A Body To Die For

And so had he.

The crazy fool had actually proposed to her.

She touched her bare ring finger. She could still feel the metal sliding over her knuckle. In her mind’s eye, she saw the ornate gold band and the bloodred princesscut ruby. It had been small. Very small but pretty. His grandmother’s, he’d told her.

She’d smiled indulgently and played along for a while. The way she always did when it came to men.

She was a vampire. Charismatic. Mesmerizing. She could be dressed in baggy sweats, having the worst hair day on the planet, and men would still find her irresistible. It hadn’t been a bit surprising that Garret had fallen so hard for her so fast.

No, what had really startled her was what she’d felt for him.

She’d actually liked him.

He’d been a patriot of Texas. Strong. Noble. Courageous. And from the moment he’d walked into the small saloon where she’d been working, aka feeding, she’d been attracted.

So she’d done the unthinkable—she’d slept with him not once but several times. Even more than the sex, they’d actually spent time together.

They’d gone on moonlit walks, held hands beneath the stars and confided their dreams to each other.

Wild, far-out dreams of love and marriage and kids and a real home.

She’d been a newly turned vampire back then, desperate to ignore the truth of what she’d become. Likewise, he’d been a man eager to escape the death and destruction that lived and breathed all around him.

And so she’d pretended, and he’d pretended.

She’d seen the love swimming in his eyes, and she’d let herself believe it was real.

But it hadn’t been.

Not then and certainly not now.

He was no longer a weak human mesmerized by her vampiric charm, and she was no longer denying her true nature.

They were both vampires, fully rooted in the present. When they had sex again, there would be no soft words between them, no foolhardy talk of happily ever after. No false promises.

Just lust.

Raw.

Primitive.

Savage.

If they came together.

The doubt pushed its way into her head as she climbed behind the wheel of her car and keyed the ignition.

There could be no if.

Sex had to be a sure thing, and the lame excuse she’d given him tonight would work in her favor. Pictures meant more than one. Which meant they wouldn’t be spending five minutes together sharing small talk. It would take hours, maybe even days, for her to set up her equipment—the cameras, the lighting, the back-ground—and get just the right shots. She had no doubt that the more time they spent with one another, the more explosive the chemistry would be.

Because he wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him.

Even though she could no longer stare into his eyes and see his every thought—vamps couldn’t read other vamps the way they did humans—she’d seen the telltale spark in his gaze when she’d sat down at his table. She’d felt the rush of jealousy when he’d come to her rescue.

Something was bound to happen between them.

Eventually.

Before Cruz and Molly caught up with her again?

The question struck, and her survival instincts kicked into gear. She swept a glance around her, drinking in the half-full parking lot. Her gaze sliced through the darkness, pushing back the shadows, searching. Her ears perked, and her nostrils flared, but she smelled nothing except stale beer and cigarettes and her grip eased on the steering wheel.

She was safe. She knew it. She felt it.

For now.

Over the past year, it had taken at least a week or two for the other vampires to track her down once she’d given them the slip.

With the exception of their last encounter, that is.

When they’d left her for dead.

She’d been sensationalizing the latest in a string of serial murders in state courtesy of the Butcher.

The Butcher had eluded police over twenty-nine murders, and he was still on the loose. While true crime wasn’t usually something picked up by a tabloid, the Butcher was the exception because he was rumored to be a Hollywood celebrity gone bad. At least that’s what he’d told the world when he’d left a bloody message on the wall of his first victim’s apartment. Every tabloid was now hot on the trail to discovery his identity first. Viv had been covering his handiwork from the beginning, from his first kill down in West Hollywood, to an elderly couple in Portland, to the recent handful of bodies found in an abandoned cabin outside of Tacoma.

She’d been scoping out the actual crime scene when she’d been discovered by local law enforcement, specifically a hard-ass sheriff by the name of Matt Keller. Keller had been about to grill her with questions—who did she work for, how did she hear about the murders, why was she there—when he’d been called back to the police station. He’d threatened to throw her ass in jail for trespassing and then he’d escorted her off the property. His parting words? “Stay the hell away from here.”

