A Drop of Red

by Chris Marie Green

  “Then what are your pugilistic plans for the night?” he asked, slipping one of his hands to her waist.

  Lust.

  Need.

  The contact branded her skin, even with the linen of her gown between them. Her sex throbbed, damp and ready.

  “The usual,” she said. “See if Kiko’s mind is clear enough to guide us through a psychic stroll down an alley we haven’t combed before. Maybe get in some physical training. Troll the Internet for more possible subterranean havens.”

  “That’s assuming Kiko hasn’t indulged.”

  The reminder of how their team’s psychic had gradually gone back to a reliance on pain pills, in spite of all his best efforts, pinched at Dawn.

  Costin sensed her distress, then soothed her with a caress of mental warmth.

  Let us not worry about Kiko. He silently spoke via their Awareness. Not right now.

  Wave upon wave of his shared thoughts flowed into Dawn, weakening and strengthening her at the same time, tearing her apart with the agony of wanting him.

  When he rested his forehead against hers, she clung to his shirt all the tighter. “I wish I could stop worrying.”

  “Tonight you will.”

  His slow smile made her slide down the bedpost an inch.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “The message left for me on the phone.”

  He was ready to tell her now, and the knowledge heated her. But if she got too greedy and tried to search his mind for more, he would only block her.

  Blood coming to a simmer, she twisted his shirt.

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “The caller was a woman who claims to know where the bodies of some vampire victims have been buried.”

  She inhaled sharply, then asked, “Underground vamps?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  Still. “I knew your excitement during the feeding had to be something out of the ordinary.”

  “Always picking up on the clues.” He was stroking her neck now. “Your detective work is most worthy.”

  “How did this woman know to contact us? We don’t exactly advertise our paranormal leanings. We haven’t even put out a shingle telling people we’re Limpet and Associates. Not that we ever settled on any plans to open up shop . . .”

  “Limpet and Associates was a guise that worked well in L.A. I am not in a hurry to repeat the operation so soon. There are other, unofficial modes of investigating.” He rested his thumb against her jugular. “And we shall find out how this caller knows of us tonight when we meet her.”

  “‘Meet’? You trust her enough to—”

  “Dawn.”

  In his clearly building eagerness, he gripped her waist, and something spiraled inside of her. She buried her fingers in his hair then dragged him down to her, needing to feel his mouth, needing to feed as much as he did.

  As their lips touched, their thoughts mixed together: a dreamscape of melded colors, textured and separated like thin swirls of paint before spinning together and disappearing into one deep shade that existed only when she was near Costin.

  Dizzy, she inhaled the scent of his clothes—those spices from ages gone by, from lands she had only recently started to visit.

  Weak, she thought. He made her so weak.

  But there was also strength in knowing that she was his constant sustenance. That it was partly her blood that kept him from needing to hunt in the night.

  That it was her availability that controlled the vampire within him—the creature he’d fought and despised for centuries.

  Costin sucked her lower lip, ending the kiss, but still cupping her neck with one palm, his thumb nestling against the center of her throat.

  As his fangs thrust out one stimulated bit more, he pressed her throat, and she gasped, then cuffed his hand away.

  They stared at each other, blood pounding, the rhythm of it shared in body and mind.

  His gaze seemed to explode as he cupped her neck again, squeezing ever so slightly once more.

  This time she allowed it, taking her punishment, believing it made her even stronger. Besides, after what had happened back in L.A., she could take anything.

  His fangs grew a little more, and he inhaled, closing his eyes in his resistance.

  “I can take it,” she said, reaching up to his hand, twining her fingers with his until they were both gripping her neck. “Accept what we both are now.”

  But what exactly that was, she didn’t know.

  As far as vampires went, the team had started to think that their preternatural states of being were more about being spiritually dead rather than physically. Costin definitely wasn’t human, but with the blood exchange that had created what he was now, he and the others were beyond human. They had powers that blew her mind, but at the same time, on a basic level, they couldn’t reproduce except through the exchange.

  They had lost their souls, leaving behind personalities instead, and the new blood had altered the makeup of their bodies.

  What were they?

  That was the million-dollar question.

  Opening his eyes, his gaze back to a familiar hue of passionate self-hatred, Costin disentangled his hand from hers.

  “Why do you keep pushing me?” he asked.

  She had no answer.

  Both of their chests were rising and falling as he held his fingertips to her collarbone, then skimmed his hand down her chest, as if wishing to slow the pace. Her own hand followed his, but she stopped to untie her gown’s closures along the way.

  The material parted, huffing air over her flesh, her breasts.

  “Why can it not be this way?” he asked.

  Her nipples peaked as he insinuated his fingers into the open gown, slipping upward, over a breast. He circled his thumb over her, tenderly exploring.

  The turnabout threw Dawn off balance. She arched against him, feeling the bulge under his thin pants.

  “Faster is more our speed,” she said, panting.

  He closed his eyes again, his hand still on her breast as he kept fighting himself. A shudder wracked him, and she reached out, ripping at his shirt to get it open.

  But his words kept punching at her. Why do you keep pushing me?

