by Jax Garren
Dez’rae snorted. “Nobody helps me.”
“I just did.” He stopped in front of the morgue door and looked her in the eye, brow raised with a touch of humor. “We can’t go pitching fits in public and get away with it. We’re not white.”
“Hey!” Emma said, but she didn’t really mean it.
Dezi shot her a sidelong gaze, then made a noise between a groan and a laugh. “Miss, I cry and I get kicked out. I think if you started crying, those men’d trip over themselves to fix your world.” Tears darkened her cheeks, and she rubbed a hand across one.
Javier gave her a small smile. “I know I would, and that’s just not fair.” Emma pressed her lips together. He was such a liar, but it was working. Best not to interfere.
Dezi managed a tiny smile. “Yeah, she all right.” She caught Emma’s gaze, a soft look letting her know she was kidding. “Can I see Jaz now, please?”
Javier nodded, back to serious-doctor mode. “Usually we do identification in the viewing room through a glass but—”
Agitation made her jittery. “Man, it’s my sister. Just let me—”
Emma put a hand on her shoulder, “Dez, let him finish. Then we’ll argue with him together.”
Dez’rae stepped back and stared at the floor, once again getting herself under control as she grabbed Emma’s hand in a desperate grip. “Go on,” she finally said.
“I just finished the autopsy.”
Dez’rae’s breath caught. “Oh. Oh, shit. Oh.” The woman near collapsed. Emma caught her shoulders and sent Javier a glare at his bluntness.
He waited until Dezi’s gaze was back on him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bounced from foot to foot, but she paid attention. “That’s the first step in an investigation. What happened was a crime, and Jazmin deserves justice.”
Dez’rae shook her head. “She ain’t getting justice. You know that. She got killed by a john, didn’t she? Some asshole taking his rage out on her. Oh, shit.” Her breath came in gasps. “Ain’t nobody going to look into that.”
“I can’t control what happens next,” he said quietly, “but I did make sure she was treated right here. It’s not easy to look at a loved one with a Y incision. I recommend you go to the viewing room.”
“I don’t want no viewing room. I want to touch her.”
He took a deep breath, considering. Then turned to Emma. “Can she handle this?”
Emma blinked, surprised Mr. Perfect trusted her to judge the situation. She turned to the girl. “Dez? He’s offering to break a rule for you, but you gotta keep it together. I know it’s hard.”
Dezi nodded, once again using that amazing willpower, willpower strong enough to get her out of the life and into regular society, to pull her shit together. “Yeah,” she muttered, then, “yeah,” much stronger. “I’ll behave.”
Javier looked nervously from Dezi to Emma, and Emma had the weird impression he was doing this for his sire as much as for the girl.
“Thank you” she mouthed.
He frowned. “Don’t make me regret this.”
In an attempt to lighten his mood, she teased, “My, my, Dr. Reyes, I think of you as a strict rule follower. You’re blowing my mental image.”
He smiled, a slight twitch of his mouth. “You think of me?” She almost smiled back, before he went and added, “Could’ve fooled me.” He turned his focus back to Dezi and started a list of rules for her to follow if she was going into the morgue. His eye contact with Dezi was steady and sure. He gave good focus, looking at a woman like nothing else in the world mattered but her. It was one of the things she liked about him. That and his smile.
Shit. Leave for four months, come back, and nothing had changed. They still fought like crazy, and she still had the rumblings of a crush.
She’d once told him she’d be the best sire ever. What a liar she was. She was the worst. But she could change that starting now.
Chapter Three
Javier stared at the woman behind the desk in the lobby of CoVIn’s Fledgling Education Commission. He’d wasted a lot of his life in lobbies—unemployment offices with Danielle, CPS every time he and Rhi had gotten hauled in, college financial aid offices, hospital waiting rooms. Typically waiting rooms were bleak, with faded prints on the wall and pleather furniture cracked from use. The FEC, though, was a study in overdone, like the socialite he’d known in undergrad who put out china when he stopped by for a study date and offered fifteen forms of designer tea. No tea in sight here, though there were blood spritzers in a mini-fridge nestled among antiques and overstuffed pillows and silver drapes that puddled on the floor.
