Chapter Twenty-five

Richie woke to someone pounding on his door. Hard. He glanced at the travel clock on the bedside table. 7am. Who in the hell would be stupid enough to knock on his door at such an ungodly hour? The answer immediately popped into his head. Jon. Richie also knew it had to be something important.

Rolling out of bed and pulling jeans on as he went, he hurried to the door. Jerking it open, he grimaced at Jon’s appearance. His friend hadn’t shaved, and he was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a faded t-shirt. Jon’s hair looked like he had raked his fingers through it several times in aggravation.

"C’mon in Bro," Richie told him, as he turned and walked over to plop on the sofa. After noticing the two styrofoam cups in Jon’s hands, he added, "I see you thought to bring me some coffee."

"Yeah," Jon replied, handing one of the cups to Richie. "I figured you were going to need it."

"So what’s your problem with Mac this morning?" the guitarist asked, assuming that the only problem Jon could possibly have this early in the morning would have to be about her.

"It’s not Mac," Jon replied, sitting down in the chair across from Richie.

"Okay, spill."

"Caleb went to the Council," Jon told him.

"What? Why would he do that?"

"He went to confess his crime," Jon explained. "But while he was at it, he confessed mine."

"And what crime did you commit?"

"I changed a human without her permission," Jon answered, flatly.

"Oh fuck."

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly," Jon told him.

Jon explained the situation to Richie quickly. Then said, "And the Council has demanded yours and Mac’s presence. You both are being called as witnesses." He paused, not sure how to tell Richie the rest. "Witnesses for the prosecution, Rich."

"Well, I guess they’re just shit outta luck," Richie proclaimed. "Cause there’s no way in hell I’m going to testify against you."

"Rich," Jon began patiently, "if you don’t show up, they will judge me guilty without having the benefit of a trial and being able to present any kind of defense."

"Well, fuck," Richie swore. "When are we leaving?"

"Kristoff said that the Council’s emissary would be waiting at my home for me to arrive. He was giving me the option of running if I was guilty. I intend to carry on as planned and go to Dallas with Mac, then on to Jersey. The emissary will be there in a hotel, waiting on me to arrive in town. Once he makes contact with me, he won’t let me out of his sight until we arrive at Kristoff’s home."

"So, I guess I’m traveling with you and Mac to Russia, by way of Dallas and Jersey," Richie said, resigned.

"I’m not going to tell Mac what’s going on until I have to," Jon told him, "I would appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to her. Just go along with whatever I end up telling her about why you’re traveling with us."

"I’ve got your back, Bro," Richie said. And he meant it. Somehow, he would figure out a way to get out of testifying against his best friend.



The flight to Dallas seemed to be way too fast to Jon, but then he was very conscious of time slipping away. He had gotten by with just telling Mac that Richie was traveling to Jersey with them because they wanted to work on some things for the European leg of the tour.

The trio retrieved Mac’s car from long term parking and rode to her home. Jon thought the little two bedroom apartment was quite homey, but Mac kept apologizing for everything. The size and the mess she’d left behind when she’d driven to the airport, what seemed like a lifetime ago, to start this assignment.

"Well, guys," Mac announced, "make yourselves at home, I’m going to run into the office and get this over with."

"I’m going with you," Jon told her.

"Do you know what kind of problem you arriving at my office is going to cause?" she asked him.

"Do you think I care?" he returned.

"Jon," she tried.

"Mac," he countered. He knew that Caleb wasn’t a threat anymore but she didn’t, and he decided to use it. "Caleb could still be out there."

Mac decided not to argue with him. She would just tell everyone that she’d explain why he was with her later. They left Richie flipping through the channels on her television looking for something to watch. Mac was hoping that Jon’s baseball cap and sunglasses would keep most people from recognizing him, but she knew if Sandy was in the office there would be no fooling her.

The discussion in Joseph’s office wasn’t nearly as hard as she’d thought it would be, and surprisingly her boss didn’t ask about Jon’s presence. Joseph looked at Jon questioningly when he entered the room with Mac, but that was his only acknowledgment that the singer was even in the room. He tried to talk Mac out of leaving and told her to think about at least continuing to work for the magazine on a free lance basis. She promised she would, then shook hands with Joseph before she left his office.

Mac was thanking her lucky stars that they hadn’t encountered Sandy, until she almost ran into her friend in the hallway.

"You’re back," Sandy exclaimed in surprise hugging Mac.

"Yeah," Mac replied.

That’s when Sandy noticed Jon. "Holy shit," she gasped.

"I get that a lot," he told her, smiling and sticking out his hand. "You must be Sandy. It’s very nice to finally meet you."

Sandy let Jon take her hand, but she stood with her mouth agape. "Holy shit," she breathed again.

"Sandy," Mac said, trying to draw her friend’s attention to her, "when you can get outta here today, come by my apartment. We need to talk."

"Sure, okay," Sandy said, never taking her eyes off Jon.

"I’ll see you then," Mac told her, pulling on Jon’s hand and leading him to the elevator.

"Sure, yeah, okay," Sandy said, still staring in shock at Jon.

"You’re friend’s funny," Jon told her as the elevator doors closed on Sandy’s gaping face.

Mac decided now was as good a time as any to tell Jon that she intended to tell Sandy the whole truth. "Jon, when Sandy comes to my apartment this evening, I’m going to tell her about us and that I’m a vampire now."

