Undying (20 page)

“Hey,” she whispered. She glanced around the hotel room. It wasn’t hers. “How’d I get here?” She started to sit up and a wave of dizziness forced her to drop her head to the pillow again. “Wow.” She raised her hand to her forehead, where she found a tender bump that was forming a scab. She didn’t remember falling last night, though obviously she had. “Crazy party night? Beads, boobs, and booze on Bourbon?”

“You don’t remember?” He pushed up on his elbow to look down at her.

Feeling slightly nauseous, she closed her eyes, trying to think back to what she
did
remember of the previous night. She ticked through the catalog of memories like flipping through a box of black and white photographs. She’d had dinner alone in that little café on Toulouse, then gone back to the hotel. From there, she had followed Fia and Arlan from the hotel to Café Du Monde. The last thing she vaguely recalled was seeing Fia talking to the ugly women with the cataract eyes. And the dog. She remembered the weird dog….

She frowned.
But then what?
It wasn’t like her to have a loss of memory. Not even when she drank too much. And she certainly hadn’t had too much to drink at dinner. She’d only had one glass of wine. Had there been more alcohol later? Maybe a couple of those hurricanes she’d been thinking about?

Arlan was waiting for her to say something.

“Exactly how did we hook up last night?” she asked.

“You really don’t remember?” A playful smile tugged at one side of his sensual mouth. Such a kissable mouth. And he had the prettiest white teeth. But they all did, the residents of Clare Point. One more tidbit of information to add to the already peculiar status of the resort town.

She touched his rough chin with her fingertips, liking the feel of his scruffy beard. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re avoiding mine,” he countered, covering her hand with his.

She glanced around the room, still feeling odd, off-balance somehow. “Why didn’t I go back to my room last night?”

“I don’t know.” He kissed her hand. “Maybe you like me.”

“I do like you.” She watched him kiss each of her fingertips. “That still doesn’t explain why I stayed. I don’t stay after sex if I have somewhere else to go.”

“Maybe that’s the old Macy and this is the new Macy.”

She rolled toward him, pressing her hips against his. She gazed into his dark eyes but said nothing.

“If you would just let me in, Macy, you wouldn’t have to be alone.”

“What if I like being alone?” she asked.

“No one
really
wants to be alone.”

She clasped both sides of his face between her palms and guided his mouth to hers. When their lips touched, she slid her hand under the sheet to grasp him, effectively ending the chatter and the psychological mumbo jumbo.

Arlan pushed her onto her back and thrust his tongue into her mouth. She savored the taste of him…the feeling of power he seemed to emote. She dragged her fingernails over his hard, muscular buttocks and he groaned with pleasure.

He nuzzled her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. Then he nibbled on her nipple, making her giggle.

Macy lifted her hips to meet his, annoyed that she was wearing panties. Why on earth had she slept in panties last night? She never put panties back on after sex.

Had she and Arlan not had sex last night? That was a little hard to believe.

God,
she wondered.
How much did I have to drink last night?

The thing was, she didn’t feel hungover. Strange, but definitely not hungover.

Arlan kissed her throat, his tongue darting out to take tiny licks. It was the oddest, most erotic feeling. “Mmmm,” she moaned.

“You like that?” His breath was warm on her neck.

“I like that,” she whispered, thinking it interesting that her neck had never been a particularly erogenous zone before…before Arlan.

He slipped his hand inside her panties, and ran his finger along the cleft of her soft, willing flesh. She moaned.

Already hot for him, it didn’t take long for her to reach the first orgasm. Then suddenly, she was desperate to feel him inside her.

“Wait,” she panted, yanking down her panties. They had thrown aside the sheet. She wiggled out of her thong and then the T-shirt that was now damp and sticking to her skin.

“What’s your hurry?” he breathed in her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

She opened her eyes to look into his. “You know, sometimes I like you better when you’re quiet.”

He laughed, grasping her hips. In one fluid motion, he rolled over, taking her with him.

Macy landed on top, astride him, and needed no further invitation. Using her hand to assist, she slid down over him, moaning as he filled her. She threw her head back and leaned back, weaving her fingers through his. For a moment she sat still, her eyes closed, just enjoying the sensation. But her heart was pounding, her pulse was racing. She leaned forward and her long blond hair partially obscured her face. She began to move over him, slowly at first, but then she picked up the pace. She was close again already.

