by Anne Malcom
We’d been working together ever since.
“Can’t you at least tell your friends that they need to find a new hunting ground?” he clipped.
I picked up his paperweight, turning it in my hands. “They aren’t my friends, just fellow members of my species. I’m not asking you to march over to have a chat with Kim Jong-un and kindly ask him to stop with all those human rights violations, am I? And me telling them where to dine would most likely land me six feet under. For good. And I rather like being topside.” I glanced up. “So instead of talking about things we can’t change, how about you tell me what you’ve got for me?”
He sighed, rummaging through his files.
“You need a system,” I observed.
He ignored me.
“Color coding is always good,” I continued.
More silence.
“Or how about you try this newfangled technology, you know, the one that’s being utilized as modern art right now.” I nodded to the computer on the side on his desk, covered in dust and not emitting a low hum that would mean it was actually turned on. “I know it’s hard to get into the twenty-first century, but I adapted and I’m much older than you.”
He threw a file at me, ignoring all my comments. He didn’t exactly like to be reminded that I had about four hundred years on him, despite looking like his daughter. Or his midlife crisis. I knew his contemporaries speculated on both.
I knew there was also talk about how I’d been in and out for years and hadn’t seemed to age a day. I’d encouraged Lewis to tell them I had a really good plastic surgeon. We rarely met in his office anymore, but I was starting to feel annoyed and slightly homicidal after the whole debacle at the Majestic. Not the battle—that was rather pleasing actually, but the bloodbath that was the conversation with my parents.
Needless to say, Lewis did not like me entering his place of work and causing a stir. Which was precisely why I did it.
“Joseph O’Malley. We got him on three child assault charges. Or we did, until every single kid retracted their statements. Now it looks like the fucker’ll walk.”
I opened the file. “Not for long,” I muttered, then raised my brows. “Father Joseph O’Malley?”
“What, priests violate your moral code?” he asked dryly.
I grinned. “The only things that violate my moral code are sneakers and jeans. Draining the priest, I can get right with.” I memorized his details along with his address and place of worship. I glanced up. “Anyone else?”
He shook his head.
“Slow day for scumbags.”
“No, just managed to lock the rest of them up. You know, do my actual job,” he said, his voice hard.
“Your job is to punish those who do wrong?” I asked.
He nodded curtly.
I shook the folder before tossing it back to him and standing. “Well, you’re still doing your job, just outsourcing. So you can keep your own moral code. You’re helping people,” I said, my voice softer.
He frowned at me. “Yeah,” he relented.
I blew him a kiss. “Stay classy, Lewis. And if you’re not going to get some shut-eye, I recommend cocaine. I can put you in touch with a good supplier.”
He scowled at me. “Good-bye, Isla.”
I grinned and walked out the door.
My eyes locked with crystal blue ones across the room, so blue they flickered to silver. The moment they caught sight of me, they illuminated in hatred, glittering pure and so certain I had to blink a couple of times to make sure the attractive man was not, in fact, my mother.
Nope, his strong jaw and beating heart communicated that he was not the female vampire who birthed me. His considerable form tightened and a sharp masculine jaw turned granite. The change was palpable, even from across the room. Rage rolled through the desks and files until it washed over me with enough force that I could sense its texture.
Vampires couldn’t read people’s minds; Hollywood had taken liberties with the fact that we could sense emotions or auras, though. Humans emitted them every hour of every day, even when they slept. One of the first things I’d perfected as a new vampire—after my murder spree, of course—was how to block them out. I didn’t need to be emerged in the sea of insipid human emotion all day every day. It was bad enough I heard snatches of their conversations on a twenty-four-hour basis.
Sometimes it was irritating enough to question whatever screwed moral code I had. I just wanted to kill every loud, unintelligent and oblivious one of them.
This human, though, his emotions were different. They tore down my shields like they were paper and urged me to inspect them, taste his hate.
He was still glaring at me in shock.
