Falling to Pieces (2 page)

“Whoa—what happened?”

“A cyclist knocked you flying and you fell unconscious for a moment or two.”

“A cyclist knocked me over?” he echoed in an uncertain tone, swallowing hard. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Well, you’ve had a shock. Here, let me help you up.” I rose with grace from my place beside him and extended my hand. I didn’t want to draw this out for longer than I had to. I was eager to explore the city.

He grasped my hand with no consideration for our weight difference, probably a good thing because I didn’t want him to take notice of my considerable strength.

I began brushing him down trying to stifle a giggle, my actions reminding me of a mother inspecting her child before sending him off to school.

“I’d go home if I were you, see how you are in the morning,” I advised. He nodded, blinking rapidly and glancing around.

“Um, thanks,” he said before sluggishly ambling away.

I walked a few metres to sit down on a wooden bench. I wanted to bask in the warmth of being full and satisfied. My head dropped back and rested on the backrest. My eyes were half open as a smile curled the edges of my lips.

Without warning my whole body jerked, every muscle became tense. I realised instinct had positioned me on the pathway in a crouch, ready to pounce.

I swished back into the tree line where I’d come from, my blue and purple irises alert, ready for what created the magnificent aroma that I was breathing in deeply.

‘What is that?’
I’d never smelled anything like it before. It was indescribable because it was so many things. Open lilies, baking bread, freshly cut grass, all intertwined to create something wonderful.

I focussed my attention back on the path, honing my vision on the delectable source of the scent.

The aroma came from a man walking purposefully through the park.

How could a human smell so divine? He certainty appeared to be just a human, but then I supposed I did, too. His shoes tapped across the walkway. Though, to me, each gentle footstep seemed to magnify into great big booms. My attention belonged solely to him.

He stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows knitting together creasing his perfect olive skin.

My nails dug into the bark, exposing the flesh of the tree.

He snorted in the scented air just as I had been, like a cocaine addict simply unable to stop filling his nose. He glanced around before he continued his liquid movements down the path past the tree that I clung to for support.

My arms hung limply by my sides as my wide eyes bore into the stranger’s back as he continued his determined swagger.

I had to follow him.

The air around me clung to his scent. I hung on to it too, speeding behind the bark of one tree to another to keep out of sight, unsure of why I was hiding, but it just seemed the right thing to do at the time.

I made sure my gaze didn’t leave him for a split second. I didn’t want to lose him, although I was quite sure I could track
that
scent over quite a large distance if necessary. I wasn’t keen to take any chances, though.

The treeline disappeared as we got to a main road. Smoothing down my hair, I took a deep breath and stepped out on the sidewalk.

My eyes were firmly trained on the prize, barely acknowledging the bustling traffic and the swarms of people passing me by.

His back was illuminated by the glowing orange of the streetlight, the sleeves of his blue and white shirt rolled up displaying his sinewy forearms. He seemed unaffected the chill I’d image a human would experience at ten-forty five, even on a late summer’s evening.

His scent wafted towards me. It was like stepping through a sweet, misty fog, as though his scent had taken on a form of it’s own, as if I could see it as well as smell it, though it was surely only my own vivid imagination providing the illusion.

My body seemed to be responding to the attraction. I became aware of the dampness between my thighs and my hips swung as I walked. I held my spine straight, elongating my five foot four frame and pushed my chest out.

All this even though he had his back to me.

My tongue spread across my parted lips. I willed my fangs to stay put as I inspected the section of sun kissed skin amid the starched pale blue collar and the damp tendrils of dark brown hair lying against the nape of his neck.

After following him for quite some time, I allowed my gaze to flit from his body for a moment noticing a street sign indicating we were now in Mayfair.

I’d remained at least ten metres behind him.

The man turned to enter a bar with a bright, fresh, lime green and black painted exterior. He stood in the doorway between the strategically placed topiary cut trees speaking in Italian with the doormen outside.

I slowed my pace and waited for his next move, relieved when he stepped inside before I had to pass by.

Sashaying up to the same entrance, I flashed a smile at the heavyset guy as he held the large glass door open for me.

The lime green and black theme continued on the interior. The black walls brightened by cheery lime coloured leather stools and chairs placed around chrome tables. The bar spanned the back wall, the counter hummed with a low white-blue light.

I tried not to scan the room; too nervous to make eye contact with the man I had followed. I kept my focus on the bar, making my way through the perspiring crowd without having to pay attention to any of them, my body intuitively bending around them just before contact.