The decor didn’t matter. Waiting rooms were places for the powerless to sit on their thumbs until the powerful were ready to hand down fate. Today’s pronouncement from on high had been more ridiculous than most, delivered by a brunette in a tiny outfit and enough makeup to look like she’d been dragged out of a club and into a desk chair.
He kept his tone calm, trying to reason with her. “What do you mean I have to take first aid? I have my MD.”
Her superficial grin didn’t budge, and her gaze was distant, like she’d mentally checked out some time ago. Maybe a few centuries. “First aid is the final course before your Blood Safety Exam and final certification. Almost there!” He could hear the exclamation point.
New vampires took coursework—a surreal mini-university on how to be a vampire, leading up to the Blood Safety Certification, the diploma of vampire-dom. Almost. There. Once he got his BSC, he would be an official CoVIn initiate, and they’d leave him alone to live his life. For the most part, the coursework had been fascinating, if ridiculously put together. He’d glommed the documentaries and textbooks on occult fact versus fiction and the history of CoVIn. As a scientist he was still adjusting to the idea that all of this was real. But if it was real, it was science. And this new-to-him branch of science fascinated him.
There were also the boring but understandably necessary segments on governance, law, paperwork, et cetera. Mostly that boiled down to, “We pretend to have a government, but really Queen Modron’s in charge. Here’s how to legally get blood.”
The parts he could’ve done without, however, were the horrifically chipper, practically pornographic videos detailing how to bite people without killing them, then, worse, how to bite people during sex so they didn’t notice. He’d had to take a test on it. Multiple choice. Instead of answering, he’d corrected all the terminology and written short answers on the pros and cons of each option, from a medical perspective. He’d gotten it back with a smiley face and a gold star and no markings whatsoever. Surreal.
“I’m a doctor,” he tried one more time.
Finally, she focused on him like she was taking something in. Her gaze dropped to his neck before sliding back to his face. He had to stifle the desire to slap his hand protectively over his jugular, and she smiled dangerously. “The class should be really easy for you then.” From under her desk she pulled a blood spritzer, cracked it, and took a long, slow gulp.
He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look at the slow-throbbing pulse at her neck as she swallowed. Even from this distance, he could smell the smoky vanilla of her skin, warm from whomever she’d last bitten.
Damn, he was thirsty. Bottles had lost their appeal a couple months ago. The thought of sinking his teeth into someone was getting downright distracting, a weird feeling.
Then she pulled a vodka bottle from somewhere, poured a hefty dram into her drink, swirled it, and tipped it toward him in offering. From her expression, he couldn’t tell if she was being friendly or just hungry and hoping to get him drunk.
Either way, he was way too tempted to take some, but he shook his head in a tiny motion and tried to reason with her. “I have a medical degree. I already know first aid. Can I just take the exam please?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules, I just temp here.” Her smile turned cynical. “Because temping is how I contribute. And you contrib
ute by getting your BSC, fledgling. We need completed coursework or a voucher, and according to your paperwork, you’ve stated that your sire—”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” His cheeks burned. Usually, instead of formal coursework, a new vampire’s sire would show him the ropes, then vouch for his understanding. Except his had abandoned him, forcing him to do this instead. Really, the classes were a better way to learn—more in depth, and he didn’t even want to imagine Emma teaching him the segment on sex and biting. Didn’t want to imagine it, and yet imagined it way too often. No, learning this way was better. He put his hands up, trying to get her to shut up about Emma. “Fine. I’ll just take the class.”
“His sire what?” That accent only belonged to one person.
