Ah, five reviews! I'm happy as a clam. Nightcap, Mick forgetting he was a vampire might have been fun, but didn't really fit in this story, would have slowed down the pacing. Besides, most amnesia patients don't forget they're human, don't need their species explained to them. Aria, I take it as a supreme compliment that I'm starting to sway people to the 'dark side' so hope this keeps your interest.
Intimate Stranger, again, your support is awesome. I'm having a blast writing Mick sans memory, although I'm doing my best to not abandon his basic personality. Enjoy yourself!
LA 11:05 PM
He watched his prey, his for the taking. Her ebony hair was pulled up into a sassy ponytail, her slender body was pumped into a jog, those killer legs exposed in a pair of shorts, encasing her delicious ass. He'd fuck her from behind, with her face in the dirt. That's what all those bitches deserved, their mouths filled with dirt. This one was darker than he liked, he liked them with pale, fragile skin, and her tits were too damned small. He liked voluptuous breasts to bite and suck. Still, she was too hot, too brazen to ignore. He'd teach her a lesson. She wouldn't be so quick to tease next time.
The rapist didn't notice the second figure, the one watching him with tensing muscles and growing hunger. And of course, he couldn't see his intended victim's expression, the smirk, the sharp eyes. He did see her stop, swooping down, as if to tie rebellious laces back up. He sprung, attempting to tackle her to the ground.
He never knew what hit him. One minute he was on her back, fingers ready to tear her cotton T-shirt aside, the next, he was flying through the air, landing several feet away. He saw the jogger stand, strut over to him. "Wanna play?" she cooed angelically.
He gained his feet, but before he could anticipate, she landed a roundhouse kick to his stomach, sending him up against one of the many trees in the deserted park, not knowing this tigress had tracked him for weeks. "Well, Harry, you've been a very bad boy. How many women is it that you've raped, 12 altogether, right? What was I, lucky 13? Oh, please, don't waste my time. Don't bother denying it. I know the police haven't been able to pin you to anything solid, but I can put their minds at ease. You're retiring."
"Permanently," a male voice agreed, stepping out of the shadows.
"See, darling?" Turning her back on Harry, never taking her ears or nose off of him, Coraline walked to Mick side, ran a caressing hand up his chest. "I arranged some entertainment."
Harry, while not the brightest bulb on the shelf, was enough of self-preservationist to understand he was in deep shit. The little slut was strong, impossibly strong, and now that lover boy was here, he didn't stand a chance. Swallowing his pride, he dashed in some blind direction, his only goal to live, to get away.
"Patience," Coraline chided carelessly when Mick started to bound after him. "This a large park and the moron's going the wrong way. Let him sweat a little, like he made all his victims sweat."
"What a scumbag," Mick growled, his inherent protectiveness of the victimized coming out full force. His human visage was nowhere in sight, he was reveling in his vampiric side. Coraline felt a surge of delight wash over her. Finally, finally!
"An understatement. Now," she instructed, every inch the mentor he'd never let her be before, even when she was giving him the pitiful little instruction he would accept. "Chase him, make sure he knows, put don't go in for the kill…right away. The more fear that builds up, the tastier the snack."
"You coming?"
The thought of hunting side by with Mick side was a fantasy Coraline had harbored for years, but tonight was for Mick, for him to assert himself as a predator, something long over-due. "Not tonight, it's all you, baby."
A mixed look of disappointment and exhilaration transformed Mick's face, and then, he was a blur of speed, a glorious streak against the night. Coraline trailed behind, close enough to enjoy the show, but far enough away to let this belong to Mick alone. She inhaled deeply, the aroma of Harry's fear and Mick's adrenaline enthralling.
After ten minutes of toying with his victim, wearing Harry to a wheezing, trembling mass, Mick hauled the bastard over to Coraline, his fangs bared, claws extended, the razor sharp points pressing against his victim's throat with just enough restraint to avoid breaking the skin. "Why, Mick, look what you've caught," Coraline exclaimed with mock surprise. "A midnight snack."
Harry was pleading and blubbering at the same time. Mick tossed him to the ground. "Not so fun when you're the one crying is it, huh?" Mick hissed, crouching down.
"They're asking for it!" Harry whined through his tears. "I was just…just…taking 'em up on it-"
"Wrong answer," Mick announced grimly, letting his fangs rip into Harry's throat. Coraline knew he'd taste Harry's memories, feel the force of his crimes echo in himself. Snarling in rage and disgust, Mick sucked hard at the wound, devouring life itself. Coraline watched with harsh joy, her mind's eye picturing her own rapist being drained, writhing in agony. It took longer than it strictly needed to, Mick was prolonging the process, letting Harry get his own dose of terror, humiliation, and helplessness.
Alas, all good things have to come to an end, Harry's miserable life faded, leaving an empty shell. Roughly wiping his mouth, Mick let the carcass fall to the ground with a soft thud. Mick crouched over what had been Harry, and Coraline instinctively knew he was a little uneasy at the savage pride and gratification that came from a good kill. He looked at Coraline in askance.
