Jacob stared at his reflection in the mirror, the reflection he wasn’t supposed to have, according to legend. Foolishness, of course. He had seen Ibis’s reflection many times after her transformation. He could remember standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, gazing at the image of their youthful beauty smiling back at them. Where did these falsehoods originate? Some work of fiction, no doubt, such as the pile of drivel written by that imbecile Stoker. The man certainly had had an imagination! Still, he had managed to get a few things right.
The face looking back at Jacob now was that of a man in turmoil. He had not allowed himself to grow close to a human being in many hundreds of years. And he had never fallen in love again, not since Ibis. He had, in fact, believed himself to be as immune to that tender feeling as he was to sunlight and wooden stakes. Like those stakes, affection might touch his heart but not with any lasting effect.
That was before he met Jezebel. The woman was systematically bulldozing every wall of defense he had erected over the centuries, and sadly, Jacob suspected she was not even trying to do so! He wasn’t sure Jezebel even liked him, much less had any romantic inclinations toward him. Yet her wit and intelligence had pierced the lump of black stone that his heart had become, and made him feel again. Made him, Jacob greatly feared, love again.
And then there was the matter of her beauty. Her pure, utterly natural beauty. Jacob could call into his mind the vision of Jess twirling in the moonlight as easily as blinking an eye. She was the most radiant creature he’d ever laid eyes upon, even without the aid of moonlight. In fact, Jezebel was often her most irresistible when just coming home from work. Dirty, sweaty, covered in sawdust, her hair falling loose from its braid. Jacob would watch her climb out of her truck, scroungy in an old T-shirt and faded jeans, and entertain visions of lathering that dirt and sweat from her skin with his own hands as warm water showered down upon their naked bodies. He could imagine the feel of her softly rounded flesh beneath his palms, every curve, every hollow responding to his touch. She would turn to him then, her eyes soft with love, and lift her lovely mouth for his kiss. His tongue would slip between those rosy lips and seek out hers as their bodies melded together . . .
Jacob shook his head to scatter the tempting images, forcing himself to mentally back away. His eyes fell on the photo of the angel child, now residing in a frame on his dresser. He smiled softly as he picked it up, studying the little girl’s sweet, solemn face. If he were a gambling man, he’d wager a million pounds that if he had the nerve to show the photograph to Jezebel, she would recognize it as herself. But he didn’t dare. Because then she would demand to know how he had acquired it, and he’d be damned if he was going to tell her that he’d slain her father with his own hands. Or rather teeth.
Do you now jest about the sacred taking? Nutmeg’s reproachful eyes met his in the mirror. And this . . . female human. Why do you waste time dreaming of her? She is beyond you, my friend. Surely you have sensed her purity. You know it is forbidden to defile such.
Yes, I know this, Jacob acknowledged. But she is . . . in my blood.
Indeed. How so? You have not tasted her. Have you?
Jacob’s eyes dropped. A drop, only. She cut her finger. I . . . took it. From the counter.
Nutmeg arched her back and growled in reprimand. So, you now flirt with eternal damnation of a sort far, far worse than this existence you so loathe! It is fortunate you played no part in the drawing of that blood, or you would be already in the Well of the Damned. Jacob, my old friend, you must never touch this pure one’s blood again. No matter how it calls to you.
I know this, Jacob said again. I do not intend to, believe me.
And what of this other presence I sense? Something else threatens you.
The detective? I do not know. He came to question me, but did not stay. Perhaps he is unsure. I hope. I do not wish to relocate again so quickly.
The Dark One grows careless. You must restrain it.
I try, Jacob sighed, frustrated. Truly, I try.
Jess got home two hours later than usual. To her supreme mortification, she had spent those two hours trying on lingerie at Frederick’s of Hollywood. In the red and black bag she carried were the fruits of her efforts. A bra, a thong and two babydoll sets. All lace. All black. Oh, and there was that other little item, too. The one she’d grabbed at the last minute, and furtively tucked beneath the pile of lacies on the counter. To no avail, unfortunately, since the salesgirl had chatted effusively about how much fun she and her boyfriend had had with it, all the while waving the black silk blindfold around for the other customers to see. Jess had gritted her teeth and smiled her way through the transaction, then grabbed the bag and walked out with her head held defiantly high, as if she bought sexy lingerie and bondage toys every day of the week.
Now she stood in front of her cheval mirror, clad in two tiny wisps of black lace that were overstuffed with girl. Jess stared at herself critically. The bra was her usual size, but somehow seemed to be constructed in such a way as to actually contain a minimum amount of mammaries. The majority of her breasts were ballooning out the top of the bra, creating rather frightening cleavage. Her nipples were clearly visible through the lace cups. As for the thong, it didn’t really look bad at all from the front, although the tiny black lace triangle seemed to serve no purpose save to focus attention on what it allegedly concealed. From the back, however . . . Jess reluctantly pivoted for a rear view. OK, maybe her fanny just wasn’t meant for thong wear. That little strip of black elastic divided but definitely failed to conquer the amplitude of her backside. Jess was cursed with a very well-rounded feminine behind, and the thong only emphasized what she considered her worst feature. In fact, she grimaced ruefully, she had damn near as much cleavage in the back as she had in the front! Well, perhaps she could keep her front side facing Jake.
There, she’d admitted it to herself. She’d bought all this stuff with the unspoken intention of wearing it for Jake. Exactly when and where this would occur, Jess had no idea. She just knew she wanted it to. And when she’d developed that desire was another unknown. Yesterday she’d been arguing with him about being a vampire, and the night before that, she’d fled his house in alarm. Now here she stood, trying on scandalous skivvies and contemplating seducing him. How the hell did that happen?
The cats were a less-than-supportive audience. Jess had tossed the Frederick’s bag on her bed, and Larry had immediately dived into it, coming out with one leg of the thong looped over his ear. Jess was forced to admit that he’d probably looked better in it than she did. The trio had watched, fascinated, as Jess bent over and stuffed herself into the push-up bra. But when she’d finally raised up, breasts bulging alarmingly out of the overstretched lace, Moe had squawked and run from the room. And when she’d pulled on the thong and turned around, Curly had begun coughing and gagging, as if bringing up a hairball. All in all, this had been a pretty demoralizing evening.
It seemed entirely too much effort to cook dinner after all that humiliation, so Jess happily settled for a big bowl of Wheat Chex with a banana sliced into it, and a glass of tomato juice. Settling contentedly in front of the TV, Jess switched on TCM. She chuckled when Bela Lugosi appeared, playing the quintessential Dracula to the hilt. Jess watched, fascinated, as The Count attempted to charm young Mina.
“Now see, guys,” she addressed the cats, “This is what Jake needs to watch if he’s gonna pretend to be a vampire. This is classic stuff. You don’t see Dracula going out in broad daylight to buy a bottle of wine. See? He just said it; he doesn’t even drink wine. Geez, Jake seriously needs to do his homework!”
So much for her silly fears the other night. Jake couldn’t be a vampire. He didn’t even know how.
