Kerry slowly rose to consciousness, none to happy about it. "Nnngh," she groaned. Where was she, and why was she in her bra and panties? She opened her eyes to the bland wallpaper and uninspired watercolor reproductions that hotels invariably seemed to have. Oh, the banquet. The digital clock by her bed read 1:45 p.m. God that was late even for her. Was she hung-over? She remembered the pink frothy cocktail, but she hadn't had more than that, she didn't think… She abruptly sat straight up and, moving faster than she ever did upon rising, made her way to the mirror above the dresser. Probing her neck gently she found a bruise that could have been mistaken for a hickey, except for the faintly raised bite marks at its center. It hadn't been a dream. Michel. She remembered seeing him, the bite, but there things went fuzzy. She had no memory of making it back to her room. Feeling a flash of horror, she wondered just how he had gotten her up here. If any of her co-workerssaw her being carried around by a strange young man… Her dress from last night was hung up in the closet with her shoes lined up neatly beneath. She very much doubted she was responsible for that and debated whether she was grateful to Michel for taking care of her, or annoyed that he took such liberties. She settled on annoyed- it was a safer emotion, and besides, it was his fault she'd needed help in the first place. She suddenly felt giddy with emotion. Or maybe that was the blood loss.
She got a glass of water, which more or less took care of the dry mouth, and considered her options. She should flee; she knew, grab her things and get on the next flight home. If she delayed, let herself enjoy just a few moments of his company…it might be too late already.
A knock on the door startled her. But it couldn't be Michel, she realized, not in the middle of the afternoon. "Room service!" She scrambled to get into jeans and a t-shirt.
"I didn't order…"she started to protest, opening the door to the overly-chipper employee and a cart of covered plates.
The girl looked untroubled. "The kitchen got the order early this morning. And-" she adopted a conspiratorial tone, as if she disliked sullying herself with such matters, "The bill has already been settled." Taken off-guard, Kerry let the girl buffalo her cart into the room. She quickly turned, leaving with a "Enjoy, Ma'am."
Now that she could smell food, Kerry found she was ravenously hungry. The cart held far more food than she could possibly hope to consume- omelet, baked potato, sandwiches, pasta, steak and chicken. Apparently Michel had ordered just about everything on the menu. Not sure if she was up to anything more the way her stomach was feeling, she started in on the potato, noticing as she did an envelope propped against one of the dishes. She picked it up and read in elegant cursive script two words: "Dinner tonight?"
If it was almost two now; she struggled to remember when exactly the sun would set. She'd been hyperaware of it after her ordeal, but had long since stopped paying attention to the minute. She guessed after 8:00. That gave her six hours to kill. She had a business meeting tomorrow, but nothing was scheduled for today. Employees had been encouraged to explore Los Angeles, with an eye towards relocation. She was supposed to fly out the day after tomorrow and wondered if she'd be on that plane. No, she would. She had to be.
She made it through the potato and, feeling sufficiently recovered, the steak, pasta and half a sandwich. The sandwich may have been too much; she started feeling a bit queasy again. A very long, very hot shower took care of the rest of her physical ailments though and cleared her head. As she caught a glance at herself in the steamed bathroom mirror, she noticed her bite mark had faded even more. Now there was only the slightest trace from last night.
She rummaged around in her suitcase, glad that she always brought lounging clothes. Suits were so depressing. Sweatpants and a faded Harvard t-shirt, however, were good for the soul. Regretfully she surveyed the rest of her clothes; she had no idea what she should wear for dinner. Michel always managed to look cool and put together; Kerry was lucky if she managed to look like she had all the basics of hygiene down. She realized she was obsessing. She tended to do that when stressed. For all she knew, by 'dinner' Michel meant Chinese take-out. But somehow she doubted it.
Her cell rang, startling her; it was Todd.
"When are you going to be back?" he said without so much as a hello.
"The day after tomorrow," she reminded him. She'd already told him twice, but there was no need to antagonize him now.