"Mac," he began, one eyebrow raised, "are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s a reporter."

"So am I, Jon," she reminded him.

"Are you sure she isn’t going to spill her guts?"

"She wouldn’t do that to me," Mac answered. "Girlfriend secrets are sacred."

"I’m not comfortable with this," he told her.

Mac couldn’t help the anger that crept into her tone. "Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you turned me."

Jon winced. "Mac," he tried to placate her before her temper went nuclear, "please. Let’s not go there now."

"I’m telling her, Jon," she replied, frowning. "I realize you don’t trust her, but I do."

"Fine," he conceded, "I trust you, so do what you think is best."

"I’m glad I have your permission. ‘Cause I was going to do it anyway," she said just as the doors slid open in the lobby.

They were both silent on the ride back to Mac’s apartment. Mac was trying to find the words to tell her friend, and Jon was trying to find the words to explain his actions to the Council.




Jon and Mac had only been back at her apartment for half an hour when there was a knock on the door. Mac was surprised to find Sandy on the other side.

"Sandy, what are you doing here so quick? You must've left right after we did."

"You’re shitting me right? Like I was going to hang around there after Joseph told me you quit! Not when I knew I’d get the explanation here," Sandy told her as she walked into the apartment. That’s when Sandy saw them. The Dynamic Duo sitting right there on her best friend’s sofa. "Holy fuck!"

Jon laughed, turning to look at Richie, "That must be you, I’m holy shit." Richie joined in his laughter. The two men were very used to this reaction from women. Mac looked at Jon, thankfully he had put the glamour back into place before she had let their guest into the apartment. Grinning at her friend, Mac led Sandy to a chair but had to push the other woman into it, since apparently all her friend could do was stare at the two men. Mac’s living room was arranged with the sofa facing the television and two comfortable overstuffed chairs on each end of the sofa, with a long coffee table in the center. The two chairs were facing each other, and Mac moved to sit in the other on Jon’s end of the sofa.

Richie leaned forward and reached out a hand to the newcomer. "You must be Sandy, it’s a pleasure to meet you."

Sandy managed to take his offered hand, but only managed to say, "Holy fuck."

"Don’t take it personally, Rich," Jon said, smiling, "she couldn’t say much more than that when she saw me at the office."

"I’m so sorry," Sandy finally managed to say, "you must both think me incredibly rude."

"Star struck, maybe, darlin," Richie said, smiling at her, "but not rude."

"Don’t know why everyone’s always star struck around us though, Rich," Jon added, "we’re just normal guys."

Richie looked at his friend and smiled, "Well, one of us is a normal guy."

"Not now, Rich," Jon ordered softly.

"No, now is the perfect time," Mac interjected. "I thought you were in a hurry to get to Jersey, Jon. We might as well get this over with now."

"Now?" Jon asked, "You mean right here, right now?"

"Can you think of a better place?" Mac demanded.

"Well, I was thinking you’d take her in another room and tell her, and I wouldn’t even have to be present for the actual telling," Jon told her, winking to lighten her mood.

"Coward," Mac accused.

"You bet," he laughed.

"Sandy, come with me," Mac said, as she stood up. "We’ll leave the cowards in here."

Taking one last longing look at the duo on the sofa, Sandy followed Mac to her bedroom. Mac was already sitting on her bed when Sandy walked into the room.

"Have a seat," she offered, and watched as Sandy sat on the edge of the bed.

"This sounds serious," Sandy said gravely.

"It is," Mac told her, even though she wasn’t sure where to start.

"Well," Sandy said, shrugging, "I think we should hurry up and get it over with so we can get back out there," she jerked her head toward the living room, "with those two gorgeous men."
Both women laughed softly.

"Sandy," Mac said when the laughter died down, "this is a huge secret, and you can’t tell anyone."

Sandy looked indignant. "I’ve never told a girlfriend secret in my entire life."

"Jon’s a vampire, and not really married," Mac blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer.

Sandy fell back on the bed laughing. "That’s a good one, Mac," she said between bursts of laughter. "So, what’s the real secret?"

Sandy got a real good look then at Mac’s expression. "Oh my God," Sandy gasped, "you’re serious!" Mac nodded in answer, and Sandy’s look of disbelief was priceless. "Spill the rest," Sandy ordered.

"The wife is a hired actress to give him the All-American boy look," Mac explained. "He’s really 444 years old, and I’m his life-mate."

"What?" Sandy gasped. "What exactly does that mean?"

"Long story short," Mac answered, "it means he needs me to survive. He says he loves me, and I believe him, but there’s so many things wrong in this whole thing. I just don’t know, Sandy."

"So that’s why you quit the magazine? So you could go with him?"

"There’s more to the story," Mac explained. Then launched off into the story about being kidnapped, and how Jon had turned her to save her life.

"Oh wow," Sandy breathed, "you’re a vampire too? How does that effect you being a witch?"

"It hasn’t seemed to effect it at all. Rhymes still cause the same kind of problems," she joked.

"What about drinking blood?" Sandy asked.

"I can only drink Jon’s," Mac answered, "it’s part of the life-mate thing. He does the hunting and I drink from him."

"I can tell you right now Mac, I wouldn’t mind drinking from that gorgeous hunk of man," Sandy told her. "Oh my God," Sandy exclaimed, "I just realized...this means you’ve had sex with Jon Bon Jovi!"

