My Beautiful Sin Page 3

  “It's not that big a deal. And I hope it's the last time.”

  “Please tell me you did the nasty with her. Please!” He pressed his hands together in prayer.

  “Of course I didn't. Are you forgetting that I have a girlfriend?”

  “You forget that yourself half the time. This is Jean Posey the vampire we're talking about. Hilarie would totally understand.”

  “I don't think she would.”

  “Sex with a vampire is the best type of sex you can have.” He sprang from his seat. “It's out of this world. The orgasm feels never-ending. And the bite... that bite takes you to another world.”

  “I'm not screwing a vampire, Pete,” I said dully. “So you can stop talking it up. Vampires disgust me.”

  That was the truth, the idea of them and the things they did, it filled me with bile. But... Jean didn't. I wanted to feel sick when I thought about her, but the truth was I had to remind myself that she was one of them. I wasn't prepared for that sort of beauty. It almost seemed tragic. I'd hated vampires for so long I didn't remember a world without the hate. And if I ever stopped, it would feel like I was betraying my father.

  “Besides, she has someone. This insane woman who wanted to rip my head off. Thought I was sleeping with her vampire.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Vampires never have just one person. They're not known for being monogamous.”

  More reason for me to stay away from Jean. What did I want with a polygamous vampire?

  “I don't want to sleep with her, all right. I won't have to see her again now that I've got my purse back.” That was the second person I'd had to convince that day. Maybe if I said it one more time, I'd be able to convince myself.

  FIVE

  For a whole week after my attack, I couldn't leave the apartment alone once evening came and it got dark outside. I tried, but I only ever made it to the front door of the building before heading back upstairs. Even with my pepper spray tucked in my purse I still felt too vulnerable. To go from feeling completely safe in your hometown to feeling like a victim was horrible. I hated the bastards who left me this way, and it made me appreciate Jean's rescue even more. Things could have ended a lot worse, I knew that. I should have shown a little more gratitude when I'd had the chance.

  Each day I considered strolling up to her mansion with a box of chocolates, or roses, or whatever vampires liked to receive as gifts, and apologizing for being a total bitch, and thanking her properly. But I remembered her furious lover, and didn't really want to have my eyes poked out in a jealous rage. It didn't stop me thinking about Jean, wondering about her life. She had probably already forgotten about me, moved on. She must have known thousands of people in her time, however old she was. I didn't stand out to someone like that.

  “Why did you drag me here?” I asked Petr as we came to a stop down at the bayou, where dozens of half-naked twenty-somethings were swimming around, shoving each other into the lake, diving, and getting high. At eight in the evening, back at the studio, he'd snatched the paintbrush from me and announced that we were finished for the day. He said a few of his friends were meeting down at Lox Ridge Bayou for fun and frolicking. I didn't like the sound of that.

  “Because you need to have fun.” He was already climbing out of his clothes, while greeting a couple of guys our age.

  “I was having plenty of fun painting a snowy Grand Canyon actually,” I said, folding my arms stubbornly. “I don't feel like swimming.” I wanted to add with your friends, who were mostly just stoners so high on marijuana they probably didn't know where they were or what day it was. But I didn't want to offend anyone on the off chance that anyone was sober enough to hear.

  “Then don't. Kick off your shoes, get your feet wet. Have a drink.”

  I wanted to protest, to insist that he take me home, that I wasn't interested in his kind of fun, but he'd already stripped down to his boxers and dived into the water.

  “You want a beer?” some blond surfer dude asked me, handing me a beer from his ice box.

  I didn't usually take drinks from random men, but tonight I said to hell with it. I did need to have fun. Usually a bit of an introvert, I often found it difficult talking to people, especially strangers. I gulped down the beer, hoping that it would make me more approachable, more friendly to this wild bunch. But after ten minutes of floating around in the cool, mossy water, being ignored by pretty much everyone – including Petr, who was trying to get into some ginger guy's shorts – I started to feel pretty excluded. I felt like the lone pony in a stable of horses.

  Petr didn't notice me swimming off. He was so going to get it later – and not in the way he wanted.

  I came to a deserted part of the bayou, though stayed close enough so that I could still hear the laughter and playful screams of the others. There was an abandoned little river shack sitting on wooden stilts over the water, and a broken little boat tied to it, bobbing placidly. I'd never been down to this part of the bayou before, even though I'd lived here practically my whole life. We moved here when I was five, a few months after April was born. Some of the kids from the group home said the shack was haunted. Looking at it now, it wouldn't have surprised me if there was a spirit or two roaming in there.

  Moonlight danced on the water as I dove below it. It was a game my sister and I used to play – see how long we could hold our breath under water. We'd watched Mermaids as kids and was impressed with Christina Ricci's character. I'd made it to seventy seconds when I felt my ankle bracelet get snagged on something.

  Crap.

  Panic set in as I tried desperately to tug myself free, the air in my lungs running out rapidly. I couldn't see anything in the pitch black water, nor could I feel the bracelet's clutch in order to free myself from it.

  My screams for help were muffled by the water. My head was dizzy, my lungs heavy. Tugging, tugging, but to no avail. The world around me started to fade as my lungs finally started filling with water.

