Her Vampire’s Promise

by Jordan K. Rose

  “You can say that again.” Garrison climbed into another booth and closed his eyes. “That fucker has been busy. His newest weapon is some sort of evil.”

  Lawrie watched as the sore on Garrison’s chest bubbled and oozed. She tried not to smile. Her uncle hadn’t designed her weapon. He was too busy writing his books on the vile vampire subculture and overseeing the construction of his new labs to create something this potent. The pump-powered stake was all Lawrie’s work.

  “Feels like every drop of energy was sucked from my body.” His eyes opened slowly, and all his anger seemed to focus on Lawrie. “Don’t get any ideas, little firecracker.” He snickered at her. “I will kill you next time.”

  Lawrie couldn’t tell if he was a complete idiot or if he was playing with what she believed to be false bravado. She pushed herself up to a seated position. “Is that some sort of joke? I could have killed you.”

  “But you didn’t. Trust me. You won’t get another chance.”

  She grimaced as several more shocks of pain crashed over her.

  Garrison stared past her, focusing on the door at the back of the bar. “I can’t even call the bartender.”

  Reade walked to door. “Mic, you’re needed in the bar.” He returned to the booth he’d vacated, still studying the stake, testing its heaviness. “Lightweight. A pound at most.”

  The bartender lumbered into the bar.

  “He needs a drink.” Reade nodded toward his friend. The bartender walked to Garrison and knelt before him.

  “He’s not going to—” Lawrie gasped when Garrison lurched forward, fangs extended.

  He latched onto Mic and drank, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Lawrie.

  She felt his anger. It filled the room with each swallow, getting more and more intense. She was certain that when he had his strength back, she was going to wish she’d stayed at Panthera tonight.

  She backed as far from him as possible, her heart thundering. There was no way she’d make it out the door and away from here before he finished. Not to mention she was fairly certain Reade wasn’t letting her go either.

  What had she done?

  Mic’s breathing slowed. His body slumped against Garrison, and the vampire easily held him in place.

  “He’s killing him.” Lawrie couldn’t believe what she’d caused. She’d provoked a vampire and now she watched him kill an innocent man. “Stop it!”

  She scooted along the floor as quickly as she could and smacked the side of Garrison’s head.

  The vampire stopped drinking and dropped Mic onto his lap. “What the hell was that?”

  Reade roared with laughter. “I’m not sure what was funnier—her bumpy dash across the floor or your face.” He placed the stake on the end of the bar.

  “I barely saw her move.” Garrison picked up Mic and laid him on the bar. “I haven’t been slapped in at least a week, and I’ve certainly never had a stake stuck into my chest.” He turned to face her. “What secret do you have to share, Ms. Lawrie Firecracker Tyrone?”

  Reade swooped down and pulled Lawrie to her feet. “You’ve had your last chance at kicking the crap out of us.” His relaxed expression confused her.

  He no longer seemed angry, rather he seemed amused. His dark blue eyes reminded her of Prussian Blue, one of the chemicals she’d used dozens of times in the lab. She’d always loved that color. Something about it made her feel free.

  Reaching forward, he gently cradled her face in his hands. “I’m going to pat you down to make sure you don’t have anything else we’d want to know about. Do you have any weapons hidden anywhere?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’re certain?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t lie to us. We don’t like to be lied to.” Reade inhaled, and Lawrie thought his lips tugged up into a quick smile.

  “I’m not.” She stared into his eyes.

  His gaze focused on her face and something in Lawrie’s gut clenched.

  She couldn’t figure out what or why. She just knew that it forced her to tighten every muscle from her belly button to her toes. Clamping her mouth shut, she swallowed hard.

  “You all right?” His thumbs brushed over her cheeks.

  She nodded and swallowed loud enough, she was sure, to be heard in the street.

  His hands slid around her neck and into her hair, fingers fanning her long blonde tresses out behind her. As each lock fell against her back she shivered.

  Once he’d finished with her hair his hands returned to her neck. That’s when she realized how warm they were, one more than the other, the burned and blistered one. Gently they moved down her neck to her shoulders. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She tried to swallow and nearly choked.

  “This will be over in a minute, and you’ll have a drink.” He moved his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, circling his palms around her biceps and trailing them down to her wrists.

  When he reached her hands, he paused for a split second, his gaze meeting hers, then traveling to her mouth. With tender, yet firm pressure his hands returned to her shoulders, gently traveling to her chest and over her breasts, slowly gliding around and under each one.

  Lawrie trembled and felt her nipples respond to his touch, tightening to peaks beneath his palms. Trying not to react further, she held her breath. For God’s sake, a vampire was patting her down like a common criminal in a bar with an audience, and she was feeling aroused. Not that she should feel aroused at being patted down by anyone or by having a vampire touch her, but the fact of the matter was she couldn’t decide which was more exciting.

  Was she crazy? She was not a criminal. And he was not a cop. But that didn’t mean she didn’t like playing the part of bad girl and certainly any cop who looked like this guy was bound to be a girl’s dream.