Arlan was an amazing lover. She had known that from the first night. He knew when to hold back and when to move along. He seemed to know when a woman meant business and right this minute, Macy meant business. As she pushed harder, he pushed harder. He rested his hands on her waist and let her have the control.

At last, Macy was able to set free the final thoughts rattling around in her head. Nothing mattered but her body and these exquisite waves of ecstasy.

Macy came a second time and then a third, and when she had caught her breath, she flattened her body over Arlan’s and quickly brought him to climax. Still breathing hard, she rolled off him, onto her back, beside him. She stared up at the ceiling fan as her respiration slowly eased back to something close to normal. Beside her, she could hear Arlan doing the same. Neither spoke. Nothing to say, nothing that needed saying. And she appreciated the fact that Arlan recognized that. He understood her need to keep her emotions in neatly sealed packages.

But then he surprised her by sliding his hand across the bed to take hers. It was a simple gesture, one that might have brought a woman to sentimental tears…had she been a woman who still knew how to cry.

M
acy sat at the table in her dark hotel room and stared at the laptop’s bright screen. On the very top right corner was her IM icon. It had been taunting her all evening, although she tried hard to ignore it. She had gone for an evening walk. She had attempted to work on the text for her Clare Point cottages layout. She’d even played solitaire.

But he’d been out there the whole time. Waiting for her. Calling to her. She could feel it.

On the flight home the day before from New Orleans, Fia had reminded Macy of their agreement that she would not contact Teddy or put herself in a position, if she could help it, to be contacted by him. Fia wanted him to be eager to speak with Macy and wanted to be there when he contacted her. She hadn’t brought up her anger over Macy following them to New Orleans, so Macy saw no reason to introduce it into the conversation.

It had all sounded well and good at the time, but tonight Macy was having difficulty following through. What if Teddy, frustrated that he couldn’t reach Macy, went crazy and shot up people in a mall or tied a bomb to a homeless person in a subway or something bizarre like that? He needed her. He had told her so a hundred times over the years. Occasionally, she thought morosely, he even told her he loved her.

How sick was that?

Macy’s hand glanced over the mouse pad. The cursor seemed to have a mind of its own. It found the IM icon. She hesitated, her index finger poised.

Fia was trying to solve this case, she was trying her best. But Fia didn’t understand Teddy. Not the way Macy did. Fia didn’t understand how fragile he was.

Click-click.

The IM window popped up and a second later, a message from Teddy200. She knew it!

Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you.

Macy hesitated for a moment before typing. She knew the smart thing to do would be to close the IM box. Wait for Fia. But he was right there…Business trip, she typed.

Liar. You’ve been avoiding me. You can’t avoid me, Marceline. You can’t do that to me.

He sounded agitated. An agitated Teddy was a dangerous Teddy. She knew that from past experience.

She wasn’t sure what to say. She hesitated, her fingertips hovering over the keyboard.

When she didn’t respond right away, he sent, What’s going on, Marceline? What’s wrong, sweetheart?

She hated it when he used endearments.
Bastard. Fucking bastard.

Her fingers pounded the keyboard. What’s wrong with me??? You think maybe the fact that a FUCKING HOMICIDAL MANIAC has been stalking me for fourteen years might be getting me down?

She waited. Nothing appeared on the screen.

Hell,
she thought. This
was
a bad idea. Now she was taunting him. She’d never done this before. She was always docile. She always played the game by his rules, reasoning that she had some sort of control over him by going along. How ridiculous was that? He still murdered people, didn’t he?

But did he murder fewer people because of her?

God, she was as crazy as he was, wasn’t she?

Teddy? Macy typed. Still there?

You hurt my feelings, Marceline. You’ve upset me.

Teddy…

She dropped her hands to her lap. If she wanted to help Fia, if she truly wanted to stop him, Macy knew angering him wasn’t the way to do it. It pained her to do so, but she typed, Sorry.

You should be.

She thought for a moment, then wrote, How are you feeling?

