by SF Benson
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“You realize I can read you?”
It seemed like everyone around me could.
My son tapped my hand. “I might be able to help with Aunt Melisande. If anything, I can find out what she’s planning. Merciers fiercely take care of family. We give each other the chances nobody else will. Blood obligates her to at least listen to me.”
The scruffy-faced dhampir with his tousled dirty-blond hair and grayish eyes left the railing and sat with us. “Colby has a point, Morgan. You need someone on the inside. He’s your best option.”
“He’s not an option,” I clarified. “He’s my son.”
“Which means Aunt Melisande is waiting for me to turn on you. Let me play both sides of the street. It’s a game Dad taught me well.”
I grimaced. The fact Bishop taught our son the art of deception sickened me. “Still…”
“If it’ll make you feel better,” started Clint, “I’ll be with him. Hell, Melisande can think I’m the kid who got sick of his father’s bullshit.”
Sadly, there was truth in his words. Kragen wouldn’t let his son forget he wasn’t a full-blooded vampire. Clint persevered and did whatever, attempting to make his father proud. It was a fruitless task, but the dhampir persisted.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Honestly, my apprehension had little to do with the danger in my son’s proposition. It was more my suspicion about their friendship that distressed me. Ace said I was being ridiculous. Clint dated females and males, but Colby had only shown interest in the opposite sex. The possibility that there was more between them might have been unfounded. Still… I hoped a relationship—real or imagined—might keep them protected.
Finally, I asked, “What are you planning?”
My son smiled. “It’s easy. I ask Aunt Melisande to let me move back in.”
Clint added, “He’ll ask if it’s okay for his boyfriend to come too.”
I swallowed the urge to call them out on their lie.
Colby laughed. “Mom, you know we’re not gay. Right?”
“Um-hmm.”
“Morgan, it’s just a lie to get us in the house. Melisande doesn’t know the truth about me. I keep a low profile in town. Supes know I’m Kragen’s son, nothing more.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You have to promise not to try anything. Only gather information.”
My son crossed his heart. “Promise.”
Ace cleared his throat. He was standing in the doorway. “I’m all for spying, but how do you plan on finding out whatever Colby learns?”
“I didn’t sense you coming,” I said.
My husband didn’t crack a smile. “You were too busy scheming.” He looked at Colby. “If you want to do this, I won’t stop you. I’ll give you a burner phone. Use it to text me, not your mother. If you have something for us, you simply text the words need to meet. I’ll have one of the pack members meet you at a neutral address. He’ll always be dressed like a biker.”
“A biker? Seriously, Ace?”
“Dawlin’, I’ve got friends all over. Back in Falls Creek, I know members of Satan’s Bandits. Colby and Clint will use them for an alibi. If Melisande or Marsilius finds out you’re meeting with my wolf, you’ll tell them you’re thinking of joining the MC.”
Clint bobbed his head. “I like it. Makes us sound like a couple of rebellious guys. We’re shirking family to find our own way.” He nudged Colby. “It’ll work.”
I sat back in my chair and studied the two friends. They forgot one thing. “What happens when the Merciers don’t see any public displays of affection?”
Clint draped his arm over the back of Colby’s chair. “We’re private and don’t do PDA. This is as much as they need to see. It’ll be enough we’ll share a room.”
My son grinned. “Plus, we’re newly out of the closet. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”
Why did I feel there was more truth in his words than what he said?
4
No Sleep for the Cursed
Tabitha
* * *
Usually, I had no problem falling asleep and staying that way. I had the perverted jerk to thank for my insomnia. Men like him didn’t get the message that not every stripper was into lewd acts. Unfortunately, I couldn’t easily forget about the bastard. His handsome face entered each and every one of my dreams, leaving me tossing and turning all night. More than once I awakened just to walk the floors. Memories of my misadventure pummeled me like tiny invisible fists.
The black expensive car.
The captivating voice inviting me for a ride.
His name was Alexander, and he insisted on walking me home.
The alley.
Teeth.
