BloodStar Read online

  "I’m sorry. I thought you wanted…" Yeah, right. Wanted what? I thought you wanted me to throw myself at you? Embarrassment sucked.

  "Woman, if you only knew," he said, but even as the words left his swollen lips, he extended his hand again in an unmistakable gesture to keep her distance. "It’s just that…I’m not myself at the moment."

  Marley took a moment to examine him, and saw that his eyes had a gloss to them she hadn’t registered before, something hard to name through all that blazing supernatural they had going on. He wasn’t exactly swaying in his seat, but he looked unsteady—drunk, actually, and she should know.

  Well, fuck it. If she wasn’t going to get inside his pants, she might as well try to get inside his head.

  "What exactly happened between us earlier?" she asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sabian's tongue slid across his lower lip. He wasn’t looking at her face anymore; his eyes were on the column of her throat.

  Oh God, Oh God, Oh God. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all. Both hands went to her neck, one taking hold of her pendant and the other covering the spot where he’d bitten her.

  He raised his eyes (mother-fuckers were glowing, by the way), and said, "I am what I am, Marley. You’re part of that, part of me. You understand that, don't you?" Sabian asked, smiling.

  Marley nodded a perfect blend of unbridled anticipation and tightly controlled terror. Jesus Christ, the implied danger behind that smile—hell, the explicit danger jutting from his gums—still weren't enough to smother the urge to move closer to him, get to him, be whatever he needed her to be.

  "So the truth you seek," he said, eyes moving back to that spot where her pulse points had to be bulging by now from excitement, "is so much more specific than the fairytale you would weave tonight with your human need for answers."

  It was answer enough, though. He drank her blood when she was unconscious. There. She said it, even if only in her mind, and the other part of that, the actual name for someone who did that could just be stored way as a footnote for now.

  He’d been right out there on the trail today. In the end, the seductiveness of his draw was piercing, so acute that nothing short of death could make her walk away from him. Marley tried to remind herself that he’d pushed her off him just now, right out of his lap even though his erection had the tensile strength of earthquake-proof steel. Why else would he have done that if not for some unspoken danger?

  "Breathe, Marley," he said, humor in his eyes but not in his voice.

  She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he said that. Embarrassment sucked, but sometimes chagrin was fun, and she blushed as she dropped both hands to her sides.

  "Exquisite," he sighed, doing that lip-licking thing again.

  "What?"

  "You."

  He inched her way on the couch, and took her face in his hands. So close, and she was burning alive again. But what the fuck? There was no sign of fangs, yet the fuckers were like rattler-teeth a minute ago. Were those things on autopilot?

  Sabian captured her eyes, his stroke so soft against her cheeks.

  "Are you comfortable?" he asked. "I do hope this will be a long night."

  She didn’t move at first, not understanding what that meant, not wanting him to stop caressing her. Then she jumped up, looked in the direction of her bedroom, and back at Sabian. "Don’t move," she told him.

  With an enigmatic smile on his ruby-red lips, he said, "Have you ever heard the song ‘Wild Horses?’"

  Marley nodded. Hell yeah, she knew that song. It was one of her favorites. Her dad loved Bob Marley first and foremost, but the Stones held their place in his top five for as long as she could remember. Her grin spread to Jim-Jones-Disciple proportions—she would drink Sabian’s Kool-Aid, better believe it.

  "Couldn’t drag me away," he said.

  It was the single coolest thing anyone had ever said to her. She nodded at him, forced herself to walk into her bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

  She took his advice, and made herself comfortable. She changed into pajama pants (her old-school Scooby Doo ones), and put on a V-neck thermal shirt. Her hair stayed down. Although she wasn't concerned with her appearance, she wasn't above using the locks as an aphrodisiac.

  Marley was on the verge of something big. All her life, she had this nagging feeling she was meant for something grand, but never knew just what or how to get there. Now she knew Sabian was the key, soul-mates or not. If she could just keep herself from those eyes, if she could keep herself from his body, maybe a lifetime of wondering could be put at ease. The truth you seek is so much more specific.

