A Drop of Red

by Chris Marie Green

  “Good to know that I stand apart from the rest of the harem.”

  That’s one thing he’d always been honest about—his relations with the Friends. He was, like, hundreds of years old, so Dawn didn’t begrudge him the need for intimacy over the centuries—and his former need to root to humanity for sustenance.

  “Is Natalia going to be ‘one of those’ Friends?” she asked, referring to some of the favorites he’d pleasured before Dawn had shown up last year.

  “Jealousy does not become you.”

  “Ex . . . cuse me?”

  She sat up, and Costin groaned.

  “All I’m asking,” she said, “is for a little clarification. I’m your blood pump, you know? That entitles me to what you call ‘jealousy, ’ I think.”

  Oh, man, total verbal vomit. Good going.

  “For a woman who says she does not care,” he said, “you are certainly adamant about caring.”

  “I can be adamant about a lot of things.”

  Now Costin was sitting up. “I have told you—you are unlike any other. Why can’t you bring yourself to believe that?”

  Because . . .

  Hell, because it was way more comfortable to pick a fight than to put herself out there again. Giving him blood was fine because she could always regenerate it. Giving him her life was good because she had earned the need to sacrifice that, too.

  But giving him everything else?

  She slipped out of bed. “You know, I’m not all that tired yet, and there’s a ton to do. You rest, and I’ll be back in time for your wake-up nip.”

  Knowing from experience not to rile her, Costin leaned his forearms against his bent legs. “If that is what you require.”

  “I’m just doing this because the hunt’s on.” She headed toward the closet. “Besides, I need an hour or two later for personal reasons, and I want to get as much done as I can now.”

  “Why is that?”

  She stripped her gown over her head, her words muffled. “I’ve got dinner with Eva at her place.”

  A fissure rumbled the atmosphere apart, and when Dawn looked at him, she could see why.

  Costin’s eyes were burning as he took in her naked body.

  Even though it was cruel, she stood there and let him look. But the power of his desire made her cells collide and explode, made her sex go wet and swollen.

  “Dawn,” he whispered, his voice raw.

  She snapped out of it, despising that she didn’t know how to handle intimacy any way but this way. That she couldn’t stand the thought of knowing that he needed her so badly.

  She went into the closet and put on some jeans and a baggy sweater, covering herself, removing temptation.

  Still, his longing thudded at her, and she stayed removed until his palpable hunger faded with the coming of sunrise.

  By the time she came out, rest had overtaken Costin. Undead to the world, he lay back against his pillow, his eyes shut, his mind a blank wall she couldn’t bypass, no matter how hard she might’ve wanted to try.

  Only then she went to him, reaching out to touch his temple, to slide her fingertips down to his jaw with all the yearning she couldn’t bring herself to show when he was awake.

  EIGHT

  THE DUELING PSYCHiCS

  DAWN took the stairs to the first floor, where she could hear the hum of the computer room even from down the hall.

  Upon a first look, the place might’ve seemed like a generic classroom, with maps and readouts posted on the walls. But the televisions, virtual reality stations, and wide plasma computer screens topped by cameras testified that a whole lot of quid had been invested in this particular educational program.

  She camped her butt at a computer terminal and logged on just as Kiko entered with a mug of coffee in hand.

  “You the cavalry?” he asked, sitting in front of a screen colored with doctored pictures of the great Kiko surrounded by bikini-clad starlets on a deserted island.

  “Sure,” Dawn said. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Take a couple names from my list. I’ve been doing thorough checks, and it’s taking forever.” He ripped a strip off of a printout and gave it to her. “The new psychic girl sure didn’t give us many specifics to go on with Kate.”

  “But we saw the decapitated head at the site, so you’re weeding out all the Kates based on our best guess at her age and her appearance, right?” Dawn didn’t add that the police might also be able to glean something from the dumping ground’s skulls and bones.