Javier turned around, his face impossibly hot. Emma wore slim jeans and a sleeveless, pink shirt with a sweetheart neck. Her freckled skin paled as it went up her arms and down from her clavicle to the tops of her small breasts. She’d been born in a time when women covered up from the sun and poverty kept a person small and waiflike. But she had gorgeous hips. And gorgeous hands. And she was so much fun… when she wasn’t being confusing.
He jerked his wandering gaze up to her face. Of course she’d walked in right when he’d been thinking about her naked and him plunging his teeth into… He cut off the thought before he embarrassed himself. “What are you doing here?” The words came out sharper than was polite.
Her smile stayed bright as the receptionist’s grin turned downright snarky, but her ears reddened with her own embarrassment as she walked toward them. “I told you. I’m back in town. I can be a sire now.”
He raised his eyebrows, trying to come up with a reply that wasn’t impolite in more than just tone. He’d heard promises like that too many times to ever believe them again.
Emma ignored his look and turned to the desk. “Hey, Elvira, right?” The receptionist nodded. “What’re you doing working? I figured you’d be out partying with Winnie and the gang.” She turned to Javier. “Elvira’s like this”—she crossed her fingers—“with the queen’s eldest.” Winnie—Galswinth, actually—was the queen’s eldest acknowledged fledgling, older than Cash even. What on earth a friend of CoVIn’s princess was doing riding a desk at the FEC was beyond Javier’s comprehension.
Elvira grimaced. “Long story.”
“I getcha,” Emma said with a knowing nod. “So what’s next for my, uh, for Javier?” She looked from the receptionist to him and back, as if they would let her just stroll in and take over like she’d been here all along.
He wanted to tell her where to put her what’s next. Although… He grabbed a file folder from behind the desk, found the right voucher, and quickly filled in the necessary information. “Sign here.” He handed her the pen, wondering if she’d push back.
She glanced at the form, eyes going wide before she looked back at him. “What is it?”
So, reading a half-page form was too much work. That’s how it was going to be between them. “It vouches that I know enough first aid to take responsibility for any accidents I cause.”
She laughed, her nerves disappearing as she took the pen and leaned over the form. “First aid.” She looked at Elvira, who was back to drinking her vodka-blood spritzer. “He’s a doctor, you know. Modern training and everything.” Her signature was slow and careful, each letter formed with the precision of a much slower era. “What’s your next class?” Emma twirled the pen, looking up at him under long lashes.
He handed the paper to the receptionist, relieved. “I’m done. I just have to wait for the next test date.”
“You’re… done?” She sounded disappointed.
He would keep his mouth shut. He would walk away and keep… “You’ve had five months to be a part of this.” And three days since the morgue with zero contact.
She whistled as she followed him to the door. “You got done in five months? That’s gotta be, like, a record or something. I heard it takes a year for most folks, with all the material nowadays. We should get drinks and celebrate.” She touched his arm, friendly and awkward. She’d been so smooth when they’d met. So sure of herself.
Fucking and dumping him sure was easier than getting to know him.
She kept going with an air of determination that made him want to cringe. “But you are a smarty-pants. Hey, I got you a present!” Two key cards in a leather sleeve whipped out of her pocket, and she pressed them into his hand.
“What’s that?” A paper inside gave a room number, like at a hotel, and he had an inkling he knew what it was.
“Your new place!” She pulled him along, dragging him toward the elevators as he tried to dig his heels in. She was strong enough that the elevators kept getting closer.
The thirty-three-story building housing CoVIn had businesses on the bottom floors and condos on the higher ones. Important vampires had lofts in the top, near Modron’s suite. The rest of them were for Joe-vampire, looking for a place to stay surrounded by his own kind.
“I have my own place,” he insisted. But she dragged him through the main lobby, with its ceiling that rose up thirty stories to the glass floor of Starlight, a vampire nightclub. He hadn’t been back since the night it had been taken over by a witch for a mass sacrifice. Not a memory he wanted to relive.
“Rhiannon said your lease was coming up.”
“Remind me to strangle my sister for sharing my personal information. Did she mention I’m renewing it?”
