In a dark alley, this ridiculous “fight” would have been over in seconds with the pretender Dom down—permanently. Here, Matt needed to be careful. He couldn’t kill the prick, and he couldn’t let his own ultimate victory look too easy.
Matt pegged his fighting style from the start. Brad was obviously versed in mixed martial arts. For the sake of authenticity, Matt let him land a blow to his left temple and open a cut which bled sluggishly. Body blows came next. Cat’s attention locked on the furious volley of punches Brad threw at Matt’s chest. Impossibly quick reflexes allowed him to evade them all. Matt landed one to Brad’s gut and another to a kidney. He had to give it to the guy. Brad had some game. That last one should have put the little creep on the ground. They briefly danced around each other, Brad trying to catch his breath, Matt pretending he needed to.
What the fuck, man? Matt came to this class for fun, to work some long-dormant artistic muscles, not dip back into his Army training for hand-to-hand. Obviously, having gotten a second wind, Brad was on the offensive again, going after Matt’s ribs with a vengeance. Matt let a couple blows land, getting more and more pissed at Brad’s viciousness. This little pest was a potential killer. He needed to do something about it before someone, probably a woman, ran afoul of him.
What did Cat see in this arrogant prick? Hopefully, he wasn’t what she wanted in a Dom, if she even knew the meaning of the word. Something was so off, here. It was crazy-making, but one thing was sure—Brad needed to be taught a lesson harsh enough to prevent him from trying this bullshit on any other woman.
Matt moved in, determined to eliminate Brad’s threats in a punishing way. They were engrossed in the ferocity of the struggle, and Matt didn’t notice the speeding sedan bearing down on them until it was too late to avoid a collision. Brad dove for the curb while Matt jumped into the opposite lane. The driver veered into the oncoming lane, clipping him before he veered back and sped away. There was stunned silence and then a surreal moment as Cat’s anguished cry elongated his name.
“Maattt!”
* * * *
Cat observed the carnage with horror. Brad lay still, his head bleeding against the curb. With a low groan, Matt rolled, making it slowly from his knees to his feet. He stretched what had to be battered muscles and bones. She sprinted to help him and stumbled mid-step at the sound of his guttural, threatening growl. She stood stock-still as he turned and the light caught the glimmer from his eyes. They were as pale as opals. His face was an unnatural, deathly mask. Long, wicked fangs protruded between drawn lips.
In shock, and reverting to the solace of her childhood religion, Cat crossed herself while Matt’s appearance gradually normalized.
He warningly reached out to her. “Don’t come any closer,” he said, his voice feral. “Give me a minute.”
“What in God’s name is going on?”
“I’m okay. You need to check Brad. He could be badly hurt.”
“What?” She gawked at him as if she’d stepped into a waking nightmare.
He gestured toward Brad. “Does he have a pulse?”
Cat snapped out of her inertia and rushed to Brad, turning him over carefully and then checking his neck for a pulse.
She fearfully looked up at Matt. “I can’t tell.”
Matt knelt beside her and felt for the carotid. “Yeah, he’s okay, just unconscious.” He drew out his cell phone and then dialed 9-1-1. “Medical emergency in the street, the corner of Campus Avenue and Dowling. A man has hit his head on the curb.” He worked his neck to the right and then the left, unkinking it. “No, I don’t know him. I didn’t see anything.” He clicked off the call.
Cat stared at him accusingly. “What do you mean you don’t know him? You didn’t see anything?”
Matt hustled her up from Brad, and then propelled her toward the parking lot. “Really? You want to be involved in a police investigation?”
She immediately changed her demeanor from outrage to understanding. “Might not be a great idea. What if he tells them?”
Matt dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. “That he attacked me on the street? I don’t think so.”
“Tells them you turned into…God knows what?”
“Yeah, we probably need to talk.” They reached the car, and he opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he commanded. Cat hesitated and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Matt rephrased. “Please. Get in, please.”
Chapter 2
Ambulance sirens spurred Matt to key the ignition. The incessant cry approached from an adjoining street and raced its way toward Brad. Matt wanted to get the hell out of here before the cops arrived.
Cat drew in a sharp breath as she looked him over. “You were worried about Brad, but…” She softly touched his ribs along his right side. “You’re bleeding.” She pulled her fingers back coated with dark sticky blood, then carefully peeled up his shirt, looking for the break in his skin. She felt gently, and then more firmly. “There’s no broken skin!”
Matt winced and drew in a sharp breath. Her insistent prodding along his knitting ribs unexpectedly released the vampire, which would change his eyes from blue to opalescent. His fangs dropped. She arrested mid-stroke and gasped, withdrawing against the door of the car, flattening herself away from him. He hated the horrified look in her eyes. Not that he hadn’t seen it before, but it got to him every time, revealing him to be the monster he always feared he was. She stared in shock—which would wear off soon and she would scream.
With effort, he normalized his appearance. “We’ll talk. What’s your address?” She didn’t respond. “Cat? You’re okay. What’s your address?” He reached a tentative hand toward her, and she withdrew farther into the door.