"Don't worry," she soothed, using tones of honey and velvet. "You just did the world a big favor." She sank to the ground next to him, stroking his hair lovingly.
"I know…I felt…God, Coraline, what I felt…his memories crawled inside me, like they were mine." He leaned absently into her touch. "He would have just kept going, like some disease. And it wasn't just the blood or taking out the trash, it was the kill; it was like the biggest high. I craved it just as much as the blood, and I want more. Don't let me-"
"Shh." Pressing a finger to his lips, she shook her head. "Mick, you're a vampire. Good intentions and noble goals are nice ideas, and you've got to use control, but we're predators. We hunt, we kill, it's our nature. You just make yourself crazy if you deny yourself." Or just get in touch with inner misery, like you did, Coraline mentally added.
It was obvious he was grasping for the answers, trying to claw his way to understanding. His hand flew to hers, easing her hand from his mouth to his cheek. "We don't have to kill?"
"Have to, no, and not every night. There's thousands of vampires on the planet. You think if we offed a human a night that wouldn't get somebody's attention? It's all about balance. You can feed, and leave the donor no worse for the wear." She studied Mick, seeing she was getting through to him, but he wasn't completely settled.
He gripped the hand he was still holding tighter, gave her a look that pierced through her. "Don't let me turn into a monster."
The words jarred her. You made me into a monster, he'd told her once. "Never," she promised. "You could never be a monster, Mick. It's not in your nature." Set at ease, he nodded, nuzzled her neck an absent gesture of affection. She shivered, pulling away quickly. "Let's go home," she told him lightly, trying to counter the insanity burning inside her. "You need to get cleaned up before we can enter phase two of the evening. And I need to get out of this get-up."
"Me thinks the lady's picky about fashion," Mick teased.
"You thinks right," she countered dryly. "First, I've got to call the cleaner."
Mick's brow knitted together. "The what?"
"Ah, the fairy godmother of the vampire race. One flick of her wand, and corpses go poof. Wouldn't want to leave bodies just strewn around, right? The police would get involved, and that's just a pain in the ass all the way around. Because she's on hand, we don't have to worry about it." Seeing that Mick got the big picture, she dialed the number.
"The cleaner," came the brusque greeting.
"This is Coraline St. John. I need a clean-up." She gave the last name without thinking, cursed her stupidity when she saw Mick raise an eyebrow. Unfortunately, it was the name she'd gone by for almost 52 years in the vampire community, and the cleaner didn't do anonymous jobs.
There was a pause, and Coraline smirked. Ah, so she'd caught the unflappable garbage collector off balance. "I heard you went up in flames a long time ago."
"Can't believe everything you hear, you know that," Coraline countered. "So, do you want the job or not, or shall I go to your competitor?"
"No need to go overboard. Give me the details."
Rattling off some of the pertinent details, she noticed that Mick was observing her closely, questions swirling around in his brain. Well, she had to deal with it sooner or later, sooner was probably better. She listened to the price, scoffed. "For a single, intact corpse with barely any spillage? I don't know who you're used to dealing with lady, but I'm not coughing up 20 grand for that. Maybe I should go to your competitor."
Shrewd enough to perceive Coraline wasn't just bluffing; the Cleaner immediately came up with a counter offer. "15 thousand and I'm giving you a break."
"Oh, save it for the newbies. I was thinking three thousand sounded more like it." Warming to the art of negotiation, Coraline winked at Mick.
"You know better than to think I'd drag out my crew for three grand," the Cleaner clipped out. "13,000."
"13,000," Coraline repeated thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Now, maybe I'd be willing to go for seven…"
"Ten thousand, and not a dollar less," the Cleaner announced, meaning it this time. Ah, now that was more like it.
"Well, I don't like to haggle. 10 grand it is," Coraline agreed.
Strolling through the apartment door, both Coraline and Mick were in good moods, a sense of effortless camaraderie between them. Glancing around, it was almost scary to acknowledge that already, after less than 24 hours, it was beginning to feel like home. Earlier today, when Mick had still been sleeping, Coraline had run a few errands, which included grabbing enough stuff to make a comfortable nest in Mick's apartment. It was corny, but she'd felt a thrill having her things in his space, as if it made it theirs in some sense.
What's next, china and curtains? She mocked herself, desperately trying to get some prospective. Yeah, Mick was having fun for now, enjoying her company, but she had to be realistic. Mick could spurn her when his memory came back, or start yammering about the cure, or want to go sniff Beth's sweater or something. Coraline wasn't going to let the rug get pulled out from under her, couldn't afford to bury her head in the sand.
More attuned to her than either realized, Mick's hand was on her arm, concern clouding his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Just thinking about something I'm not crazy about. You live long enough; you'll get some of that. It's not worth dwelling on."