Suckling.
Was I going mad?
I tried tossing back bourbon. The taste sickened me.
Next, I made myself a cup of tea. That experience was worse.
Nothing worked. Eventually, the frenetic pacing wore my ass out, and I fell asleep on top of the covers.
The next day didn’t bring clarity or relief. Instead, it gave me an intense headache and a strong aversion to the sun. Rather than deal with it, I kept the blinds closed and pulled the comforter over me. Somewhere in the apartment my phone rang nonstop, but I ignored it as blackness pulled me under.
Finally.
* * *
It was late when I finally climbed out of bed. Thankfully, the sun was setting and the pain in my head had dissipated. Something squeaked. I flinched. All around me strange sounds reverberated. Tiny scratches. Marching feet with a repetitive thump-thump-thump.
Did a horde of rats invade my apartment? Roaches perhaps?
I shook my head. The Hibernia Tower was a well-cared-for building. I wouldn’t have moved into if it weren’t. The worst pest in the entire place was ants.
Could I possibly be hearing their movement?
That was too creepy to ponder. What was next?
My electric-blue and yellow Queen angelfish turned in the tank. I swore I heard the water part as she moved.
Perhaps it was just the previous night’s ordeal making me tense. I rubbed the left side of my neck, and my fingers froze. My imagination is working overtime. I carefully felt the area again. Nope. It’s not a delusion. I didn’t need a mirror to see two small puncture wounds. The fucker bit me!
“Just my luck to attract a sicko into kinky shit,” I said out loud and headed for the living room.
The floor tilted, my vision blurred, and the room began to spin. I reached for the wall and took a minute to steady myself. Fear knotted inside me. Someone else was there with me. My eyes peeled away the darkness as I scanned the area. No one was physically in the room, but his blue gaze permeated my mind. Those eyes glowed and beckoned me.
Then Alexander’s voice emerged from the abyss. “Come to me, Tabitha. I’m waiting for you, my beloved.”
A deep longing whispered through me, every inch of my body vibrating with a profound craving for the man. Against my will, my feet carried me forward. I had no idea where to find him, but I was certain I would.
“That’s it. Let the sound of my voice lead you to me.”
My hand went to the doorknob. It turned, but nothing else happened. I shook it. Still nothing. When I tried to pry open the locked door, I came to my senses.
“What the fuck am I doing?”
It was a good thing my addled brain hadn’t remembered my keys. I would have unlocked the deadbolt and been traipsing through the Vieux Carré on a ridiculous mission. For what? To get laid? Hell, no! I hoped to never run across Alexander again.
Leaning my back against the wall, I tried to swallow. My mouth was bone dry as if I’d slept with it open. I yawned and then made a painful mistake. I slammed my lips shut. Something sharp pierced me.
“Ow! What the hell?”
I ran my tongue across my teeth and tasted blood. What the fuck! I touched my mouth and discovered…fangs? The metallic scent inflame
d my senses.
Hunger took over, but my stomach didn’t growl. Strange. Although I ate before my shift, I’d slept through breakfast and lunch. The intense sensation was maddening. It felt like my soul longed for something I couldn’t name. Something foreign. Forbidden.
My appetite sent me straight to the kitchen where I promptly raided the fridge. Leftover Chinese. Half a po’boy sandwich. I wrinkled my nose at the myriad of takeout dishes littering the shelves. Nothing appealed to me until I saw the bloody butcher’s paper. Inside was the steak I’d purchased for dinner. Well, it was time to eat.
Normally, the smell of raw meat repulsed me. That night, however, the heady aroma intoxicated me. It drew me in like a connoisseur to a fine Cabernet Sauvignon and left me salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
I closed my eyes, lifted the crude flesh to my nose, and inhaled the scrumptious morsel. My body quivered with anticipation. Unable to wait another second, I chomped down on the bright-red meat. The cool, spicy nectar slipped down my mouth. Oh, fuck that’s good! I slid to the floor and devoured the tenderloin. Not a piece of it was wasted. Okay. I didn’t eat the fatty edges. That would have been gross. Juices dripped down my chin. I wiped the liquid and then sucked my fingers like a child.