Mac rolled her eyes. Of course, the one thing her friend would get out of this whole conversation would be the sex aspect. "Sandy, you don’t get it. I have to stay with Jon, because if I don’t drink his blood every night, I’ll die."

"Sorry, Mac," Sandy said, "I’m not exactly feeling sympathetic here."

"Don’t you see, Sandy?" Mac tried to make her friend understand. "That means I can’t go out on assignment anymore or do anything that involves being away from him for very long."

"And you get that gorgeous, rich man in exchange," Sandy pointed out. "Sorry, girlfriend, but I’m not seeing a problem with this deal. In fact, where do I sign up? Is Richie a vampire too by any chance?"

"No, he’s human," Mac answered, shaking her head in disgust. Why couldn’t Sandy see the drawbacks to her relationship with Jon?

"Can I see your fangs?" her friend asked.

"I haven’t quite learned how to control them yet," Mac told her, "but I guess Jon could show you his."

"Cool," Sandy said excitedly, jumping off the bed.

Mac watched her friend hurry from the room and then got up to follow her. Hopefully, Jon wouldn’t freak out too much over Sandy’s request.

Chapter Twenty-four

Mac awoke with a jerk; she’d been dreaming again. Jon’s arms tightened around her, but she could still hear the deep even breathing that signaled he was still asleep. Carefully, she eased out of his arms and the bed and padded softly to the bathroom. Closing the door quietly, she flipped on the light switch. Blinded briefly by the quick change from darkness, she blinked several times at her reflection in the mirror.

She giggled softly at the woman in the mirror. Standing there in nothing but the waistband of her sweat pants, the strings still tangled in a mess of knots. While she stood there, she replayed the events of the dream in her mind. Since she was a small child, she had dreamed of other people, strangers really, from different times. Dreams of the past. That’s what she’d always called them, but she wasn’t sure who the people were or why she dreamed of them. But, tonight the dream had been slightly different. She had dreamed about this particular woman before, but tonight the woman and the others in the dream had been speaking Italian. The strange thing was that Mac had understood every word they had spoken, just as if they had been speaking English. The only words of Italian that Mac knew were the few endearments Jon had used, well the ones he’d translated for her, anyway.

"Mac? Are you okay," she heard Jon’s voice from the other side of the door.

"Yeah," she answered, "I’ll be right out."

She put the puzzle of her dream away for another time, used the bathroom and washed her hands, splashing a bit of cold water on her face before she left the room.

"Come back to bed, moglie mia," Jon’s voice met her when she walked back into the bedroom.

"I’m sorry that I woke you," she told him softly, as she climbed back into bed with him.

"Don’t worry about it," he said sleepily, as he pulled her back into his arms. He quickly fell back to sleep with his chin resting on the top of her head.


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


The next morning, Mac awoke to Jon’s voice in the other room, apparently he was on the phone. She could tell by the few words she could make out that it was a business call. She stretched lazily and let out a big yawn.

Good morning, tesoro mia, Jon’s voice sounded in her head.

He had linked their minds when he woke up, but he’d went about his morning business calls maintaining the link. He’d sensed her beginning to wake up and had waited until she was fully awake to talk to her.

Do you have to be so cheerful? she responded.

No, I guess I could be a morning grump too, he joked.

Aren’t you in the middle of a business call? she asked.

Yeah, but they can wait a sec while I say good morning to my beautiful life mate, he told her.

G’morning, she answered. I don’t suppose you could back off and give me a minute alone, huh?

I guess I could, he sounded disappointed, we’ll talk later.

Mac felt him go. Did he think everything was okay between them just because he’d told her he loved her and convinced her to feed last night? Apparently so. But, Mac still wasn’t sure she was comfortable with just how much her life was about to change. She had realized last night after he’d left her locked in her room just how big a change this was going to cause. She was going to have to quit her job that she loved, because she couldn’t go off chasing a story and be gone from Jon, since she needed his blood to survive. Also, Mac realized that close friendships would be hard from now on, because after a few years people would wonder why she didn’t age, but she supposed that Jon could teach her how to mask that the way he did. What had he called it? Oh, yeah. A glamour. She’d have to remember to ask him to show her how to do that.

Sandy. Her friend’s name popped into her head. She hadn’t talked to her in days, and this wasn’t exactly something she could tell her over the phone, but she would have to tell her friend. Oh, damn. Her parents. How was she going to tell her parents?

She tossed off the covers and went into the bathroom to shower and start her day. When she came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, she found Jon leaning against the door leading into the sitting room. He had a can of Dr. Pepper in his hand and a huge smile on his face. Mac decided he must be proud of himself for remembering to get her some caffeine.

"I take it that’s for me?" she asked.

"Only if I get a reward," he answered, softly, with a small smirk on his face.

"Ah," she nodded in understanding, "it’s a bribe then."

"Call it whatever you want, as long as I get a kiss outta the deal," he laughed.

She walked over to him and stood on tip-toes to drop a light kiss on the tip of his nose. Mac snatched the can of soda from his hand, and tossed, "Thank you," over her shoulder as she turned to walk away.

"You call that a kiss?" he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his arms.

She looked up at him and replied with a serious tone, "Yeah, look up ‘kiss’ in a dictionary."

"This is a kiss," he told her, just before he bent his golden head to touch his lips to hers.