“Why? That’s where you died. Did they get your blood out of the carpet? This place is nicer anyway. One bedroom, not a studio, with internet and streaming video and all the latest… stuff. I know most fledglings move in with their sires, but Cash and I thought you wouldn’t want to move into his place, seeing as your sister is there all the time.”
The glass elevators loomed closer. Honestly, the idea of living here wasn’t terrible. CoVIn was so swank, in an old-money kind of way—it hadn’t dawned on him he belonged.
He didn’t feel like he belonged. But he was one of them, so he did, right?
Regardless, her picking where he lived was crazy, and he should be offended.
Oblivious, she kept talking. “Winnie—you’ve met Winnie, remember? She’s cool—she pointed out that CoVIn provides housing for baby bats whose sires’ ain’t got no viable place to live. Of course there was paperwork.” She puffed out an aggravated breath. “Shitty lot of stupid-ass paperwork. But I got it done and got you a place. Blood included and everything!” She seemed so proud as she hit the buttons on the elevator, finally forced to stop her implacable march.
He extracted his arm. He should be mad that she was taking over his life, but that wasn’t what really needled him. He’d been filling out paperwork—for himself, for Rhi, for Danielle—since he could write. Food stamps, unemployment, affordable housing, taxes—Danielle had turned taxes over to him in fifth grade because they scared her—school forms, CPS paperwork. There wasn’t a box he hadn’t checked or a signature line he hadn’t forged with Danielle’s signature. But apparently for Emma, filling out a few boxes for him was an onerous task worthy of applause and gratitude. That was too much to explain, so he went with what should bug him. “You have no right to decide where I live.”
She looked at him like his anger confused her. “But this is free. It’s good too. Better’n your current place.”
“I don’t need free.” Not anymore. Not ever again. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, if you’re bound and determined, but in case you ain’t noticed, CoVIn’s rolling in pits of money. They got this.”
He’d noticed. It was like a country club around here, and he constantly felt like staff—not a member with a place, physical or metaphorical. But she thought he belonged. “That isn’t the point. You have no right to come flying in here whenever you choose and try to take over my life. I am a grown man. I don’t need you.”
The elevator dinged, door opening. Instead of getting in, she leaned against the side,
arms crossed protectively across her chest. “I didn’t say you need me. I was just trying—”
“What? To throw up some grand gesture so I’ll forget the last five months happened? I don’t work like that.”
“No. Would you just listen for a moment? I’m trying to do my job. I know you’re mad, and you got every right to be. But I’m trying to fix it.”
“Some things are better left broken.” The elevator shut, going back up without them. He shoved the keys back into her hand. He didn’t need her pity. If he was eligible for a place here, he could get it on his own. “You’re free of your duties. I’m not your job.” He turned to go, but she put a hand on his arm, and he stopped.
“I said that wrong. Javi, I want us to be friends.”
“Why?” She’d never indicated there was a reason for him to be in her life other than guilt or misplaced responsibility. Neither of those were good enough for them to try. But he wanted her to give him a reason—a real one—that they should work it out. She liked to talk to him. She liked his smile. Hell, they were good in bed. That would be especially nice. But he’d take anything that wasn’t about duty.
The moment stretched to seconds of nothing, and there was his answer.
His phone rang. Disappointed beyond reason, he answered it without looking. “Dr. Reyes.”
“Help,” a breathless voice whispered. “I need help.”
“Who is this?” He checked the number and didn’t recognize it. “How’d you get this number?”
“I got bit. I think I got the disease. I don’t want to be a zombie.” She started sobbing. “You gotta help me. My name’s Rosalie.”
* * *
“What’s a bottom girl?” Javier asked as he ran down the stairs after Emma and into CoVIn’s garage. Rosalie was an Empower girl, so Emma had taken an immediate interest. Zombies weren’t real—he remembered that from his coursework, so they weren’t sure what she’d seen—if she’d really seen anything. But he’d go, just in case. Helping people was his job.