  She didn’t know. And maybe she didn’t want to.

  He was shaking now, his eyes silvering again as he fought the vampire within.

  “You want this, Costin. . . .” she whispered. “Admit it.”

  At the mention of his name, he jerked his head back, like something had shifted inside of him.

  And her instincts told her that it wasn’t a change of heart.

  Wary, Dawn watched him. His previous attack in bed had been brutal, and this was too prolonged. She had an idea about what might be ailing him now.

  Even without going into his head, Dawn freakin’ knew.

  In the next breath, he had righted his posture, and when he opened his eyes again, they were still silver, but Dawn knew they’d be blue under any other circumstances.

  Damn it, just what they needed. Costin must’ve really been worn down by fighting his hunger to allow this to happen.

  “Just because we talked about you doesn’t mean we want you around,” she said, bracing her hands against his chest. “Get out of here, Jonah.”

  Costin’s deeper, more eloquent voice gave way to Jonah’s younger, brasher American one.

  “Is that how to welcome me back?” he asked.

  Dawn glared at him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  No, he was too busy taking in the view from this newly dominant position in his vampire body, absorbing the warm air from the heating vent on his skin, enjoying the smell of lavender from a vase on an end table. All his senses would be heightened, and he was obviously reveling in them firsthand.

  When he was done, he looked down at Dawn, at his hand on her bare breast.

  Lifting his eyebrow in amusement, and maybe in wry apology, he removed his touch, even while keeping his other arm around her.

  “Don’t ever tel
l me I’m not a gentleman,” he said.

  “Oh, you’re a keeper, all right.”

  He laughed softly. “Last time I saw you up close and personal like this, we were moving into this place. Just like Costin to pick a fixer-upper to nest in, isn’t it?”

  Maybe Dawn should’ve been stunned by his casual attitude, as if him showing up and taking over happened all the time. But at this point in her life, even Jimmy Hoffa crashing through the roof and smashing onto her bed wouldn’t have seemed strange.

  “Yeah,” she said, “it’s been a while. But you might also recall how, at your last visit, Costin pressed you right back into the depths of this body, where you belong. Why don’t you leave before he has to bother again?”

  “That would mean going back to my jail cell, and I like to get out into the yard every once in a while.”

  She continued glaring. “You need to let go of me.”

  “And ruin a fantasy?”

  But, surprisingly, he did loosen his hold. After a pause, he even exhaled and shook his head, then used one hand to close the gape of her nightgown, although that didn’t do much to chase the goose bumps from her skin.

  She tried to pull away from his other hand, but he still had a grip on her arm.

  I need a crucifix, she thought. But the nearest and most available one was way on the other side of the bed, where she’d dropped it earlier after calming Costin.

  There weren’t any other weapons within reach—not even a vial of holy water to flick at him.

  So she geared her mind for an attack, hoping that all the telekinetic training she’d done would pay off.

  Jonah read her body language. “I can guess what’s coming next. Remember, what Costin knows, I know. You and I are linked just as surely as you and the boss man are.”

  She shut her mind against him. That way, if she could catch him by surprise, she might have a chance at thrusting him across the room with the force of her will. Maybe it’d even jar Costin back into control.

  Calling upon each and every acting! skill she’d learned from Hollywood, she relaxed. But that only made Jonah suspicious.

  Great.

  He finished giving her an endlessly long look, then turned his attention to perusing her new, improved, postvampire complexion. Another grin followed. Dawn wasn’t used to that mouth smiling so comfortably, and she found herself glancing at it with a little too much interest.

  “I miss your scars,” he said, cocking his head, taking to the vampire habit with all the ease of someone who was way too comfortable being a creature of the night. “On you and me, both. They added a lot of character.”

  “In your case, they added an early alert system. Any guy who’d take a razor to his face just to spite someone else doesn’t have character—they have a psychosis.”

  He laughed at that. Yeah—laughed. Probably because he knew that Dawn had found the scars on her mysterious boss’s body to be disturbingly hot—at least before she’d found out how they’d gotten there.

  “So . . .” he said, changing the subject. “What about that bite you offered earlier?”

  Dawn just gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-joking look.

  It didn’t deter him. “Didn’t you say that this body needed to feed? And you and I both know I’d be much more willing to enjoy the process than Costin.”

  He had her there. But . . . “If you think I won’t get a crucifix just because it’ll affect Costin, too, you’re wrong. He’s probably urging me to do something with you right now and I just can’t hear him because you’re suppressing him.”

  “He’s having a fit.” Hardly caring, Jonah instead touched the tip of his tongue to a fang, as if wallowing in the sensation of experiencing it firsthand. “But I’m going to stay longer, if you don’t mind.”

  His refusal made her angry enough to summon energy and shape it into something like a fist. She reared it back, then pushed out at Jonah.

  Bam—

  He reacted a split second too late, one of his hands coming up to block the attack. After stumbling backward, he finally found his balance.

  “You realize I can do a lot more than just give a loathe tap,” Dawn said, advancing a step forward.

  His hair covered half his face as his shoulders bristled into a hunch.

  Then his mouth shaped into another smile, fangs gleaming.