When their mouths met, she relaxed against him, and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past the barrier of her lips to rub it eagerly against her own. Mac wasn’t prepared for the assault on her senses. Her unanswered questions and problems still bounced around in her head. Suddenly, the icy coldness of the can in her hand put an evil idea in her head. She slid her empty hand up his chest to caress the heated skin, and just as he leaned into her caress she stuck the cold can to his chest. Yelping in surprise, he released her and jumped back.

She spun away from him and ran to the bathroom. "That’ll teach you to hold my caffeine hostage," she called out over her shoulder, right before she slammed the bathroom door in his face.

"Witch," he muttered.

She peeped out the bathroom door. "And don’t you forget it," she laughed, before slamming the door again.

Jon just laughed at her and went to find a t-shirt. In a minute, he reached out to her mind. I’m going to the hotel gym to workout, Mac. I’ll be back in about an hour, he told her. When I get back, do you want to go to sound check with me?

No, she answered, I’m going to put the finishing touches on my article and email it to my boss. She realized then that she needed to contact Joseph and hand in her resignation.

Jon heard that thought as it flashed across her mind. When we finish with the show here in Vegas, I’ll go with you to Dallas so you can do it in person, he told her softly. If that’s what you really wanna do.

I don’t see how I could continue to work, and be with you so that I can feed every night, she responded.

Jon could feel her frustration and anger. We could try to come up with something, moglie mia, he said gently.

I don’t wanna talk about this now, Jon, she replied tartly.

Okay, he said, I love you, Mac. He didn’t wait to see if she would respond in kind; he just withdrew from her mind and left the hotel room.


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


While Jon was gone, Mac looked at the tour itinerary that she had been given. Tonight’s show was the last one on this leg of the tour. After doing a lot of pacing, she decided that she would let Jon go with her to Dallas, and she would speak to Joseph. She would have to see Sandy while she was there and tell her, but Mac really didn’t want to tell her parents just yet. She still had no idea how she was going to break the news to them that their beloved tenth generation witch daughter was now a blood sucking vamp.

That night’s show went off without a hitch. Jon took the time to feed, after catching a couple of groupies hanging out by the door to the backstage area. He fed from both, knowing he needed the extra blood so that he could feed Mac.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Mac, but when he’d returned from his workout, they had talked and she had seemed remote and distant. He’d read her finished article, because he had only agreed to it on the condition that he had final approval before anything was printed about the band, not because he had any doubts what she might have put in it.

She was still determined to hand in her resignation when they flew to Dallas. He knew she didn’t want to quit her job, but he hadn’t come up with any other good ideas. Maybe he should present this latest problem to Richie. One of his friend’s occasional flashes of brilliance would come in handy about now.

The two of them went to bed that night with plans to take the private jet to Dallas the next day. The other band members were all booked on commercial flights. Richie was flying out to L.A. and Tico to Florida. David and Hugh were on the same flight out.

Mac woke up to Areosmith’s Walk This Way, and it took her a second to realize it was Jon’s cell phone ringing from the night stand. "Jon,"she said sleepily, and shook his shoulder gently.

"Wake up, your cell is ringing."

"What?" he asked, groggily, but then realized for himself what she was trying to tell him. Jerking up his phone, he answered it with, "This better be good. What the hell time is it?"

"Just after 4 am," Mac answered him softly.

Jon had went completely silent when he heard the commanding tone of the person on the other end of the line. "Hold on just a second," he said into the phone. Then to Mac, "Go back to sleep, moglie mia. I’ll go in the other room."

Once the door clicked softly and he was in the other room, he said into the phone, "Okay, I’m alone now."

Kristoff began speaking quickly in Russian.

"English, please, Kris," Jon requested, "I want to make sure I get every word of this."

In heavily accented English, Kristoff began again. "I’m calling to warn you my friend. Caleb arrived at my home last evening. He...how do you say? Ah yes, spilled his guts. He demanded that I convene the Council. He will stand accused of," here the Russian paused, "Uh, I’m not sure of the English word, Giovanni. But, he will stand accused of taking your lifemate against hers and your wishes."

"And you’re calling to tell me that I’m being called as a witness against him?" Jon asked softly. He didn’t want to wake Mac again.

"Not only that, my friend," Kristoff told him, solemnly. "When the first Council member arrived here this morning, Caleb not only told his story again, but he added the detail that you had changed your lifemate against her wishes."

Jon had been pacing the floor as he talked to his friend, but now he fell into a chair and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

At his silence, Kristoff continued, "And now, the Council’s emissary is on his way to your home to bring you to stand trial before the Council."

"Fuck," Jon swore softly.

"Are you guilty of the crime of turning a human against their wishes, Giovanni?" Kristoff asked, concerned.

"Yes," Jon admitted.

Kristoff swore violently in Russian. "Giovanni, why would you do this?" he finally asked.

"She was dying in my arms, Kris," Jon told him, "I couldn’t stand by and watch her die, not when I could save her."

"I understand," Kristoff replied quickly, "she is your lifemate, the light to your darkness. I would have done the same."

"That’s not the only reason I did it," Jon explained, "I love her, Kris. I didn’t want to lose her."

"I understand," the Russian told him.

"Kris, why did you risk yourself this way to warn me? Why didn’t you just let the emissary tell me the news?" Jon asked him.

"Because if you were guilty, my friend, I wanted you to have the chance to run," Kristoff answered him, his tone grave.

"I appreciate that, Kris, I really do," Jon told him, "but I wouldn’t do that to you. The Council would surely know that you had warned me and take action."

