First Blood

by Susan Sizemore

  She seemed so cool, just like that magnolia in her hair, even as she clenched her hands by her sides. “Stop this, Geneva.”

  But her sister ignored the comment, dragging his T-shirt out of his jeans, the cotton sliding against his belly.

  “Just imagine,” Geneva said to him, “what could happen in a secret room. Men dream of that kind of scenario with two beautiful women.”

  Women? Just women?

  The reminder goaded Ben to come to his senses and strain against his mental bonds. But it did no good. Not with Geneva talking a magic rope around his limbs, keeping him still.

  “Can you feel our lips on your body?” she asked, her fingers traveling his stomach, circling as if readying for an attack. “Can you picture the kind of kisses you’ve probably only dreamed about in your boring, normal life? Nasty, wicked, thrilling kisses that even your wildest dreams couldn’t conjure up?”

  Across from him, Ginny’s eyes had come to shine silver, as if she were getting excited by the descriptions.

  As if she were imagining what she would do to him, too.

  In spite of the danger, his cock pulsed with the blood rushing to it. His thoughts strayed—no, maybe they were led—to an image of Ginny on the dance floor, her dress as red as buried sin. In his fantasy, she spotted him watching her, then smiled.

  Performing for him and only him, she swayed, writhing her hips while her hands traced down over her breasts, her waist. Then, slowly, erotically, she lifted her skirt, skimming one hand beneath it.

  Ben’s temperature rose, fevered. He’d had his share of partners, but he’d always protected them from any baser urges that drove a man during his darkest fantasies. But now, this Ginny seemed to be inviting him to take part in every carnal question he’d ever entertained.

  His fantasy continued with Ginny stroking herself, the other dream-inspired dancers gyrating around her, oblivious. He was the only one who seemed to notice as she worked herself into a trembling groan of ecstasy . . .

  Then, outside of his fantasy, he heard that same groan cut the air.

  The sound jarred him, and he realized that he was still staring into Ginny’s silver-mist eyes.

  Sweet heaven, he’d seen the dream there, just as if he was connected to her thoughts . . .

  The breath came quick from her red, parted lips, and he definitely knew that she’d witnessed the sexy images, too. His erection beat in time to the frenzied rhythm of his pulse.

  Laughter vibrated against his neck, causing him to remember that the twin, Geneva, was still rubbing up against him.

  “Why, Ginny,” her sister said, her hand starting to dip into the waistline of his jeans as if intending to release his erection, “I guess you’re ready and willing for a private room, too.”

  Ginny’s voice lowered, lethal and pointed. “Just get your hands off of him.”

  “Why? Because he’s all yours?”

  The change in Geneva’s voice released Ben of his malaise, and he realized that she’d been controlling him through her words as well as her eyes.

  Vampires ...

  He extricated himself from her clutches, reaching for his .45.

  But Geneva was clearly a step ahead of him.

  With a graceful sweep of one pale arm, she swatted him aside. He ripped through the air, crashing into a wall, then down into a cluster of chairs.

  As bits of plaster sifted over him, Ben’s body screeched, his sight getting fuzzy.

  Then, just before going dark, he caught Ginny springing toward her twin, her face a blaze of gorgeous, terrible rage.

  FOUR

  GINNY ZOOMED TOWARD GENEVA, CLAMPING HER hand around her twin’s throat and pinning her to the wall.

  The balcony cleared, most of the screaming patrons too stoned and frightened to realize that more than your average, garden-variety fight was going on.

  “Is this the reaction you want?” she asked her sister as she held her in place by the neck. “Are you happy now?”

  Her twin smiled as she flashed fang. She was still entertained, genuinely having no clue that she’d crossed a line tonight.

  Or was it Ginny who had crossed some line?

  She loosened her hold, allowing her twin to slide down the wall. Still, she kept a hold of Geneva’s throat, just as a reminder of who had been humanly born first, even though Sorin had balanced the scales and initiated Geneva before Ginny.

