Pretty When They Collide (Pretty When She Dies 0.50)

“Bah!” Frank pulled her closer by her hair. “Why do I want you so? Why do I dread the thought of you not being at my side, when at the same time I wonder if I shouldn’t just kill you?”

“Because I’m power, Frank,” Aimee answered.

Nuzzling her neck, Frank grumbled in French.

Tilting her head away from him, she closed her eyes and struggled not to clench her hands into fists. His sharp teeth raked over her throat, but didn’t break the skin.

“Maybe it’s because you’re unattainable. I own you, but I can always tell in the depths of your eyes that you’re not really mine. Even when you were completely smitten with me, you were never truly mine.” Frank’s voice was thick with passion, lust, and anger. His hands slid under the robe, caressing her. “My ill-tempered little witch, why won’t you be mine?”

Though he was touching her in all the places he knew would arouse her, Aimee felt disconnected from her own body’s response. He was right. She had never truly been his. Even at the height of their decade-long relationship when she had been enthralled with his every word and gesture, she had never truly opened up her heart and soul to him. Frank was her first love, her first relationship, the first person to ever arouse her and make love to her, and yet she couldn’t remember ever feeling truly connected to him. She had never felt a spark like she had experienced in that brief moment in the elevator with the mysterious woman.

“Maybe I’m a lesbian,” Aimee said, turning her head to face him. Surprisingly, the words came out more as truth than a jest to rile him. That realization was both a thrill and shoc

k.

Frank laughed against his her lips. “Right. Good one. No lesbian ever sucked cock as good as you do.”

“Fuck you, Frank,” Aimee snapped, her anger flashing through her like a hot flame. As quickly as it hit, the blood bond struck, turning her to ice, making her numb.

“If you insist.” Frank shifted onto his knees, scooped her up in his arms and tossed her partially robed body onto the center of the bed. Crawling up between her legs, the black silk of his pajamas whispered over her thighs. “Let’s talk about the dhamphir. You bumped into her when we got out of the elevator. What did you feel with your witchy radar?”

Aimee felt her breath leave her at the memory. Her fingers tingled at the thought of the dhamphir’s touch. “I felt something I can’t describe.”

“And yet you said nothing,” Frank said, his anger once more just below the surface. “I just realized that. You touched the dhamphir and said nothing.” He was shifting around, trying to undress himself.

“No, I didn’t, because she didn’t feel like a threat to you,” Aimee answered somewhat truthfully. She lay beneath him, unyielding and detached from his efforts to seduce her.

Staring deep into her eyes, Frank’s power sank into her, seeking the truth. The seconds ticked away. At last Frank said, “I sense that’s actually an honest answer.”

Aimee was grateful that Frank couldn’t read her thoughts, but only sense her emotions.

Finishing stripping off his pajamas, Frank ran his palms lightly over her arms, drawing them up over her head to pin them in place. “So, can you deal with her? Find a way to subdue her? Make her our little slave?”

“I have a researcher getting me the information,” Aimee answered coolly. “I’ll have an answer for you soon.”

“She’ll be here by the end of the week. You have to be ready for her, do you understand?”

“I do.”

“That’s my lovely little witch. Always doing what I want. Now, about that fucking...”

Frank’s kiss tasted like liquor and copper. His touch was rough and cold. Though her body responded to his lovemaking expertise, Aimee had never felt so removed from the act of sex. It was as if she was an observer, watching from a great distance. Though Frank brought her to an orgasm rather quickly, it gave her no real satisfaction. When he rolled off her, she felt unsatisfied and rather disheartened.

Striding nude into his bathroom, Frank waved his cellphone over his head. “Call the researcher, my witch. Get it done.”

Crawling off his bed, Aimee drew the discarded robe over her nudity. The thought of the dhamphir coming to their home both thrilled and terrified her. She’d lock herself in her room tonight with the excuse she had to start preparing for the dhamphir’s arrival, but Frank wasn’t the only one with the ability to weave elaborate plans.

With a slight smile on her lips, she hurried out of his room.

Chapter 9:

The Dream

Cassandra tossed her bags onto her couch when she finally arrived at her apartment after spending the day with her mother. It was a small and cozy place, one of several apartments that an old Victorian had been split into. Cassandra occupied the rear apartment on the second floor that she entered via an outside staircase. The tall pecan trees provided ample shade that kept the apartment dark and cool even when the sun was shining and the windows were open.

Rubbing her stomach, she surveyed her drink options in her refrigerator. Cassandra wondered how old the milk was and checked the date. It seemed to be in the realm of safe drinking, so she snagged it and poured herself a big glass. Her mother had cooked a fantastic meal, but she still felt pangs of hunger. It wasn’t for actual food, but blood. Cassandra didn’t need blood to live, but she needed it to use her dhamphir abilities. Since she only used them when on jobs, her blood intake was fairly low. For at least twenty-four hours after a job she was ravenous and suffered withdrawal. She always felt like she was going back on the wagon after a job.

Gulping the milk, she hoped her system would believe it was satisfied long enough for her to get some sleep. Finished with her drink, she flopped onto the couch and turned on her secondary cellphone. She considered it her ‘civilian’ cellphone that she used in her regular life as a part-time waitress at the local diner.