That was a considerable portion of steak—enough for two meals—but it didn’t satisfy my hunger. If anything, I was more ravenous. Could starvation lead to insanity?
I was being ridiculous. I just needed more food. Maybe a pizza? Better—a plate of jambalaya. All I had to do was get dressed and walk over to one of my favorite restaurants. Or order in. That would work. First, I had to find my phone.
Before I could rise to my feet, though, ghastly scenes played in my mind like a macabre horror movie. So much blood. It dripped from syringes. Women shrieked in terror as the crimson flowed from neck wounds. It trickled down razor-sharp canines, pressing into creamy flesh. The fuzzy image of a man with blood-red lips held out his hand to me. Then came the sounds.
Suckling.
Groaning.
Smacking lips.
Screams.
I held my hands over my ears, trying to mask the lingering noise. It was as if I was stuck in some gruesome porn.
Ah, you taste good.
More. I must have more.
The words evaporated and morphed into the sounds of a man and a woman giving over to passion. They gasped and moaned. Their sweat-slicked skin slapping aroused me.
Then I saw her pulse beating strongly in her throat. Those blue veins invited me. Suddenly, I was parched. My heart raced, and the hankering grew stronger.
“Stop!” I screamed and forced my eyes open. The scene vanished. For some reason, I touched my neck again.
Not possible, I told myself. Shit like that only happened in the movies.
Like the one playing nonstop in your head?
It must have been my mind re-enacting a scene from a book I read. No more Anne Rice or Stephen King for me. Mama used to say those novels would give me nightmares. She was right.
Right?
That shit only happened in peoples’ imaginations. Right?
Tears rolled down my cheeks as reality set in.
Could Alexander have been a vampire and I was his...
No!
I refused to believe that nonsense. Besides, I was nobody’s victim. Everything happening to me was just a bad dream or a hallucination caused by a fever.
It had to be.
My parents were the ones who fell for the tales about New Orleans’ Underworld. As a kid, I listened to their stories about things that went boo in the night. Back then, I told myself it was the silly ramblings of superstitious folks, nothing more.
Vampires. Weren’t. Real.
I wasn’t superstitious.
There’s one way to find out.
Scrambling to my feet, I ran to the bathroom. Clicking on the lights made me cringe. The brightness burned, but I had to see if there was any real proof. I forced my eyes open and stared in the mirror. The image glaring back at me wasn’t me. It couldn’t be.
I had always been the perfect blend of my white mother and African American father—what people used to call mulatto. The person in the mirror, however, was a perfect stranger. My smoky eyes gave way to glowing topaz orbs ringed in carmine. The gold in my skin had vanished, leaving behind a deathly grayish pallor. Slowly, the image became hazy. Although there was no steam in the bathroom, I wiped the mirror, but it didn’t help. The details were fading away.
I was fading away.
I blinked, and my reflection completely disappeared.
No, no, no!
Screaming, I lifted the soap dish and threw it at the mirror. Quickly, I shielded my face with my arms as shards of glass flew out like my shattered life.
Minutes passed. My chest heaved in and out. I gripped the sides of the sink and lowered my head.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
It wasn’t as if I could ask someone about being a vampire. Even in New Orleans the question might land my ass in an asylum.
There sure wasn’t a supernatural hotline I could call up. “Supernatural hotline. If you’ve recently joined our community, press one. If you’re experiencing anxiety due to a shortage of new prey, press two. If you’re unsure what your problem might be, please hold. Someone will be with you in a moment. Enjoy the frightful shrieks while you wait.”
Maybe there should be one. A super freak hotline for those who’d just been turned.
Overnight I went from stripper extraordinaire to a waxen-faced creature of darkness. Cursed because I followed the money. Naw. A handsome face swayed me and became my affliction. I allowed a bloodsucking jerk in a tailored suit to pull me into an alley. I got lost in his eyes and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
I’d admit my idiocy, but I wouldn’t suffer in silence. Somehow, I’d find Mr. Tall, Dark, and Fine and repay the favor. Did stakes really work on vampires?