Cat covered her face with her hands and curled into herself. Matt ignored her panic and reached for the backpack at her feet, withdrawing a bottled water. “Here.” He casually handed it to her. “The address on this thing, is that where you live?” She nodded and chanced a glance at him through the curtain of her fingers.
Just seeing the address in her tidy print unsettled him, ensuring the drive to her place was awkward and silent. As they pulled up to the crumbling façade of an art-deco apartment building, he sensed her salvaged composure. If only he could say the same for himself. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled at the memory of his last visit here. The building was a faded specter of its former grandeur. Now, it wasn’t in the best area, and he wondered briefly if his car would be waiting for him on the street when he returned.
Cat cowered away from Matt’s proffered hand when he bent to assist her out of the car, but she walked willingly enough by his side toward the building. Now, a key was required to enter, and he noticed her shaking hand as she inserted it.
They entered the hallway to an unexpected chill that seemed fitting, somehow. The cold stucco interior was cooler than the outside temperature by several degrees. Matt squinted at the glare of fluorescent lights off stark white walls. Where had the brass and crystal wall sconces gone? The mellow incandescent light on glowing mahogany paneling? Only plastered-over scars dotted the walls every ten feet of the formerly sumptuous grand foyer.
Matt strained to block out the cacophony of blaring televisions, crying babies and domestic quarrels, so different from the hip jazz trio which used to play in the lobby. The place smelled like mold, dust and last night’s supper.
He glanced over at Cat. “Are you safe here?”
She led the way down the hall to her apartment, their footsteps muffled by cheap industrial carpeting which covered once gleaming marble mosaics.
A door opened immediately to their right, and a plump teenager dropped a soiled diaper bag outside her door and peered out at them.
“Hi, Amy! How are the twins?” The girl nodded, her inquiring gaze assessing Matt. “This is Matt Brenner,” Cat continued, pronouncing his name clearly. “He’s a student at the university.”
A matronly woman from the apartment across the hall beamed at them from her liv
ing room couch. Obviously, she kept an eye on the comings and goings of everyone in the building through her open door.
“I didn’t know you were taking night classes, mija?”
“Only tonight, Mrs. Gonzalez. I was modeling for the art department, in a class called Life Studies. This is Matt.” Matt nodded genially at the woman. “He’s just dropping me off at my door.”
Matt trailed a look back at Mrs. Gonzalez as they passed, noting with concern her irregular, congested breathing.
They continued along the hall until they reached Cat’s battered green door, and Matt wondered when they’d gutted the formerly expansive residences and replaced them with squalid studio and one-bedroom apartments.
“Well, you did a good job of that.” He grinned.
She turned carefully innocent eyes up to him. “What?”
“Making sure everyone knew who I was and where to find me.”
“It seemed polite.”
He shook his head with another grin. “Right. So, ask me in. We still need to talk.”
“Do I have to ask you in?” she whispered.
He gave her a flummoxed glance. “Uh…no, but I’m not the kind of guy to push my way into your place.”
“Okay,” she murmured, still cautious.
She opened the door to what might have been the smallest studio apartment he’d ever seen. It was neat, utilitarian and stark. Matt was struck by the large open space that dominated the middle of the small room until he realized the wood paneling centered on the wall was a Murphy bed. Cat gestured him onto the loveseat and leaned against the closed door.
She gave him a direct look. “Talk.”
His stare back was just as direct. “Tell me what you think you saw.”
“I know I saw you turn into something…in-human.”
“In-human, huh?” he pondered. “Then…what would that make me?”
“Something I don’t understand. Are you…an alien?”
Matt looked aside to squelch a smile, returning a serious face to her. “You mean, like from Mexico?”
“No, I mean, like…” She bit her lip and pointed upward.
“From upstairs?”
She laughed nervously. “No, I’m pretty sure everyone in this building has to prove citizenship.”
“Ah…so, farther up? Like outer space?”
“Yeah, like outer space.”
“No. I’m definitely from Los Angeles.”
Cat paused and pondered what that could mean. “Then, what are you? Because what I saw…”
“I’m a vampire.”
“That’s impossible.”
“You saw it for yourself. It’s not the way I would chose to introduce my nature, but shit happens.”
She drew into herself again. “So, is this when you kill me?”
Matt buried a laugh. “Not tonight.” And at her alarmed gasp he added soothingly, “Not ever. I’m not ever going to kill you.”
“Vampires are killers…”
“Maybe in bad B movies. Real vampires have a lot of different ways of eating, without killing. You’d be surprised.”
“Oh. What’s it like to be a vampire?” Her voice cracked as she pulled a pillow off the sofa and jumped back to the door. The upholstered would-be shield could do nothing to protect her. She feigned nonchalance. “Do you spend your life avoiding crosses and garlic? Is that why you’re taking night classes?”
He looked at her from under his lashes. Her breath hitched. “Yeah, sunlight is a problem. It tires me out. I prefer nights.”
