Chapter Ten

He only had a moment to think about what to say before she came bursting through the door between their rooms. His wine clouded mind wasn’t able to come up with even one reasonable explanation other than the truth, but it was able to register her skimpy clothing. She was wearing nothing but a Dallas Cowboys football jersey, that barely covered her hips. Her hair hung down around her shoulders in waves tousled from sleep. She was gorgeous. And angry.

"What the fuck is going on?" she asked, her eyes flashing green fire.

She threw her arms up in the air and Jon caught the briefest glimpse of white cotton panties. That was his Mac, a no frills kind of girl. No fancy satin or lace. His eyes traveled the length of her beautiful legs.

But, her voice drew his gaze back to her face. "I asked you a question, Bon Jovi." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Uh," he began, "I don’t..."

"Don’t you dare," she interrupted him, uncrossing her arms to point a finger at him threateningly, "don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about or that you don’t know what’s going on. Because, I know you do."

"Mac," he tried again, "this requires an elaborate explanation. Can’t we talk about this in the morning?" he asked, his voice slurring slightly.

"You’re drunk," she accused for the second time, then gasped.

He stood swaying slightly as she marched across the room. Mac jerked his shirt aside, popping a button off that fell unheeded to the floor.

"I knew it," she gasped when she saw the mark. "It wasn’t just a dream, was it? You were in my head," she said, glaring at him, daring him to deny it.

Jon met her gaze. While he scrambled for an explanation, he failed to notice when she slid into his head. How do I tell her I’m a vampire without it sounding crazy? Various ideas crossed his mind, but he discarded them all, while Mac quietly withdrew from his head.

As crazy as it sounded, now it all made sense.

~him opening a door without having to unlock it.
~the chair back under his feet without him having moved.
~his unexplained absences from group activities.
~the visions of him sucking on female necks.
~he looked younger when he slept.
~the butterfly sensation whenever he was around and his raised eyebrow that accompanied them.
~the graceful moves of a predator.
~the overwhelming sense of danger that surrounded him.
~the aura of sex that he oozed with every move, without even trying.
~his barely controlled passion after that first kiss; the fact that he wouldn’t look at her afterwards.

"Show me your fangs," she ordered in awe, barely above a whisper.

Jon’s jaw dropped. "What?"

"You heard me," she said softly.

"Mac," he tried to placate her.

She stepped closer to him and ran a finger seductively down his chest while he watched in amazement. Where had this self-confidence come from?

"Or do they only grow when something else does," she asked sensually, as she leaned forward to kiss his neck. She trailed kisses down his neck and across his chest, pausing at the mark, then over to a flat male nipple that she circled with her tongue.

Jon groaned as his fangs lengthened. "How did you guess?"

She stepped back from him and smiled in triumph. "I was in your head."

He frowned. "And how did you do that?"

"I have no idea," she answered, shrugging.

"You have secrets you aren’t sharing," he accused.

"You’re going to lecture me on secrets?"

"Oh, come on, Mac," he said, "like you would’ve believed that."

"I might have," she answered. "But, I’m talking about your wife."

"I told you," he responded, laying his hands on her shoulders, "I’m not married."

"So what you said in my dream," she said, "was the truth?"

"I thought I needed a cover story," he explained, "to make me look more normal on the surface, so no one would look any deeper."

"Is this what you really look like?" she asked, thinking about how much younger he looked when he was asleep.

"Does it really matter?" he countered.

"Not really," she answered, "but I noticed how much younger you look when you’re sleeping."

"You did? I wondered if you had noticed," he replied. "It’s called a glamour. I use it to make me look older so no one will notice that I haven’t aged."

"Lose it," she ordered softly, then gasped in amazement when he suddenly looked almost 20 years younger. He looked exactly like he did in the poster of the band that Sandy had hanging in her bedroom. It was a poster from the 80's, and the only difference in that poster and the man standing before her was his hair was shorter and blonder. "How old are you?"

"444 years old," he answered, blithely.

"Whoa," she gasped. "I think I need to sit down."

"Mac," he said, bending slightly at the knees to look her in the eye, "please, tell me this doesn’t disgust you."

She looked up at him smiling. "I don’t believe there’s anything about you that could disgust me. But, this is a lot to take in."

Jon walked over to the chair he had vacated earlier. "Have a seat then, there’s a lot more we need to discuss."

