Blood Rogue, #1

by Linda J. Parisi

“Well, you sucked at it tonight.”

  “You think I don’t know I failed in my duty?” All the anger and frustration of the night boiled over. He took the chair in front of him and threw it across the room, where it broke into pieces. “Mick was like me. A Paladin. He spent thousands of years protecting humans. I would never, could never, have foreseen this happening. You have to believe me.”

  Chaz turned and stared at the broken pieces of wood on the floor, His heart hammered in his chest like an out of control piston. He turned back, clenching his fists, his gaze pleading that she try to understand. “Someone or something caused Mick to go rogue. I need to find out who and why. You need my protection. So I’m asking. Do you think you can hold onto your duty for just a little while? All I can promise is that none of what transpired tonight was taken lightly. The guard was treated with the utmost respect. His family will be taken care of. There will be an insurance policy they never knew about.”

  “Won’t bring him back.”

  “I know.”

  “And my gun?”

  “Pitch is a firearms expert. It’s a hobby of his. He’ll replace the bullets, clean and oil, whatever it takes to make your gun brand new. No one needs to know.”

  “And me? I’ll know.”

  “For now? Yes, you will.”

  Chaz had a hard time convincing Stacy to go home. Eventually, when she saw that he hadn’t lied, that the building and the parking lot looked as he said it would, that the silent man who took her gun did so with grim anguish, she accepted what he told her. He followed her back to her home and listened as she thought about locking him out of the house; he simply stared and waited. She didn’t live far away from the bar. Her small shore home was a perfect retreat. Stacy lived on a lagoon at the end of a block in a small town called Tuckerton. He could tell she’d made some recent renovations to her home by adding another floor, for he could still make out the scent of fresh-cut wood from up above.

  “I have a weapon in my bedroom gun safe. Touch my bedroom door, and I’ll empty the entire chamber into you. Do you read me?”

  Chaz nodded. The door slammed shut. He walked over to the sliding glass door in the kitchen and waited for the sun to rise, agonizing over every moment of what happened and asking if there was anything else he could have done, could have changed. There wasn’t.

  Not too long ago, the first hint of the sun would have him yawning. But lately, he’d been able to see almost a full sunrise before needing to lie down. This morning, though, the sun became a round orb in the sky before he even yawned. A testament to a night he’d rather forget.

  A knock sounded on the door. He opened the portal to find Pitch standing on the deck. It seems, he too was so upset the rising of the sun had less effect. Pitch didn’t say anything; he simply handed Chaz Stacy’s gun. “You should probably stay here.”

  Pitch shook his head. “I checked into a little dive motel about two minutes away.”

  “I understand.”

  Pitch nodded and hurried down the steps. Strange, a strong emotion such as grief could forestall the inevitable. The gun was wrapped in a soft cloth, cleaned with loving hands that would never hug their father again. He placed the firearm on the table.

  My fault. My fault.

  God, he could hear Mick screaming at him. Not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive. But someone or something was at fault. Because Mick didn’t go rogue on his own. In fact, Chaz was certain. The thought of it would’ve made him put a gun to his heart and pull the trigger. Mick’s family was killed by a rogue. Mick was the only one to survive. He should’ve died. Instead, he became a Paladin.

  Chaz looked at her closed door then back at the couch in the living room. Her soft breathing told him she was finally asleep. He figured there’d be no harm in sleeping on a soft mattress. He didn’t touch the door exactly just the knob and shouldered it open, surprised to find it unlocked.

  What a shame. Stacy didn’t know her own beauty. He imprinted her on his mind hoping she could stave off the nightmares he was sure to endure. He didn’t dream often. When he did, he had a tendency to remember them. He lay down beside her, wishing he could comfort her. But nothing would comfort him.

  * * *

  Dawn would break soon. Too soon, Charles thought as he continued to follow the scent of old blood and decay through the forest. Normally, he would have enjoyed running across the countryside, his heart pounding with the sheer freedom of movement. But this night was no ordinary night. His quarry no ordinary quarry.