Of course, I’d sensed him the moment he’d set his motorcycle boot into the open precinct. Obviously he didn’t have my mad skills, as he was now only just clocking me.
I smiled at him.
He glowered further, which made him even more attractive. He was sitting, so I only saw half of his body, but it was a good half, although arguably not the best. His hair was midnight and short, tousled and spiky in a way that looked like it took hours, but I’d bet he just rolled out of bed like that. His features were strong and masculine, harsh enough to stop him from being classically handsome, his clipped beard adding to the ‘bad boy lumberjack’ thing.
Yeah, he was hot.
And also a slayer. I probably should have mentioned that first. They actually called themselves Praestes, but come on, how obnoxious was that? Using the Latin word for protectors to fashion themselves as some sort of heroes? No one called them that; we all had much more colorful, derogatory names for them. Slayers was the most recent, and most kind. They were part of a sect as old as vampires themselves, existing purely to kill our race, or at least try to dampen down the numbers. Mortal enemies, blah, blah, blah.
A lot of vampires, my brothers specifically, made it their mission to hunt down slayers to the point of extinction.
Me, I tried to ignore them when possible, break a few bones when not.
This one, I didn’t want to ignore, despite the murder in his eyes.
This one sparked feelings similar to, but a lot different than those the king of all vampires had spiked a few days prior.
I didn’t have time to go on a stare-down death match type of thing.
It was time to go to church.
LIFE IS SUPPOSEDLY ABOUT BINARY oppositions. You know those two people I talked about in the beginning? The hero and the villain? Binary oppositions. Like good and evil. Black and white. They’re a cultural construction. Who knows when the idea of life being so simple, so definable, began. Maybe sometime, way back when, life was that simple. Easily categorized. Though I doubted that; even in the beginning simplicity was a luxury bestowed to Adam and Eve. It sure wasn’t now. It wasn’t black and white. Heck, it wasn’t even black, white and gray.
Heroes and villains existed solely to sell movie tickets. To fuel ideas about life to keep the ideological machine chugging away, to distract humans from what was going on behind the curtain. What the powers that be were doing, the struggles for that power and the atrocities committed in pursuit of it. To distract humans from that, and from their own mortality.
As an immortal, maybe I needed distracting most of all. Wasn’t it those of us who held the possibility of eternal life in our hands the people who were most likely to be consumed, obsessed, with death? Humans who had but a scarce moment on this earth and were fragile as feathers were easily distracted from their impending doom. Distraction in the form of binary oppositions.
I might see through the construction. See more. But I was also a slave to those ideas myself.
For me to exist—the soulless, evil, immoral, immortal creature that I was—someone else needed to balance me. To counter me. My binary opposition.
A slayer.
First used as villains in our bedtimes stories, slayers were what went bump in the night for us. The only thing that could kill us. Designed to k
ill us. I didn’t know how it worked because I didn’t share lattes with beings who existed solely to hunt my kind into extinction, but I knew they could sense us. We passed unnoticed to mere mortals, although some with the touch might see us for what we truly were. Witches too, and shifters—let’s blanket that to all supernatural creatures that most humans were blissfully oblivious to. But slayers weren’t of the supernatural world. They were mortals, as far as I knew. Hybrid versions, for sure, but human nonetheless. Less breakable than most, but my brothers had made it apparent that they could die rather easily.
Scientists on both sides had puzzled for a century as to why we could sense one another. Countless slayers and a handful of stupid vampires were caught by their respective enemies and dissected to see what it was that caused this connection.
None could be found.
My theory? Nature.
Yes, many liked to preach—maybe this preacher right before me, in fact—that my race were unnatural and ungodly creatures. But we were born, not made. Part of the natural world. Top of the food chain. So something had to exist in nature to counteract us, to balance.
Hence slayers.
That’s just my two cents.
But this slayer was really pissing me off. He’d followed me from the police station to the church, where I’d made it just in time for afternoon mass.