  We’ll see, she thought.

  Booze. The impulse was a grenade in her gut. Marley had stashed a flask inside her closet when she first moved in. The bottles and flasks hidden here and there in the apartment represented another behavior better left unexplored, but she thought about it just enough to narrow the location. A small, steel container was in her shaking hands in less than fifteen seconds. If she wanted to keep herself under control, she would have to take measures. This was okay. This was necessary.

  Marley unscrewed the little lid and without hesitation dumped the contents of the bottle down her gullet. Fuck, some sort of fruity vodka. She would never buy this for herself. She must have jacked it from some party, letting the rich brats of the university subsidize her habits.

  She felt better. Would he know? Probably came equipped with super-smelling powers or something. Well, what the fuck. He’d literally sucked down her blood, so what was so wrong with sucking down a little lube for the stress?

  Both hands on her dresser, she leaned her weight forward and whispered to herself in the mirror. "Calm down, calm down. Open your mind. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already. If he only wanted to fuck, he would have done it already. Grow some balls, Marley Music, and get out there. This is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to you. Come on," she said to herself, "now or never." She nodded at her reflection, embraced the little buzz blooming in her extremities, and opened her door.

  He was there, on her couch, head leaned back and eyes pinned to hers. His hair was still damp and glossy from the snow, his posture perfect, his clothes stylishly nondescript. He was beautiful. He could never be the Hollywood monster, could he?

  Was it just that morning they’d met on the trail? Now, in the darkest hours of the night, it seemed like ages ago.

  She moved to the couch, and felt the weight of his stare. Marley sat Indian-style with as much prudent distance her couch allowed, and plastered fake courage on her face. What he said next put a crack in the mortar of her resolve, though.

  "You are quite right, you know. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be missed and mourned by now." He looked past her (or maybe through her) and said, "And it wouldn’t be the first time."

  Okay, her bones were thoroughly chilled. Marley wondered if he realized how fucking scary half the shit he said was.

  Sabian continued: "And if I only wanted to fuck, I could have sealed the deal last night after my uninvited snack."

  Jesus. So he had…he was…oh never mind. Hadn’t she already admitted all that to herself?

  "But please," he implored. "Don’t grow balls. I think I’d find them unbecoming on you."

  Her smile was a mixture of amusement and amazement, and finally she couldn’t help laughing. He’d heard every word she said in her room, regardless of whispers and closed doors. Hell, if she didn’t allow for the fun and amazing, she’d be nothing more than the victim in a shitty horror novel. Laughing felt good. Why not go with it?

  "How long it’s been since I’ve heard you laugh," he said with nostalgia in his voice. He leaned his head back on the couch, closing his eyes and savoring the sound.

  "Sabian—"

  "You make the sweetest melodies, Marley Music. How could your parents have been so neglectful and still choose a name so becoming?"

  Her name, her name. All her life, her godda
mn name. Everyone gushed oohs and aahs, yet more often than not, Marley felt ashamed of it and all the unfulfilled greatness that came along for the ride. Bob Marley was an inspiration, champion of the underdog, the underprivileged, the undervalued. With only a guitar, some rudimentary percussion, and his never-ending charisma, Bob Marley spoke to the masses on behalf of those too stifled to speak for themselves. So why did her parents stifle her cries? How could they have given her this name, and then allow her to be relegated to the throng of worthless souls with no other choice than to accept the fate God dealt?

  And now Sabian was telling her it was a fitting christening, she was musical and beautiful. Would she ever be able to accept it? Her mother’s handprint on her cheek the day she told them about Tiny spoke louder in her memory than Sabian’s words on her couch.