  Definitely up for this, Dawn borrowed from all the pent-up rage she carried around.

  Benedikte . . . all the betrayals . . .

  The rancor bunched together, and she rammed at Jonah again.

  He jerked with the jab, then smiled as if this was a game of slap and tickle. That made her even angrier, especially when Jonah got to a crouch, ready to spring.

  But then he went taut.

  “No,” he choked.

  He fell to all fours, hair shrouding his entire expression. “Not yet—”

  Convulsing, he tumbled the rest of the way to the floor and curled into a ball.

  Dawn felt Costin’s emerging consciousness connecting with hers. Again, he silently said. Punch him again.

  She fisted her hands, tendons straining as she thought of L.A. once more.

  Push—

  This time, she did something she’d never done before.

  Her energy forced Jonah’s arms over his head, just like he’d been shackled.

  She heaved in a breath and he broke the restraints, obviously stunned at what his body had been forced to do.

  Yet with another punch, she put him flat on his back, his hands gripping the carpet as he fought an inner battle with Costin.

  “Not this time,” Jonah’s voice said. But it sounded cracked, like glass separating. “I won’t let you overcome me this—”

  With a gurgling choke, he stopped, then wrestled for breath, staring at the ceiling while letting go of the carpet.

  Dawn realized she was still clenching her own hands, and she relaxed. Yet the dark stain deep inside of her still remained. The heaviness.

  “Costin?” she asked.

  She could feel his presence in her head. So why wasn’t he responding?

  Ignoring the wound on her leg, she ran to him, dropping to his side. His eyes were closed, but he managed to speak.

  “Dawn,” he said in his dark, skin-heating voice.

  Costin.

  “Thank goodness,” she said. “I was—”

  Before she could utter another word, he opened his silver eyes, opened his mouth, exposing fully sprung fangs.

  He reached up and pulled her down, his mouth to her neck.

  With a tight pop, he broke her skin, entering her jugular, sucking, drawing, drinking just enough. . . .

  All Dawn could do was grip him, gasping with pleasured pain as the blood ebbed from her body during this latest desperate attempt to fill each other back up again.

  THREE

  THE MYSTERiOUS WOMAN

  AFTER feeding on Dawn, plus a bag of stored blood, a renewed Costin had healed Dawn’s neck, just like always. Then he’d checked to see if she was okay after their bang-up start to the night.

  But there was no time for dwelling on emotional stuff, so she’d assured him that it was time for business as usual and sent him off to his study where he could privately contact the woman who’d called, then arrange the quickest meeting possible.

  Dawn knew he’d be initiating a background check, too, using one of the many discreet contacts Jonah’s wealth could buy. As a reclusive heir, Jonah had access to a huge medical supply fortune—one of the many things that had swayed Costin to choose this particular human’s body as a host over any other.

  Of course, that had been way before Jonah had shown his true I-want-what-Costin-has colors, Dawn thought as she went to a minifridge in her walk-in closet and extracted a small bottle of supplement juice that had also been created by a team member. The vitamin-laden concoction gave her some verve, so she drank up, also snacking on a couple of “biscuits”—or cookies as they were called back in America. Then she bathed, taking car
e not to disturb her dressed thigh wound.

  All the while, she wondered just how strong Jonah was getting and if he would prove to be a problem from this point on. But who the hell knew, since Costin plus Jonah equaled a vampire unlike any the team had ever encountered or studied?

  After her bath, she made fast work of drying her dark brown hair and slinging it into a braid that trailed down her back to her shoulder blades. But she didn’t stay at the mirror long enough to slap on makeup over paled skin. At twenty-five, she didn’t have wrinkles to cover; besides, there was no amount of cosmetics that would make her Angelina Jolie anyway.

  Even more important, she wanted to be ready when this mystery woman showed up. So she pulled on some thin, silk thermal long johns, black pants, a long-sleeved turtleneck, and thick-soled dark boots that would lend proper traction if she needed it.

  As a final touch, she donned a silver crucifix necklace that boasted needled points at the ends. She secured it beneath the turtleneck, where she could feel the pendant’s sharpness, even through the thermal shirt.

  A reminder of what she needed to do.

  A penance.

  During her descent down the winding, claustrophobic stairwell, she passed stark walls lined with portraits of gorgeous, ethnically diverse women—most looking like boudoir honeys with their shoulder-baring robes and serene, satisfied expressions.

  These were the Friends: former team members who had agreed to stay on with Costin’s mission even after their deaths. They were in spirit form now, which allowed them to aid the present hunters with surveillance and defense.

  And it all still might be a real kooky concept to Dawn if one of her good pals wasn’t among their number.

  As she entered a first-floor hallway—in the States, they would’ve called it the second floor—she passed by a bedroom. There, she found Breisi resting in her own portrait, safe and sound amidst the painted background of the L.A. lab where she had done her best work before dying and going all spirity. Her dark, twenties-siren bob framed a strong yet somehow delicate Latina face, striking a homesick chord in Dawn as she stood in the doorway, unable to look away.

  But her reverie ended at the sound of a bearish voice from the other side of the small room.