Not good. As if you care.

I do care, Teddy. How is the voice?

Loud, he responded. It hurts in my head.

You have to block it out. You can’t listen to it. It tells you to do things you don’t want to do, she told him.

How do you know what I want to do? Maybe I like it.

No, she answered. You don’t, Teddy. You don’t want to hurt people.

Hurt,
what a bizarre euphemism for cold-blooded torture and murder, she thought miserably.

I don’t want to hurt them, he typed. But she makes me do it. She makes me so angry that I have to do it.

Macy leaned back in the hard chair at the table near the window. Lamplight from outside lit her room in a dim glow. This was exactly why Fia had wanted Macy to stay out of Teddy’s reach. His mental issues, whatever they were, were escalating. He was becoming less stable. She could see it plainly in his words.

“Boy, you really screwed up this time, Macy,” she said aloud. Then she leaned over her keyboard and typed. I have to go now. It’s late. I have to get some sleep. Work tomorrow. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow night. Promise me you’ll try not to listen to her.

You don’t understand, Marceline. She’s very insistent.

Please, Teddy. The words pained her, but she typed them.

For me. Don’t listen to her voice, listen to mine.

I can’t make any promises.

Macy clicked the IM icon, closing the program. Even though she was no longer connected, Teddy’s words remained on her screen.

Macy closed her laptop and glanced at the digital clock, glowing red beside the bed. It was 2
A.M
. Arlan was asleep.

He had called her today to check on her and see how she was feeling. He’d offered to have the local doctor take a look at her forehead where the big bump and scab had formed. What was interesting was that he had not told her what happened that night in New Orleans. She still didn’t know how she got the bump or how she ended up in Arlan’s bed. What was equally interesting was that she hadn’t pressed him.

Macy rose from her chair and walked over to the bed and sat on the end of it. She wasn’t tired.

She told herself she wasn’t going to Arlan’s tonight. She hadn’t gone last night, either. She was trying to taper off. It would be easier that way when she left town.

She stared at her bare toes on the not-so-nice blue carpet.

But the thing was, she wanted to go. She needed to go. As much as it pained her to admit it, she needed Arlan.

Macy got up and threw on a pair of gym shorts. She tucked her room key in her pocket and walked out the door, still barefoot and braless.

On the way to Arlan’s house Macy saw not one but two pedestrians. And she could tell by the way they walked, by the clothes they wore, that they were locals. There was a middle-aged woman who had nodded a greeting to her, strolling past her as if she walked down the street every night at 2:15
A.M
. Macy recognized her; she had run into her one morning at the diner. Her name was Mary, she thought. Of course, half the women over the age of forty in this town were Mary. Then Macy spotted an elderly man who made it a point to pretend he didn’t see her as he turned the corner almost directly in front of her.

Odd…very odd.

Macy let herself into Arlan’s house. The door was unlocked, of course. He was expecting her. The thought made her smile.

She was surprised, however, to find that when she reached his bedroom, he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere in the house.

Macy knew she should go back to the hotel. But she didn’t want to. Not there. Not where Teddy was.

She thought of going back to her lonely room, where a killer haunted her. Instead, she stripped and curled up in Arlan’s big bed to wait for him.

“I thought you said they’d hunt you down and behead you if you didn’t make a council meeting,” Arlan said into his cell as he walked down the sidewalk in the dark.

“I said they would hunt you down and behead you if you missed
High
Council,” Fia corrected, obviously amused that she had put one over on him. Arlan had gone to the boring meeting, but she had skipped it.

“So I didn’t have to go?” he asked, incredulously. He opened the bottle of water he’d snatched off the snack table at the museum as he left. “Man, she so set me up.”

“Who?”

He took a drink of the bottled water. “Who do you think? Peigi. First she asks me to just stand in temporarily for Johnny at High Council. Then she tells me that means I have to go to General Council, too.”

Fia chuckled. “Anything interesting come up?”

“Not really. Same ol’, same ol’. Complaints about the teens breaking curfew, running around at night smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. Oh, and a bunch of kids stole Victor’s car in the middle of the night and went joy riding. Funny thing is, they returned it in the morning with a full tank.”