********************

Jon spent the next hour answering all of Mac’s rapidly fired questions. The reporter in her had taken over, and she had asked everything from how he had become a vampire to why could he go out in the sunlight. He had explained all the myths and all the facts, but they had not discussed what he considered to be the most important thing, the topic of life-mates.

"So, you’ve been walking in and out of my head since I met you?" she asked, her tone giving away the aggravation she was feeling.

"Not since the beginning," he corrected, "I tried a couple of times but your mind is too strong. I’ve only been able to get into your head since we made love that first time."

She leaned forward in her chair and glared at him from across the small table. "How many times have you been in my head, Jon?"

He could tell this part bothered her. "Uh, four, I think. I wasn’t exactly counting, but twice when you were dreaming and twice when you were awake."

"Counting tonight?"

"Yeah."

She was silent for a second. "The dream where you hit Daniel?"

"Yeah, that was really me in your head," he confirmed, "not a dream version of me."

She smiled slightly to herself, as she pictured Daniel flying across the room. It hadn’t been a dream. This man before her had literally conquered her demon for her. "Your ‘wife’ is really a hired actress, but Sandy told me that your mother runs your fan club. I take it she’s not really your mom?"

"No, but she is family," Jon answered. "The man who the world thinks is my father is actually a descendant of my brother. My brother knew what I was and took that secret to his grave. His children and their children have protected me and my secret for generations. Bongiovi is really the family name. My ‘mother’ is my great, great-niece by marriage, give or take a few ‘greats’."

"Is Jon your real first name?"

"Yes, actually, or rather the Italian version of John. Giovanni, was the name my mother gave me at birth, but I Americanized it when the Bongiovi family immigrated to the States. I have a few old friends that still call me Giovanni, though."

"By old friends, I guess you mean other vampires?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I’m sure you’ll meet them eventually."

"So, Richie’s not..."

He interrupted her, "No, Richie is human, but he’s the only human outside the family that knows my secret. Well, except for you."

She answered the unspoken question in his eyes. "I won’t tell anyone," she laughed, "besides who’d believe me?"

"No one," he answered, unnecessarily. "Are you done with the questions? Because there’s one more thing we need to discuss, and you’ve avoided the topic for this whole conversation."

She decided not to play dumb or avoid it any longer. "In my dream tonight, you said that you needed me. Why?"

He began to explain his need for a life-mate, then told her how he knew she was the one.

"Jon, I don’t think I’m ready for all this," she told him.

"What do you mean?"

"This is a big commitment, and I just met you a few days ago. I barely know you," she pointed out.

"But, you like me," he told her. "I know you do, and I wouldn’t lie to you and tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you either. We’ll just work with what we have and let it grow to something else."

She looked down at her hands clasped together on the table. "Jon, I don’t think I want to be a vampire. Drinking someone’s blood, well, eeww."

Jon smiled at her. "You wouldn’t have to drink just anyone’s blood. All you would be able to drink would be mine."

"And if anything ever happened to you?"

"You would die," he answered her. He was afraid that would be the point that would make her run away, but he didn’t want to lie to her anymore. "But, if anything happened to you, I would die too. Maybe not as quickly, but once I went rogue and started killing mercilessly, Kristoff would come after me. So, if anything were to happen to you, I would immediately go to Russia and make the job easier on him."

"If I allowed you to turn me into a vampire, what would happen?"

"There is a complicated procedure that has to be followed, but it involves me drinking your blood then letting you drink mine. Then there is a ceremony that can only be performed by one of my kind that will bind us together. There is no such thing as divorce in my world though, so you have to be sure before you agreed to it."

"And can I provide the balance you need without becoming a vampire and going through the ceremony?"

"I don’t know. No one’s ever tried to do it that way before. I would guess that you could for a relatively short amount of time, considering the life span of your average human versus the life span of your average vampire."

"I understand what you mean," she told him. "I’m 32, the average life span for a woman is, what....about 80? So I could provide you with ‘balance’ for about 50 more years."

"Or, you could become a vampire and provide that balance for several hundred years, but if you aren’t willing to become a vampire, I’ll take the extra 50 years or so that you could provide me with."

"And when I’m old and wrinkled?"

"I would still take care of you," he promised her.

"While you still looked 25 years old," she added.

"Yes," he replied.

Mac was silent for several moments, contemplating that existence. Wondering if once she was old and unattractive to him, if he would look for sexual pleasures somewhere else, and wondering if she would be able to handle that way of life.

Jon recognized the look of self doubt on her face. "We would in effect be married and I would honor my vows to you until the day you died."