  He knew something was wrong as soon as he entered the inn. He’d found no stable boy asleep in the hay, no innkeeper came at his entry, shuffling and yawning to take his coin. A half-empty mug sat upon a wood plank table.

  All of which caused an icy ball to form in the pit of his belly.

  But worse than these signs? The smell of fresh blood. He followed the scent, his anxiety growing—a slipper resting haphazardly under a bush. A stocking cap caught upon the branch of a tree.

  Charles shivered, knowing now what he would find. He followed the trail to a small clearing by a stream and found his answer. Three dead—the innkeeper, his wife, and a young girl barely come of age. His breath caught as he cried out in agony. When his kind turned rogue, they could feel it coming, and when it happened, they were supposed to go to the caves. They were supposed to let Samira perform the ritual. They were supposed to die.

  Sometimes they ran. When they did, Charles’s job was to stop them.

  He hesitated, caught between want and need. He wanted to keep tracking the rogue. He needed to take care of the dead.

  Very quickly, Charles placed a drop of rosary pea extract on each hole in each neck. He said a quick prayer, not sure what the ceremony would do now. They were already gone.

  So unnecessary. These poor people should never have died.

  His jaw clenched. He would have to return and bury them later. If there was a later.

  Charles sped over to the edge of the clearing. A winding path threaded through the trees. The crackle of dead leaves mixed with the wind as he tried to listen. There. A faint drag-scrape, drag-scrape. Barely discernible.

  He scanned the path. Footprints. Charles followed them as fast as he dared, tasting the air to make sure he wouldn’t make a mistake. Wait. The trail simply stopped. He doubled back and found the last print.

  Lifting his head, Charles scanned the woods for a sign. His heart began to pound. God, help him, had he lost the rogue? Then he spied a broken branch in the distance. He inhaled deeply. He could still smell that sickening, rancid, bitter mockery of life.

  Coward.

  His hand fisted, crushing the branch. He ran through the tangle of twisted vines and brush. Branches slapped at his face. He ignored the pain. But not the rage.

  Such a waste.

  He sped through the trees, knowing he gained on his prey. The hunter was now the hunted. A moment later, a terrified scream ratcheted down his spine. The rogue stopped to feed.

  The small cottage sat in a clearing. A man lay unconscious on the ground, his ax next to him. The body of a young woman was draped over the rogue’s arm. The creature seemed to pause, just about to sink his incisors into the girl’s flesh, and Charles swore he saw it grin. He launched his body into both of them, rolling across the ground and onto his feet before the rogue could snatch the girl and sprint away.

  They circled each other, predator against predator. “Do you think you can ssstop me?”

  As they circled, he realized the rogue refused to travel far from his meal. “You had no right to kill these people. You should have gone to the caves.”

  Charles kept charging, trying to distract the beast from its prize. “I am immortal. I have the power. They are fodder. I shall not die.”

  “Yes, you will,” Charles replied, circling the rogue. And then the fiend made a fatal mistake. It tripped over the girl’s leg and fell, giving Charles the opportunity he’d been seeking. With all of his might, he threw the rogue on its back
and drove his fist into what used to be a face. Again and again, he punched the creature senseless.

  From inside his coat, he withdrew the extract and poured it down the rogue’s throat, watching it thrash and writhe until the creature was unconscious. Panting from his efforts, Charles sat back on his heels, and he stared straight into damnation.

  The girl had watched him take down the rogue but not kill the beast.

  Charles curled in upon himself as self-loathing tore him to pieces. Because there was more. He withdrew a wicked-looking knife from his coat and severed the head of the rogue from its body. She would watch.

  In a moment, however, he was going to make her forget. Everything. But Charles would always remember—there would be no solace of sweet forgetfulness. He would carry the chains of his memories.