  “Riled up over a truffle,” her twin said, using their shared slang for a blood meal. “I only wanted a little fun.”

  She flitted a glare to the seats, where Ben had crashed.

  Unable to help herself, Ginny glanced at him, too, finding him slumped and out cold. If she’d possessed a heart, it surely would’ve cracked at that moment.

  Such a big man, she thought, running a covetous gaze over his body, hearing his heartbeat thudding until it consumed her. No doubt he could knock heads in his own world. He would be the type of guy she would’ve longed for in her own mortal life: a stalwart soldier in uniform, a firefighter, a small-town cop—which is what she’d seen him as when she’d looked into his mind earlier.

  All good men that she didn’t deserve.

  Ginny let go of her sister’s throat. As her rage ebbed, music crept back into her consciousness: the primal cadence of a chanting song that she blocked out with preternatural ease.

  “You need to stop with these games,” Ginny said. “They’re wearing on me, Gen.”

  “We’ve always liked games.”

  “Not the ones we play nowadays.”

  When she turned to Geneva, her twin seemed . . . panicked. If that was the word. There was a definite sense of unease about her, the fear of losing the one thing that she had carried with her into this vampire life.

  They didn’t have souls anymore, so a twin was the closest to it. But what happened when the other half changed? What happened when they no longer fit together so well?

  Her sister’s awareness sought entrance, and Ginny listened to her twin, unable to help it. She had always loved Geneva out of habit, and that would never change.

  Stay with me . . . Geneva thought.

  “Don’t,” Ginny said, touching her sister’s cheek. “Don’t think that this is the beginning of some end. You know that you’re always going to be a part of me, and no truffle will come between us.”

  The words left a strange aftertaste.

  “No matter how he looked at you?” Geneva frowned. “Or how you looked at him?”

  “I don’t look at him any differently than any other guy who’s come up to the balcony with me.”

  Her twin raised a slim, dark eyebrow.

  “It’s true,” Ginny reiterated.

  I can tell when you’re lying, Geneva thought.

  Lying? Ginny made it a point to avoid glancing at Ben Tyree again.

  There. See? She would prove that he was a truffle. Basic lust. Nothing more.

  Nothing to do with what she’d seen in his mind: the beautiful soul who wanted to understand what had happened to his beloved brother.

  Geneva spoke out loud again. “I haven’t seen you so wound up since we decided to leave Sorin.”

  “Drop the subject, Gen.”

  Wrong thing to do—ordering her sister around like that. Naturally, her twin stood straighter, pursuing the matter.

  “Let’s just get out of here and go back to L.A.,” she said. “You can’t tell me you’re not sick of this place.”

  “Forget it.”

  Geneva tightened her jaw and pushed away from the wall, bringing herself inches away from Ginny.

  “Sorin’s expecting us to come back Underground. We’ve been away for a decade now, more than enough time to have ‘explored the Old World,’ like you told him we wanted to do. I miss Hollywood.”

  “And I don’t. Let him wonder what happened to us. Let him think we went missing.”

  Ginny turned away, as if to end the discussion, but her sister wasn’t about to let her go that easily.

  “Do you
think I haven’t noticed how we’ve avoided going anywhere near L.A. so Sorin can’t detect us with our maker-child Awareness? Do you really think I’m that dumb or distracted by our travels, Ginny?”

  “No.” She thought of the other night. “I don’t underestimate you in the least. I never have and never will.”

  Her twin inserted her hand into Ginny’s, entwining fingers and minds.

  I know you think that Sorin was a poison to us, that he came between us by making us compete for him. All you wanted to do with this sabbatical was search for a way for us to reconnect, and I think we have, Ginny. We’re strong enough to go back to him and stick together, through thick and thin.

  Besides, she added, cuddling up to Ginny’s arm, I want to see our children, too.

  The vampires they had created back in L.A. Groupies, they had come to call them. Lower beings whose blood had become weaker through the exchange that had turned them. In fact, each generation was weaker, reflected even in the way Geneva’s and Ginny’s powers weren’t as great as those of Sorin’s.

