When I had enough, I let some drip onto the floor and then wrapped his hand with the dish rag before crossing the arm across his chest.

Sure I would throw up, I took my first sip of blood leaning over the kitchen sink. My taste buds danced and the single sip gave me a head rush. I took a slightly longer sip and waited for my stomach's reaction. No rolling, no heaving -- just a sort of cautious rejoicing. Weak-kneed from hunger, I drained the rest of the glass in one gulp before cleaning it and returning it to the cupboard.

Crawling back into the bunk bed, I turned on the cell phone Danny had given me. No messages. I guess I shouldn't have expected any.

I rolled onto my side, looking at the phone's display. He probably hated me for what I'd done today, throwing myself at him, compromising him.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I searched out the last of the blood in my mouth as I typed in a message.

“I can't sleep,” I texted.

Minutes passed and then the screen lit up with Danny's reply.

“Me neither. Are you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Elliot's friends are still there.”

It wasn't a question. The cops outside must have told him.

“Yes. Bedroom door's locked.”

“There's a unit outside, watching. Try to sleep.”

“Ok.”

“Sweet dreams.”

I erased the messages and then stuck the phone under my pillow. I felt lightheaded, almost like I was floating. Rolling onto my back, the room seemed to spin. I laughed, the sound dry in my throat, and made a mental note. Next time I needed to find someone who wasn't a drunk dope head to drink from.

I needed to find someone like Danny.

Chapter Eight

Joan's yelling woke me at six the next morning. She'd gotten up and readied herself for work, only to walk into her front room and find a bloody mess on the floor.

I slid into my jeans, pocketed the phone and quietly opened the bedroom door. Elliot was still on the hall floor, slowly waking from his stupor. Brian's door was shut.

Looking down the hall, I saw Joan in the front room. She caught me watching and motioned for me to shut and lock my door. I did, then sat on the bed, smiling.

By nine, the house was empty except for me and Elliot. His employer had given him a week's bereavement leave. I went into the front room to find him cleaning blood off the recliner.

“What happened?”

“Stupid fuck broke another bottle and cut himself.”

I nodded. “Where's he at?”

“Fuck if I care. You gonna eat something this morning?”

I shrugged. “You really want to argue about it again?”

He shook his head, and then took a dry towel to the recliner. “They called about your mom yesterday.”

“They?”

“You know, about the body, about a viewing and a burial. They still can't find Paul.” He had stopped rubbing at the stains and was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands.

I gathered up the towels and cleaner. Standing, I put a hand on his head. “No one would come to a viewing.”