  And the blood.

  Chapter Five

  Stacy

  Damn, damn, damn, Stacy Morgan thought, her head pounding inside her skull. She needed to stop drinking so much on the weekend. Then she realized she wasn’t alone.

  So beautiful. The man lying next to her reminded her of a model—high cheekbones, squarish chin, thin nose, and strong brow. Straight, silky blonde/brown hair framed his face. She reached out to move an errant strand off his cheek.

  He stirred, opened one eye, and peered around, and then he let his head fall back onto the pillow. That was when reality slammed into her.

  Chaz.

  Talk about nightmares. Stacy wasn’t sure if she’d be better off laughing or crying. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

  He looked as if he didn’t know how to answer. “No.”

  “You’re a vampire.”

  “Yes.”

  “The bar? The guard?”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  She put her head in her hands and tried to stop the pounding in her ears. Then, he was massaging her neck and making the pain go away. She wanted to shout at him not to touch her, but even the light pressure of his fingers mesmerized, making it easy to drown in sensation.

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to remember anything.”

  He let go. She sat up and rolled her neck. As she turned, he watched her. “Oversight.”

  “I thought I told you not to touch my bedroom door.”

  “I didn’t, exactly.”

  He leaned back on one elbow, looking perfectly at home in her bed. A lock of hair fell onto his forehead, and she forgot the events of the past evening in favor of simply savoring the picture he made. He destroyed that by saying, “Your gun is in the kitchen if that makes you feel better.” Pain filled his gaze.

  Her stomach soured. Seemed reality sucked for both of them. He swung his legs over the bed, and his head hung between his lowered shoulders, hands cradling each side until a long shudder rippled through his body. When he looked up, their gazes caught and held for an awkward moment.

  “We have to talk.”

  She nodded, and that was when she realized she was barely half-dressed. “You have me at a complete disadvantage. So, you’ll have to wait. I’m not about to have any kind of a serious conversation without some clothes on.”

  His gaze raked her body then skittered away like she was some kind of forbidden fruit.

  “And not without some coffee in my system,” she continued.

  He nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

  Stacy showered as quickly as she could and got dressed. When she came out of the bathroom, she found him shrugging into his shirt. The front had a tear in it, and the shoulder was stained with blood.

  “Here,” she told him, rummaging in the closet then throwing a flannel shirt at him. “This should fit.”

  “Ex-boyfriend?”

  Did he sound a little jealous, or was that just her imagination? “No. Mike’s.” She scrunched up her face. “He stayed here for a while before he found his own place.” She half-laughed. “He and Pat were having a bit of an issue. Sometimes it’s tough working with your Dad. Mike was military police. Pat can be a bit of a hard-head.”

  “Tough job.”

  She paused. “Yes.” She shrugged, feeling that familiar surge, scared and proud all at the same time. “Mike’s like a brother. We grew up together. Helped me get over my first heartbreak in high school.” She pushed back the emotion that welled inside her. “Besides, although he gets it, he isn’t thrilled with my profession either.”

  “The cop part?”

  “Not exactly anymore. After my parents died, I got tired of the city. Maybe I got tired of my life altogether. I don’t know. I quit working in the blood center and went back to school, majored in forensics, and got my Masters. Then I went to the Police Academy. When I applied to the Ocean County Sherriff’s department, they couldn’t wait to hire me. Doesn’t have all the bells and whistles, but it’s home.”

  Stacy walked into the kitchen, and Chaz followed behind her. She started the coffee and watched in amazement as he took the open bag from her after she was through. He inhaled, held his breath for several seconds, and then let the air out.

  “I don’t eat. Obviously, but I have an incredible sense of smell. Sometimes I buy a bag of freshly ground just so I can do this. But then I have to give it away or throw it out.”

  Stacy didn’t know how to answer. “You really are a vampire.”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. “You’re a figment of my imagination.”

  “I’m supposed to be.”

