BloodlustBundle

by Margaret Carter, Crystal Green, Erica Orloff, Patricia Rosemor

No more human blood, the males had told him. You’re a bad vampire for wanting it.

  Reaching up toward Camille’s picture, Griff burned to bring it to life. To hold her near, never letting go.

  From behind him, he heard a fuzzy sound—like a telly station shutting down for the night. Then her voice.

  “Your blood.”

  Griff glanced behind him, exhausted by a mind that wouldn’t allow him to catch up with his cravings. His mouth watered at the sight of her inside his room, dressed in those jeans, that white, red-stained top, those bloodied arm bandages. Her smooth, luscious skin.

  Her sharpened weapons.

  “I gave you that wound beneath your breast,” he said.

  “Yes, you did.” She walked closer, clutching her machete and stake, gaze wary as she checked his eyes. At that, she seemed to stand off a bit. “You did a lot of wounding tonight.”

  He fisted the hand he’d used for drawing. This wasn’t how Lady Tex used to look at him. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want to kill any more people.”

  That was a lie. Even now, he was shaking. Wanting.

  “You murdered Beatrix.” Her tone reflected an inner rage. “For that alone, I want to rip you up.”

  “I’m sorry. God forgive me, I’m really so sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t have anything to do with resurrection. My sorries never brought anyone back to life.”

  His sight scrambled again, a fast-forward through a clipped reel of red meat and disco lights.

  Battle it, he thought. Don’t let it claim you. Battle…

  After a moment, he had the urges beaten. The beast of need slid back into the dark corners of his mind. Waiting.

  So tired. He focused on Camille, who was crouching near him, still on alert.

  “I see that you can fight it,” she said.

  He could barely talk. “Yes.”

  An indiscernible emotion crossed her face. Fear? Love? Hate? “I came here to see if I had it in me to put you down. But—” she clenched her teeth “—you’ve made this a little tough, Griff. Sometimes you’re still the man I loved.”

  Loved. As in love no more?

  Grasping the shirt material over his heart, he covered the area of his body that hurt the most. “You want to kill me, Tex?”

  She searched for an answer.

  Death. A way out. With death, he wouldn’t have to see her growing hatred flower for him. Wouldn’t have to become something inhuman. Insane.

  Seeing her fall out of love with him would kill him anyway.

  “The vampires,” she said, “are going to terminate you unless I walk out of this room with you a changed man. Am I too late? Because I can’t look past what you did.”

  Her gaze slid to the wall’s blood-painted image, lingered, then settled on his cut arm. A tear gushed down her cheek.

  “It always heals within moments. See?” He showed her the wound that had almost mended itself. “It became faster throughout the night.”

  “Oh…God…” she whispered.

  He didn’t mean to torture her just by existing.

  Don’t worry, whispered a voice from that dark corner of his mind. You can make her love you again. Forever.

  “Tex.” He crept nearer to her, wanting to brush away the sadness from her cheeks. His movements put him in the position to see the window into his cell.

  They were standing there. His vampire brothers.

  Sargent.

  The possessive mercenary was watching Camille, and Griff couldn’t help growling, showing fang.

  “Griff.” Her word was a command.

  “He’s in love with you, too,” he said.

  Face falling, Camille tossed a glance over her shoulder. Sargent flattened a hand against the invisible barrier, blasting Griff with a hateful look.

  “You’re imagining things,” Camille said, voice doubtful. Did she feel the same way?

  “Bring him in here.”

  “If your vamp fan club had wanted you immediately dead, they would’ve sent Sarge instead of me.”

  “So you’re not going to—?”

  She held up the stake, twisting it safely sideways, but still demanding silence. “I don’t want to. But you’re like a baby rattlesnake right now. You’re dangerous because you don’t know how to control your poison. I did think there might be a way to condition your behavior, but now I just don’t know.”

  A lack of belief. It forced his eyes closed. This would be the rest of his life: White cages. Solitude.