  Whenever Ginny thought of her progeny, it was with vague interest. She and her sister had only been seeking a “new experience” by initiating movie fanatics into the Underground, and from that, the Groupies had been born. The bites hadn’t meant much, not as much as they should have.

  Ginny cupped her twin’s head, and the two stood together. From the dance floor, the music swelled in its tribal beat. But over the song, Ginny’s vampire hearing picked up Ben Tyree’s heartbeat again, his breathing, his muddled dreams of saving a brother who was beyond that now.

  Her body rhythms matched his and, for the first time in years, she felt true, unexplainable contentment.

  He stirred, and Ginny looked into her twin’s eyes, which had gone back to a faux-human blue by now.

  “I’ll take care of this cop and his knight act,” Ginny said. “I have the feeling he’ll be hounding us about the pleasure house, so I’ll do the cleanup.”

  “And I’ll help—”

  “No. You’ve done enough already.”

  Stung, her sister blinked at Ginny’s adamancy.

  “Just pick an easy meal on your way to the door before security comes to throw us out, and then go home.” Ginny sighed. “We don’t need any more trouble.”

  “All right.” Geneva started to leave the balcony, then turned around again, searching their awareness as she asked, “And that’ll be all with this Ben Tyree?”

  Lately, Ginny had learned to lie and shield without Geneva even seeming to realize it. She’d learned how to restrain her twin with promises.

  There was no other choice if she wanted to preserve them both.

  “Yes, that’ll be all, Gen.”

  Then, satisfied with the vow, her sister nodded, exiting the balcony and leaving Ginny alone with the truffle.

  FIVE

  WHEN BEN CAME TO, HE WAS ON HIS ASS IN AN ALLEY, propped against a brick wall as moonlight scratched over him. In the near distance, he heard the sounds of street traffic, constant and low.

  As he pushed to a seated position, he found that his mouth was dry; his limbs felt as if they’d been yanked off and jammed back into their sockets.

  What the . . . ?

  But then he remembered: Studio 54. The women in red.

  The vampires.

  He shook his head, as if to force all the gears back into working order. Had someone slipped him LSD? Was he on some kind of trip?

  Rising to his feet, he ignored the aches, then took his revolver out of its ankle holster, made sure the safety was on, and stuffed it in his waistband. He pulled his T-shirt over it, then crossed his arms over his stomach, adapting a don’t-mess-with-me hunch.

  He headed for the traffic and, soon enough, came to the heart of Times Square, wondering how the hell he’d gotten from the club to here without remembering.

  Not that it mattered right now. All he could focus on was something one of the women—Geneva—had said.

  Do you know about the pleasure house?

  West Fortieth. He was going to find it tonight.

  Garbage lined the streets, which were showcased by the jaundiced hue of store lights spilling from windows. He passed peep shows and porno theaters, staying alert for any threats while getting his bearings and heading downtown.

  At the same time, he avoided pimps and streetwalkers, hustlers and transients. But he did stop for a stocky, shawl-covered woman preaching the end of the world. Quietly, he accepted a plastic crucifix, declining her offer of a Bible, too, then secured the holy item in his back jeans’ pocket.

  If he wasn’t on a drug trip, then he might need the crucifix, plastic or not. After all, hadn’t Ginny told him that guns would be useless?

  Freakin’ vampires.

  Ben nodded his appreciation to the woman and moved on, his disbelief turning into a heavy sense of horror. What could Nolan, the perfect son, husband, and father, possibly have to do with creatures of the night?

  That is, if Ben wasn’t dreaming them.

  He passed another alley, but then stopped cold at the shiver that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  A whisper racing past him. A voice?

  Looking around, he took out his .45 and the crucifix.

  As he inched into the pale-shadow alley, he heard it again— a definite voice vibrating over his skin.

  “How’re you feeling?” it asked, tearing past him like an edged wind.

