Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Samantha M. Derr

  Zachariah looked at his overstuffed bookcase and nodded in apparent approval. "What do you wish to do with your life?"

  "I hoped to get into newspaper work. Not the kind I'm doing now. Real writing. Feature stories, you know."

  "I have known a great number of writers in my life, some quite successful. I have even bitten a few you might have heard of. For the sake of discretion I will not reveal their names, but I do enjoy conversing with them. One gets a unique perspective from such men."

  While Brandon mulled that over, Zachariah finally moved to the chair he had offered earlier.

  "But enough of all that. Let us get down to business. As I'm sure you have guessed by now, I'm sorry I frightened you and took advantage of you as I did. It wasn't my intention. I simply got carried away by the drama of the situation." He held out his palms toward Brandon in a gesture of surrender. "Melodrama is one of my faults, I fear. I have an unfortunate theatrical bent I try not to indulge too often."

  "Well, you don't owe me any explanation. I wasn't all that frightened, and I realized later you were just playing tricks on me. So forget it."

  "Tricks? No. My purpose was sincere. I did want to show you my powers and convince you of my true identity. I admit I went about it the wrong way."

  "You didn't really convince me of all that much. There could be other ways for you to accomplish the same effect, though. Hypnosis, for example. Mind-altering substances."

  "I have no need to do that. And you drank nothing at the bar. Neither did I. Poor Gregory had indulged a bit, I fear, but I could do nothing about that. It was one of the reasons he and I did not mesh. Drink and drugs hold no charm for me, even imbibed at one remove via the bloodstream. I prefer to keep my mind clear and focused when I take my pleasures."

  Brandon blinked. He hadn't expected Zachariah to put things quite like that. Instinctively he lifted his fingers to his lower lip and rubbed the spot Zachariah's pointed teeth had punctured. He remembered how it had felt to share his blood when they had kissed. He knew Zachariah had noticed the almost electrical charge as well.

  "I can understand that," he muttered.

  "Can you? I'm not convinced—not yet. I took advantage of your curiosity, Brandon. I let you into my world without preparing you or myself, for that matter. I shouldn't have done that. I also placed you in danger. I'm not sure you realized how much."

  "You don't have to talk to me like I'm some kind of stupid kid," Brandon shot back, annoyed with Zachariah's condescending attitude and solicitous tone. Maybe he meant well, and Brandon supposed it was easy for this role-playing thing to get out of hand if people weren't careful. All the same, he was sick of everyone treating him like a delicate flower who didn't understand his own needs. "I knew what I was getting into, and I was willing to take the risk. I wanted you from the minute I saw you, and you know it."

  "I do know it." Zachariah nodded. "That's the problem, or a large part of it, anyway. Pheromones, you know. Vampires can mirror what we want our chosen partner—or prey—to perceive. We can be anything you dream of."

  He stood up and moved closer, doing nothing particularly flirtatious, but Brandon felt his body surge with a longing that almost caused him physical pain.

  "You see? That's not you responding—it's me. I could take advantage of you if I wanted to." Zachariah grabbed Brandon's shoulders and pulled him to his feet, crushing him close to his broad chest. His kiss was possessive, searing. Brandon sagged a little in his arms when he drew his mouth away.

  "So do it. It's what I want, too," Brandon whispered.

  "It's what you think you want. The ad was a foolish idea. I'm not sure why I did it. I was bored. It was a game. I thought it would be a way to feed discreetly with a willing partner. Gregory, whom I sent away, was willing, no doubt about that. But it was you I preferred. I saw you watching us, and I knew he would never do." Abruptly Zachariah pushed Brandon back. His knees bumped the edge of the bed, but he managed not to fall down. "I have to go. We can't see each other again. It's for your own good, Brandon."

  "No!" Brandon protested, following him to the door. Before he could get through, Zachariah had slammed it in his face. He heard a rapid shuffling of footsteps going down the stairs.

  His head spun. Zachariah always had that effect on him—why? He took a few moments to collect his thoughts and suppress his outrage. More mind games—was that all Zachariah got off on? Regular dating and fooling around didn't interest him?

  He pulled open the door and started downstairs, intending to intercept Zachariah by his car. Before he got past the landing, though, he stopped. Chuck was on his way up, a frown on his face and his fists thrust deep in his coat pockets.

  "What are you doing here?" Brandon asked, too astonished to bother with the social niceties.

  "I saw that guy pick you up from the store and put your bike in his car. I got a bad feeling. I circled back just as he pulled away from the curb. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

  "Oh." Brandon felt his cheeks grow warm. "It's okay. We were just talking."

  "He looked like he was angry. I thought maybe he'd wanted more than you were prepared to give, and… you know. He flipped out."

  "Nothing like that." Brandon forced himself to laugh. Chuck's grim expression never changed.