  “I can’t help doing it, Tex.” He opened his gaze, showed her his stained hands, the dried blood of innocents crusted under his fingernails. “Murder.”

  Pain jogged through her gaze, and Camille lowered her head. When she glanced up again, she had hardened herself.

  Griff kept his hands up, punishing himself with reality.

  Now, in his advancing degradation, even the scent of the old blood was wafting through him, suffusing him with addiction. It hadn’t been this bad earlier.

  His mind went crimson again, a liquid curtain of red heat blowing over his sight.

  Want. Want. Want. I want.

  “Water!” she yelled. “Can’t I get the blood off?”

  It was no surprise to Griffin when a fall of moisture sluiced down the marble wall. These ancient vampires had told him that, with training, he would someday manipulate his surroundings, as well. That he would be at peace in their ranks, imitating their ways and existing on animal blood for sustenance.

  The type of blood that didn’t fulfill.

  Slowly, the water washed away his picture of Camille in a smear of diluted scarlet.

  She didn’t question the small miracle of vampire power; instead, she sheathed her stake and led one of Griff’s hands under the stream, cleaning him thoroughly. Then she did the same with the other hand as he lavished her with a loving gaze.

  “That’s a start,” she said, inspecting his eyes, judging him. “We’ll wash it all off.”

  How? They both still had blood on their clothing. All the same, Camille’s determination calmed him.

  Even if blood would always be on his hands.

  His eyes were back to that warm almond brown she used to adore so much.

  Camille kept holding on to his jittery hand. The hand of a user gone cold turkey. A hand that, once upon a time, had stroked the valleys and peaks of her body.

  She could barely stand to look at the beast who’d murdered Bea, but then again—even though she knew it was wrong—that’s all she wanted to do: look at him. Take him in as an elixir for all the tragedy they’d shared.

  Right now, even though his fight against the inner vampire was obvious, he was in control. Remorseful. Human. It almost made her think she could still save him.

  But how many times would she try a cure? How many times would she fail?

  “Know what?” he asked, sitting against the wall after the water dried, resting his eyes, leaning his head back against the marble as if listening to a silent symphony in his head.

  “Open your eyes, Griff.” His irises were the barometer. Brown or gold. Safety or danger.

  His gaze stayed shuttered. “We could always be together, no matter what happens.”

  She gripped the stake for strength. “I did want to be with you. Always. Back when you weren’t killing people.”

  “There are ways of getting back what we used to have.”

  He finally opened his eyes. They looked normal, except for a faint shine. But maybe that was from the lights outside the cell. A reflection.

  She reluctantly inched out the stake, just in case.

  There are ways, he’d said.

  The words hung between them, beads of blood shivering, ready to drop and explode.

  Was he talking about having her make the ultimate sacrifice? Having him turn her so they could always be together with similar codes and cravings?

  He couldn’t be serious. If she turned vamp, she’d murder, too. Sure, she’d be able to forget her parents
and Bea. Shedding blood would be in her nature, if she were like him. Her memories would be cleansed.

  Camille couldn’t help thinking about it. She peered at Sarge, who was outside the room scraping both hands over the barrier of silence, trying to get to her.

  Life as a vampire. It was everything Sarge hated. Everything she’d fought against her whole life. Darkness. Death.

  She turned back to Griff, remembering that sweet smile. Those puppy eyes. The nights they’d spent just lying in each other’s arms without a word because they knew what the other was thinking.

  But, dammit, she couldn’t forget everything else. Tonight’s events mingled like a bad formula, imploding, causing her to hold her stomach, to collapse into herself.

  Curious, Griff got to his hands and knees, causing Camille to raise her weapons against him. He cocked his head at her.

  “Think of it.” His voice was lower, warped. “You’d be around to keep me in check. I’d be around to keep you happy. It’s a change of lifestyle, certainly…”

  His voice withered into a growl as he locked on to Sarge in the window. Chin lowered, Griff watched the hunter engage in a silent, one-sided argument with the vampires.

