Chapter Nineteen

“I like this one.” Emily ran her hand down a short black dress with severe lines. It felt like something meant for her. Cold, black, hard. A human bullet, made to kill, just like her father would want.

Simeon watched her from his seat in the private dressing room at De Milo’s, a posh fashion house that was open late—as in all night.

“You look good in anything. You’ll blend right in at the slots and tables, some gorgeous young thing that makes any man feel lucky.”

She blushed. “Maybe.” He makes me feel beautiful. In anything. Not used to that. Not sure I like it.

No, I like it. I’m just not sure I should.

What’s your plan?” He came up beside her, hands on her waist, and swayed with her as she contemplated her reflection in the mirror.

Only my reflection. Not his. Her pulse began to pound, a frantic adrenaline cry of “Danger” that she hadn’t fully learned to mute around him.

“What’s wrong, Em?”

What’s wrong? I can feel his hands on me. Feel the cold air from his throat brushing my ear.

But I can’t see him. Not even a warped reflection or an outline.

That was one thing she had noticed, to her shock, since living in Pine Ridge. Vampires who had their souls didn’t have a crystal-clear reflection, but they had a watery sort of outline. They could pray, go to church, even touch holy objects. They were like some third race that her father had never taught her about—not human, not vampire.

“You don’t reflect. Jesse and Jakob—”

“Have souls. I don’t. They never killed innocents. I did, somewhere along the line. Most that I killed weren’t, but that’s... Well. Demon in residence, you know.” Simeon dropped his hands and stepped away. “You knew that, Huntress.”

“I knew it. I know. Sorry, I... It startles me sometimes.” And my father’s voice is screaming in my head, close to my face, spit flecks flying against my skin as I wince—that if I’m ever fooled by them, I’m as good as dead. That I’ll deserve it, that I’ll deserve it because I’ll have failed to be a real Van Helsing, failed to live up to the family name.

“You’re far away. Farther than Vegas.”

“He told me you would seduce me.” What? I wasn’t thinking about that!

Or maybe, on some level, I’m always thinking about it...

The words popped out, as startling as a creepy jack-in-the-box, a grim lesson that her father had insisted she learn by looking at the bodies of pretty young victims with empty eyes and little holes in their throats.

“What, me? You were in your teens when you started going on his little father-daughter hunts in London. I never even—”

“Not you, specifically. Demons. Vampires. They seduce. They don’t love. They charm and trick and trap. Then...” She let one bare, muscular arm fall gracefully. “They kill.”

“Oh. But the souled ones, the ones with the infestation, a vampire’s venom but no active ‘rider’ to speak of, they can love, can they?”

“My father would say no.” She turned to face him. She couldn’t stand to look ahead and see nothing in front of her while feeling his body right behind hers.

“Do you think gods have souls, Emily?” he asked, that low, silky voice quizzical but confident.

Sometimes she hated that. Hundreds of years older than her—of course he knew more. He rarely asked questions unless he already knew the answers. So smooth. So polished. So sure. Why flaunt it?

Because that’s who he is. That’s what he does. Cocky bastard.

But sometimes that confidence was put in her, and it was the warmest hug in the world.

“I don’t know. They’re immortal.”

“I think they have souls. A soul is what makes you immortal—or a demon. Either way, whether you live forever on this earth or know you’ll go on to the next, you’ve got something ethereal jammed inside of you. Do you think all humans have souls?”

“I know they do. I studied my theology. If you have to kill demons, you learn about Heaven and Hell. There’s a reason why crosses and Stars of David repel vampires.”

“Yet there are plenty of humans with souls walking around with big smiles and all the religious jewelry hung about their necks by day—doing horrible things by night. Isn’t that right, Huntress?” he ran a slow finger down her shoulder, dire words conflicting with his sensual touch. “Killers have souls. Murderers, rapists, kidnappers... They have souls. It’s not whether or not you have it so much as what you do with it.” Simeon returned his hands to her hips. “Things like me... Oh, we can love if we put our minds to it. Just watch me.” He winked.

She shivered, but it was a delicious shiver, the kind she’d only just learned about, like when he rubbed her overstimulated clit after making her come, forcing her to relax, unspool, and come undone again, his pleasure derived from hers.

“Is this some game to you?” she whispered, leaning into his touch despite her conflicting instincts. “Cat and mouse, and we take turns being the cat?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. Only, this time, when we catch each other, we pin each other down and defer the kill in favor of la petite mort .” His hand pressed firmly between her thighs, instantly connecting with her already pulsing button. “The little death, when I take your soul out for a little spin and then put it right back,” he purred.

“Simeon...” She barely breathed out his name, a rusty rasp of pleasure as his hand worked faster. She squirmed, legs parting. In a second, they had rocked back, falling onto the plush beige chair, dress rising to settle above her thighs. “We can’t—”

“But you can. My turn to be the cat, Emily.”

A lewd thrill raced directly to her core as he pulled her panties to one side and she watched his invisible manipulations in the mirror. Pussy parted and glistening. Pink folds twitching under his perfectly timed manipulations. She blushed and jerked back against him when he spread her wide, showing her the intimate pieces she had never seen, never bothered to examine. “Stop.”

