Sire (17 page)

Watching him made Caitlin feel powerful. Being here, without his knowledge, without his
permission
, was thrilling. She could watch him, even
touch
him, and there was nothing he could do. Until the sun came up, he was helpless. He was hers.

Caitlin shook her head. God, what was
that
all about? That wasn't like her. Sure, she thought Michael was hot, and yeah, she got a kick out of looking at him, but those last thoughts had been downright
predatory.
Was that the vampire blood talking? Was that how Liam looked at her?

Was that how
Michael
looked at her?

Caitlin left, shutting the door gently behind her.

She kept wandering. The place was gigantic, and it would take days to really see everything and get a feel for the layout. She ended up in a room that was set up like a studio. There was a simple wooden chair with a straight back, settled in a window-filled alcove. A black robe was hanging over it. An easel was set up in the center of the room, with a poster-sized tablet of paper. Next to the easel sat a small table, littered with charcoal, pencils, erasers, and a handful of other tools Caitlin didn't recognize.

The sun was almost gone now. The reds had left the sky completely, replaced with dark blues, deep purples, and hints of black. The only light in the room came from a few small lights hidden in the room's wooden fixtures, which gave off a dim amber glow that was barely enough to see by.

There was another table across the room, covered in notebooks and sketch pads. Caitlin picked one at random and flipped through it. Michael seemed to draw a little bit of everything. There were landscapes, pictures of vases, drawings of fruit, and quick sketches of people sitting at tables or laughing. Even the sketches were good, but some of them were so lifelike that she would have believed that they were photographs.

She looked through a stack of papers. These were all portraits, and they were all photo-realistic. Caitlin wondered how long it took Michael to do something like this, and where he had learned how. He obviously had to have practiced for years, but there was no doubt that he had a natural talent, too.

One of the portraits was of Angelica, and Caitlin's stomach dropped. It was a close-up of her face. Her chin was down and her eyes were closed, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders. She looked ... sweet. Innocent. Nothing like the brazen vamp that had acted so shamelessly in front of her.

Caitlin put the papers back in order and picked up another sketch book. Her eyes went wide when she opened it. The book contained nothing but still life studies. All of them were women. And all of them were nude.

They were art, not trashy. None of them were the kind of gynecological examination you'd get in porn. There was no sense of exploitation. Some of the girls were posed so that you couldn't even see anything naughty. One girl sat with her back facing Michael, looking over her shoulder at him. Another faced him, but her legs were crossed just so. She held her face in her hands, and her arms covered her breasts. A third had one arm across her chest, and another resting on her lap. They were all naked, but they were all covered, too. And somehow, that made it even hotter.

Caitlin looked over at the chair, and wondered what it was like to sit there. To be completely bare, completely exposed. To have Michael examine every inch of you, and render it in loving detail.

"Those are all old. It's been harder to find volunteers since I died."

Caitlin jumped and threw the book down, then whirled around. "Michael! I didn't know you were up yet."

He was barefoot, and wearing a pair of faded jeans and a loose-fitting v-neck shirt. Caitlin was mortified. She had invited herself into his house, looked through his stuff
again,
and even wandered into his bedroom! She suddenly wondered if he could smell her perfume in there. She bet he could. He had probably followed her scent here.

"I just woke up. What brings you over so early in the evening?"

"Oh, I, um, I just came by to pick up that book for Evan. You know, the, uh, spell book." She felt stupid saying that, even though she was talking to a vampire.

Michael grinned. "I could have brought it over."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you could have. I just ... well, I just wanted to see you."

"Is everything all right?"

"Um, yeah. I just wanted to say hi."

There was an awkward pause, and Caitlin gestured to the stack of drawings. "So, do you pick up a lot of girls at Indigo, or is there a vampire strip club I don't know about?" Her tone was more accusing than she had meant it to be.

