by J. R. Rain
But as I watched the exchange, growing admittedly more interested by the second, I noticed two things: the guy with the short black hair had his dark shirt on inside-out.
Oh, and he didn’t sport an aura of any kind.
He was, I was certain, a vampire.
***
As he slid into the back seat, I could smell it now. Fresh blood, wafting from his direction. His shirt, I suspected, was covered with the stuff.
Nancy’s blood.
Before overreacting, I reminded myself that I had spilled that same blood.
No, I thought. Not spilled. Drank. Deeply. Violently. Angrily.
In fact, I had taken a decisive step backward from all the progress I had made these past few months. I had reined in the demon bitch nicely, and for that I was grateful. The less fresh blood she had, the weaker she became. That’s the way I liked it. That’s the way it had been for many years after the initial attack that had turned me. Since then, I had drunk only the putrid cow and pig blood. I had inadvertently kept her at bay with the least-desirable sustenance I could find.
That was, until the first killing. The gangbanger who had wanted to gang rape me was my first blood. That hadn’t ended too well for the young man.
Still, I reminded myself, I hadn’t killed Nancy. I had only...partaken of her. And awakened a slumbering giant within myself. In fact, I felt her rising up through my consciousness now. She sensed, as well as I did, that the shit was about to hit the fan.
And she wanted a front-row seat.
Well, I thought. Enjoy the ride.
I moved away from the back doorway, and headed behind the stage and to the sated vampire who, even now, was watching me come to him.
With a smile on his face.
***
I took the seat opposite him, my back to the stage. I was missing the performance of the girl who danced like no one was watching—except, of course, most of the pervs in Colton were doing exactly that.
The chair seemed unstable, and I wondered how many lap dances it had endured. And with that thought alone, I vomited a little in the back of my mouth.
The man with the slicked-back hair wasn’t a man. He wasn’t a werewolf either. He seemed too slight. The werewolves I had seen were big boys...growing bigger, in fact, with each full moon. The older the werewolf, the bigger he was. Which made Kingsley one of the oldest, I realized.
And hairiest, I thought.
“You killed Nancy.” My voice came out flat, emotionless, even.
“Oh, was that her name?” He hadn’t blinked yet. Oldest trick in the book. I could out-unblink the crap out of him. He kept his wide-eyed stare on me. His skin, I saw, was flushed. He had had a healthy feeding, of course. After all, why waste all that good blood? I, of course, hadn’t had anything all day...and the Jamba juice didn’t count. At least, not for my kind.
Whatever kind I was, that is.
A vampire, I told myself. A vampire, for once and for all.
Except, of course, I didn’t really believe that. I never did. I wasn’t so much a vampire as a person who was possessed by a very, very dark and powerful entity, an entity whose own supernatural powers leaked through.
No, not leaked...poured through.
And the guy in front of me seemed too fresh, too excited, too happy. He seemed, in fact, to revel in exactly what he was.
He’s a new vampire.
Which bode well for me. The older the vamps, I noticed, the stronger they were...and the more aware of the powers they possessed. New vamps relied on strength only. At least, I had.
Except, early on, I had had my early warning system, a slight ringing in my head which was, even now, sounding strongly...warning the crap out of me.
“Yes,” I said, “and she was a friend of mine.” And she had been a friend, dammit. Even if only for the past few months.
He said, “You should turn around and pretend you never saw me.”
“Or not.”
Oh, yeah. This guy was new, and a little full of himself. And, judging by the damage he had inflicted on Nancy, a certifiable psychopath. Not to mention, he couldn’t see auras—at least, not yet. Had he been able to, he would have seen what I was. No matter.
“Leave now, and I won’t kill you, too,” he said casually.
“How many others have you killed?” I asked.
He tilted his head a little. Still didn’t blink. Still a little too full of himself. If I had to guess, he probably had posters of Tom Cruise as Lestat on his bedroom walls, and probably a poster or two of Damon from The Vampire Diaries, too.
