“So he quit killing us when we quit paying attention?” I thought about that for a while. And shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t quite get it.”
“Neither do I, yet. Except for the gut feeling that I’m right. That black rose outside our door is an invitation to play the game again. And we’re going to accept it, but on our terms.”
“But we don’t know the game.”
“Oh, but we do. It’s king of the mountain. That’s why he uses his powers so flagrantly. He wants to be the best. Larry Martin, King of the Vampires.”
“Why don’t I like the direction this is taking, Mitch?”
He gave me a sheepish grin, “Because you know me too well. I’m going to step forward and offer Larry the chance to be the best, by beating me. If Victor hadn’t stepped down, it would have been him.”
“So how do we issue the invitation to him?”
He picked up the black rose. “We send this back to him. He’ll want to know if finding this has frightened you or made you mad or sad or anything else. So he’ll be around waiting for our response.”
“Which is?”
“Basically, it’s meet me out behind the school after class and we’ll see who’s the best. Although for Larry it needs to be dressed up just a bit.”
We worked until sundown on our response. It was simple enough to seem totally transparent, melodramatic enough that he couldn’t possibly resist.
Eventually the note that we stapled to the rose read: “Enough. Let’s settle this the only way it can be settled: Single combat, winner take all. Tonight at midnight in the Ballroom of Romance.”
“And if he doesn’t get it today?”
“Then we just keep trying until he does.”
I threw the rose into the Dumpster at sunset. I didn’t have to feign my apprehension, although it was purely for Mitch and not for me. And I didn’t stay around to see if it was picked up. I didn’t really want to know.
After that all we needed to do was wait. I called over to the club and told Mark, since Fred was still missing, that we would be closed this evening due to the impending sale and the staff should take the evening off with pay. He could go home or do anything he wanted as long as he was back at the Ballroom by eleven-thirty, waiting for us by the private entrance.
Back in our room once again, Mitch did not turn on the light, but locked the door and reached for me. I made a feeble attempt to push him away.
“Don’t you think you should save your strength for the confrontation?”
He laughed. “As if making love to you could do anything but increase my strength. I need the time with you, Deirdre, the unity and the closeness. It may be our last time together.”
“Please, love . . .”
“Face the facts, Mrs. Greer. Larry Martin has more powers than I could learn from Vivienne in a year. There’s no bloody way I can hope to match them, or even come close.”
“Then why meet him? We could leave, now. The Cadre is in such a shambles with Victor the way he is, they would never know. Or even care.”
“But we would know. And we would care.”
I sighed. He was right; I knew we couldn’t abdicate responsibility, but the temptation to turn and run was great. And the risk of losing Mitch was too real.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “If I don’t meet him now, Deirdre, I’ll have to do it some other time. How many more deaths do you want on your conscience?”
“None,” I agreed, “but most especially I do not want yours.”
He pulled me to him and held me close, stroking my hair. “I don’t want to die and I don’t intend to. I’ll live through this, I promise you. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”
“No.” I buried my head in his shirt to hide my tears.
“That’s right. I don’t plan on starting now.”
“But you said this might be our last time together.”
“Oh, that. I meant tonight.” His words were light and reassuring, but his voice was choked. I lifted my head, our eyes met and in his I could read determination, fear, love.
“Well, then,” I said, attempting to keep my voice light, “that’s an entirely different story, isn’t it?”
We filled the waiting hours making love. At first I still protested that he should save his strength, but eventually I could not deny that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Finally, I gave myself entirely to the experience, savoring and treasuring each caress, each kiss, each stroke.
A wildness filled us both, as if our humanity fell away from us. Perhaps it did. I felt, in the touch of his tongue, the mouth of the wolf on me, felt the hair on his head thicken under my fingers. My nails dug into his shoulders and arms like the lethal claws of the cat, leaving bloody ruts that I licked clean and watched heal. We had no voice, we had no breath, but we had bodies that melded and fit so closely I could not tell where I left off and he began.
Mitch buried himself inside me; he threw back his head and howled. The sound of his passion made the hair on my body stand on end and I growled my response. Frantically, desperately, we strove, grappling together, biting and licking, riding out each shuddering wave before being overwhelmed by the next. Then he slowed his thrusts, a deliberate gentling, but still diving deep within, wrenching orgasm after orgasm from my shivering body. His breathing grew deep and labored and I knew he was close to his own climax. I opened my eyes, to see his, glowing silver-blue in the darkness of the room.
Suddenly, as his seed filled me, we exploded into one another. We were one in body as we had been one as a mist. Blended and combined, never to be separated again.
As we rolled from one another, and lay panting on the bed, I did not feel an absence. I knew he was with me still, and would be with me for the rest of our days.
I also knew that there would be no difference between his death and mine.
When we arrived at the Ballroom the place was black, the front of the building locked up solidly. But Mark was there to let us in.
“What are you two up to?”
“We’re taking inventory.”
“Oh, sure.” He winked at Mitch. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, go on home and have a good evening.”
I waited until I heard the back door close before speaking. “Do you think he’ll actually show?”