“Hoodlums,” she mocked.

“You’re just glad they’re not into Satan worship this summer,” Arlan quipped. He took another sip of water, watching Johnny Jr. cut through Mary McCathal’s backyard. Word at the pub had it that he was sleeping with her. The word also was that he was sleeping with her nemesis, Mary Hill. The previous summer, Mary McCathal’s husband, Bobby, had been beheaded. Mary Hill had been his girlfriend.

“Let’s see, what else did they talk about?” Arlan continued. “We’re going to dig another pond on the game preserve. Rainfall is still down. Mungo’s concerned if there’s a serious drought, the deer will suffer.”

“Anything good to eat?”

“Nah, the usual. Zucchini bread, pretzel salad.”

“So I didn’t miss anything.” He heard a hesitation in her voice. “I don’t suppose the subject of Regan was brought up?”

He frowned. He and Fia had had words at the airport on the return trip home. Macy had been in the ladies room; Regan was off buying beer at the bar. Arlan had told Fia about Regan not showing up for the kill in Athens and that he had already warned Regan that he wasn’t going to cover for him again. Fia had tried to make excuses for her little brother, as usual, but Arlan hadn’t wanted to hear it. Regan had refused to say why the Rousseaus had taken him prisoner, denying he knew anything about the drugs the witch sisters had mentioned.

Arlan was beginning to suspect that Regan might be involved in drugs, which was strictly forbidden by the sept. It had happened once before, in the midnineteenth century. Opium had been Regan’s drug of choice then. He’d gotten involved with some bad-news Mandarin immigrant vampires in the San Francisco Bay area. His brother Fin had bailed him out that time.

“No,” Arlan said. “Nobody mentioned Regan. No one knows about Athens but me, Jimmy, and Sean.”

“I had a talk with Regan. I told him we weren’t going to put up with his irresponsible behavior anymore. I told him that if he wanted to stay on the kill team, he had to start acting like it.”

Arlan wanted to say she’d wasted her breath, but he held his tongue. He didn’t pretend to understand the connection between siblings; his sister had been beheaded and died early on when the vampire slayer raids had been at their heaviest in the old country. What he did understand was that Fia had a fierce need to protect Regan and he couldn’t help but respect her for that, even if she was sometimes misguided.

“So, you working late tonight?” Arlan asked, deciding that the best thing to do was to change the subject.

“No. Folding laundry.”

“Two-thirty in the morning? Not in bed with lover boy?” he asked.

“Not your business.”

So it wasn’t his imagination. Things weren’t going well with the human. Fia was spending more and more nights alone, and talking less about him.

“I’m home. Guess I’ll say good night. I’ve got some work to do at Eva’s tomorrow. She wants her fence repaired before the big photo shoot.” He walked up the sidewalk to the porch. Before he laid his hand on the doorknob, he knew someone was inside. Macy.

“Pleasant dreams,” Fia said.

“Bet mine will be better than yours,” he teased, walking into the house and closing the door quietly behind him.

“Sweet Mary,” Fia groaned in his ear. “Tell me she’s not there waiting for you.”

“You’re just jealous,” he whispered. “Because I’m getting more sex than you are.”

“Hanging up,” Fia declared.

The phone went dead in his ear. Smiling to himself, Arlan walked down the hallway in the dark. She hadn’t turned any lights on. A lot of humans were afraid of the dark, but not Macy. She seemed to prefer it.

Arlan halted inside his bedroom door. She lay naked, asleep on her side in the middle of his bed, pillowing her head on her hands.

He set his phone down on the bedside table and slipped out of his clothes. He tried to ease into bed carefully, thinking he wouldn’t wake her. It had been kind of nice to wake up next to her yesterday in the hotel.

But the moment the mattress shifted under his weight, Macy stirred.

“Hey,” she said sleepily, reaching for him.

He liked her like this, only half awake, her guard down. She was a beautiful woman, but in this state, she seemed more vulnerable, less jaded by life. Even more beautiful. When she looked like this, Arlan had an intense desire to protect her, to take care of her. He even allowed himself to wonder for a moment what it would be like to live with her, to have a relationship with her.

“Hey,” he greeted, putting his arm around her.