  “The first thing we’ll do,” he said, “is kill that bastard.”

  Without rushing, she turned around to find Griff fully changed. Eyes golden, wild. Not that she was shocked.

  Heart sinking, she raised her stake, angled her machete.

  But, split-second quick, the new vampire leaped up, smashed away her weapons, then palmed a hand behind her head, tilting back her neck with superior strength.

  Helpless, she could only say, “Don’t you turn me.”

  He laughed, breath dampening her sensitive skin.

  “Neither of us has been able to hold on to what we’ve loved, wouldn’t you say? This is our chance.”

  “No.” She pushed against the feral vampire who’d taken Griff over. “Bring him back.”

  In answer, the vampire scraped fangs over her jugular, playing with her. Camille jerked away, but the creature was too strong. His grip tightened, making her wince.

  “Don’t fight,” he whispered. “You’ll see that the blood fills you up so you don’t have to think about your pain. Just what you’ve always needed, Camille.”

  This time, when she pushed at the vamp, she tried to be crafty, using a Krav Maga move to free herself. Quickly, she raised her arms, cupped her hands, hooked down on his wrists to grab them away.

  If it’d worked, she would’ve darted backward, out of his reach. But seconds later, he was still holding her in the kiss-of-death position.

  The male vampires were giving her every chance to tame him, weren’t they? They weren’t going to allow Sarge to come in here until she utterly failed. But she’d already known that. And nothing could’ve stopped her from trying to help Griff one last time.

  He arched back his neck, swooped his fangs toward her jugular. Executing one last, lucky squirm, she managed to get away, then lash out with a chop to his windpipe. Fighting for breath, she dashed to her machete.

  Unfortunately, his shoe stomped down on the handle just before she grabbed it. Too fast.

  He coughed, rubbed his sore neck, his flaring eyes boring heat into her. “I want you to want this.”

  She stood, facing him down. “Bring back Griff.”

  Pausing, he seemed to consider her request. But then he merely shrugged. “Can’t find him.”

  With a blast of speed, he zoomed at her, gripping a handful of her hair.

  Springing out of instinct, she maneuvered away, chopped at his neck again, then pushed both hands down on one shoulder to bring him forward and knee him in the groin.

  He fell forward, groaning. Camille jumped back, seeking a weapon on the floor.

  Though she’d hated to do it, she’d hoped his crotch would be vulnerable since he’d exhibited a sex drive earlier in the night. And she’d been right. This time.

  As she crawled on the floor for her stake, Sarge went ballistic on the other side of the barrier, pacing back and forth, punching the air and yelling. The vampires merely ignored him, engrossed in her reindeer games.

  With more confidence than she actually had, she clutched the wooden weapon, held it up so they all could see that she was still in the running. So she could show Sarge that she hadn’t let either of them down.

  Panting, Griff got to his knees, eyes sizzling. “The more you escape, the more I want to catch you. You’ll make a brilliant vampire.”

  Then he rocketed toward her again, a blur of motion. He belted into her, winging her across the marble. With a lung-crunching smack, she crashed into the wall, smashing her face, her chest, her legs. The stake popped out of her grip. Bungled to the floor.

  I have no weapons, she thought, groggy.

  Her nose was numb. Blood trickled from her nostrils. Her bones felt like crushed grain, and her hipbone stung because something in her pocket had jammed into her skin.

  She felt the shape of the object. Took it out and rolled to her other side where she could face her monster.

  Their baby ring.

  Think, Camille, think.

  Like Ashe’s crucifix. She’d never believed it could work, but it’d left its mark on Griff. How? It was an object.

  But one imbued with meaning.

  For real serious situations, Sarge had told her.

  Ten feet away, Griff was hunched and ready. First he walked at her. Ran. Flew.

  Sucking in a last-ditch breath, she held out the baby ring, hoping he’d see it before he tore into her.

  As he spied the new weapon, he lost momentum, skidding along the floor, straight for her.

  For protection, Griff had once told her, securing it around her neck with the chain.