  “Sure, I’ve been using Kate’s physical description,” Kiko said, “but so far, there’re no decent matches. I’m wondering if anyone reported Kate MIA yet, and it makes me a little depressed that there’re people out there who aren’t missed for a while. What kind of family and friends wouldn’t know she’s gone?”

  With a leaden conscience, Dawn thought of how she hadn’t even known her estranged dad had gone missing last year until four days into his disappearance.

  Kiko faced his computer, moving the mouse and making the screen turn into an endless scroll of links. “So what’re you still doing up?”

  “You know me—four hours of sleep, and I’m steel.”

  “I’m good to go, too. Damn, it’s been a while.” He rubbed his hands together. “There’s nothing like a hunt, huh?”

  She glanced at the names he’d given to her. “Sure. Nothing like it.”

  He must’ve noticed the serious note in her voice, because he started to say something else, then clammed up. But that was fine, because now they could get down to work, chatting aside. Kiko wasn’t so great at listening to her romantic woes about Costin anyway. Not that she’d ever volunteered much.

  They delved into their search and, after a couple of hours, they’d narrowed their list down to two possible Kates: a Katrina Smythe and a Katherine Darby. Both came close to the head’s physical description and age, and both had also been missing for a while—two and a half years and six months, respectively.

  Thing was, the head from the dumping ground had been much fresher than that . . . unless the vamps had done something to it.

  Keeping that in mind, they went on to research names of possible contacts—anyone who might be able to tell them why Kate had been involved with vampires. Then they worked the phones for interview appointments.

  When they’d secured a few for tonight, Kiko headed to his room. But Dawn decided to check in on Natalia before she grabbed her own shut-eye.

  She found the new girl still sleeping, hugging a pillow to her chest under the blankets, the quilt bunched around her neck.

  Good. Maybe the psychic would turn out to be a decent hunter after all if she wasn’t tossing and turning with real nightmares by now.

  Yawning, Dawn went to her bedroom and crashed next to Costin. Yet she had a tough time forgetting everything, and for a minute, she found herself wishing that she were like him—blankly at rest.

  She’d almost had that once, after Benedikte had exchanged with her. . . .

  The thought seemed to push her down into the troubled black of sleep, but all too soon, she was awakened by the rustle of sheets.

  Dawn turned over to find Costin on his side, facing her, his gaze turning an even deeper silver than a Groupie’s used to back in L.A.

  Without a word, she offered her neck, which he fed off of until her arms and legs got heavy, yet so light.

  Her mind a white canvas except for the whirled colors etching deep and low, where she never allowed anything else to enter . . .

  As she clung to him, his inner voice tangled with the rapturous flow of the feeding, the tightening of her veins and the twisting in her belly.

  I am sorry to hurt you time and again, he whispered in her mind, sending the words pumping through her body.

  Pumping, pushing, building . . .

  After he sipped to a climax that ripped through both of them, he drew away from her, his fangs receding as he laid his fingers on her wound. Breathing hard, Dawn kept cupping the bac
k of his head, her fingers lost in his dark hair.

  “No apologies,” she whispered out loud. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

  Or was it if she didn’t have to be?

  She stiffened at the notion, blocking herself off from him. Thank God she hadn’t allowed him to be in her mind to hear.

  But maybe her body language told him everything anyway, because he sighed, his breath cool on her arm.

  For several moments, they stayed like this while he healed her. And as his energy pounded into her, mending her, she tried not to allow him in again mentally.

  Not more than she already had.

  Soon, he finished, and she slowly sat up, light-headed, pushing the covers away, her neck wound nothing more than a tingling ache now. “I’m off to Eva’s, but after I get back, Kiko and I will take Frank and Natalia out for some Kate interviews. Maybe we can even escort our newbie back to the burial ground for that listening session, if she’s up to it.”

  Costin got out of bed, stretching his arms above his head. Dawn paused to appreciate the ripple of muscles before he eased to the bathroom to prepare himself for the coming night.

  “When Kiko awakens,” he said, “perhaps he can catch Natalia more up to speed, as you would say. I will also see if we can arrange that late, quiet visit to the coroner’s.”