She should have listened to him.

Instead, she’d gone back. She’d been snapping pictures when she’d been attacked by the two vampires who’d been hot on her trail for over three years. They’d staked her out on the front porch of the cabin and left her to fry.

But Molly’s aim had been off. The knife had punctured her at an angle, a scant half-inch to the right. Rather than hitting her heart, they’d stabbed the inner right lobe of her lung. While not life-threatening, she’d still been hurt badly. She’d bled all over the porch, her blood mingling with that of the Butcher’s other victims. She would have burned to a crisp at the first sign of dawn if she hadn’t managed to drag herself through the front door. Inside, she’d hidden in one of the closets.

It was there, as she’d cowered beneath a mound of stale clothes, her St. Benedict medal clutched tightly in her hand, that she’d felt vulnerable for the first time in her life. Hurt. Nervous. Scared.

Cruz and Molly wanted their humanity back and they would stop at nothing in their quest to destroy the vampire who’d taken it from them.

She could still see their faces, the first time she’d met them all those years ago. Eighty-seven to be exact. She’d been in some hole-in-the-wall border town looking for her next meal when she’d happened upon a white slavery ring holed up in a house on the outskirts of town.

Molly had been chained in the cellar and Cruz had been one of her abductors. He’d fallen in love with her and tried to help her escape, and so he’d ended up chained next to her.

After a violent encounter with the one guard on duty (the rest of the slave traders had been upstairs passed out from a case of tequila), Viv had freed a cellar full of prisoners made up of primarily women and children.

Most of the prisoners had taken off up the rickety steps, desperate to get away before their abductors sobered up.

Except for Cruz and Molly.

They’d seen the truth about Viv, and they’d wanted a different means of escape.

The voices echoed in her head, so strong and clear, as if it had been just yesterday that she’d descended into that hell-hole prison.

“YOU CAN’TJUST leave us.” Cruz held Molly’s hand in one of his and a buck knife he’d taken off the guard in his other.

The man’s body slumped in a nearby corner. He was out cold. For now.

“They’ll track us down,” Cruz went on. “They will.” He nodded frantically. His eyes glittered with the horrific memories of being beaten and locked up and humiliated. He’d watched the woman he loved being raped. Over and over. And he’d been powerless to stop it.

He still was.

The truth burned inside of him, feeding the desperation and fear coiling his body tight.

“You have to help us,” he added, his gaze as pleading as his words.

“Leave now,” Viv told him. She couldn’t do what he asked. She wouldn’t doom anyone else to the darkness. Never again.

“You’ll have a good head start,” Viv continued. “Take Molly and go. I’ll stall them for you.”

“Kill them?”

But she couldn’t do that either. While she’d made her fair share of vampires, she’d never actually caused anyone’s death. No, she’d saved them from it.

Or so she’d always thought.

“I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “But I’ll slow them down. That’s all I can do.”

“It won’t be enough,” came Molly’s small, hollow voice. She shook her head, her eyes wide and vacant, as if the men had stolen her spirit right along with her innocence. “They’ll find us.”

“They won’t,” Viv reassured them. “But you have to go.” She motioned toward the rickety steps leading to the dark, cold night. “Now.”

“You don’t know them.” Cruz shook his head, a strange look in his eyes. He let go of Molly’s hand and lifted the knife. “They’ll catch us and make us pay. And I won’t be able to stop them. I can’t. Not like this.”

The blade flashed and before Viv could blink, he sliced through his left wrist clear to the bone. Blood gushed, spurting out onto the floor at an alarming rate.

“Please,” he mouthed, and then he sank to his knees as his life slipped away.

VIV BLINKED AGAINST the sudden burning in her eyes at the vivid memory. She hadn’t been able to stand by and watch him die. Not after the suffering he’d already endured. And so she’d turned him.

And he’d turned Molly.

And then the two newly made vampires had doled out revenge.