“It is not without sin that we must strive to live, but through faith. God forgives all of his children who hold faith in their hearts and love in their souls. ‘The righteous will live by faith,’ Romans 1:17.” He spoke softly but with an underlying echo that boomed through the whole room. With a quiet grace that cloaked the dark evil soul underneath.
I barely restrained a snort. Actually, I barely restrained myself from bursting from my seat and draining him right there and then. But even I must have some limits. So I settled for glaring at the white-haired man in the collar with his hypocrisy. It made me even angrier that the church was crowded, almost full.
I licked my lips at the prospect of sending this guy into the afterlife, where he would most certainly not meet the god he pretended to worship. Nor would he be forgiven for his sins that even a merciful god could wash away.
I just had to get rid of the slayer first.
I’d positioned myself on the edge of the altar for this precise situation. I’d hoped he’d lose interest, reasoning that he might have, I don’t know, a life other than following me around. Though, I guess following me around was technically his life. Rather inconvenient when I planned on draining a priest.
I pushed open the double doors to the church, shoving my heavy black sunglasses down on my face as the sunlight assaulted my eyes. It had been weeks since I slept. The raw sunlight’s effect had me realizing I had to pencil in some shuteye.
Another small thing the lore had taken liberties with. We didn’t burst into flame with the presence of sunlight, but it became an annoyance when we hadn’t slept. Though it helped with the monster image for humans to think we slunk in the shadows, holding dominion over the darkness while they held the light.
The streets weren’t busy in this neighborhood in early afternoon, and the slayer made it no secret that he was following me.
I guessed you couldn’t really be stealthy when the person you were stalking was born with an instinct to sense your presence.
Bummer for him.
I passed a homeless man outside a grocery store and tossed a fifty in his pan.
“God bless you, miss,” he exclaimed, fingering the money with wide eyes. I hoped he wouldn’t drink or snort it all. Though he smelled sober enough, if not in need of a shower.
“Or Satan damn me,” I muttered.
I kept walking past the grocery store and veered down an alleyway. It was off the street, quiet and bathed in shadows.
Perfect.
I leaned against the brick wall by a dumpster, hoping the rough stone wouldn’t catch threads in my blouse.
It was only a few seconds before I smelled the woodsy scent of tobacco and something else almost as enticing as fresh blood—his scent, filled with tumultuous emotions, and a steady undertone of rage.
I ignored that.
“You know, you could have just asked me on a date instead of following me,” I said blandly, glancing up from my nails. “Though, my ass does look great in this skirt, so I’m guessing the view from behind wasn’t bad.” I winked at him. He glared at me, splaying his feet wide as he came to a stop in front of me, dangling a long silver knife from his hand. I glanced at the carvings, registering the gentle hum in the air surrounding the blade.
“Blessed by a witch,” I observed, then clapped. “This isn’t the slayer’s first rodeo.” I didn’t move from my position against the brick, my body relaxed. The way he was standing, so close, using his size to take up the alley, would have given the outsider the illusion that I couldn’t escape.
Of course, I was a vampire. I could escape in a second if I wanted.
But I was a vampire. I didn’t escape from anyone.
Even a slayer with one of the only weapons that had the chance to fuck up my day.
“What were you doing at that police station?” he demanded. His voice was a low baritone, manly and rough. Where the king’s voice sent shivers of ice down my spine, the slayer’s rough gravelly tone had heat shooting from my toes to the hair piled atop my head.
Up close, he was even more delicious. His downstairs area, the one I couldn’t see at the precinct, was impressive, powerful thighs encased in faded blue jeans. And the tee under his leather jacket was molded to his torso, hinting at the ridges of his abs and a physique that I bet could have graced every cover of GQ on the planet.
I’d known he was built, but he was built. Muscles apparent even under the leather jacket, and he easily towered over me, even in my heels. And his scent, tainted with the fury and hatred he was nurturing for me, was woodsy and distinctly masculine, stirring the most basic instinct every creature had—arousal.
I was so deranged, checking out the guy who was moments away from trying to end me.