But Michael was casual. He picked up one of the books, the one filled with less than clothed women, and started flipping through it. "No." He opened the book to the picture of the woman with her back turned. "She's an art student at the University. I met her in class. Ashley." Next, a woman standing next to the chair, with her hands folded in front of her but hiding nothing. "Erica. She's a nursing student. I met her at a coffee shop on campus." Then, a girl who was lying down, her arms stretched up over her head, her ankles crossed. "She's actually a computer science major. Callie. We met at one of the shows the art department puts on every semester."

"Did you sleep with them?" God, what was wrong with her? She was acting like a jealous wife or something.

Michael just smiled. "I'm not the one-night stand type. Well, one-week stand. That's about how long it takes to do one of these."

Well, that answer was ... encouraging. "So how do you get someone to pose for you? What kind of a line do you feed a girl to get her to drop her skirt even if she's not getting any?"

"I've never used a line, Caitlin. Aside from the few times I've had to find someone for an assignment, I've never even asked anyone. They've always come to me."

"But why? What do you think makes a girl just take off her clothes like that?"

Michael laughed. "It's obviously my dashing good looks and intoxicating personality. Really, I can't leave the house without clothes being thrown at me." He shrugged. "I really don't know. Maybe they get a thrill out of it, out of doing something taboo, something out of their comfort zone. Maybe they like being watched. Maybe they just want to feel beautiful."

"And you haven't drawn anyone since ..."

"Since I was vamped, no. No one except Angelica." He pulled the portrait out of the pile. "She's old fashioned. Likes pictures more than photographs. Says they're more trustworthy. That a photograph captures how you look, but a drawing captures who you are."

"Come on! There's a ton of emotion invested in a photo."

"Says the photography major," Michael said with a laugh.

"Yeah," Caitlin said, blushing. "So, you obviously love doing this. Why did you stop?"

"It's a bit harder to meet someone when you're dead, Caitlin."

"Come on. You don't look any different from a normal person." Hotter, maybe, but she wasn't going to tell him
that.
"And heck, couldn't you just compel someone into posing for you?"

She was kidding, but anger flashed in Michael's eyes. "That's not how I work, Caitlin."

"Whoa, whoa, sorry, it was a bad joke. I didn't mean ... I mean, of course you wouldn't. You're not that kind of guy."

"Besides," Michael said, shuffling through the drawings, "I can't. Animal blood isn't enough to feed some of our powers. I can't compel anyone, I don't heal as fast as other vampires, I'm not as strong."

Caitlin hadn't considered that before. That abstaining from human blood might actually be a
sacrifice.
"Do you miss it?"

"Being able to compel people?"

"No, silly," Caitlin said, and punched his arm. "Drawing people."

He looked over at the chair, and the easel. "Yeah. I really do."

Caitlin bit her lip. "Well, um, maybe I ... maybe I could sit for you some time."

She almost wished she could take the words back. She was putting herself out there, making herself vulnerable. And what if he said no? God, what if he didn't
want
to draw her? What if the idea of looking at her like that made him sick?

"I mean, I'd leave my clothes on, of course," she said, flustered. "At least until the third date." She tried a sultry smile, but it came across forced, strained. She laughed awkwardly.

Michael looked at her for a minute, inclining his head this way and that, examining her. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lip. "I think I can work with that," he said finally.

He took her by the hand and led her to the chair. "What, like, now?" Caitlin asked.

Michael just smiled. He pulled the robe off and flung it into the corner, and Caitlin sat down.

"So, how do you want me? I mean, how do you want me to sit?" she asked.

"Just get comfortable," he said. Caitlin sat with her legs crossed, turned slightly to one side, and folded her hands in her lap. Michael crossed to the door and flipped a switch. The lights in the room actually went
out.

"Um, Michael?"

"This is how I see the world now, Caitlin. In black and white, in shadows. So that's how I draw. I'll turn them back on, if you're uncomfortable."

"No, that's okay. I can still kind of see in the dark. It just took a second for my eyes to adjust."

Michael went over to his easel and picked up a piece of charcoal. He reached out toward the paper, then stopped, his hand hanging in the air, and looked at her.