  As I closed my eyes for the final sleep, giving my final tug, I heard a big splash. Another person's hand had now replaced mine, and with a strong yank the bracelet broke and freed my leg. I felt myself being lifted out of the water, carried onto the bank, to dry land. In the hazy moonlight I saw her face over me. That was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.

  I felt completely at peace, relaxed, when I stirred awake later that night. It took me a moment to realize why. My body was dry, and I'd woken up once more in the softest bed known to man. It was like sleeping on a cloud.

  “You're just hellbent on getting yourself killed, aren't you?”

  I didn't need to see the speaker to know exactly who it was. That upper-class English brogue was so distinct. But I wanted to see the speaker – I wanted to see Jean. I followed the direction of the voice. She was sitting over by the window in an armchair. I was in her bed and she was in an armchair. This picture didn't add up.

  I stared at her silently for a long time, taking in her all-consuming beauty, still unable to believe she was real and that I was back here again. Her hair was damp, as was mine. She'd obviously changed her clothes, because they were dry. When I looked down I saw that I had nothing but a soft, white robe on. If her girlfriend walked in now and saw this scene, it would have been game over for me.

  “You saved me... again?” I asked incredulously.

  She didn't respond, only looked at me as though waiting for me to hit out at her for coming to my rescue for the second time.

  “You seem to be everywhere when I need saving,” I said, my voice heavy with suspicion. “Why were you down by the bayou?”

  She shrugged. “Like I said before, I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “I don't believe you.”

  She kept a straight, gorgeous face. I couldn't read her at all. But somehow I knew it wasn't just coincidence that she'd been there tonight.

  “What were you really doing there? And don't lie to me. You're not very good at it.”

  “Has anyone ever to
ld you you have a wonderful bedside manner?” she joked, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

  “Let me guess, you saw a bunch of intoxicated young people and you thought you'd take advantage? Suck them dry while they were out of it?”

  Her smile faded. Her eyes grew sad. She gave me a pained look. “I told you I only take from willing givers.”

  I'd offended her yet again. Why couldn't I just keep my big, stupid mouth shut? Only a fool would continuously offend a vampire. Only an ungrateful fool would offend a vampire who had saved her life twice – three times if you counted the staircase incident. But I couldn't bring myself to stop. Torn between my hatred for her species and my gratitude, my hatred was winning out. It wouldn't for long, though.

  “Your girlfriend's not gonna be too pleased about me being here again,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “That's my problem,” she said.

  “She wanted to rip my face off when I came back to get my purse.”

  She laughed. “Robyn's harmless. She hates everyone, but she wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  All of a sudden I found myself wanting to know what their arrangement was. Were they serious? Did she have multiple lovers, just as Petr said? What type of vampire was she? She didn't come across as the kind Petr fooled around with. Maybe she was... different. I'd never allowed that thought, that possibility. But weren't they all killers by nature? I had to know who I was dealing with.

  “Is Robyn one of your willing givers?”

  She seemed surprised by my question. She thought about it, I could see, then she said, “Yes. One of them.”

  “So she isn't your girlfriend?” This, I was ashamed to admit, had become the most important question to me now.

  “One of them,” she said again, watching me closely.

  “Of course. That's what you people do. You have to have everything in abundance; money, possessions, lovers.” I hoped she couldn't detect the agitation in my voice, though it was obvious. But, agitated by what? That she was being coy, or that she had many lovers? I didn't want to think about the answer.

  “You seem awfully interested in my love life, Lissa.” She cocked her head to one side, a little grin on her face. “Care to tell me why?”

  I stuttered out a reply, feeling my cheeks burning. “I just, I'm just making smalltalk, that's all. Just trying to figure you out.” Wait, how did she know my name? I'd never had the chance to tell her.

  She got to her feet, still looking amused. “You won't figure me out through that line of questioning. But you know where I am if you really want to make smalltalk. Your friend is downstairs. I'll send him up. Your clothes should be dry now. I'll have my maid bring them to you, and you can be on your way.”

  She went to leave.

  “So you're throwing me out?” I don't know what came over me, or why I said that. It sounded ridiculous hearing it, and I immediately felt embarrassed. Even more so when she turned to look at me, her eyes glistening with amusement.

  “You can't stay in my bed forever. I don't think your girlfriend will be too pleased.” With that she left.

  Speechless, I frowned after her. She knew about Hilarie? Had Petr told her? No, he wouldn't have done that. Something told me she knew a lot more about me than I did about her.

  Petr came tumbling into the room and bounded onto the bed like an adoring dog, apologizing over and over for being a useless friend.

  “But look at this place.” He peered around the room in awe. “This is Jean Posey's bedroom. We have to tweet a picture of this.”

  “No, we don't,” I said sternly. “That's disgusting.”

  “Since when did you care about vampire-privacy?”

  “I don't care about vampire-privacy, I just don't think it's right that someone lets you into their home and you take pictures of it to post on the internet.”

  He grinned, narrowing his eyes at me. “Does someone have a little crush on a sexy, British vampire?” he teased.