  Her father had given her the appropriate expression of horror, but it was the same look you got from a dog caught digging in the trash: sorry, regretful, and one hundred percent intent on shoving its nose right back in the can as soon as you turn your back. Only her father would shove his nose back into syndicated programming and the bliss of denial for two more months before anything was resolved, all the while his daughter functioning as an old man’s semen depository. Jesus Christ, what did her dad owe his old soldier-boy buddy?

  "Did you kill them?" she blurted out. As she sat there, waiting through his silence, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer. The silence stretched, and she realized it was all the answer she was going to get.

  Motherfucker, he did it, she thought. "How long have you known me?" she whispered.

  "Since the beginning." He opened his eyes and looked at her. He was sitting on the right end of the couch, his left arm draped along the back. He let it stray to her hair, an unconscious movement.

  After just learning about her parents, he should have repulsed her, but she found herself wanting his comfort. What, she was supposed to grieve now, eleven years later? She’d never even known them, not really. Marley could almost hear echoes of groveling, the desperation as they begged for their lives. And fuck her, it was satisfying. Was that sick? Was she truly that twisted? It was a good one for the Nature vs. Nurture debate.

  "And Julian?" she asked, although she knew the answer. How could she be wearing her precious pendant today if not? She heard his muffled cries, too. He would have cussed, spit, demanded to know what the fuck Sabian was.

  Sabian only leaned his head back and closed his eyes again, but the slightest smile curled his lips.

  Marley didn’t know what she was supposed to say. She was more sickened by how she felt than the images of slaughter and murder that strobed across the stage of her imagination. She felt almost lustfully grateful, this time exactly like the damsel in distress from her mother’s romance novels, practically ready to kneel down and blow her gratitude all over his dick. She used to lie awake at night after she and Julian split, hoping for some loan shark or dealer to pound him, or that maybe he’d get a real stinger case of herpes. It felt good to know that Sabian was there to take care of her, but did she ever wish Julian dead?

  Her next question was only a whisper.

  "And Tiny?"

  Deafening, roaring, ear-splitting silence.

  "You killed him in that rest stop, didn’t you? They said all his blood was gone, but they only found a few drops at the scene." She caught a vision of Tiny, pinned off his feet against the wall in an Interstate 5 rest area stall. She could see Sabian slicing Tiny's neck with his fingernail, and then licking the blood as it began to drip, terrorizing the terrorist. She imagined Sabian licking his thumb, running it along the wound and healing it immediately with is saliva, and then slicing Tiny’s throat open all over again. She had no idea where these images came from, but Jesus Christ, they seemed real, like it had really happened that way. Tiny had almost been decapitated, she recalled from the headlines.

  She needed another drink, and for a moment thought about just getting up to take a quick shot. When she looked back to Sabian, he was still hushed, his menace overflowing the way Captain Morgan spilled out the corners of her mouth when she really got to chugging.

  Guess Tiny was a sensitive subject for him.

  That made two of them.

  It definitely wasn’t the time for more maintenance drinking, but fuck that. Marley got up, went to the tragic ruins of her dime store entertainment center, and grabbed the camouflaged plastic bottle of whiskey from the floor shelf.

  "All this time, I knew," Marley said, untwisting the cap, and tipping the bottle back with a shaking hand. She killed the last couple shots in one swig and wiped her mouth with the back of her other hand, also in the midst of an epileptic episode. "When I found out he was dead, I knew it was because of me."

  "Are you upset?" Sabian asked.

  Unconsciously Marley placed the empty bottle back on the floor shelf, and took her place beside Sabian on the couch again. She remembered when she first stood her ground against the nighttime filth. She was only eleven, but even then she knew her sanity was on the shelf for a limited time only, so she started blocking her door with furniture and kitchen chairs smuggled in after dinner. When that no longer held him at bay, she threatened to tell her teachers. That apparently did it because within a week, Tiny moved out.

  She would have told, too. Marley knew her teachers cared about her. Sure, she caused the same amount of ruckus as ten ADHD kids on a Ritalin boycott, and her teachers might have wanted to duct tape her to her chair sometimes, but they cared and they knew something was up. When it all just kind of went away, her teachers, itching for something concrete to call in, were left riled up like sharks in bloody water, hungry and unsatisfied.