But what they’d first seen as their salvation, they’d come to realize was more a curse.

One they now meant to break.

They’d finally figured out that if they killed her, they could free themselves from the chains of darkness that bound them, silence the hunger that ruled their existence and become human again.

It had been eight days since Viviana had crawled into that closet and faced her mortality. She had no doubt that Cruz and Molly knew that they’d failed by now.

They would come for her again. To do the job right this time. And she would let them.

Because along with fear, she’d felt something else, as well, while she’d been holed up in that closet. As her body had healed, her mind had relived the past. She’d spent three days hiding, healing and thinking about her life, about all those people she’d tried to save from death.

She’d finally admitted the truth to herself—despite her intentions, she hadn’t really saved anyone. No, she’d doomed them to a fate worse than death.

The darkness.

The hunger.

No more.

She figured she only had a few days before Molly and Cruz caught up with her again. When they did, she had no intention of fighting them. Rather, she would face her mistakes this time, and set things right. She would give them back their humanity.

But before she submitted to her own death, she wanted to feel truly alive one more time.

One last time.

She retrieved the medallion she’d left hanging from the rearview mirror, slid the gold chain over her head and tucked the warm metal deep in her cleavage. Gunning the engine, she put the car in gear and headed back to the motel.

Chapter 3

SHE WAS PERFECT.

Garret watched the redhead make her way across the sawdust floor. His nostrils flared. The faint scent of strawberry shampoo drifted through the fog of beer and cigarette smoke. Her breaths came quick, her lips parting ever so slightly. Her small breasts bounced with each draw of oxygen.

It had been an hour since Viv had left the bar.

An hour spent thinking and wondering and fantasizing.

He drop-kicked the last thought as soon as it waltzed into his head and focused on the hunger gnawing at his gut. His stomach clenched, and his muscles bunched. Heat clawed low and deep. His throat tightened.

His gaze narrowed, and he fixated on the woman again. He noticed everything about her—from the way her eyes glittered with excitement and fear to the slight sway of her walk, as if she hadn’t pulled out the high heels in a really long time.

And then he noticed that no one else seemed to notice her.

The other men didn’t stare or drool or eat her up with their eyes the way they’d done Viv.

Because there was nothing supernatural about this woman.

She was real.

Ordinary.

And so the men kept drinking and shooting the shit while the woman slid onto a bar stool and crossed her legs.

As if she felt his attention, she turned. Her green gaze collided with his, and the truth echoed in his head.

This was the last place she wanted to be, but she was sick and tired of sitting home alone, mourning over a recent break-up with her long-term boyfriend. She needed to ease her sexual frustration, get over him once and for all and get on with her life.

She needed rebound sex.

And Garret needed the energy bubbling inside of her, especially now that Viv was back in his life. If he meant to keep his head on straight and his dick in his pants, he needed every ounce of strength when he faced her tomorrow night.

He needed to suppress the hunger.

Satisfy it.

He pushed to his feet despite the promise he’d made to himself to give up the endless string of one-night stands that came with being a vampire. The constant need for blood and sex. The blood he couldn’t deny himself. He’d been bagging it, courtesy of a contact he’d made at the Austin Blood Bank. But the sex…He wasn’t going to sleep his way through Skull Creek the way he’d done every other town. He was tired of moving from place to place. Running. Existing. He wanted to live again.

He wanted his humanity back.

He could have it, too. It was just a matter of finding and destroying the vampire who’d turned him.

A nearly impossible task or so he’d thought. Until Dillon Cash—the computer genius behind Skull Creek Choppers—had come through with a solid lead.

It had started with a cheesy blog Dillon had started a few months ago to locate Garret’s sire. Surprisingly enough, the blog had gained popularity. People had started to comment.

While the majority of visitors were vampire wannabes, there were a few legitimate posts. Enough for Dillon to come up with a lead on the vampire who fit the description in Garret’s memory.

He didn’t remember much. Just a dark, looming shadow, a sweet, succulent scent, and a gold medallion.