The insatiable hunger worsened. Then a constant beating, like native drums in the jungle, called to me. I unlocked the door and hurried down to the street.
For a change, the chilly night air didn’t bother me. Normally, I hated it. I was a summertime gal. Perhaps there was a slight advantage to my predicament.
Passersby paid no mind to me as I prowled the Vieux Carré, seeking the one who screwed me over. My movements reminded me of the calico cat I had as a kid. She used to stalk her prey from under the bushes in our yard. As I roved the shadows for Alexander, I understood the game she played.
The beating grew louder. But it didn’t come from drums. No. The sound belonged to blood coursing rapidly through veins. The man stood underneath a streetlight. Did Alexander believe I wouldn’t find him? Mr. Drool-Over-Me-and-My-Money was about to meet his match.
Maybe I’d claw out his throat. Drink my fill and leave his body behind. Honestly, I hadn’t thought about how I’d kill the fool. I only knew he had to die.
Wait! Aren’t vampires already dead?
Then, he’d die a second death at my hands.
Anticipation took over, and I imagined how he’d taste. Perhaps it would be like eating a piece of fruit on a hot summer day. To me, the first bite was always the sweetest. There was something sensuous about how the juices dripped between my fingers.
I moved salaciously slow. Two more steps, and he’d be mine. The sight of his pulsing neck only made me thirsty. My fangs ached for his throat. I had to taste the soft flesh and warm blood.
He only struggled for a minute. Once I bit down into that delectable sweetness, he stopped fighting me. Sinking my teeth into his tempting tissue was only slightly disgusting. The sensation was like biting into the slab of raw meat I had earlier. As my teeth plunged deeper, the grossness dissipated.
The blood, hot and a little salty, was a sweet ecstasy. A primal need took over as my brain replayed how I ended up in the situation. I devoured his neck like a fresh Georgia peach. You ruined me, I said in m
y mind.
I drank my fill, letting his life drain away. The tall, dark, and fine pervert dropped at my feet. A thin red rivulet ran down his neck and stained his collar, but I didn’t need it. I was sated and overjoyed. I’d returned the favor. Licking my lips, I crouched down to see the stunned expression on his handsome face.
When I rolled his body over, reality hit me like a punch to my gut. My need and the images of the creature who turned me had corrupted my thinking. The corpse on the sidewalk wasn’t Alexander.
I ran my fingers over the stranger’s dark hair. The man was attractive in a rugged way, but he wasn’t the asshole who cornered me in the alley. The dead man was an innocent soldier, still dressed in his fatigues. Empty, bulging eyes stared into the great beyond. A fine sheen of sweat coated his forehead. The man had fought for our country, returned home safely, and I took his life. My eyes watered.
As the tears fell, I realized I had turned into some hideous monster. A creature who only thought of her needs over the sanctity of life. How the hell could I go on like that?
Pushing to my feet, I slowly retraced my steps. There was no joy in the journey. There were no thoughts about stalking or exacting revenge. When I pushed open my apartment door, I toppled to the floor.
Would sleep erase my guilt?
* * *
Scalding pain, like nothing I’d ever experienced, jolted me awake. My eyes shot open and darted around the room before I realized I was home. I’d fallen asleep beneath a colossal window in my sunny apartment. The memory of the previous night’s events surfaced in my mind. The acrid smell of burned hair and meat, however, interrupted my recollection.
“Sweet Jesus,” I screamed and scrambled to my feet.
My bedroom was lit up like a bright summer’s day. I didn’t need a college degree in vampirism to know I had to find a dark place. Fast. Jerking on the closet door, I hurried inside and slammed it behind me. I dove beneath a pile of dirty clothes, and the ache on my arm disappeared. The scorched skin magically healed too. Tears spilled down my icy cheeks. I was so screwed.