“You wanted to be a vampire all your life, and now, you are one, and you think it gives you a license to kill. Except, asshole, some of the people you are going to kill are going to be friends with other people, people who are not really people, but similar to your own kind.”
Finally, he blinked, and that might have been my greatest victory yet.
“You’re one, too,” he said, after a moment, piecing it together.
“Lucky for you, being a vamp doesn’t require an admissions test.”
“Well, then, I am sorry about your friend. If it’s any consolation to you, she was delicious.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say about someone I cared about.”
“Then, that’s your problem, you care too—”
“Cut The Vampire Diaries angst, asshole. This is the real world and you just killed a friend of mine, and, I suspect, you have killed others like her. And, I suspect, you are going to keep doing this to people until someone puts you in the ground with a silver stake through your heart.”
He blinked again, and again, and I believe he saw that I might have been serious. And that he might be hip-deep in some serious shit.
“So, what do you propose we do?” he asked.
“I propose that you stop killing innocent people, for starters.”
“She was hardly innocent. She was just a who—”
“Don’t say it,” I said. “Remember that part about her being my friend.”
“You know, who are you? Fuck you and fuck your whore friend. I just wish I hadn’t killed her so quickly.”
He was bigger than me. Physically, I had no doubt he was stronger. By how much, I didn’t know. I’m not the oldest vampire. Hell, I’m relatively new to this stuff, too.
Except...well, except I had some mad skills.
I saw the flame, and a blink later, I was by his side. He gasped and turned and reached for me. Except I already had a hold on his arm.
The flame again, and this time, we disappeared together...
Only to reappear somewhere that I was very familiar with. In fact, I had investigated a murder scene out here...in the desert outside of Corona.
The open desert. Where there was no shade.
We both stumbled and fell. After all, we had been sitting in the strip club when we’d disappeared.
We both stood up about the same time, although only one of us looked shocked and horrified and, well, hot as hell. His skin, I noticed, was already smoking.
I dusted myself off, pointed to the sun above, nodded, and disappeared just as he lunged for me.
It’s good to be me.
Sucks to be him.
***
It was late, and I was waiting. Impatiently.
There were times when I didn’t like Nancy. In fact, if I would added up all the time I had spent hating her, it would far outweigh the time I, well, tolerated her. But she had made the effort to see me, the effort to connect, and, dammit, there had been something there. A spark. I was sorry to see her go.
Whether or not the vampire in the desert had made it out alive, I didn’t know, but I doubted it. He was as good as dead, and I didn’t feel much sympathy for him at all. And the entity within him would simply depart, only to find another host. A very sick circle indeed.
The entity within me, throughout the course of the day, had mostly settled back into the darkest corners of my mind, where she would stay, waiting for more b
lood, waiting for more pain, and waiting, also, for a special someone.
That special someone had yet to make another appearance, but I often sensed him nearby, watching me. Waiting for me. Waiting for me to...what? I didn’t know. Come around, perhaps. After all, her special someone was special, indeed...none other than the Count himself. I just happened to like the guy, which made me question who and what I was all over again.
I checked the time on my phone again. 3:22 a.m. When did these places close down, anyway?
I didn’t know, but by now, there were only a few cars left in the parking lot.
At 3:45, the last car drove away. I recognized the silhouette of the thick neck of Rick, the manager, as his car receded down the street. I used my vampire senses to see if anyone was still inside the strip club. Empty.
That was also the time I got out of my minivan, which I’d discreetly parked down the street. With a spring in my step, I approached the strip club, carrying the can of gasoline by my side.
***
It didn’t take me long to dowse the structure with gasoline. That I did so with a surprising glee should have been alarming. I never knew I had such an inner arsonist.
I stood a few dozen feet away, and held up the fancy lighter I’d purchased at a smoke shop for just this occasion.
The strip club had brought so much pain to my life. The strip club had been the beginning of the end of my relationship with Danny.
I hated the strip club, even if it had brought an unlikely friend into my life. The friendship had been bumpy and likely would have remained so. I likely would never have truly forgiven her, but I had been willing to try, and so had she.