He’d sketched the medallion, and Dillon had blogged about it and now they had a name.

One that might lead him absolutely nowhere.

At the same time, there was a chance—however slim—that Garret might find himself that much closer to the Ancient One.

He’d hired a private investigator to track down the name. Dalton MacGregor, the decorated Green Beret and ex-cop who’d taken the case, had promised to have an address by the end of this week. Reason enough for Garret to ignore the hunger churning inside of him and head for the door instead of the woman.

Five steps, and he reached her. Desire sparked in her gaze, and she licked her lips. A wave of self-consciousness swept through her, and she stiffened. She damned herself for not wearing the pink tank top instead of the white. White always made her look so flat-chested.

He dropped his gaze and let it linger on her cottonclad breasts for a brief moment.

Nice. He sent the silent message and shifted his attention to her face in time to see her smile.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Corona.” She licked her lips again, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

The fast rhythm of it echoed in his head, and his gut tightened. He could see the faint pulse of blue at the base of her neck, and a knife twisted inside of him. He signaled the bartender to bring her a beer and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels for himself.

A few seconds later, the bartender deposited a frosty beer mug in front of the redhead and a shot glass in front of Garret. The man poured two fingers of fiery liquid before setting the whiskey bottle aside and rushing toward the opposite end of the bar to fill another request.

“Thanks,” she said as she took a tentative sip from her mug. “So, um, do you come here often?”

“Every now and then.”

“That’s nice.” She nodded and took another sip. “I’ve never been here myself, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try.” She glanced around. “It’s a little noisier than I expected. Not really ideal for getting to know someone.” She shifted her gaze back to his, suddenly eager to cut right to the chase now that she’d worked up her courage. “Maybe we could, um, go someplace quiet. That is, if you want.” She took another sip.

Her red lipstick left an imprint on the frosted mug. The sight stirred a rush of memories, and just like that he was back in the Texas Star saloon with his regiment.

A drink.

That’s all he’d wanted at first, but then he’d seen Viv Darland standing near the bar, and suddenly alcohol hadn’t been enough.

He’d wanted her warm skin beneath his hands, her legs wrapped around his waist, her mouth soft and open beneath his own. He’d followed her upstairs, and he hadn’t come down for days. He’d ended up staying so long he’d almost been declared AWOL by his commanding officer.

Not that he’d cared.

Everything else—his family, his passion, his duty—had ceased to exist when he’d stared into Viv’s blue eyes. He’d been hooked. Infatuated. Mesmerized.

Because she was a vampire.

He hadn’t known then.

Sure, he’d seen the signs.

Her usually blue eyes had seemed purple at times, green at other times. She’d been stronger than most women, uncorking her own whiskey bottles and dealing with drunken brawlers all by herself. And, of course, her aversion to sunlight. But she’d been a saloon whore, plying her trade all night and sleeping all day, and so he hadn’t thought much about it.

He’d fallen hard and fast, and he hadn’t been able to pick himself back up. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to.

She’d been the first thing he’d thought of when he’d opened his eyes every morning and the last thing when he’d closed them at night.

He’d even imagined her there at the end, leaning over him as he’d sprawled facedown on the ground, his blood seeping out into the dirt. Her scent had filled his head. Her soft, silky hair had brushed his temple. And just like that, he’d been distracted from the pain and suffering of the knife wounds.

A hallucination, of course.

He’d been miles away from the saloon when he’d been attacked by a group of Mexican bandits, robbed and left for dead.

An easy target for the vampire who’d come along to finish the job.

He could still remember the presence looming over his wounded body, the strong hand gripping his hair and yanking his head back, the razor-sharp fangs piercing his throat.

One minute he’d been hanging onto his life by a thread and the next, the line had snapped. Death had taken him, only to spit him back out when the vampire had rolled him over and drip-dropped his own blood into Garret’s mouth.

Garret hadn’t even caught a glimpse of his sire. He’d been too weak to see more than a shadow looming over him.