I reached the glowing bar top, noticing my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. The glass was artistically moulded to look like blocks of ice, making it a clever display area for a vast array of available drinks.

My eyes reflected back at me, momentarily unrecognisable, they were sparkling and bright, the violet flecks had expanded to take over my irises.

“What can I get ‘ya?”

I blinked turning to the barman, trying to prevent the quirk of my mouth from turning into a smirk. I wasn’t used to the cockney accent, yet.

“Glass of the house red, please. Providing it’s decent?” I said cocking my head to the side.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he said, though his words didn’t exactly reassure me. He rubbed his preened goatee beard as he waited for my response. His eyebrows were plucked to perfection and his hair was so black that it had to have come out of a bottle. ‘
Gay
’, I thought.

Warmth wrapped around me. The human’s blood I’d taken rushed to my face, producing a beet red colour. I took a nervous sideways glance, knowing full well the mysterious, heavenly scented man must be standing close by; the smell bounded off him in reams and flooded my eager nostrils.

He was right next to me, staring straight at me. I gasped at the sight of him standing within an inch of me. He appeared to be waiting for me to speak, from the expectation I could see in his eyes. One of his rounded ebony eyebrows rose as I gaped at him.

“Hello,” I finally managed to breath.

“The house red is ok, but get her a glass of the Rioja, would ‘ya?” he told the barman without taking his liquid chocolate eyes away from me. The barman made a move towards the back of the bar, following the order without question.

The man I’d followed leaned against the bar on one elbow, the skin on his etched features smooth as silk, portraying nothing except for the tic of a muscle along his squared jaw.

I snapped my mouth closed when I realised it was hanging open. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said as he cocked his head to the side, the bar top illuminating his high, defined cheekbones. His lips widened to reveal his Hollywood smile that nearly made my legs turn to jelly. I had to tighten my grip on the counter for support.

“I just moved here,” I said mirroring the cocking of his head, perfectly attuned to his movement, flowing with him.

“Their loss, our gain.” His chiselled jaw tightened making his expression appear slightly more serious, more thoughtful.

I laughed at the cheesy comment, breaking the electric gaze between us and dipping my head shyly.

A chuckle escaped his throat. I got the impression he’d been thinking out loud.

The bartender returned with my wine. I made an attempt to pull my credit card out of my jeans pocket but he went to serve another customer without even asking for payment. The beautiful man just shook his head, a look of mirth spread across his face from his eyes to his mouth.

“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Marc.”

“I’m Teagan,” I said, holding out my hand. As the sweltering heat of his substantial palm slipped over mine, I noticed he flinched a little, probably from the coolness of my skin in comparison with his. His eyes were staring into mine and he wasn’t letting go of my hand, turning a handshake into blatant handholding.

His hand suddenly tensed over mine and his shoulders hunched. His eyes closed for a second as he let go. I furrowed my brow at his odd reaction to nothing that was apparent.

“Sorry, I have to go. Will you wait for a while?” His voice sounded as smooth as glass, an English accent, with a hint of Italian curling through some of his pronunciations.

“Sure, I’ll try,” I said, following his gaze to the entrance of the bar. He was looking at a woman standing by the glass door, glowering at us, her arms tightly folded across her figure-hugging black tank top, her dark curly hair tumbled down over her shoulders. Before I could utter another word, he’d glided over to her and taken her by the arm. She examined me by peering around his body, which was purposely blocking her view, narrowing her eyes at me. He forced her to turn around and leave the bar.

I sat on a stool, feeling a little stupid, unsure why I cared about who the woman was. So what. He smelled good. Ok, exceptionally good. He was also absolutely gorgeous. Breathtakingly so.

Wherever I’d been, I’d always been the strongest person in the room, apart from when I was with others of my kind. But, the emotions I’d experienced with Marc just then had made me act like a demure, meek and mild human woman, pathetically giggly and silly in the presence of a man I was obviously attracted to. It’s a reaction I’d never encountered in my long life. Not in one hundred-seventy two years.

I assessed the nervous reaction I’d had when he approached me, the tingle I’d experienced in the pit of my stomach leading to the wetness throbbing at the apex of my legs. I started to wish I’d bothered to put underwear on.

As a human, I’d had no sexual urges, I had sex when forced to, and I complied for my own well-being.

As a vampire, I never bothered with sex. It just wasn’t something that ever interested me.