Either way, it was time to close this chapter of my life...
In a grand fashion.
I held up the lighter, flicked it to life, and tossed it into a nearby pool of gasoline.
The End
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Vampire for Hire:
First Eight Short Stories
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Samantha Moon Case Files #1
by J.R. Rain and
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Vampire for Hire #11
by J.R. Rain
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And check out my other vampire series:
Bad Blood: A Vampire Thriller
The Spider Trilogy #1
(read on for a sample)
Chapter One
Class was over.
I was making my way to my car in the dark, my backpack slung over my shoulder, when the girl came running up behind me. We had exited class together, junior year United States history, when I heard her fall into step behind me. I didn’t have to turn and look to know I was being followed. I didn’t even have to turn and look to know who it was, because I could smell her.
It was the new girl. Well, new as of two weeks ago. And she smelled of flowers and shampoo and clean clothing. She also smelled of curry, which is why I knew who she was, since most girls smelled of only flowers and shampoo.
I’ve always liked unique girls, as much as I can like anything.
I had just clicked my car door open, using the keyless remote, when I heard her footsteps pick up their pace. She was moving faster, coming up behind me. I heard breathing now—her breathing, and I might have heard something else, too. I might have heard, mixed with the sounds of cars starting and our classmates talking and laughing, I might have heard her heart beating.
And it seemed to be beating rapidly.
It should beat rapidly, I thought. Here be monsters.
My back was still to her as she stopped behind me. Her scent rushed before her, swirling around me like a dust devil, and I inhaled her deeply and spun around.
Her face was a little orange under the cheap streetlights. She had opened her mouth to speak, but instead she gasped. She hadn’t expected me to turn on her. Heck, maybe she even thought she had approached quietly.
Maybe she wasn’t sure she had wanted to talk to me. Maybe, just prior to my spinning around, she had decided to do the smart thing, turn herself around, and leave.
Maybe she had heard stories of me. Maybe she had heard that I was different from other students. That there was something odd about me.
I heard the stories, too. Mostly, of course, I overheard the whisperings behind my back. They didn’t know I could hear them. They thought they were being discreet. But I heard their harsh words. I heard their hateful stories. I heard them speak ill of me. I heard their laughter, but mostly I heard their fear.
I heard everything.
Her gasp hung in the air, much like her mouth hung open. She was a pretty girl. Long, blonde hair. Brown eyes impossibly round. She was small but curvy. She looked like a doll all grown up into its teen years.
“You are following me,” I said.
She closed her mouth. Some of the students spilling out into the parking lot watched us. In fact, most of the students were watching us. I ignored all of them. All of them, that is, except this new girl.
“Yes, sorry,” she said.
“Why are you sorry?” I asked. I turned and opened my car door. I tossed my backpack into the backseat.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You look like you saw a ghost,” I said.
I heard her heartbeat clearly now. It thumped rapidly. It even seemed to labor a bit, which might mean she had some sort of heart condition, surprising for one so young. She looked once over her shoulder, and I could almost hear her thinking, although my hearing isn’t quite that good. She was thinking, and I would have bet good money on this, I can still leave now. Make up a good story, or even a bad one. Anything. Just leave. They call him a freak for a reason.
But she didn’t leave, and I knew why. Because they don’t just call me a freak.
They also call me Spider.
“You need help,” I said, draping an arm over my open car door, letting it support some of my weight.
She quit looking around and now she held my gaze, and as she did, her heartbeat steadied. She was no longer afraid. Then her eyes pooled with tears, but she did not look away even as the tears spilled out.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you have a ride home?” I asked. I’d learned to never trust tears.
“I walk.”
I motioned toward the passenger seat. “Get in,” I said, “And let’s talk.”
Bad Blood
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J.R. Rain is the international bestselling author of over fifty novels, including his popular Samantha Moon and Jim Knighthorse series. His books are published in five languages in twelve countries, and he has sold more than 3 million copies worldwide.
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Vampire Requiem
Reading Sample
About the Author
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