  "Did you know what he was doing to me?"

  "Your soul is more seductive than you can imagine," Sabian said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay away from you?"

  "What the hell does that mean? Did you know?" Marley fought the tears that threatened, relishing the numbness that had to be coming. She’d had about five shots in the last twenty minutes, and her tolerance couldn’t be so high that even that wasn’t enough for a solid buzz, could it?

  "Distance dulls the torture, stretches our connection," he said. "I knew you were unhappy, but I had to close my eyes to the rest."

  She scooted away from him, knowing exactly the look on her face because it matched the disgust in her stomach. He’d known.

  Even though the last thing in the moment Marley wanted was his touch, Sabian reached out and took her face in his hands, burning the revulsion off like high-octane gasoline. "I will never, ever forgive myself for what happened to you."

  "And then you killed them all because of me?"

  He nodded, and removed his hands from her cheeks. Once the physical connection was broken, anger and betrayal swept over her again.

  "And then you left me alone. You didn’t want me."

  He put his head in his hands, and she heard him sob, just once and it was muted. He was shaking his head back and forth, negating something. His answer? Her question? The whole goddamned thing? Marley didn’t know, and she was about to take her question back, cry his pardon when he suddenly became defensive.

  "You really don’t get this, do you?" The storm seemed to have moved from the streets outside into his eyes. She actually saw them glow again—it was faint, but it was there. "I had to leave you. You were only a child, and I’m not a man of honor. What if I did what he did? What if I did something worse?"

  Now that was a good question, but fuck that. Marley had never been one to give the benefit of the doubt. So what if he did something to her? What, would he sully her enviable purity? Jesus Christ almighty, she was a twelve year old with the experience of a veteran whore by that time. A million memories of foster homes, group facilities, and life on the road flooded her.

  "Then why now?" she spat. "What’s so different? Because I’m not a kid anymore, now it’s all okay? Do you have any idea what I went through so you could preserve your precious fuckin
g honor?"

  "The difference, Marley, is that you found me."

  Chapter Twelve

  Marley, ready to shoot more acid into his self-righteous (and gorgeous, damn it) face, stopped. What the hell was he talking about?

  "You found me. You don't understand what that's like, how you changed everything…again. Once that happened, nothing could have kept me from you, don’t you see?"

  But she didn’t see, and he must have known because he jumped up, but then sat back down and ran his fingers through his hair. He was trying to explain something to her but couldn’t get the ants in his pants under control.

  Finally, he found the words. "I have worked so long to keep you as far away from me as possible, as safe as possible, and that’s where you should have stayed. You’re not supposed to be here, not safe here…with me. But I guess…" He stopped and closed his eyes. Was his skin glowing now? Something just beneath the surface? When he opened his eyes, a smile of serenity spread across his face. "You’re mine. I can’t stop it, and you really don’t want me to. So here we are again."

  Oh-no-he-didn’t. Again.

  "I don’t belong to you." But even as she said it, she knew it was bullshit. She felt something for this man, shared something with this man—was it even right to call him that? A man?

  "Marley, just trust it," he said. "Trust me. I tried to stay away again when things were…finished, like the other times, but you called out to me, and I made you safe." The last word was spoken with emphasis, as if he were trying to hammer common sense into one of the Three Stooges.

  "Christ, Sabian. Say something that makes sense."

  His slurred speech seemed to be getting more pronounced. Was hers doing the same thing? She had to wonder with the five shots worth of dive-bombers she just pounded.

  Sabian launched into an academic approach. "To put any energy into the world is to invite the subject of that energy into your trajectory. If all you can think about is that you don’t want to get into an accident, the energy floating around in the world is simply you and an accident. It isn’t a matter of avoidance and acceptance, but subject. Do you follow what I’m saying?"