  But he was a vampire. One of the bad guys. One of the men who’d turned on her father and not only left him for dead but helped to orchestrate his death. She shook off the little fantasy playing in her mind and focused on the fact that this Reade was a not-to-be-trusted killer.

  His hands roamed lower, sliding down her ribcage to her waist. He squatted, patting around her sneaker, then ran his hands along either side of her left leg, allowing them to glide from her ankle up her calf, gently squeezing as he went. The tips of his fingers scorched up her thigh, leaving a delicious trail from her knee straight to her crotch.

  She tried desperately not to wiggle when his hand rubbed against the juncture between her legs. Her success at not moving required focus, which meant she couldn’t be in control of every other possible response.

  She squeaked, a breathy squeak that only fueled her already flaming hot cheeks.

  When he did the same check of her right leg she thought for sure she might orgasm where she stood.

  She tried not to squirm, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d never been frisked before, and this didn’t quite seem like what she’d seen on TV. It felt far more intimate than watching a cop pat down a perp.

  “Now for the backside.” Reade spun her around.

  She found herself facing Garrison, who watched from a few feet away, the most perplexed look on his face.

  Reade once again ran his fingers through her hair making her scalp tingle. His hands smoothed over her neck, down her back to her hips. Simultaneously they rubbed over her ass, lingering for barely a second’s hesitation.

  “Well, seems like you’re unarmed.”

  Lawrie’s gaze connected with Garrison’s, whose lips curled up and to the left in a lecherous grin. He had enjoyed watching his friend fondle her. That dirty little pig. She felt her cheeks burn with absolute embarrassment.

  Spinning around, she raised her left hand to slap Reade, but he caught her wrist.

  “Woah. What’s that for?” He backed her toward a stool. “I told you what I was going to do.”

  “You seemed to enjoy it quite a bit!”

  “What?” Reade’s eyebrows pulled together. “What are you talk
ing about?”

  “I know what you were doing. He knew too. He watched and he liked it!” She pointed at Garrison “How dare you? Both of you!”

  Lawrie glared at Reade. Just who did he think he was, feeling her up under the guise of patting her down? Did he think she didn’t know what he was all about? She knew perfectly what he was trying to do, what he’d done.

  She may not have been very experienced in life events and such, but she knew a pervert when she saw one.

  Reade’s head cocked to the side. “Just what do you suppose I was doing?”

  “You were accosting me. I felt the way you squeezed me, my parts, my…you know what you did.”

  Reade looked at Garrison, who laughed.

  “Oh, my, my, my. She is right, of course. I saw you squeezing and touching her parts. But you were far too quick for a regular girl to realize that you were actually copping a feel.” Garrison’s grin widened. “So what I want to know is how exactly she realized this slightly more intense, though not at all inappropriate pat down was occurring. She has a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I was not copping a feel.” Reade stepped back from Lawrie.

  “Right. Right. No, you weren’t palming those lovely breasts or giving her perfect thighs a little extra attention. Of course not.” Garrison used a napkin from the table to dab at the liquid oozing from his chest where his wound, though well on its way to healing, was still visible.

  Lawrie clamped her lips tight and crossed her arms over her chest, then quickly hissed from the pain of bumping her broken hand.

  “She attacked both of us. I was trying to make sure she didn’t have any other weapons,” Reade argued.

  “Of course. The groping was all in the line of duty. I’ve used that argument myself, several times in fact.” Garrison frowned at the wound on his chest. “Though I honestly think I should have been the one to get to use it this time based on the extent of my injury. I still have this hole in my chest.”

  “Yeah, well you’re healing. I still have a broken nose and a broken face. Not all of us have had the opportunity to feed.” Reade grumbled something more under his breath, but it was spoken too low for Lawrie to understand.

  Garrison laughed.

  “Don’t get any ideas.” She leaned back from Reade, absolutely certain she did not want him to do to her what Garrison had done to Mic.

  Father’s notes had detailed what he believed to be the process for making a vampire. Uncle’s notes had been different, similar, but with one distinct difference. According to Father the process required a blood exchange, meaning the vampire had to not only drink the blood of the victim, but he had to share his own.

  In Uncle’s version the exchange was optional. The vampire needed only to drain a victim dry and bury him in the soil of that vampire’s roots.

  Lawrie wasn’t sure whose theory to believe. What she did know for sure was she had no desire to find out first hand.

  “That’s your own fault.” Garrison’s left eye narrowed, his attention on Reade. “You’re the one who made the promise. Though I don’t see what that has to do with sustenance. I even think Lawrence would understand.”

  Looking from one to the other, Lawrie tried not to panic. Garrison was convincing Reade to bite her. She wouldn’t have it, at least not willingly.

  “That’s enough.” Reade reached for the whiskey. “A man stands by his word, doesn’t falter under pressure.”

  “Yeah, yeah and all that crap. But when the situation is dire and the need—”

  “Enough.” Reade sat beside Lawrie. “Tell us what your uncle has planned.”

  “I will not tell you a thing.” She squared her shoulders and stared straight into his eyes.

  Expecting to be mind-controlled like poor Mic had been, she waited, but felt nothing, not even the slightest bit odd. It made her wonder if Mic had felt Garrison persuading him to be bitten.