I sipped the wine as the realisation hit me. I
wanted
to have sex with Marc. Having never had that sensation, it took me a while to recognise what I was experiencing.

My stomach lurched as I observed him coming back through the entrance, his face pinched until he saw me sitting on a lime green stool by the bar. His expression smoothed out in an attempt to hide his satisfied smile. He raked his hand through the thick—stylishly messy—ebony hair before walking back over towards me. I greedily eyed his long legs, the strong muscles flexing against the dark blue denim with the fluidity of his movements.

“Sorry about that,” he said abruptly as he rested his forearms on the bar so that his body pointed towards the black glossy wood holding up the lit counter.

I swivelled around on the stool so that I faced the same direction.

Marc sucked a breath through his teeth. “Why did you follow me?”

My mouth hung open again. “What?” I asked trying to buy time to imagine a response.

“You followed me here. I—” he stumbled on his words. “I thought someone was following me in the park.” He stared into the mirror behind the bar, assessing my reaction to his question without having to meet my eyes.

I took a large gulp of Rioja. It tasted lovely, no burn as I swallowed.

“I didn’t follow anyone,” I said, my voice soft and quiet. Denial was the best policy in this circumstance.

He waved a hand around, laughing nervously. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I must be going mad.”

I smiled softly, the kind of pitying smile you give someone when they have just said or done something stupid, or you’re about to commit someone to a mental institute.

“Is that why you’re speaking to me? Because you thought I’d followed you?” I asked pointedly, my smile vanishing.

“No—no, not at all.” He shook his head quickly holding his palms out, his broad shoulders hunched up in a shrug. He leaned forward to rest on the bar again, closing his eyes. “If you had, say, been following me.” He glanced towards me, his eyes peering up at me, his head bowed. “I would be glad, and, of course, ever so flattered.”

I took another slurp of wine, trying to hide my satisfaction with the glass. I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, sounding high-pitched and unfamiliar. “Um…thanks. I think?”

A grin crept over his lips. He turned around, reached out and dragged a stool close to mine. After perching on the seat he turned to face me. “So, you’re American, huh?”

“Well, I was born in Ireland, but I moved to America at a young age.” The best way to explain my accent, I thought. I’d picked up an American accent soon after moving to Montana, because otherwise I would’ve stood out too much.

“So, why did you move to England?” he inquired frowning.

“My father wanted to move back. He’s English.”

“You live with your parents?” His frown deepened.

My cheeks reddened, only possible from my earlier feeding, the blood still running around my system.

“Well, um, yes, he has a few problems. I’m his caregiver.” I put my head down, inspecting the humming white light of the bar trying to make my statement appear authentic, a poor young girl caring for her sick father.

“Oh, sorry,” he said raising his large smooth hand to my shoulder. “Are you cold, Teagan?” 

“A little,” I smiled, still attempting to seem forlorn.

“Anyway,” I said, brushing off the inquiry as he removed his hand. “It seems as though you’ve completed you’re interrogation, officer?” I asked followed by an uneasy laugh.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, a smile pulled back over his teeth, his eyes wide and his palms raised. “I don’t even realise I’m doing it.”

“No problem,” I said still laughing. “I guess I can ask you a question, now?” I didn’t wait for his response, I just dove right in. “Who was that woman? Your wife, girlfriend?” I narrowed my eyes. Another new sensation; I cared about the answer.

He sighed before he answered. “She’s a family friend. She keeps her eye on me, that’s all. I’ve got a large family and they are—” he hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words. “Well, to put it bluntly, they’re wary of strangers.”

“So, let’s get this straight.” I moved my face in dangerous proximity to his. An orange tinged lock of my hair fell on his tanned arm. My nose was an inch from his. His scent overwhelmed me, forcing a swirling sensation in the pit of my stomach followed by further pooling in the crotch of my jeans, but I didn’t allow my gaze to falter. I kept my voice low. “Your family are overprotective and irrational?” I flitted my eyes down to his mouth, his lips parted, full and soft.

I ripped my face away from his before I could kiss him. I wanted to so badly but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He didn’t move an inch, as if the chance for a kiss might still happen.

“In that case, Marc, we have something in common,” I finally managed to complete my point in a breathy sentence while glaring dead ahead at my eyes, glowing a strange purple in the mirrored wall. I spotted my empty wine glass. I shouldn’t have finished the whole glass. About a year had passed since I had last drunk alcohol. Liquor does funny things to me, well, to all of our kind. Things that make it inadvisable to drink too much in public.