She frowned at him. "Did you read my mind?" she asked, accusingly.

"Nope," he answered, "I read your face."

"If this, whatever it is, turned into love, would we get married in reality?" she asked him.

"We can, if that’s what you want," he answered. "But, the ceremony of my people is just as binding, if not more so, to me as a marriage certificate."

"But, then I would have to be a vampire."

"I can ask someone if the binding ceremony can be done between a vamp and a human," he told her. "And I’d have to ask if just you being in my life would provide the balance without us being bound together. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. And trust me, there have been many times that I’ve regretted my decision to be turned. I was young, and didn’t like the thought of growing old. The promise of eternal youth lured me in, but I’ve learned there’s more to life than youth. And believe me, it’s no fun to watch your human friends die of old age. I’ve learned that living forever isn’t what it’s cracked up to be." Jon knew he could make a call to Kristoff and if his old friend couldn’t answer the questions for him, Kristoff would know someone who could give him the answers he needed.

Mac glanced at her watch. "Geez, I didn’t realize what time it was. It’s already 4am."

Jon stood up and walked over to her chair. Squatting down beside the chair, he said softly, "You should get some sleep, moglie mia. We have to catch a plane in a few hours."

She smiled, and he stood up with one of her small hands in his. Pulling her toward his bedroom, he ordered gently, "Come to bed, Mac."

Willingly, she followed him.

********************


The next morning, Jon woke slowly, then pulled a sleeping Mac tighter against him. He laid there for several minutes with her snuggled back against him, spoon fashion. It seemed strange to wake up after telling her his secret without a stake poised at his heart. He glanced at the clock by the bed. It was after 9am already, and they had to be at the airport by 11. They were flying on to Portland for a show that night. No hotel room in Portland though. When the show was over, they were boarding a plane again for San Francisco. The band was playing a two night gig there.

He hated to wake Mac, because she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. They hadn’t made love; he had realized she was just too worn out, physically and mentally. And, as much as he was sure to enjoy a morning romp, they just didn’t have the time this morning.

"Mac," he growled, huskily, in her ear. "You need to wake up, tesoro mia. We have a plane to catch."

She came awake slowly, snuggling back against him before she stretched luxuriously. "Do we have to?" she asked, yawning.

"Yeah, sorry," he murmured softly against her ear, before kissing her neck. The urge was strong to bite her though. He hadn’t fed the night before; he’d been too concerned about losing Mac.

She rolled over in his arms and kissed him softly. "I need caffeine," she muttered. "I refuse to go anywhere without it."

"Ok, moglie mia," he smiled, "your wish is my command."

Reluctantly, he released her and rolled toward the phone. He dialed room service, as she got out of bed, Jon paused to watch her long legs as she walked across the room.

"Sir?" the person on the other end of the line asked.

"Oh," Jon snapped back to attention, "sorry. I need some coffee and breakfast sent up to my room."

"Make mine a Dr. Pepper," Mac called from the bathroom, "and I want cheese on my scrambled eggs, and wheat toast."

"Is that all?" he asked smiling.

"Yep."

He quickly relayed her order, then hung up the phone.

"Hey, Jon," she called, "wanna join me in the shower?"

"Hell yeah," he answered, quickly getting out of bed.

He stood up and felt light headed. Jon knew this had nothing to do with the wine he’d drank the night before. He needed to feed, but after Mac’s statement last night about drinking blood he wasn’t sure how she would feel about being his meal, and he didn’t want to push his luck with her acceptance of what he was. Deciding not to say anything, and just find his meal else where, he walked to the bathroom door.

"Of course," he spoke louder so she’d hear him over the spray of the shower, "if I joined you then who would let the room service waiter in?" He knew he’d never be able to resist biting her if he made love to her.

"You have a point," she answered him, "and I do need my caffeine."

"Besides," he pointed out, "I don’t have time to make love to you properly."

"Oh, well," she laughed, "when ya put it that way, don’t join me. I’ve gotten used to how you do it properly. You’ve spoiled me."

"Later, then," he promised. Of course, he had no idea when he’d find time for them to be alone until they got to San Francisco, but he’d do his very best. Over the years, Jon had gotten really good at finding quiet concealed places in a venue. Maybe his dressing room would have a comfortable couch.

He was still contemplating how to get Mac alone when the room service waitress arrived. Jon was just about to put her in a thrall and feed, when Mac walked out of the bedroom wearing his robe.