"Whatnot taking longer on your vacation?" She could practically see his look of annoyance.
"It's not a vacation, Todd, it's just business. Nothing but boring meetings and a couple tedious seminars. Trust me; I'd rather be home right now." Well, that had been true up until last night.
"Meeting any cute young business men?" It could have been taken as a joke, except for the slight edge that only she could hear.
"No, Todd, of course not." She did her best to allay his suspicions; it would go much better for her when she got home if she did. "Anything wild and exciting going on there?" she said, an obvious change of subject.
"No. That damn fool friend of yours dropped off one of her paintings."
"Annie?" Annie was an artist friend of Kerry's. Her work was usually pretty avant-garde. Kerry didn't always get it, but it was always interesting. Todd however, hated it and felt Annie should get a real job.
"Yeah, it looks like a cat vomited on it." With Annie, that was a distinct possibility.
"Just put it in the closet, I'll find something to do with it when I get home."
"You better. Alright, I've got to go."
"Bye." She started to say 'I love you' but he'd already hung up. She shut her phone with a snap and tossed it on the bed, as if it were responsible for the conversations it made possible.
The rest of the afternoon was spent restlessly watching TV and getting ready. Whenever she was nervous or anticipating something, she had the tendency to spend an excessive amount of time getting ready. It was like pacing, but slightly more productive. She tried on four or five different outfits, or at least the same cloths in different combinations; finally deciding on a charcoal gray pencil skirt, kitten heels and a scarlet blouse that showed off her collarbone to great effect. Perhaps it would be better to draw less attention to that general area but her other tops were just too dowdy. Curse her practical wardrobe!
Time decided that is was in no particular hurry and the later it got, the slower it went. By the time Michel actually showed up, she was about ready to scream. He looked as suave as ever in a black blazer, white dress shirt and slacks.
He smiled brightly. "Kerryyou look lovely."
"You too. Er, not lovely. Handsome," she stammered, wishing desperately that she could string simple sentences together without looking like a compete idiot.
His smile widened. "Are you ready to go?" He offered her his arm. He might be a ruthless killer, but he was also a gentleman. She nodded, grabbed her purse and after a moment's hesitation took his arm. Maybe it made her a bad feminist, but she also enjoyed it.
She saw Greg Chamberlain in the lobby of the hotel. His eyes widened visibly, but luckily he was out of earshot. "I'm sorry if I was any trouble last night," she said, a blush creeping into her cheeks despite her best efforts.
"Trouble? Not at all. I'm the one who should apologize. You are feeling alright? No dizziness?"
They were in the hotel's cavernous parking garage. "I felt a little nauseated earlier, but lunch helped. Thanks for that."
"Least I could do."
"Well, it was your fault." She paused. "I'm not sure I forgive you, but at least you're sorry."
"Only for where and how," he said, a tad smugly. "Do I get points for honesty?" Michel led her to a black Mercedes, and opened the door for her.
She pretended to consider it. "Yes, but only because I'm feeling inordinately generous."
He started the engine, skillfully maneuvering the car around an SUV whose owner decided that the parking lines were merely suggestions. They rode in silence. Kerry partly didn't want to distract him from traffic, which was not unlike bumper cars at the fair, and partly because she wasn't sure what to say. All her normal conversation starters were made ridiculous by the situation. It seemed inane to ask a centuries old vampire if he'd seen any good movies lately.
"So where are we going?" she asked when they came to a convenient stoplight. They were in one of the upscale shopping districts. Yuppies strolled down the street, shopping bags in hand, enjoying the relief evening brought from the oppressive heat of the day.
"I was thinking Italian, but I'm open to suggestions. I don't really care what I don't eat."
"Italian's fine." She fidgeted with her hair; maybe she should have put it up again. Realizing fidgeting was probably giving away her nervousness, she made an effort to hold still. Then she remembered that he could hear her heart beat. That made seeming calm and collected impossible. Dealing with vampires was always a challenge.