He put the charcoal down and crossed the room again. He touched her chin gently, lifting her face up just a little bit. Butterflies exploded in her stomach. Just as gently, he pulled a lock of her hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ear.

He stood there, looking at her, his hand still in her hair. His fingers slid over to her neck, and traced down to her shoulder. Caitlin's shirt had four buttons on it, and a drawstring at the top. Michael's fingers ran across her collar bones to took hold of the string, and pulled it loose.

Caitlin opened her mouth and took a trembling breath.

He ran his fingers just inside the fabric of her shirt, and pulled open the first button. Caitlin's heart sped up. His hand moved lower, just barely brushing her skin, and undid the second button. Caitlin's breath was ragged now. She looked up, and he was staring at her, into her eyes. Examining her, making sure she was okay. Making sure she wanted him to go on.

And she did. More than anything, she wanted him to go on. His fingers moved lower again, and Caitlin felt her back arching, felt herself pressing into his touch. The third button popped open. She could feel the heat spreading across her skin. When the fourth button came undone, she had to stifle a moan.

For an infinitely long second, Michael stood there, the tips of his fingers just grazing the skin between her breasts. Then he ran his fingers back up the inside of her shirt, and pulled it from her shoulder. The fabric fell. Michael ran his fingers underneath her bra strap, and pulled that down, too, leaving her shoulder bare.

And then Michael walked back to the easel, and picked up the charcoal.

Caitlin let out her breath. She was still completely covered. Michael had arranged her clothes so that they only hinted at what lay beneath, only suggested things she wouldn't let anyone see. And it was thrilling. The potential, the
promise,
was more enticing than if he had simply stripped her bare.

Michael started to draw. Every once in a while he would ask her a question, or tell her a joke, or give her some bit of insight into what went on in his head. She felt completely at ease with him.

But then he would fall completely silent, and stare at his work, and at her. The intensity of his gaze, the completeness of his attention, was enthralling. The idea that she was the center of his world, that she was important enough, beautiful enough, to capture in a permanent image, was intoxicating.

She understood why girls would sit for him.

"That's enough for tonight," Michael said. Caitlin had no idea how long she had been sitting there, but it felt like only an instant had passed. "Maybe you can come back some night, and we can finish this up."

"I'd like that," she said. "Can I see what you've done so far?"

"Of course."

The drawing was still in its early stages, but Caitlin was amazed at how lifelike it already was. And how different she looked in it. It was clearly her, the features were unmistakable, but something about her face, about the way Michael drew her ...

Caitlin didn't entirely think of herself as an adult. Sure, she was eighteen, and yeah, she was off on her own now, but some part of her still thought of herself as immature, maybe a little bit flighty. She thought back on how she had acted around Michael, how she had peppered him with questions like an excited fangirl, the way she had treated being kidnapped by a vampire as an adventure, and not a threat to her life. She had acted like a child.

But that's not how Michael had drawn her. The way Michael had drawn her, she was ... serene. Confident without being arrogant. A small smile suggested playfulness, but not adolescence. She was amazed at what she saw, and amazed that Michael had been able to create it.

"It doesn't seem possible," she said.

"What?"

"You. That you can do something like this. I know you're only a year older than me, but ... I don't know. I think you have an old soul or something." She blushed at the cliché, but there was no other way for her to describe it.

Michael was silent, and for a while Caitlin just looked up into his piercing eyes, hoping that she would fall into them. But finally, reality won out. "This was wonderful, Michael. And I do want you to finish this. But it doesn't change anything. I still won't share you." She felt suddenly exposed, and pulled her clothes back into place.

Michael, pain in his eyes, simply nodded.

"I should get going," she said as she buttoned her shirt. "Can I get that book?"

Michael came out of his tableau. "Yeah, sure, of course. I'll go get it for you."

"Thanks."

She watched him leave the room, then stood staring at the portrait. It was true, she wouldn't share him.