"Giovanni, that is not all I called to tell you. The Council has also demanded that your lifemate and your friend, Richie present testimony," he paused meaningfully, "for the prosecution."

"Richie will refuse," Jon told him quickly. Knowing his friend like he did, Jon knew that Richie would refuse to testify against him.

"You must explain the penalty to you if he does," Kristoff told him. "Surely, he would not risk that."

"No," Jon agreed with Kristoff, "but he won’t like it."

"He doesn’t have to like it," the Russian replied, "he must only come or you will face the consequences."

"I’ll make him see how important it is," Jon assured his friend.

"Good," Kristoff responded, "I must go now, Giovanni, before I’m caught talking to you. Just know that I will help you however I can."

"As long as you don’t put yourself and Maria at risk," Jon told him. "I’ll see you soon, but Kris, I’m not going straight home. My lifemate has business to attend to and I must accompany her."

"Da," Kristoff told him, "be careful, Giovanni. And be safe."

Jon closed his cell, disconnecting the call. This was bad. Really, really bad. He stood up, and began to pace again. Quickly, he began to make a mental list of all the things he had to do. There was no way he would get back to sleep, but he would let Richie sleep a little longer before he woke him with the news that he wasn’t going home after all. He would have to go to Russia with Jon and Mac.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jon’s lips left hers to kiss a trail across her cheek and down her neck to her jugular, pausing only long enough to pull her T-shirt off over her head. I should give you a spanking though, he told her, his grin evident in the voice in her mind.

"Why?" she asked out loud.

For throwing the vase at me, he answered, reigning kisses on her heated flesh as he continued on a path down her neck and across her collarbone.

"But Jon," she said pulling away to look into his blue eyes, "I didn’t do that on purpose. I just looked at the vase and thought about hitting you with it, and it went flying across the room. It surprised the hell outta me."

Telekinesis is one of your new powers, Mac, he explained to her, as relentlessly he returned to his task. I’ll have to teach you how to control it better. His path of kisses finally reached her left breast. But then there’s a lot of things I’ll need to teach you.

Mac gasped as he placed little kisses along the lacy line of her bra to the front clasp, releasing it with his teeth. With a mind of their own, her hands moved to either side of his head, clutching him tighter to her, as her fingers threaded into the silky golden strands of his hair. Their position in the bed wasn’t exactly ideal for making love, but she wouldn’t move now if the room was on fire. Mac was half reclining against the head board, and Jon had been sitting at her feet with her raised knees between them. But, when he started his tender assault, he had leaned forward between her raised knees, his sculpted chest resting on the gentle curve of her stomach and the six pack hardness of his abdomen laying in the cradle of her thighs.

Her breath caught in her throat when he took one hardened nipple in his mouth to suckle deeply. Mac, you know you have to feed soon, right? he asked, as he plumped her other breast with one hand and soon his lips traveled there to give it the same treatment.

It was only then, that she realized her fangs had lengthened during their love play, but the realization was only a fleeting thought. She was having trouble concentrating on anything but the heat of his mouth as he sucked deeply on her breast, the velvety roughness of his tongue as it circled her nipple, and the slight scrape of his barely there whiskers whenever his cheek or chin brushed against her ultra sensitive skin.

Jon understood why she didn’t answer him. He was as aware of her feelings and desires as he was his own. Smirking against her skin, he blazed a trail of kisses from one breast back to the other, while one hand caressed its way down the silken plain of her stomach, pausing to stroke her side lightly with just the tips of his fingers before finally stopping at the waist of the jogging pants she wore.

Instinctively, Mac thrust her hips against him; her hands clutched at his shoulders. She raised her upper body from the pillows, her back curving as she craned her neck to reach the top of his head. She buried her nose in the golden halo of his hair; the heady scent of him was intoxicating. She kissed the top of his head.

Jon’s grunt of frustration brought her back to reality. Mac realized he was struggling with the drawstring of her pants. Somehow, he had gotten the strings all tangled and they were a ball of knots. She chuckled softly at him.

The throaty sound she made drew his eyes to hers. "This is not funny, Mac," he told her in a voice laced with his frustration.

She grinned at her own need mirrored in his eyes. "Yeah, it is," she answered him, "well, slightly."

"Really?" he asked sarcastically. "How funny is this?" He grasped the waist band of the pants with one hand and a fist full of the fabric bunched at her abdomen and jerked it apart forcefully. The sound of the fabric rending and her gasp filled the room.

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t. His lips tracing the waist band of her panties took away all coherent thought. Her hands on his shoulders began tugging at his shirt until she had the back bunched up at his shoulders, clutched in her fists.

He paused at his task long enough to finish the job for her, pulling it off over his head, before going back to his relentless, sweet torture. As he pulled her panties from her, she played connect the dots, her fingernails tracing a line from one freckle to the other across his shoulders. Jon didn’t even flinch when those same nails dug into the skin of his shoulders when his tongue made contact with the satin on the inside of her thigh, drawing little, wet, hot circles there as he moved closer to her center.

She gasped his name out loud, before making the contact he wanted so badly. You have on entirely too many clothes, she told him, the voice in his head deep and husky with passion.

So? he replied, I’m busy. His tongue found the button at her center and her hips thrust against him in reaction. His hands slid under her to grasp the globes of her bottom, holding her in place as he feasted. His tongue circled first one way then the other, getting faster with each change of direction.