When he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, she jumped. She tried to cover it but the considering look he was giving her suggested he didn't buy it. Her heart sped up a little bit more, the traitor.
"I'm not-" He didn't finish that thought, distracted by a near collision with a minivan who wanted to be in this lane right now. "Are you horrified?" he started again when death wasn't imminent. He tone was merely inquisitory, but the way he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye suggested he was worried about her answer.
"That you fed on me? That you're a-" she hesitated. "-Blood-sucking creature of the night? Yes. And no." She twisted her wedding ring around her finger, a nervous tick she'd developed. "I'm here aren't I? And of my own free will this time." Her brow furrowed. "Right?"
"Oh, yes. I make mistakes but rarely the same one twice," he said wryly.
Kerry wished she could say the same. "I'm not…this is..." Words had never been her friend and they were failing her now. She realized she was shaking. Suddenly she recalled vividly Marsala's body, Regina's blackened corpse. The air she was struggling to breatheseemed like a wool blanket, stifling her. She was having an episode, a distant, detached part of her realized; she hadn't had an episode in years. She hated to think what he thought of her. She wasn't usually such a mess; he sort of brought it out in her.Finally, her sobs waned into sniffles.
"Oh God," she said looking at herself in the mirror on the back of the visor. "I look like the raccoon from hell." Mascara and the two or three shades of eyeshadow she'd so artfully blended were running down her face. "I thought we were getting Italian." They'd passed into a more residential district.
"We can if you want, but my house is over this way. I thought you might want to ah-"
"Scrape the makeup off my face?" she said, saving him from attempting tact. "Yeah, I better. I look like a cry for help."
"Nonsense." But she knew he was just being kind. Michel's house was an excessively posh townhouse, of course. Kerry knew very little about architecture or design, but she thought the inside had a vaguely Art Deco feel too it- minimal knickknacks, blackwhite and red pallet, creative but vaguely uncomfortable-looking furniture. She wondered if it had come furnished or if Michel himself decorated the place. Somehow she couldn't see him spending a lot of time in Home Depot. He indicated the bathroom, where she found that the damage to her make-up was even worse than previously thought. She took as much of it off as possible without the aid of remover. Why was waterproof mascara invariably easily smeared but impossible to remove? In the end her face was left slightly damp and a touch blotchy, with enough left-over shadow and liner to give her a vaguely Goth look. And she couldn't even rely on sketchy; no matter how dim it was Michel could see in the dark.She bit her lip, assuring herself she didn't care what he thought. Besides she still looked better than an immature girl with a slight acne problem.
He was waiting in the living room, drinks in hand. She accepted one gratefully, wondering as she did so if he got tired of being carded. Despite his tender looks his demeanor and authority seemed to make him older than he was. She knew he could act young if he wished, but realized more and more just how much of an act it had been. She wondered for the umpteenth time just how old he was, but couldn't quite nerve herself up to asking. Instead, she downed her wine in nearly one draught.
He was watching her, his own drink almost to his lips. Great, now he could add 'lush' to 'neurotic' and 'pathetic'. "We could order a pizza, if you'd rather."
An out. She could kiss him, even if she hadn't wanted to already. The idea of not going out in public when she was liable to break down at any moment appealed. "Not a bad idea," she said relieved. "And- pizza is Italian."
Michel made a face. "Hardly."
She poked him in the ribs. "You're such a snob." It was only after her gave her a bemused look that she realized she'd forgotten, for a moment, he was a vampire.
Eating pizza with him watching made her feel a little strange, like she was being rude. Still, crying made her hungry and after the first piece she forgot her manners. They watched TV. Proving he truly wasn't human, he let her have the remote control.
After the conclusion of True Lies, she turned the TV off. Too much Arnold made her head hurt. "What did you do after you left? I mean in general," she asked, a combination of the wine and fatigue.