  “Well?” she asked. How long was it going to take for him to control her? What if they tortured her all night? What if they picked at her mind, memory by memory, until all that was left was a babbling idiot? “Just please kill me. Don’t leave me here like a vegetable.”

  Lawrie knew if her uncle found her outside the compound and God forbid in a vegetative state he’d use her in his experiments. He’d even try to find a way to torture her in an attempt to get every bit of information out of her.

  And she had secrets she didn’t want to share.

  “Kill you?” Reade shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  “At least not tonight.” Garrison used a bar towel to roll the stake back and forth on the bar. “Looks deadly enough if you didn’t have any idea it’s part silver.”

  Lawrie said nothing.

  Reade’s eyebrow rose. “Tell us the construction of Raymond’s newest weapon.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “It’s not nice to keep secrets, little firecracker.” Garrison smirked at Reade. “Not nice at all.” He held the stake in his hand, the towel protecting his skin. His wound was healing quickly, though his skin was still gray and several veins continued to pulse. “At the very least tell us how it is you can track vampire movement.”

  Lawrie slid off her stool, standing away from both men. Track vampire movement? This must have been a side effect of the experiment, something she’d never hypothesized. How long would this ability continue? How would she measure it if she never saw another vampire? What other effects was the blood having on her?

  What she wouldn’t give to be in the safety of a laboratory under proper conditions.

  “Better yet, tell us how it is you can move like a vampire.” Reade slid the stool over to Lawrie. “Sit.”

  Under no circumstances would she reveal even one secret, not unless they forced it from her and even then she’d prefer to die with them all. There wasn’t a soul alive she trusted enough to share her secrets, not vampire or human.

  She glanced toward the back. Beyond the first door was a short hallway with a couple doors off the sides and one straight back. That back door had to be the exit.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Garrison blocked the path leading to the door. “I’m just aching to see if you can withstand having this pierce your skin better than I did.”

  Reade patted the stool. “Sit. We promise not to bite you, if you promise not to do anything else that would—”

  “Hurt,” Garrison interrupted.

  “…provoke us,” Reade finished.

  “Not that you have to really worry about us. Promises and such.” Garrison frowned at her. “Though, I think even your father would forgive us if he saw what you’ve done tonight.”

  Lawrie sighed and plopped onto the stool. She wasn’t giving up her secrets to these monsters. She knew Uncle Raymond would just as soon kill her if he thought she’d told them anything.

  Garrison held the stake between his thumb and forefinger, pointing the tip straight up. “Tell us about your uncle’s latest invention.” He studied the weapon, his face only an inch or two from the wood.

  “Careful, would hate to see you poke your eye out.” Lawrie sat back in the stool.

  The pain in her hand was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It radiated up her arm, into her shoulder. Even her chest ached.

  Her swollen hand looked like a puffy blue, black and red lobster claw. Her stomach turned when she looked at it.

  “The tip of this stake is sharper than any I’ve seen.” Garrison placed the stake on the bar and walked around the back. “Well, looky here.” He held up a bottle of whiskey. “That old coot has been holding out.” He poured three shot glasses. “Drink up, firecracker. It’ll make your hand feel better.”

  He refilled his and Reade’s glasses as soon as they’d both drunk their shots.

  “Does your uncle know you have that stake?” Reade asked.

  Lawrie shook her head.

  “He was never the type to let valuables out of his sight. I’m surprised you were able to get your hands on it and even mor
e surprised you were able to get out from under his thumb for an evening.”

  Lawrie didn’t say a word. There was no need for her to speak. He hadn’t asked a question. She’d learned the hard way only to speak when needed. Offering too much information always put you in a bad position and often times hurt a lot more.

  “Do you think he’s sent her here to spy?” Garrison asked.

  “Could be, though I doubt he’d send out his most valuable possession.”

  “How would he have known we were in town?” Garrison knocked back two more shots of whiskey.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” Lawrie asked. Exactly how much could one man drink and still remain standing?

  Garrison flashed another smile. “Are you monitoring how much I drink? Is it really any of your concern? After this…” He pointed to his chest. “I’ve earned a drink or two or twelve.” Bringing the bottle of whiskey to his lips, he tilted his head back and drank until the liter was empty.

  “I hope he’s not driving,” she said. The last thing in the world she needed to add to her list of bad things that could happen in one night was for some poor victim to be mowed down by a drunk vampire.

  “Alcohol does not affect us as it does humans,” Reade said. “We just like the taste. And the memories.” He slid her glass closer. “You should drink. It’ll numb the pain.”

  She wanted the pain to subside, but she also needed to keep her wits about her. Fear that she’d wake up a vampire kept her from sucking the shot down like she’d seen men do in movies.

  She was amazed that with pain like this she’d been able to keep herself on track for this long.

  “If you don’t like the taste, Reade can always give you another dose of vampire blood.” Garrison laughed. “You seemed to like it the first time.”

  Lawrie felt the blood drain from her face. “I…it was an acci…I was experimenting. Scientists experiment,” she barked.

  Both men stared at her, silent as shadows.

  “Don’t judge me. You have no right to judge me. I was trying to…”