Cat shifted fretfully and glanced toward the kitchenette wall. “May I get you a drink? I think I have some brandy left over from when I had the flu.”
She nervously licked her lips, and in two steps, unearthed the barely touched bottle of Gallo’s brandy from a cabinet in the miniscule kitchen. Matt held up a halting hand.
“Well, I need a drink.” She reached for a glass in the dish drainer and then poured a splash. She stood expectantly, her back against the metal cabinets, and waited.
“Look, I know you have a natural curiosity about me. The thing is, I overheard your conversation with Brad when I arrived for class tonight, and I didn’t think it was right to leave you alone with him, so I got involved. Are you sorry I did?” She slowly shook her head. “I’m not sorry, either. You know, if I’d been human…he meant to kill me.”
“You must be invincible? I mean, first Brad and then the car.”
“Yeah.” He frowned, rejecting her line of questioning, and returned to the issue most on his mind. “Brad’s a bad guy, Cat. I want you to stay away from him.”
“Not that I’m arguing that point, but do vampires also order strangers around?”
He snorted and stared at her for a beat, drawing his brows across his forehead with concern. “How the hell did you get involved with a guy who has Domination fantasies? Do you really want to be a sub?”
“A what?” she asked with genuine innocence.
“A submissive.” He paused. “You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
She shook her head. “What are ‘subs?’”
Matt pursed his lips. “It’s a sexual fetish. I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with them.”
“I’m a writer,” she declared before she drained the glass. “I should learn about everything.”
He looked away, ruthlessly squelching a grin. “Stay away from Brad.”
“Yeah. I already figured that out.” She hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask, how did you become a vampire? Become, right? I mean, you’re not born that way?”
Matt froze, an avalanche of memories stabbed his undead heart. His mortality ended in this building long before she was born.
“I don’t want to be rude, but…” He rose. “There’s nothing more you need to know. Stay away from Brad. Stay out of the art department. Have a good life.” With vamp speed, he escaped the situation before Cat could react.
The convenience of vamp agility, which almost rivaled teleportation, allowed Matt to be nothing more than red tail lights in the distance by the time Cat reached the front door of her building. His supersensitive hearing caught her sudden indrawn breath immediately before he turned the corner and escaped her life forever.
As he drove, Matt considered his vow never to get involved with human females. They broke too damn easily. That was a truism he’d only needed to learn once, and much to his regret.
What were the odds, his mind raged. What were the odds her apartment building would be that one? What were the odds the only human he’d taken an interest in for decades had led him to the site of his death? Against his will, Matt’s mind replayed her question. How did you become a vampire?
Chapter 3
Los Angeles, July, 1922
Los Angeles in the early 1920s had been exciting. The aftermath of World War I had brought damaged souls, too beautiful to work a trade, into the City of Angels to seek their fortune in moving pictures. Matt was born there, and was immune to the temptations of the “the business.” Good, solid work as a detective after his MP training in the Army was fine with him.
He didn’t need the admiration of millions. The admiring glances of Ruth, the soda fountain girl at the Five and Dime on Broadway Street were plenty for him. She’d been flirting up a storm over the past week.
Assuming she agreed to a date, what would it take to get her horizontal? Matt’s dick honed in on its favorite resting place, and that was not his hand. He’d always been popular with the ladies, but he recently hit a dry spell, and to tell the truth, he was parched.
“What have ya got to cool a guy down, Ruthie?” he asked, sliding onto the rotating counter stool.
“I thought you were the kind of guy who liked to burn?” She purred.
He grinned, infusing his look with a touch of wickedness. “That’s for after hours. Why don’t you join me tonight and find out?”
“Throw in a steak and we’ll burn the house down.”
Matt swallowed
around a lump of lust. “You got it, baby. Where and what time?”
* * * *
Matt was at the curb ready to pick her up on the dot of eight o’clock. His car looked great, he decided. Irritated by a tiny imperfection, he licked his thumb and then rubbed a smudge off the upholstery of the 1920 Model T. He’d spent an hour after work shining up this pussy-wagon. Never hurt to impress the girl. He leaned against the gleaming black fender, waiting for her, and wiped a drizzle of sweat off his forehead with a clean hanky.
“I could do that with my tongue,” Ruth caught him off guard. She’d changed out of her drab soda fountain uniform and looked every inch the sexy siren in a clingy flapper skirt revealing way too much leg.
“I’ve gotta think about that all through dinner? Or were you thinking we’d go somewhere else first?” He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, willing his cock into submission.
“Dinner first. You’re gonna need all the energy you can get.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed hard. “Musso’s has a prime rib with your name on it.”
Musso and Franks, famous for their Hollywood clientele, was also Matt’s favorite steak house. He blew more than a little of his paycheck there every week, and that garnered him the special treatment he impressed Ruth with that night.
* * * *
Matt guided his date toward the back door. “Always a pleasure to see you, Detective Brenner,” the maître d’ called as they left.
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