  Adrenaline spiking, he targeted around the narrow bricked space: the blank windows, the fire escapes.

  When he came to someone crouched on one of the platforms, he aimed.

  He thought he heard a low sound of distress as that someone spun away from him.

  “It’s Ginny,” the form said, voice garbled. “Put that thing away. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  That thing. Based on what had happened earlier, he guessed she was referring to the crucifix.

  He kept aiming both weapons. Did the holy item repel her, like in those old Dracula movies?

  “Sorry for being uncooperative,” he said, “but I don’t know if you’re the bad twin or . . . Well, the badder one. I’m not really up for getting thrown against a wall this time.”

  “I came to your defense back at the club, so put your weapons away, okay? I got us both out of Studio before security came, so maybe you want to back off?”

  “I was alone in an alley when I woke up. Not a sign of endearment, if you ask me.”

  “I’ve been with you the entire time, Ben.” She sounded agonized. “I needed to get us away and that alley happened to be one of the cleaner ones in the area for you to rest in.”

  She stood and grabbed on to a ladder, still keeping her face averted, her scarlet dress flowing around her. With her shift in position, something white—the magnolia—tumbled out of her hair and executed a pale freefall to the ground.

  A red angel, he thought. How could this woman be the monster he remembered?

  Ben realized that he’d lowered his weapons ever so slightly, his heartbeat jiggering in his neck veins, his sight going hazy with a renewed fascination for her. He hadn’t felt this way with the other twin, and he sensed the vamp in front of him really was Ginny.

  All the same, he’d keep his eye on her.

  “How long have I been out of it?” he asked.

  “An hour, maybe less. But you’re basically healthy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I healed superficial injuries, but you’re probably still sore.” Her voice wasn’t as choked now. Was she regaining strength or something? “And I didn’t find any brain damage from the crash.”

  The riffling he’d felt in his brain when he first met her . . . A vampire could go into a person’s head. How about that?

  God, how could he be thinking so reasonably during such an unreasonable situation?

  A slight wind tossed the loose curls of Ginny’s dark hair. He was secure about her identity by now.

  “I had a feeling yo
u’d be up and about,” she said, “looking for that pleasure house my sister mentioned. You’re a tenacious one.”

  Pretty sure that she wasn’t going to attack, he secured his .45 in his waistband. But the crucifix? That went in his back pocket again—within easy reach.

  As if sensing the repellent was gone, Ginny turned toward him, and it was all he could do to steel himself from the thrill of looking at her in the shy moonlight.

  “You guessed right,” he said. “If that pleasure house has anything to do with Nolan, then I need to find it.”

  “Don’t you think its clients might not be too happy if you strolled in the door uninvited?”

  He almost pointed out that he had weapons, and those generally did a lot of talking. But would a revolver make a difference? Would a plastic crucifix?

  Hell, maybe he should call Detective Plaid-Tie from the NYPD for some backup. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? No doubt the department would love a good vampire story from a hay-seed deputy. It would amuse them for months.

  “I’ll do what I have to,” he said, “because I get the feeling this pleasure house probably disappears at dawn.”

  “This is ridiculous, risking your life.”

  “So says the vampire who probably knows how Nolan got into that pleasure house and what went on in there.”

  Ginny cocked her head, considering him. “I didn’t kill Nolan if that’s what you’ve been thinking.”

  Ben’s blood boiled at the thought of his brother, dead. Gone.

  “Then who did?” he asked, voice jagged.

  “It’s . . . more complicated than an explanation in an alley would cover. Besides, I’m not the killing type.”

  “You’re a vampire. From every tale I’ve heard told, you all do things like drink blood and . . . Oh, yeah, kill.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not easy to cover the tracks of a death these days. That’s why a smart vampire takes willing victims and leaves them alive, preferably ones who are too wasted to remember exactly what happened. Besides, the laced blood gives a good buzz. Most of us don’t have to kill for our pleasure.”