Trying being the operative word.
“I was reporting a crime,” I answered. “Keeping the streets of this fair city safer.” I quirked my brow. “I hear there’re men accosting women in alleyways with knives.”
He stepped forward, gripping his knife tightly. I didn’t react. “What the fuck do you have on Lewis? He’s a good man,” he hissed.
His rage surrounded me, but instead of revolting against it, my body sank into it, welcoming the bitter musk.
Jerking myself out of the fog his anger had created in my mind, I nodded. “That he is.”
His eyes were marble, glistening with fury. “You need to leave him the fuck alone.”
I held up my hands. “Dude, he called me. I’m not one to disobey a detective. I respect the law and those who enforce it. There’re too many heathens out there who don’t in these archaic times.” I gave his knife another pointed look. “Why, a mere hundred years ago a well-bred man would never have even entertained the thought of approaching a young and, might I say, stunning young woman and confronting her with a weapon.” I resumed my gaze down his thighs to his black boots and then back up again, past the beard and crazy hair to the wild eyes. “Then again, I’m not exactly in the presence of a well-bred man, so the point is moot.”
I watched in amusement and maybe slight arousal as his anger intensified.
He was hot when he got all murdery. Granted, I’d only seen him murdery, but that’s how I liked my men: broody with a side of homicidal.
“Why were you at the church?” he snapped, giving up on his last line of questioning.
“It was closer than McDonald’s and I was after a snack,” I responded. I wasn’t even going to bother telling him about Father Kiddy-fiddler. No way he’d ever believe me. “What’s with the third degree? All the slayers I encounter lead with that, getting all stabby.” I nodded to the steel at his side. “Granted, theirs don’t usually have those
fancy scribbles on it, but they like to go straight for the kill, don’t even take me to dinner first.”
Something flickered in his eyes, the rage disappearing for a few seconds before hard resolve replaced it. “You’re right. I’m not getting anything from this conversation, so it’s about time it ended.”
He stepped forward again, that time with purpose, and I sighed heavily before straightening. Then Duke’s “Vampires” punctured the air, taking away the drama and making the slayer momentarily freeze. I guessed my choice in ringtone wasn’t exactly tasteful, but I found it amusing and that was all that mattered, right?
I smiled at him, holding up my finger. “Let’s pause this death match. I’ve really got to answer this.” I glanced down at my bag to retrieve my phone. If he had decided to strike while he thought my attention was diverted, it would have been a mistake. I could have disemboweled him with my pinky finger while reading War and Peace if I so desired. Many rookies had made such mistakes.
He didn’t.
Definitely not this slayer’s first rodeo.
I put the phone to my ear, smiling apologetically to the man with the knife. The really hot man with the knife.
The one I should have itched to kill instead of wondering what his lips tasted like.
“For the thirty-fourth time, Scott, I am not coming to ComicCon with you,” I answered. After the party Scott had this warped idea that we were friends, and the annoying little twit wouldn’t leave me alone. I assigned him a ringtone so I could prepare for his calls.
“Why not? It’s kickass,” he whined.
I didn’t take my gaze off the ice-blue eyes which were now flickering with something other than homicide. Amusement? No, it couldn’t be. The stoic slayer types weren’t capable of such a thing. It was all kill, kill, kill.
Yawn.
Even I, a vampire bred and birthed for such a reason, had other hobbies. I was an avid shoe collector, for one.
“Because I consider it to be the epitome of evil,” I responded. “You know, present company excluded. It’s an insult to our very existence. The fact that you want to go makes me want to stake you myself, except staking doesn’t do shit apart from piss a vampire off.” I paused, seeing the slayer’s eyes flicker again. Definitely amusement. “So stop asking me to come. I’m personally insulted every time. And I can’t talk about this right now. There’s this marble-faced slayer in front of me anxious to get his Bladerunner on. If you’re not careful, instead of kicking his ass I’ll just give him your address where he can punish you for harassing me about this stupid human convention.”