“No. Fuck, Emily, you’re so wet for me. So gorgeous, inside and out, and I mean inside your body and soul, and outside, too.” A kiss that would surely leave a mark, even without fangs, burned and bruised against her neck as he moved his second hand under his first. He came up from behind, sliding down her ass until two fingers buried themselves in her pussy, pushing hard against her upper wall. The other hands continued, pushed down over her mound, grinding her clit against his fingers, trapping her in a friction sandwich.

“Oh, God. Oh, God!” The first a whisper, the second a cry she couldn’t muffle.

“Love you. And I’ll prove it.” Simeon’s voice penetrated the haze of the fast and furious orgasm he delivered.

Emily fell from his lap, legs vibrating and seemingly no longer connected to her central nervous system. Simeon helped her up and smirked as he supported her. “We definitely have to buy that dress now,” he remarked, brazenly sucking her juices from his fingers.

Too jelly-legged to push him away for the moment, Emily just laughed and nodded ruefully into his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Is that yes, we buy this sexy little black number, or yes, you know I’ll prove that I can love you?”

“Both. Maybe. The second part only if we get her back. Seph has to come home for you to come home,” she whispered, daring to dig her hands into his shoulders and let the old fears melt for a minute.

“I figure if Zeus can’t touch Seph without her say so, he’s holding her in some kind of amnesiac limbo where she doesn’t remember Hades and her kids. But she knows that she doesn’t like him. And that...” Simeon frowned. “That’s odd, that is. Because after a thousand years with one man around you day and night, you’d think he could charm his way to the goal, if you get my meaning.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Disgusting innuendos haven’t changed a lot since the 1800s. Go on.”

“I wonder if the clock ‘resets’ after a bit. Like Groundhog Day .”

Emily cocked her head and stepped back as her legs firmed up. “That holiday in February?”

“God, I’m old. No, it’s a movie! A comedy, a rom-com, even, where this bloke—never mind. Date night some night. We’ll watch it, and you’ll get it.”

Emily blinked, startled. Date night? Us? Movies?

Her heart sped up again, in a different way this time, savoring the forbidden idea of being in love and “normal” for a hidden second.

Simeon continued, now pacing around the spacious dressing room, collecting up short, sexy dresses on hangers from their places on wall hooks and racks. “In the movie, this bloke is after this girl—decent girl, way out of his league—but every night at midnight—I think it was at midnight—the day resets, and he has to start all over trying to win her. Since Mnemosyne manipulates time to make Seph think she hasn’t been missing a thousand years, maybe that messes up whatever time she thinks she’s spent with Zeus.”

“That’s right! She must not think she’s been gone long, even if she can’t remember Hades and her children, because no one would just sit around one place for a thousand years. And she would go to see her mom every six months, too!” Emily nodded eagerly.

“So that’s one way things could be played.” Simeon draped the dresses over his arm.

Emily followed, picking up the boxes of matching shoes. “Also, Zeus can’t be with Seph every moment. And whatever keeps Seph from remembering her husband and kids has to be pretty strong. It has to keep her from remembering her old encounters with Zeus, too, or she wouldn’t want anything to do with him, no matter how many hours he spends with her.”

“And it keeps him from making too much headway at a time. He might woo her for a bit but then pop off to tend to an angry wife, and bam! She’s forgotten him. Or maybe he’s just such a bloody awful git that she can’t stand him even if she remembers everything with perfect clarity. Either way, we need to break Mem’s spell, and you need to distract Zeus if he’s there. I think that little red number would do it, Em.” Simeon pointed to a red dress with an asymmetrical hem.

“That was so tight that it looked painted on.”

Simeon stared at her with raw lust in his eyes.

“Right. That’ll do the trick.” She gently took the dress from him and picked two others.

“What are you doing? Give those back,” Simeon snatched them away. “We’re buying the lot. On Hades’ dime.”

“We shouldn’t do that!”

“I’m spoiling you, Emily Van Helsing. I want to. I want to do it with my own money, but I’m also one of those poor boys you read about in Dickens. I still can’t get over this bunch of handkerchiefs costing eight hundred dollars.” He shook a filmy white and black dress. “You want me to pay, I will. I’m more inclined to make Hades pay for holding me to this bargain that I didn’t even bloody make.”

Emily relented and stacked the fourth and final shoebox in her arms. “All right. All of these are courtesy of Mr. Underworld. After we get these in the car, do we go straight to Vegas, or should we spend a couple of minutes trying to figure out where she is in the city?”

“After we pay, we’ve got to hop home to Pine Ridge.”

“What?” Emily stopped in the entrance of the dressing room, teetering in high heels on the deep carpet. “I have clothes at home! Why did we—”

“Spoiling. You.” He bared his teeth.

She wasn’t truly cowed, but she shut up. It was nice to have someone who wanted to spoil her.

“And we’re not going home so you can pack another bag, we’re going home for backup. Pine Ridge is home to some bally powerful witches and warlocks,” Simeon continued, and there’s got to be someone there who can break Mnemosyne’s spell, even if it’s just for fifteen minutes. We also need something that’ll protect our memories from her.” Simeon shuddered suddenly.

“Are you okay?”

“What if I forget you?” he whispered, true fear in his eyes.

Suddenly, she was pulled tight to his chest, feeling his head burrow into the crook between her neck and shoulder.

When they’re more afraid of forgetting you than dying... is that love?