"All right, I'll take your word for it. If you ever want to get it off your chest, I'm here to listen." Those eyes, as sincere as they'd been 55 years ago. His hand didn't drop away from her arm, and Coraline relished the contact, however chaste, however minimal. "Something tells me you have a thousand tales to tell."
"I'd have to change the names to protect the guilty." The comment earned a laugh out of him and it was music to her ears. "Go on up and take a shower, okay? The night's young, and I'm not done with you yet."
He paused on the stairs, expression pensive. "We were married once, weren't we?"
"A long time ago. It didn't end well," she told him honestly.
"Well, maybe we've got a chance to make that up." Mick's expression turned boyish, almost shy. "I mean, if you want, I don't want to be making assumptions like-"
Chuckling, Coraline waved her hand. "Trust me, I want. Now get your cute ass upstairs and take that shower." Mental images of that gorgeous body slick with water had pure lust rising in Coraline, and she swallowed hard. "Hurry up," she added huskily.
New York
Out of sheer spite, Beth refused to do any research her first day in New York. No contract, no work, she told herself. She considered flying home a thousand times, flipping him the middle finger on her way out. It'd feel good to let the bastard know he couldn't buy his way into everything.
Three things stopped her. One, Sara herself. The only mistake the girl had made was loving a vampire, of making a proactive choice. She'd been a good, decent person, and deserved a chance. If there was a cure, then Beth wanted to find it, for Sara, not Josef.
Two, Josef with Sara as opposed to without Sara was a more attractive option. Not only would she soften the cruel streak he had running through him, but he'd be very grateful, very willing to express his gratitude. He'd be Beth's preverbal genie, ready to make her wishes come true…if she could find the key to returning Sara.
Three, Beth knew that Josef, as much of a jerk as he could be, wasn't any real threat. He wouldn't sexually assault her, wouldn't subject her to anything raunchier than some of the scenes she'd done in college theatre. As much as it slapped at Beth's female pride, Josef didn't seem any more thrilled about making out with her than she was with him. He'd seemed impressed with her looks initially, but unlike most males, that seemed to wear off. He was just doing what he felt necessary to protect Sara's cure.
Still, whether Beth was staying or not, she was determined to enjoy her first day in New York. She ran herself a hot bath, soaking in the bubbles until the water ran cold. After that, she got dressed, and spent the $30,000 Josef had transferred into her account this morning. It wasn't like she had any bills; she could afford to really splurge for the first time in her life. She hit Saks, Nordstrom's, and Bloomingdale's, gobbling up the shoes of her dreams, Prada, Y3's, and Monolos.
Just when she was about to get her hot little hands on some of the fashion choices, Josef sent her a text. Don't buy any wardrobe choices. Taste questionable. Enduring a shopping session with you day after tomorrow. She growled at her cell phone, then took a look at the big picture. Why not let Josef foot the bill for some new clothes? More play money for her.
Having booked a lengthy massage earlier in the day, Beth headed over to the spa, enjoyed not only a much-needed rubdown, but got had a facial, and bought some beauty products. By the time she returned to her new residence, she was pleasantly exhausted. She put away her purchases, brushed her teeth, used the bathroom, and flopped on the luxurious four-poster bed. Literally as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.
The next day, around 3:00 PM, Beth's cell phone rang, Josef's ID popping on the screen. "If you're not home, get there," Josef ordered without preamble. "I've got your lawyer and the contract."
"Hello, Josef, lovely to hear from you. Thanks for asking nicely. As a matter of fact, I just got in from some sight sighting. New York-"
"I'll be there in a half hour," Josef interrupted, ending the phone call. Exactly 30 minutes later, with an aristocratic woman by his side, a statuesque brunette that Beth pegged to be in her late 30's, early 40's. She presumed it was her lawyer.
"Jacqueline Steel," the woman introduced herself, thrusting her arm at Beth. Her handshake was so firm, it verged on painful.
Schooling her expression, Beth returned the handshake, nodding politely. "Beth Turner."
"Yes, I recognize the name. My associates in LA were very impressed by your work on BuzzWire. A little trashy for my tastes, but different strokes and all." After delivering the back-handed compliment, she handed Beth a file. "Take a few minutes to familiarize yourself with this. These are my credentials. There are several phone numbers to confirm that authenticity of these facts, but Mr. Kostan has already had me thoroughly checked out, I assure you. It seems as if he's really determined to act in your best interest."
"I wouldn't go that far," Josef drawled from the chair he'd planted himself in, having silently watched thus far. "Just didn't want any whining about double-crossing."
Beth had heard about the law firm Ms. Steel was based out of, Keller and Daughters, a highly respected practice that was founded in Philadelphia in the 60's, one of the first to be dominated by women. The third generation of females had the reins, having expanded Keller and Daughters to a national level. Ms. Steel was of no relation, but was obviously a valued member of the team. Her credentials were impressive.
After double checking a few of the facts, as Ms. Steel had invited her to do, Beth closed the file, nodding. "Consider yourself hired."