Mitch laughed. “I’d be very much surprised if he isn’t already here.” He took off his suit coat and flung it over one of the tables. I was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing his holster, even though I knew that the bullets would not permanently harm Larry. Then I nodded and smiled, knowing that he had sufficient confidence in his own powers to do without it was a comforting thought. He embraced me briefly, then walked to the center of the dance floor.
“Hey, Martin,” he called, “did you hear me? I know you’re here, why don’t you just crawl out of whatever hole you’re hiding in and get this over with.”
Chapter 31
I heard a hiss behind me. We spun around to see a cloud of mist approaching. And as on the occasion that I had seen Mitch do this, locked within its center was a figure. The cloud stopped moving and the figure grew larger, finally coalescing into the familiar features and body of Larry Martin.
He bowed to me and smiled, exposing his canines fully, then reached into the already dissipating mist to produce a black rose to throw at my feet.
“Deirdre, I’m glad you’re here, too. It will make it easier to find you when I’m done with Mitch.” He turned away from me to Mitch and held out his hand. They shook hands briefly, only the veins that bulged and twisted under the skin betraying the strength of their grips. Then they each took a deep breath and their eyes locked together.
I had seen Mitch do this on the plane with Victor and knew that he was good. Taking a few steps back I positioned myself so that I could watch the action but not interfere with either’s direct line of vision. It was dark on the dance floor, but I could see the tension in each of their faces and bodies.
By the set of Mit
ch’s shoulders I could tell that he was straining hard to maintain his erect posture. Larry too seemed to be tiring, his tension showed in the constant clasping and unclasping of his fists. The pungent, tangy smell of their sweat fell around them, forming an almost tangible curtain and Mitch’s shirt was drenched. The contest seemed to last an eternity, many hours of them staring, boring deep into each other with their inhuman stare.
Finally, Mitch squared his shoulders and took a step forward, and then another, his gaze never faltering. Larry held his eyes up, but with each step Mitch took, he took one backwards. All it took was one bad step for Larry to lose his balance. He went to catch himself and in so doing, he dropped his eyes.
I wanted to cheer, but knew that was only the preliminary round. They wasted no time getting to the next game. Mitch stepped forward and grasped Larry by the shoulders. Larry did the same. Neither of them moved a muscle visibly. But I knew that they were pushing against each other as hard as they could. The tension in their necks and backs gave the motion away. They stood like statues in the center of the dance floor, striving, but not moving, each trying to dominate the other through sheer strength.
A small quiver shook through Larry’s body and the shape of his face changed, almost liquefying, as if it were a reflection in turbulent water. I blinked my eyes and when I opened them again, the figure standing there was not the same. The features of Mark were superimposed over the more familiar ones of Larry Martin. Then in a blur he became the unknown bartender at the Imperial, then Fred, and finally, incongruously matched with the male body, my face appeared.
I gasped involuntarily, but Mitch was unsurprised by the events and maintained his position and his grip. Perhaps, I thought, he knew that these powers were possible. Whatever the reason, his unwavering concentration seemed to distress Larry, who gave a disappointed grunt and resumed his own form and face. Again, hours passed, but the transformations must have sapped some of Larry’s endurance. With one burst of strength, Mitch finally pushed Larry back a step and that round ended.
I gave a sigh and let out a relieved breath.
“Fuck.” Larry’s obscenity echoed in the empty room, “This is bullshit, Mitch. Let’s get to the real contest.”
“Fine by me.”
If their combat hadn’t been so deadly serious I might have laughed at this point. Mitch’s earlier assumption that this was similar to a schoolyard vendetta proved to be true.
But children in school were not equipped with the weaponry exhibited here. In a flash, both men were gone and in their places stood snarling animals. Mitch’s silver timber wolf was familiar to me. Larry’s form was darker and harder to distinguish, until his high laughing bark gave him away. The hackles on both of their necks rising, the wolf and the hyena circled around each other warily. The hyena leapt first, attempting to sink his yellow teeth into the silver flank of the wolf’s back right leg. Contact was made, but a sharp back kick from the wolf dislodged the hyena’s bite. If the contest had been to first blood, Mitch would have lost. But we all knew the contest was to the death.
They squared off, again and again, each scoring a succession of minor wounds that healed almost as quickly as they were inflicted, each managing to protect their vital areas, faces and necks. Their snarls and howls grew loud in that space and I wanted to cover my ears. I wanted to intervene, but knew I couldn’t. My human form would be no help in this situation, and my animal form was totally inaccessible to me.
Finally, after many feints and false passes, the wolf that was Mitch spun around in a flash of silver and sunk his teeth into the hyena’s throat, Larry’s throat. His yelps of pain filled the air, but Mitch continued to hold tight, dragging him back and forth. Blood spurted out from between the wolf’s lips. He lifted his enemy high in the air and tossed him into the corner of the dance floor.
As the wolf came forward again licking the blood from his mouth, the hyena hunkered down, whimpering slightly. His body shivered and shuddered and shifted in its form. With a rush of giant black wings a large black buzzard flew up from where the hyena had landed. The wolf howled his frustration at his prey escaping and lunged up into the air, snapping with powerful jaws at something he couldn’t catch.