  “Kiko’s gonna love training his replacement.”

  “When did I say he was being replaced?”

  “I just assumed that’s what was happening. A changing of the guard.” Dawn inched up her gown to check her thigh wound and decided it was scarring nicely with the help of the goo.

  She ripped off the rest of the bandage.

  “Kiko will not have to go if Natalia can bring his gifts back.” Costin smiled, then entered the washroom.

  “Sneaky bastard,” Dawn murmured, getting up and going to the closet fridge for her post-feeding snack.

  “I heard that,” he said.

  She grinned wryly. “I knew you would.”

  JUST for Eva’s sake, Dawn ended up choosing a decent pair of black pants and a fancy crocheted sweater that her mother had given to her last Christmas. It itched, and even though it was kind of pretty, Dawn couldn’t wait to change into something more comfortable when she got back.

  At any rate, she basically ruined any “pretty” when she armed herself with some antivamp weapons, like the holy water bracelet and a crucifix that made her pants pocket bulge.

  Hell, safety was the height of fashion.

  Costin had already sequestered himself, so she made good time down the stairs. Then she passed her dad’s door.

  Breisi was still slumbering in her portrait, but Frank was messing around with the box that the right-sided-heart boy had been wielding.

  “Don’t tell me,” Dawn said. “You and the Breez are designing something like that for us.”

  “With UV light.” He set the box down and raised an eyebrow at her lovely sweater. “You off to some ritzy nightclub?”

  Self-conscious, Dawn pulled the material away from her chest. “Is it that bad?”

  “Naw. It’s just very . . . Eva.”

  “Cut it out. I’m not even in her galaxy.” In spite of her denial, Dawn felt herself blushing, oddly happy with the comparison. She’d grown up hating and loving her mom, all the while knowing she was only a bleak reflection of the beautiful star. “Anyway, I’m going to her flat for dinner.”

  He turned back to the box. “Have fun.”

  His passive response struck her, flinting a spark of frustration. “You haven’t seen her for a while, Frank. Why don’t you come along?”

  Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Not a good idea.”

  “Sure it is.” Dawn gestured toward Breisi’s picture. “Breez would be fine with it.”

  “So why screw up her goodwill by going to Eva’s?”

  “I don’t know—maybe because we’re a family?”

  The ridiculousness of that statement seemed to hang in the air for a second, then drop to the ground, shattering like a spent bulb. In the shards, she could see all the hopes that her mom’s resurrection had encouraged, like the family Dawn had never had or the happy mom and dad who could prove that maybe love didn’t suck. Or . . .

  Yeah, whatever.

  She backed away from the door, but not before Frank caught all the emotions that’d probably been flashing over her face like a slew of never-coming attractions.

  Dawn jerked her thumb in the direction of the stairs. “I’ll see you in a couple hours when we all hit the streets for Kate.”

  “Dawn . . .”

  “Hey, I’m not guilt-tripping you. Don’t think another thought about it.”

  Yet as she walked away, she heard Frank’s footsteps behind her, and that spark of frustration turned to one of hope, even if he was grumbling under his breath.

  She couldn’t help grinning. Sure, she was on “Team Frank and Breisi” all the way, but Eva would be happy to see him.

  By the time they’d descended the stairs, Frank had curbed his muttering, but he did stop by the front door to leave a note on an entry table’s message pad.

  “In case Breisi wakes up and wonders where I am,” he said.

  They put on jackets and went outside, where the sky was mean and rumbly, then headed toward Eva’s.

  “You’re such a trouper, Pops,” Dawn said as they rounded the corner. “Seriously.”

  Frank grunted and forged on through the biting night.

  They came to the Bull and Cock, where a weathered sign boasted a crazy-eyed man with a rooster’s comb on his head and steam coming out of his nostrils.

  One day, Dawn wouldn’t be surprised to meet a creature who looked just like him.