When he thrust his tongue inside her, she drew in a sharp breath and screamed in his head, Oh my God, Jon! Her heels dug into the sheets and the muscles of her ass tightened in his palms as she came.

He continued to place gentle kisses on her heated skin as she floated down. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings again, but the need to have him inside her was still strong.

Her need washed over him. He stood on his knees and jerked the fly of his jeans open, the buttons making a slight popping sound as each one came loose of it’s hole. You’re not the only one that needs that, moglie mia, he told her roughly. I need to be inside you as bad as I need the next breath I take.

His jeans pooled at his knees that rested just millimeters from her bottom, before he sat back on his heels. Grasping her hips, he pulled her toward him until her ass lay on his muscular thighs and her upper body lay prone on the bed. He paused until her eyes met the piercing blue of his. His hands pulled her toward him and he entered her in one fluid motion. His gaze held hers as he began to move inside of her; she couldn’t look away now if she wanted to. Inch by excruciating inch, he slid back inside as she pushed her pelvis toward him in welcome. Try as she might, there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to make him quicken his pace. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. Forcing himself to stay in control of this sweet torture and draw it out as long as he could was taking it’s toll on him.

Mac, pay attention, he told her as he moved insider her, picking up the pace as he spoke to her, you have to feed soon. I’m not going to bite you. He felt her disappointment at his words and tried to explain, I can’t, bambina, you need blood too badly. You need to feed; when you’re ready bite me.

I’m not sure I can, Jon, she answered in his head, but moaned out loud when he gripped her hips tighter. I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it; blood has got to taste awful.

The need and desire for blood should be as instinctive as your need and desire for me right now, he told her, as his hands left her hips and slid up her body to caress her breasts.

"Jon," she gasped, as his fingertips plucked at the hardened peaks of her nipples as skillfully as they plucked his guitar’s strings.

He knew he had to convince her to bite him, to feed, but he had known that coaxing her into her first feeding would be a difficult task. Jon leaned forward slightly and slid his hands under the graceful curves of her shoulders, then pulled her into a sitting position on his lap. Ride me, tesora mia, and when the urge to bite me is strong...do it.

Tentatively, she began to move, still unsure if she would be able to bite him. Mac was rewarded by a husky groan from him as he thrust up to meet her. She could feel his pleasure mixing with her own as she enjoyed the control and power this position gave her.

He knew what she was feeling and thinking. That’s right, moglie mia, you’re in control. Take me, take what belongs to you. Take what you need. I give it freely. He could feel her tensing in his arms as she quickened her pace. Her inner muscles starting to tighten around him, drawing him in deeper was almost his undoing, but he kept his tenuous grip on his control.

I’m coming, Jon, even her voice in his head was breathless, throaty and full of passion.

The uncontrollable desire to bite him washed over her as the first wave of her orgasm crested, and without thinking about it, her fangs sank into his jugular and she drank deeply and moved on him, riding the waves of her orgasm. The sweet tangy taste of his blood flowed over her tongue as she sucked at his neck and he exploded inside her.

"Oh my God, Mac," he cried out, meeting each of her downward thrusts with a powerful one of his own as she milked him dry.

Chapter Twenty-two

Jon sat in the hotel bar, drinking his third cosmopolitan and eyeing the available smorgasbord. He saw a pretty brunette leaving the bar alone; now was his chance. He followed her outside and to her car. Jon managed to contain his fury with Mac, so that he didn’t hurt the innocent woman. Leaving the woman safely locked inside her car with no memory of what happened, he went back to the bar. He couldn’t go to far from the hotel and maintain the hold on Mac’s doors.

He was on his fifth cosmo and smoking a cigarette, when Richie found him. Richie could see that Jon was in a full blown fit of rage. Wondering what had happened to push him this far, the guitarist sat down at Jon’s elbow. Richie was probably the only person brave enough to confront Jon when his temper was this close to boiling. Richie wouldn’t exactly call it bravery; it was more that he trusted that Jon wouldn’t really hurt him. He might say something in anger that would cut Richie to the bone, but words wouldn’t leave him dead. His throat ripped out and all blood gone.

"So," Richie said softly, "how’s it hangin’ there, Kidd?"

"Don’t ask," Jon answered.

"But it is still hangin’ right?" Richie asked grinning. "I mean, Mac didn’t cut it off or anything did she?"

"Only because she hasn’t thought of it yet," Jon answered dryly.

"Where is the little woman?"

"Locked in her room," Jon replied.

"Locked?"

"Yeah, do you believe the little witch threw a vase of flowers at my head?" Jon told him.

"Was it a bullseye or a miss?" Richie asked, grin still in place.

"Bullseye," Jon answered. "Her aim is deadly accurate."

"So, that’s what’s got you so angry," Richie stated.

"Well that, and she was going to leave. I found her packing."

"Jon you can’t keep her locked up. If she wants to leave, well, you pretty much have to let her," Richie told him.

"Even if it means that she’ll die?"

"Die?"

"Yeah, she needs my blood to survive," Jon answered.

There was just a slight pause; Richie didn’t even have time to respond to Jon’s statement, before Jon cursed, "Shit!" and got up from the barstool and started to leave.

Richie grabbed his arm. "What is it?"

"I haven’t fed her," Jon answered softly, before storming from the bar.