  Concentrating all her faith and love into the sacred talisman, she brandished it, pressed it into his neck as he froze and banged into the marble wall next to her.

  A burning hiss of steam accompanied her energized yell as she tamed him, reduced him to an unmoving vampire with his fingers clawed, his mouth locked in a scowl.

  But how long could she keep him here like this?

  “Remember when we rode the tube all day and you put your hands over my eyes, making me point out our next stop on the underground map?” Her whole body was quaking, a victim of fear. Her voice rose with every word. “Remember our first kiss? We were walking in the Camden Market and, out of the blue, you just turned to me and held my face. It was so soft and wonderful, that kiss. Do you remember?”

  She’d screamed out that last part. The ring had branded away layers of his skin, but she didn’t remove it.

  A sob flamed through her lungs. “Griffin Montfort? Griff? You come back to me!”

  He closed his eyes, hands falling to his temples, mouth contorting in anguish. “I remember.”

  Too afraid to hope the real Griff was back, she didn’t move, kept captivating him with the ring.

  Moaning, he opened his eyes again. Brown. Deep, dark, beautiful, swimming under a sheen of moisture.

  “I hurt you,” he said.

  “You’re back?”

  He blinked. A tear sped down his temple. “It’s killing me, Tex.”

  She moved the ring an inch away from his skin, but still kept it in front of her. A shield.

  “No, it’s not our ring.” Griff gave her a look so steeped in sadness that her chest tightened. “The insanity. Every hour, my mind shuts me out a bit more. Help me?”

  “You mean by adjusting the serum or—?”

  “No.” His voice softened, hoarse. “End it.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. She thought of the suicidal cut in his arm that he’d been using to paint her picture.

  “You said you’d do anything for me, Tex.”

  She scrambled away, nearer to her weapons, almost afraid to use them now. She was afraid of what his death would do to her. “You’re asking me to kill you?”

  I can’t. I should, but I l
ove the man who used to be you.

  Couldn’t he understand that saving him meant redemption?

  “Don’t be sad,” he said, still slumped on the marble. “Remember, you can do away with the vampirism, but you can’t get rid of what I did. What I enjoyed and craved. You know you can’t live with that.”

  It was true. Some little part of her would always know he had a killer in him, even if he was cured.

  “Hate to say it,” Griff added, smiling the way he used to, “but you’d be better off with that Sarge bloke. He’s got the potential to be much more human than I can be now.”

  “He’s just as bad.” No. That wasn’t true.

  “He’s got a choice. I don’t.”

  “Just…stop talking. Please.” She couldn’t take it anymore, because he was saying everything young Camille would’ve said—the girl who’d found her parents’ bodies in an artful arrangement of silence and death.

  “Do you still love me?” he said.

  Her voice clutched, riding a sob. “Yes. I love you so much that I can’t imagine life without you.”

  “Then do it. Show me how much you love me.” His look beseeched her. “Let me go.”

  “I need to think….” What had happened to the slayer she’d become tonight? Where had the righteous anger gone?

  “I can’t do it myself.” Griff ignored her plea. “Do it before—”

  Voice grinding to a halt, he battled, pushing his head into the floor. His neck was still steaming from his new mark—the one next to his crucifix scar.

  “Hold on, Griff,” she said, knowing she was being stubborn, stupid. Too much in love.

  “Now!” He folded into himself, grabbing his knees, drawing them up to his chest. He screamed, fighting whatever was taking him over. “Now, Tex!”

  It was coming back. The vampire.

  As she scrambled for the nearest weapon—the machete—she clutched the ring, pushed it out in front of her. To the left, Sarge pounded against the invisible barrier.

  He wanted her to put the ring away. To kill.

  Could she complete this act of mercy? Her love for Griff, measured in the biggest sacrifice she could make?

  Within seconds, the vamp was upon her. The golden-eyed beast. Springing to its feet, laughing in her face.

  “Too slow,” he said in a lower, warped voice.