  Inside, the pub was warm, thanks to a fire in the grate and the conversation from an after-work crowd drinking ale. Mahogany lent the room a dimness, and ivy crept out of brass planters while the elevated TV played what they called a “football” game around here.

  Dawn and Frank avoided the flames and circled around to the back room, where a set of stairs hid behind a closed door.

  They opened it, ascended, then knocked at a second door.

  While the faint din echoed from below, Dawn gauged Frank. He was bothered, all right. She could tell because his jaw was as taut as a primed crossbow.

  He nodded toward the door. “She called for us to come in.”

  Of course he would’ve heard it over the background noise.

  Dawn took out her extra key—a long brass thing that reminded her of ghoulie stories—and unlocked Eva’s door, then pushed it open.

  “Hi,” she said, sticking her head in. “Frank’s with me.”

  Her dad shuffled his boots as Dawn entered a quaint room that was heavy with the soothing aroma of butter, rosemary, and thyme for the Cornish hens Eva was making. Like the pub downstairs, the area was laden with dark wood, but her mom had made it a real home, with sage damask curtains draped over golden rods. Modern art from a shopping trip with Kiko also hung on the walls—textured messes that looked like some child had barfed dark rainbows. But Eva had also used a history dabbler’s touch to decorate, with a large carved oak bed fit for royalty in one corner and a medieval-style dining set on the opposite side, near the tiny kitchen.

  Altogether, the place had the feel of a work in progress, of a resident who wasn’t sure where she belonged.

  Eva had been washing vegetables in the sink, and she turned off the faucet, then wiped her hands on a dish towel before approaching. Although paler than she’d been back in L.A., she looked as stunning as always, in a milky cashmere sweater dress she had belted below the waist, plus matching suede boots. With her sunny blond hair waving over her shoulders, she didn’t look to be on the downside of her forties, thanks to makeup and the recent cosmetic surgery that made her seem like a slightly different person altogether.

  But, as she stopped in front of Dawn, a closer view revealed something missing—a freshness that indicated real youth. Wh
en Dawn had killed Benedikte, she’d turned her mother human again, giving her the gift of her true age, and it broke Dawn’s heart until Eva laid her doe gaze on Frank.

  There it was again, Dawn thought. Hope.

  She couldn’t blame Eva for nursing it, especially because of last year, when her mom had kidnapped Frank. He’d strung her along by making her think that they’d be a family, and maybe he’d even believed it at the time, because once he’d loved Eva beyond words. But she’d destroyed that with her fake murder.

  And then he’d met Breisi. . . .

  “Sorry I’m running late with the appetizers,” Eva said, folding her hands in front of her. She seemed to change her mind about that and smoothed down her skirt. Then she changed her mind again and embraced Dawn.

  It was like her mom didn’t know how to act with Frank here.

  Dawn wasn’t so great at hugging, but she tried. It helped that her mom’s summery perfume smelled good.

  “How’re you doing?” she asked Eva while disengaging.

  “Fine. You?”

  “Great. I asked Frank to come along, if that’s okay.”

  Eva’s gaze found her ex-husband again. “I think I can manage to set an extra place at the table.”

  She smiled, and it was blinding.

  For a moment, Dawn saw the movie star, the hint of what had made millions of fans love her as both Eva Claremont and Jacqueline Ashley.

  But as soon as Frank closed the door behind him and opened his mouth, the magic disappeared.

  “I can’t stay long, Eva.” He’d taken off his knit cap and was holding it in both hands.

  “Oh.” Her mom played down her disappointment, but Dawn could tell she’d just taken a kick to the gut.

  Eva went back to the kitchen and resumed vegetable duty. “I imagine Breisi will wake up soon. You need to get back to her and your work.”

  “Things are busy.” Frank stayed at the door.

  Dawn wanted to kick herself for creating this slow-motion train wreck. “Can I help with anything, Mom?”

  “Not unless you want to pour yourself something to drink. The other day, Kiko took me to a wine bar, and I bought a great Pinot Noir.”