I held my breath, not knowing if Mitch had achieved mastery of a flying form. The buzzard flew down at the wolf, long lethal talons extended, slashing at the eyes and sensitive nose. The wolf crouched low as if to avoid the claws, then with nothing but the strength of his hind legs launched himself high in the air to grasp Larry’s neck between his teeth again.
They both fell to the dance floor but the wolf maintained his grip and flung the buzzard back and forth until his body went limp and the light in his eyes died. The wolf dropped his enemy and threw his head back and howled in victory.
I felt the hair rise on my arms and I let out the breath I was holding. The wolf turned to me, silver-blue eyes gleaming in the dim light. Then his outline blurred and within seconds a naked Mitch was standing in front of me, wounded and bruised, but healing and well.
I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him to me. “Well fought, my love, well fought.”
Our only error was inexperience. A sinister hiss came from the seemingly dead body of the buzzard and Mitch spun around, to see the buzzard dissolve into a mist and drift off. As it dissipated, Larry’s voice echoed through the empty club. “It’s not over yet, Greer. If I can’t kill you I can at least kill your son.”
Mitch stared at me, defeat reflected in every part of his body. “I lost. And Chris is dead.”
“No,” I screamed at him, “you can’t give up now. Follow him as a mist and stop him. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
He hesitated only a minute, then began to flow into the mist form, disappearing after Larry, driven by his urgency to save his son.
I started to run and burst out of the back door of the Ballroom, tearing off down the sidewalk and toward Mitch’s old apartment. I noticed as I ran that the sky was already lightening with the approaching dawn. How long had they fought? It seemed like no time at all, it seemed like forever. My pace quickened; now I was not only racing to Mitch’s side, I was running a race with the sunlight. A race I knew I would lose. I stopped and gripped my hands together, feeling a cry of despair rage through my body.
Helpless, angry, at the end of my rope and my life, I screamed my distress. And then it happened, my mind remembered the accidental transformation I had made, duplicated the event. I was almost instantly a lynx again and I ran, my powerful leg muscles propelling me forward in giant bounds that covered more ground than my human legs could ever hope to achieve. Still the distance was almost too great for me. I approached the steps of the apartment building just as the rising rays touched the sky. But the front door was closed and I was trapped outside. In desperation I drove my body up against the door time and time again, each lunge stronger than the last. Finally the door weakened and fell in. I bounded up the stairs and into Mitch’s apartment.
He sat on the living room floor cradling Chris’s body on his lap. I looked at him, trying to put words into my stare. Mitch shook his head and tears began to stream down his face. “He’s dead, Deirdre. Chris is dead.”
My tail whipped in anger and my head snapped back and forth searching for the enemy that caused so much pain. “Where is he?”
“In the bedroom,” Mitch said. “Unless he escaped. He was acting strange.”
I sprang though the bedroom door. Larry was sprawled on the floor, twitching slightly. He’d managed to drag himself out of the sunlight coming through the window, his hair still smoldered slightly from where it had made contact. I paced back and forth for a minute, growling slightly, not wanting to approach him, but knowing that I had to drag him back into the light. The light would kill him.
I attempted first to push him, placing the top of my head on his shoulder. When that didn’t work, I sprang around him and sunk my teeth into his bare leg and began to drag him inch by inch into the sunlight.
“Deirdre, no.” Mitch stood in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. I felt the sun burning into my fur and the flesh underneath, but still I pulled on Larry’s inert body. Blood from his leg filled my mouth with a strange medicinal taste and I felt my tongue go numb. It did not matter, nothing mattered but Larry’s death. I kept pulling until finally his body lay fully in the sunlight. As did mine. The air was filled with the pungent smell of burning flesh and hair.
I tried to crawl away but found my limbs were paralyzed. All I could do was lie on the floor next to my fallen prey and die with him.
Mitch moved into the room, crossing the sunlight himself and pulled the spread from the bed and flung it over me. He darted in and out adjusting a fold here and there until my body was fully covered. Then I heard him move slowly into the other room and fall to the floor.
When I next became aware it was dusk. And I was once again back in my human form. I cautiously lifted the spread from my head, then tossed it off completely when I saw that the room was in near darkness. Next to me was a pile of charred bones and ashes, all that was left of Larry. I stood up, my limbs stiff, the healing burns on my body crackling with each step. But I was alive. Something I had not expected.
I walked slowly to the other room. Mitch was rousing now, also covered with burns. Chris’s dead body lay where Mitch had dropped him to save me. Tears formed in my eyes and I let them fall. Mitch lifted his head and saw me. He struggled to stand and when he succeeded we stumbled toward one another, grasping each other in a sorrowful embrace.
“It’s over, my love,” I whispered with a parched voice. “It’s finally all over.”
And yet, the scars that had been formed would take more than a lifetime to heal.
Mitch and I lay in the dark room in the institution for a week under Sam’s care for the severe burns we sustained. After a time, and a little bit of blood-sucking on his own, using needles instead of fangs, Sam was able to explain why Larry had collapsed after draining Chris, and why I had gone into partial paralysis after biting Larry.
Crave Page 24