It had been a few hours since he left her beating on the door. For the entire ride up in the elevator, Jon worried over his reception. He didn’t know first hand about the pull between life mates, but Kristoff had told him that it was a powerful thing. Jon did know that he was drawn to Mac like a magnet to steel, even as angry as he was. But, did she feel that same pull? Was she still angry? Would she fight him on taking his blood? Something she needed so desperately? She had said that she didn’t want to drink blood, but he realized he had forced that on her. Had he been right to do it? He knew he had turned her out of selfishness, not to save himself as she had accused, but because he couldn’t bear to live without her. He did love her. He knew that now, as well as he knew that the sun would rise in the morning.

She was a beauty; he’d give her that, but he also admired her other qualities. She was strong, stubborn, and independent. She had an intelligent mind and a quick wit. There were so many things to love about her, that he knew he couldn’t count them all. But, he was also afraid that if he told her now, that she’d never believe him. Regardless of what Richie thought.

He entered her room cautiously. Finding the sitting room empty, he moved to the door of her bedroom. She was laying on her side in the bed. The tear stains on her cheeks tugged at his heart. Had she cried herself to sleep?

Jon sat down on the edge of the bed at her hip. Bending over her, he lovingly stroked her face. "Mac," he said softly, straightening and laying one hand on her hip.

His name was a question on her lips as she opened her eyes. Groggily, she looked at him. But, he knew the moment she remembered her anger. She sat up, digging her heels into the bed until she had pushed herself up against the headboard.

He joined their minds then, but spoke to her aloud. "We need to talk."

"I know," she answered, "but I’m still angry."

Because of the link, Jon could feel her anger, but what made him rethink his whole position was the fear he also felt. What was she afraid of?

"I’m afraid of losing me," she answered the question she had felt flash across her mind.

He knew that wasn’t all there was to it. "You won’t," he assured her.

With their minds joined he could feel her fear, and was able to determine the cause. If she was more experienced in using the link, she would have the answers she was seeking. If only. He shook his head at his own stupidity. She didn’t want to be needed just to keep him sane, and she didn’t want to be a liability, only kept around because he needed her. He realized she needed to be wanted. For herself. Richie had been right after all.

"Mac," he began, "when I ran out of that warehouse and saw you broken and bleeding, dying in Richie’s arms, I lost it." Jon laid one hand on her raised knee. "I couldn’t bear to lose you. I held you, begging you to wake up, to talk to me. I wanted to ask permission to change you, but you didn’t open your eyes and look at me." He leaned forward to gently stroke one cheek. "You couldn’t answer me, and I loved you too much to let you die." He waited a few seconds, letting his words sink in. "Use the link, Mac," he told her. "You’ll be able to see I’m telling the truth." He moved until their lips were almost touching. "Ti amo."

He kissed her softly, nibbling gently on her bottom lip. When she didn’t push him away, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue in to taste her sweetness. His tongue slid across hers, and she let out a sexy little moan, that sound that drove him crazy.

Did you just say you loved me? she asked him. In Italian?

Yes, moglie mia, ti amo. I love you, he told her in both his native language and the one she would understand.

But then, with her hands resting on his chest, she pushed him away. "Is it true? Do you really love me? Or am I just the person you need to live another 450 years?"

"Our minds are joined, Mac," he told her. "You should be able to feel what I feel for you." It had occurred to Jon that Mac hadn’t confessed how she felt about him, but he tried not to let himself be concerned about that right now. He realized it was more important to convince her of his feelings. He left his feelings completely bare for her to see them. No masks, no defenses.

His love seemed to envelope Mac, and it warmed her heart. She leaned forward to press her lips to his, but he was the one that deepened the kiss. Their tongues tangling in an erotic dance that left her weak.

Make love to me, Jon, she pleaded.

Your wish is my command, amore mio, he answered her.

Chapter Twenty-one

When they were leaving the motel, Jon had handed Mac a pair of the sunglasses he had bought. "You’ll need these now," he told her softly. She only snatched them from his hand and angrily put them on. He pocketed the extra pair he had gotten in case she had thrown or broken the first pair.

The ride to the airport had been tense to say the least. Richie had tried to keep a conversation going, but after a few minutes got tired of talking to himself. He had hoped to lighten the mood some so that Jon’s temper would cool enough for him to realize that Mac had every right to be angry. Sometimes that method worked, but this time Jon’s temper was too far gone. He knew that Jon was more angry at himself than he was at Mac, but Richie had no idea how to help his friend. He started hoping for one of those flashes of brilliance that Jon claimed he had. And, finally he too was just staring out the window at the passing scenery.

At the airport, their celebrity status helped immensely, and soon they were in the air. Jon and Richie were sitting side by side in the main part of the plane, but Mac had refused to sit with them once the jet had taken off. She had moved to the rear of the plane that was usually reserved for the more important crew members and card games.

"You should really try to talk to her," Richie suggested into the uncomfortable silence. The hum of the engines was all he had heard for long enough it was starting to rub on even his good humor.

Jon’s voice was sharp with anger. "That’s probably not a good idea right now."

"The longer you let her temper fester and boil, the worse it’s going to be," Richie advised.

"Fine," Jon said in exasperation, then reached out to Mac.

Mac, are you ready to talk about this yet? he asked, not even trying to sound apologetic.

Nope, she answered quickly.

They were both silent a moment but Jon didn’t want to break the link between them, and she didn’t push him out of her head. Jon refused to beg, however.

Mac was the first to break the silence. I’m too angry now, Jon. I don’t wanna say something I might regret later.