"I stayed in town awhile. To keep an eye on the investigation." To make sure she didn't tell the authorities all about vampires. "And to make sure none of the others were going to poke around to find out about you."
"Other…vampires." He nodded. "Why?"
"When I let you go, I broke the rules." He leaned back, settling into the deep cushions of the sofa, staring off at nothing in particular, momentarily lost to the past. He had a lot of past to get lost in.
"Vampires have rules?" she prodded.
"Well, let's call them strong suggestions," he smiled wryly. "The kind of suggestions that you wake up dead for not following. Really dead."
"You're still alive." She realized 'survive' probably would have been more accurate, but this really wasn't the time for technicalities.
"Because no one ever found out." He said it as uninflected fact.
"You took a real gamble." She matched his tone.
"Yes." He glanced at her, then quickly back out at the ocean, but she'd already read the emotion he failed to mask. "Remember our last parting?"
"Vividly."
"You turned down an offer I wonder now if you'd accept." He laced his fingers together behind his neck, carefully not looking at her.
Even knowing it was coming didn't ease the question. For a long moment she sat urging her heart to leave her throat and return to her chest. Finally she said "I can't just walk away, Ethan. Michel. Dammit," she swore at her slip. "I can't even get your name right!" She took a deep breath and continued. "I have a job. I have a husband." The word was bitter in her mouth.
"You can walk away if you want- from him or me." His tone was colder.
"I can't," she insisted with forced conviction. "I took an oath-"
"'Til death do you part?" he said, an eyebrow raised.
"- and I can't be a, a…."
"...vampire…" he supplied.
"Killer," she finished instead. "Michel, I can't kill people. Besides, I don't like being the older woman."
Michel laughed. "Kerry, you're not, not by a long shot." She made a face. "Your age worries you?" He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. "When I met you, you were very young."
"And now I'm very not." He turned her hand over and left a more lingering kiss on her palm. She shivered.
"Women and wine improve with age, Kerry."
"I think I've rather reached my expiration date."
He grinned, leaning in. "Hardly." She intercepted the imminent kiss with her hand, so he kissed her palm again instead of the intended lips.
"I'm not a scared girl with Stockholm Syndrome, Michel. I'm not going to be taken in with sweet words. I know what an accomplished liar you are. What an accomplished liar you've made me." He looked hurt. Good, anything to keep him away. "Why are you playing this game with me?" It came out more plaintive than she'd intended.
"I'm not playing with you, Kerry. I-"
"I love you, Michel. I always have and God knows, I probably always will. But I don't trust you." Her voice cracked and she felt her calm façade crumble. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, angry at herself. She was supposed to be an adult now. She watched in surprise as Michel started rolling back the cuff of his shirt, baring his pale wrist. With dawning horror, she realized what he was aboutto doand seized his forearm with both her hands. Her fingers dug into his skin, but she knew he could shake her off easily. He stopped though and looked at her helplessly, bringing his hand up to caress her face with his free hand.
"I don't have anything to offer but my blood. If you won't take that…" She recoiled, knowing his touch was far more persuasive than his words. It was precisely the wrong reaction for he stood stiffly and stalked into what she thought was a bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
She didn't even know she'd fallen asleep until she woke. It was 2:42, the house completely dark and Michel was gone. She pulled herself together, relieved she hadn't drooled on the couch, and stoodas she heard the bolt being turned on the door.
"Michel, look I'm sorry, but if you're centuries old don't you think you should start acting like-" she started then came up short. The tall figure entering the house wasn't Michel. Cold dark eyes regarded her from a lean face.
"You know Michel?" The voice was surprisingly mellow, but the edge place on Michel's name was unmistakable; she remembered that it was his real name not one of the many aliases all other humans called him by. He shut the door behind him, throwing the bolt back into place. He put his hands on his hips; the gesture was seemingly relaxed but it made sure she couldn't miss the gun at his belt. "Well, now, isn't that interesting."