  “In spite of all the hype? I mean, that television series made you all celebrities, no? The movies even more so.”

  “Hide in plain sight,” he answered with a shrug. “I wouldn’t say I did a real good job of that last night, would you? You’re in the middle of this fiasco now whether you want to be there or not.”

  “Fiasco? Damn right, this is a fiasco.”

  He nodded. He looked out her kitchen slider at the last rays of the sun glinting off the lagoon. He lifted his shoulders and let them fall, air rushing out in a heartfelt sigh. Or was that her own emotions projecting on him? “Yes. And we have some problems we can’t solve.”

  Stacy didn’t like any of what happened. A hole burned in her stomach at the thought of covering up a murder. Still, informed was better than floundering in a world she didn’t understand. “Enlighten me.”

  “You,” he said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. The rogue has your scent.”

  “The rogue. That thing that attacked me?”

  “Yes. You dropped your gloves.” His voice was sharp, but not cold. “He has one, and as sure as the sun is going down right now, he’s going to come after you.”

  Not sure how she should answer, she asked, “Is that supposed to frighten me?”

  He inhaled as if he were dealing with a small child. Of course, she was behaving that way because she had no idea how to handle any of this at all.

  “You bet your sweet ass it is. You have no way of standing up to a vampire. Certainly not a rogue.”

  “I don’t?” she asked softly, and then Stacy countered. “I stood up to you pretty well.”

  “With a gun?” He scoffed. “You do remember what I said last night, don’t you?”

  She nodded, feeling like a little kid getting a reprimand. “You got lucky you didn’t shoot me more than once.”

  “Lucky?”

  A streak of sadness flashed across his face. “I am what I am, Stacy. And you’d better start accepting that.”

  “Not fair.”

  “No, and you’d better get it through that thick freaking head of yours–you don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

  His voice was sharper now and cut with a coldness that might have frightened her if she hadn’t seen everything she had the night before. The threat was there, but Stacy wasn’t scared.

  “You’re vulnerable. You’re going to make a mistake that will cost you your life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His shoulders slumped. “Do you remember what I told you? That you’re not su
pposed to know about me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was supposed to give you Lethe and make you forget all about me. But I can’t. I need your help.”

  “Need my help?”

  He walked over to lift his jacket off the back of a chair and fingered the tear in the material. “I’ve gotten you involved in something way over your head, put you in unnecessary danger. That security guard died because I met you. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to involve you, but you’re in this up to your eyeballs. I need you to promise me that you’ll follow my instructions to the letter so I can protect you.”

  Stacy turned to pour a cup of coffee so she could gather her thoughts. When she finally sat down at the kitchen table, he didn’t follow. He watched her closely, and something in his expression made him seem more than worried. Unsure.

  “All right, I promise.”

  He cocked his head, as though he listened for something beyond her words.

  “I don’t care how, but you need to stop reading my mind. I have a right to my privacy.”

  “I’m trying.”

  She shook her head. “No, just now, you wanted to make sure I was telling the truth. Do that again, and all bets are off. Are we clear?”

  He looked affronted. He opened his mouth like he was ready to say something, but Stacy glared. She shot him a look she knew told him there was no way of arguing.

  Chaz stared for a moment. “Crystal,” he said.

  “Good. Now we may differ about how much protection I may or may not need, but three bullets to the heart has my attention. So, keep going. You haven’t tried to drug me yet for a reason.”

  “I need your expertise.”

  “Expertise?” she asked. “What do you mean?” Why would a very self-sufficient vampire with some very powerful vampire friends need her help?

  “Well, I discovered what you just told me. That you were not only a forensic chemist but that you had a special master’s in blood banking.”

  “Continue.”

  “A rogue vampire is a very rare occurrence. The first rule we learn is that when we feel it coming, we go to a place to die—a safe place. So we don’t hurt anyone. But like everyone else, vampires can get scared. Some run.”