Jon took hope from that simple statement. Okay, I can live with that, he told her.

Good, then could you butt out of my damn head, and give me some privacy? she asked him, anger still in her voice.

Abruptly, Jon was gone, and she went back to her silent fuming. She had admitted to herself that more than anything she was scared. Not only of the changes that had taken place in her, but also of what would happen now. As uncomfortable as being a witch had always been to her, it was still her heritage and part of what made her, well, her. Had she lost that with the change that had made her a vampire? She hadn’t had any of her visions, but they didn’t happen with any kind of regularity either, so she couldn’t judge by that. Mac decided to try something simple. Moving over to the table used for the poker games, she got out a stack of poker chips. She laid ten chips in a pile on the edge of the table and laid one several inches from the others.

"For my simple test, would you please join the rest," she told the chip.

When the poker chip slid across the table to join the others, she smiled in relief. Maybe she still couldn’t sing along with the radio, but at least she was still herself. Underneath whatever it was that now made her a vampire, at least she still had Mac.


In the main part of the plane, Jon smirked at Richie after retreating from Mac’s mind. "She’s still not ready to talk to me," he told the guitarist, in an I-told-you-so kind of tone.

"Jon, you can’t let her keep pushing you away," Richie advised.

"She said she didn’t wanna say something in anger that she’d regret later," Jon told him. "I’m going to respect that for now."

"I’ve had one of my flashes of brilliance," Richie informed him.

"Is that so?" Jon asked dryly.

"Yeah," Richie nodded sagely, "tell her you love her. You’d be surprised how that sentiment will cool a woman’s anger."

"Maybe," Jon agreed, "but," he paused dramatically, "only if said woman believes the sentiment."

"You don’t think she’ll believe you?" Richie asked in amazement. "Why would you lie about something like that?"

"Oh, I don’t know, Rich," Jon said sarcastically, "to save my ass?"

"But, you wouldn’t be lying," Richie pointed out.

"Try telling her that," Jon replied.

"No thanks," Richie said, grinning and holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Coward," Jon chided.

"Yep," Richie nodded, still grinning unabashedly.




The plane landed in Las Vegas and the trio made their way through security with relative ease. Once back at the hotel, Mac entered her suite and slammed the door. Finding great satisfaction at the look on Jon’s face right before the door close in it, she almost laughed. Almost. She was too angry though to give into something as frivolous as laughter. How could he do this without her permission? He knew she hadn’t wanted to be a vampire. She had made her feelings on the matter completely obvious.

Mac walked to the mirror in her bathroom. She expected to somehow look different, considering the changes in her, but strangely enough, she still looked the same. Except for the light blue eyes. She leaned forward to get a closer look. Other women might spend a small fortune on colored contacts to have this color eyes, but Mac had liked her green ones. She had considered her eyes her only good quality, and he had taken even that from her.

Angrily, she scrubbed her cheeks with her hands to wipe away tears. She refused to dissolve into sorrow. No, she wanted to hold on to her anger for a little longer. At least long enough to make him regret doing what he had done.

Briefly, a thought flashed through her mind. He had said that she would only be able to feed from him. What if she left? She was supposed to be dead now anyway. That was supposed to have been her fate, but Jon had thumbed his nose at fate and saved her so that he could live without going rogue.

Furiously, Jon had spun away from her door. Richie had decided now was a good time to disappear and left quietly, leaving his friend to pace and fume. Jon decided he was done with the pacing though, and that it was definitely time for a confrontation. He marched across his suite and jerked open the connecting door. Not finding her in the sitting room, he continued on to her bedroom, only to come to a dead stop in amazement at what she was doing.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded angrily.

"What does it look like I’m doing?" she asked. "I’m packing."

"And where in the hell do you think you’re going?"

"Home," she tossed over her shoulder as she threw some shirts into her suitcase.

"Mac," he said softly, "if you leave me, you’ll die."

"So?" she questioned, without even looking at him. "What’s your point?"

"You’ll starve, it’s quite a painful way to die," he informed her.

"I’m suppose to be dead anyway," she told him, "and by painful means. What difference does it make?"

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She hadn’t even paused in her packing to talk to him. "Mac, please listen to reason."

"You mean, your definition of reason," she said angrily, as she turned to face him, placing her hands on her hips. "I’m tired of you laying out the rules and expecting me to just blithely follow them. I’m tired of everything being your way. I’m tired of never having a say in anything. But most of all, I’m tired of you!"

"Really?" he questioned arrogantly. "You don’t mean that."

"Yes I do, Jon," she countered. "Your arrogance amazes me!"

"I won’t let you leave here, leave me, just to die a horrible death. I saved you from it once, and I’ll do it again if I have to, even if it means locking you up ‘til you’re ready to see reason."

"You didn’t do it to save me," she repeated what she had said in El Paso, "you did it to save yourself."

"That’s not true," he defended.

"Then why did you do it?"

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he said, turning to leave her room. Only to freeze in his tracks when a vase full of flowers crashed into the back of his head. Furious, he spun on his heel. Mac stood with her eyes wide in shock and her hand over her mouth. "That was a mistake," he informed her angrily. He strode from the room slamming the door behind him with his mind. Using his powers he kept it and the door into the hallway closed. He wasn’t going to let her do something foolish by leaving. He heard her trying to open the door from her side, and her small fists beating on the door, screaming for him to let her out, as he stormed out of his own room.