  I shoved him, unimpressed. “Screw you. It's nothing like that.” It was everything like that, but no way would I admit it. Who wouldn't fall for someone like Jean, even if she was a vampire? No wonder Robyn was so fiercely protective of their relationship – she knew she had a good thing, and she didn't want anyone weaseling in on it.

  “So you wouldn't have a problem with me getting with her?”

  “Do what you want,” was what I said, with a shrug. What I really wanted to say was back the hell off!

  “I would show her a good time.” He was only saying it to catch my reaction, that much was obvious.

  “Do you want her to hear you? Be quiet.”

  “She can't hear. She's gone. I think she went to her bar.”

  Of course she owned a bar. Like most if not all vampires she owned a bar. Business ventures are kind of limited when you're a vampire, what with the whole burning in the daylight thing.

  “She left?” I said, unable to hide my disappointment.

  “Yeah. I heard she owns a jazz bar in town – The Lox Ridge Lounge.”

  “A jazz bar? That's not very vampire-like.” The more I learned about her, the more intrigued I became.

  Hilarie was in the bath when I got home.

  “Hey,” she said when she opened her eyes and saw me standing at the bathroom door. Once upon a time I would have stripped off and joined her. But we didn't do stuff like that anymore. Still, I loved to admire her body when the water and bubbles clung to it. Her breasts were on full display, sitting gently above the water.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Stopped by the studio on my way home from work this evening, but you weren't there.”

  I sat on the edge of the tub, took the sponge from her. She leaned forward and let me rub her back clean. It was calming, for both of us.

  “Petr took me down to some bayou party. Sorry. If I'd known you were coming I wouldn't have gone.” That was a lie. Knowing how the night progressed, aside from the unfortunate incident of me almost drowning, I wouldn't have done anything differently. My accident had led me, once again, into Jean's bed.

  “A bayou party?” She chuckled. “You don't like that sort of thing. What on earth were you doing there?”

  That was another thing I disliked about Hilarie: she was always trying to tell me how I felt. It drove me nuts.

  “I almost drowned.”

  She turned to look at me, to see if I was serious.

  “What's going on with you lately, Lissa? You're worrying me now.”

  “Maybe I have a death wish.”

  “That's not funny. Am I not paying enough attention to you, is that it?”

  I threw the sponge into the water furiously. “You think I got attacked and nearly drowned for attention?”

  “No! I just... I don't know what to think anymore, Lis. And you'll probably say I'm trying to make this about me again, and maybe I am. But I'm starting to think that this is my fault. I don't know, maybe if I was around more this wouldn't be happening.”

  She was in tears before I could stop her. Our arguments never ended this way, with her crying. I was usually the one left in tears.

  “It's not your fault, of course it isn't.” I kissed her head, wrapped an arm around her wet shoulders.

  “We should do something together. When was the last time we went out as a couple?” she sniffed. “Just you and me?”

  A long time ago. Maybe that was what we needed. And I had just the place in mind.

  “I've heard good things about the Lox Ridge Lounge. It's a jazz bar. You like jazz, right?” So what if I didn't.

  She nodded. “I'm not working this Saturday evening.”

  “Great.”

  When she was getting dressed for bed, I switched on the television in the living-room. The local news was on.

  “In a rare public appeal, Mayor Lindley addressed the town this afternoon, pleading for anyone who had any knowledge of his son's whereabouts to come forward. Zack Lindley and his friend Tommy Vogel were last seen last week Tuesday. The mayor, who
has angered much of the working class with his controversial new legislation, says he is optimistic that his son is alive and well, and asks the nation to pray for his safe return.”

  I would have switched it off, I was just about to. I despised the Lindley family; the mayor, his brother – Sheriff no-such-thing-as-too-much-force Lindley, and the mayor's spoiled offspring. His son had probably been on a week-long bender or something.

  Then the pictures of the two missing boys appeared on screen.

  My blood turned to ice. I recognized them immediately, and realized then why my attacker's face had looked familiar. He was the mayor's son.

  And last week Tuesday, the night he'd gone missing, was the night I was attacked.

  Something told me he wasn't on a week-long bender.

  SIX

  The cellar door creaked open. A light from a single, dull bulb flickered on. It didn't do much to brighten the space. During the day, bits of sunlight streaked in through a tiny, grimy window. But who would have wanted to see the filth surrounding them? The smell was bad enough. Their own smell – their own waste, collected in buckets that were never emptied, only kicked into a corner so they didn't vomit from the stench.

  It was her nightly round, to drop off fresh food and water. She came at different times during the night, so as to prevent them learning her routine.

  Her footsteps descended the stairs. The chains that bound them clinked against the cold stone floor.

  Tommy Vogel cowered in his corner of the room, as he always did when she made her round. In the nine days that he'd been there, she hadn't laid a finger on them, (not like she had the night she brought them there. Those wounds were still visible on his forehead, arms and legs). But that didn't mean she wouldn't. He didn't want to give her cause to. His friend, on the other hand, the stupid fuck that he was, had no such qualms.

  “You filthy, vampire whore!” Zack Lindley screeched, eyes mad with rage, chains clinking wildly, doing everything but setting him free. “When I get out of here I'm going to tear your tits off and feed them to you, you bitch!”