"Oh great, caffeine’s here," she exclaimed.

Jon just signed the check and let the waitress go on her way. He couldn’t bring himself to feed in front of Mac either. No need to bring to mind what he was.

He sat down at the table across from her and sipped at his coffee. Jon hadn’t bothered to order anything to eat; that wasn’t the kind of nourishment he needed. After finishing the cup, he announced he was going to go take a shower while she finished eating. His hunger was so strong he could hear her heart beating, and he had to get out of there.

Later, after they had made it through the airport and were about to board the plane, Richie stopped him on the tarmac.

"Go on, Mac," he told her, "I’ll be right there."

Once she had walked away, Richie asked, "What’s wrong with you, Kidd? You look really pale."

"I haven’t fed since night before last," Jon told him. "It’s starting to catch up to me."

"Why?" Richie asked, concerned.

"I didn’t think about it last night. All I could think about was losing Mac and getting drunk. Then this morning, I just couldn’t feed from or in front of Mac."

"So, you still haven’t told her everything, just enough to make up with her?"

"No," Jon replied, "I told her everything, but she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being a vamp and drinking someone’s blood. So, I didn’t ask if I could bite her."

Jon swayed slightly, and Richie grabbed his arm to steady him. "Jon, you have to feed soon."
"I know that," Jon snapped, "I’ve been doing this for a while now, but I’ll be fine for the short flight to Portland, then I’ll worry about feeding."

"Are you sure?"

"I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, turning to board the plane.

Richie silently fell into step behind him, intending to help him up the stairs if needed. Jon made it on the plane and to a seat under his own power, but Richie kept an eye on him the entire flight.

When the plane landed in Portland, both Jon and Richie were relieved that they made it through security and into the waiting van relatively quickly. They arrived at the arena after a short drive, but Richie didn’t like the way Jon looked. He watched his friend put his arm around Mac and lead her into the backstage entrance and realized it was probably Jon using the action to steady himself more than as an affectionate gesture.

Jon was barely able to make it to his dressing room. He was able to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have made it without his arm around Mac. Richie had already noticed he wasn’t quite himself, but no one else had. He had been careful to act as normal as possible not only for Mac’s benefit but also for the other band and crew members. He had to feed and soon.
Richie followed closely behind Jon and Mac until they reached Jon’s dressing room. When Jon tried to send him on his way, he pushed past him and entered the room. He glanced at Mac before his gaze slid back to Jon. Richie frowned as he watched his friend almost collapse in a chair by the door.

"Jon," Mac gasped, and ran to him. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," Jon answered her, weakly, as he slumped in the chair looking anything but fine.

"Tell her Jon," Richie said glaring at his friend, "or I will."

"Tell me what?"

Richie looked at Jon and raised one eyebrow in question, waiting.

Jon glared at Richie. "Fuck you, Sambora."

"You keep asking...," Richie grinned, leaving the statement hanging in the air.

"Tell me what?" Mac insisted. "What’s wrong with you, Jon?"

Jon gave her a blank stare before turning back to glare menacingly at Richie, who only gave Jon a mutinous look. The singer knew his friend would tell Mac if he didn’t, because Richie thought he was protecting him. After several moments of rebellious silence, Jon finally relented. "I haven’t fed since night before last," he told Mac, "and I need blood. Badly."

Mac frowned at the two men. "Richie get the hell out of here," she ordered.

Richie gave her a blank stare. He had never been ordered out of Jon’s room by anyone but his friend, and he wasn’t inclined to obey her orders now. "Excuse me?" he questioned, raising one eyebrow.

"You heard me," Mac answered. "This is sure to get personal, and I’d rather it be private."

Jon groaned weakly as a hunger pang tore though his body. He could hear both their heartbeats and his fangs lengthened in response. He jerked his head toward the door. "Go ahead, Rich. I’ll catch up with you later."

Reluctantly, Richie headed for the door. Opening the door, he turned toward them to warn Mac, "I can assume that you won’t hurt him while he’s weak, right?"

Jon’s gaze met his friend’s, and Jon knew that Richie was thinking of Cecilia’s betrayal. "I’ll be fine," Jon assured him, "Mac wouldn’t hurt me. Would you moglie mia?"

"Of course not," Mac answered, her tone announcing how offended she was at Richie’s suggestion.

Oblivious to her protests, Richie warned menacingly, "If you do, there’s nowhere you can hide from me," before he walked out the door.