Seconds later, he’d been alone, sprawled on the ground without a clue as to what had just happened. Until daybreak arrived and the first rays of sunlight topped the horizon.

The past pushed and pulled, snatching him from the here and now and luring him back to the morning of his turning.

He fought against the pain gripping him and forced his eyes open. He felt cold. So cold. His teeth chattered, and his body shook. He stared through blurry eyes. Orange topped the trees, promising warmth and a rush of relief went through him. Now he would warm up.

In…just…a…few…seconds…

A shaft of light fell across his face, and pain sliced clear to his bones. A hiss worked its way up his throat as he jerked his head to the side. The heat slashed across his shoulders, and he scrambled away. He staggered to his feet. Pain beat at his temples as the light cracked at his body like a red hot whip.

He stumbled for the trees, but they weren’t enough to shield him completely. His skin burned and sizzled and he moved deeper into the forest. Light filtered down through the branches, stabbing him at every step. The pungent scent of charred flesh clogged his nostrils and choked him. Smoke burned his eyes, blurring his vision as he glanced around, frantic for a place to hide.

Another shaft of light broke through the trees, and he dodged to the left. His foot came up against a rock and he pitched forward, landing facedown on the ground. Clawing at the ground, he pushed until he managed to lift his head. A black hole loomed in front of him.

He dug his fingers into the dirt and pulled himself forward, over sharp rocks and prickly cactus until he managed to crawl inside. He went deeper, deeper, until the light disappeared and he found himself sheltered in the dark, cool interior.

Heaven.

That’s what Garret had thought. The deep, narrow cave had been his shelter. His salvation.

But over the next several hours as the hunger had taken full control, the small space had turned into his own personal hell, a place where he’d fought a losing battle for his soul.

It was a battle that had lasted several days, as Garret remained hidden away in the cave, resisting the bloodlust and trying to come to terms with what he’d become.

Meanwhile, Viv had been back at the saloon, seducing any and every cowboy who’d walked in. Talking them into drinks. Luring them back to her room. Spreading her legs and opening her arms.

Deceiving them the way she’d deceived him.

The realization had come when he’d finally given in to the hunger and left the cave. He’d gone back to town in search of food. But before he’d sank his fangs into anyone, he’d gone to the saloon first. He’d meant to explain things to her, to beg for her help and her understanding.

But she’d already understood because she was every bit the vampire he’d become.

Even so, he’d thought that she still felt something for him. Something that went beyond the bloodlust and the need for sex.

Love.

He’d been wrong.

“I can’t be with you like this. Not now. Not ever again.”

He could still hear her voice as she’d turned her back and walked away from him.

She’d left him because he’d become a vampire who could see through her lies. A vampire who could no longer give her the sustenance she needed—the sexual energy—because he needed it for himself.

And so she’d abandoned him to find someone else to feed the beast that lived and breathed inside of her.

As for love…She hadn’t loved him, and he hadn’t really loved her. He’d been mesmerized by her, seduced by her vamp magic like any other weak human.

But he wasn’t susceptible to her now.

Even if he did have an aching hard-on.

“What do you say?” The soft voice pushed into his thoughts and pulled him back to the present. To the smoke-filled bar and the horny woman sitting next to him. “Would you, um, like to come back to my place?”

Yes.

The answer was there on the tip of his tongue despite his self-made vow. He needed her. To ease the pain inside his body, feed the hunger and fill him with a burst of energy.

He felt so tired at that moment.

So damned hungry.

His gaze hooked on the lipstick imprint on her glass again, and his chest tightened. “I’m afraid I’m a little busy right now.” He slid several bills onto the counter and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels. “But you have a nice night, sugar.” He turned and left her staring longingly after him.

Because even more than Garret Sawyer needed to feed, suddenly he needed to forget.

The dark hair.

The true blue eyes.

The luscious body and fragrant skin.

The damned voice that echoed over and over in his head “I can’t be with you like this.”

And so he sank down at the nearest table, touched the open bottle to his lips and did what he hadn’t done since Viv Darland had walked out on him all those years ago.