  "If you're sure, then… I won't keep you."

  He hesitated, as though waiting for Brandon to invite him up, but Brandon decided he'd had enough socializing for one day. He clapped a friendly hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Come on. I'll walk you downstairs."

  When they stepped onto the porch, their gazes went at once to the mangled heap of metal and rubber that hung from the U-shaped titanium lock.

  "What the—?" Brandon asked as he gaped at the remains of his bike. "How did that happen?"

  "I knew there was something funny about that guy." Chuck stared at the spot left vacant by Zachariah's car. "Guess that settles it. Tough break about your bike, though. I'll pick you up for work tomorrow."

  "Thanks." Brandon was too shocked to do anything but agree in a numb voice. After Chuck left, he stood beside the ruins and shook his head, trying to wake himself up from what had to be a bizarre dream. No such luck, though.

  He couldn't bring himself to believe that Zachariah would exact such a petty revenge—and for what? He was the one who had given Brandon the brush-off.

  Abruptly his mind flashed back to the figure he'd seen lurking by the cab at Zachariah's place. Someone like Gregory seemed a much more likely suspect in a vandalism case. Still, what could he prove? Similar crimes occurred every day in the city. The culprit could as easily have been a passing thug or even a theft gone horribly wrong. The dark, silent street provided no answers.

  *~*~*

  True to his word, Chuck arrived on time every morning and dropped Brandon off at his apartment every evening after work for the rest of the week. Conversation flowed freely between them, and Brandon was relieved that Chuck never pressured him about dates or spending time together after hours.

  He also said nothing about vampires, which suited Brandon just fine, since he hadn't heard a word from Zachariah since that ill-fated night when his bike got wrecked. Losing the bike had actually turned out to be a bigger heartache than losing touch with Zachariah, as repairing it would be less cost-effective than continuing to save up for a car. Winter weather was only a few weeks away, and he couldn't bum rides from Chuck forever, though to Chuck's credit he didn't seem to mind at all.

  "So," Chuck asked one day as they traveled down a rainy side street, "I've been meaning to ask you. Now that you've had a chance to settle in, are you happy at the paper?"

  "It's all right. Safer than a convenience store." Brandon stared out the window at the rundown buildings they passed, only half-joking.

  "Too bad the pay's not much better. I'm sorry about that, really."

  "Not your fault. You don't sign the paychecks."

  "True, but I know David feels guilty about the crummy salary, too. Truth is, the paper's no
t very lucrative. It's always been more a labor of love than a solvent business, you know?"

  "Most little grass-roots publications are like that."

  "David also knows, like I do, that we haven't really given you much responsibility. That could change, you know."

  "Oh? In what way?"

  "Well, he and I were talking, and it turns out I have a little surprise for you. I was thinking that sometime you could tag along and assist me with one of my stories. You know, help me take notes and then give me some feedback on the finished product. Put those journalism classes to good use."

  "Yeah?" This time Brandon looked up at Chuck, unable to hide his astonishment. This was what he'd hoped for all along, but had hardly dared even to wish. "That would be great!" A soon as he'd said it, his burst of youthful enthusiasm embarrassed him. He cleared his throat and tried to sound mature and nonchalant. "I mean… thanks."

  To his relief, Chuck seemed pleased with his overly eager reaction. "You can ride shotgun next time I go out to do a feature. You know… see how it's done at the Rainbow Rag."

  "Gosh, Chuck. I don't know what to say."

  "The bad news is that we can't pay you anything, at least right away—it would be sort of volunteer freelancing, which we rely on a lot. But when we're done, I'll be glad to spring for another meal. And you'll get a publishing credit and a clipping when it comes out. You never know. That could lead to something real for you down the line."

  The lack of payment was a disappointment, Brandon couldn't deny, especially given his pressing need for a car downpayment. Still, he was too elated to make an issue of that. "All right, fair enough. I'll be glad to do it, Chuck."

  "Great! I'm really looking forward to it. I'll let you know when, where, why, and what. Never fear."

  "Thanks, man," Brandon said as they turned into the newspaper parking lot. "I really appreciate you looking out for me the way you have this week."

  "You don't need to depend on anyone but me, Brandon," Chuck said as he pulled into his usual parking spot. "I only want what's best for you."

  In the mailroom, Brandon found a number of letters intended for the personal ad slots. None were addressed to Zachariah this time… but one bore his own name.

  Moving to a discreet corner, he opened it and scanned the contents before anyone else could see what he was doing.

  I need to speak to you tonight.

  Wait for me outside the newspaper office at dusk.

  –Z.

  "Hello? Everything all right in there?" Everett called as he passed by the open door and stopped to look for Brandon.

  "Yep. Just consolidating my work." Keeping his back to Everett, Brandon shoved the note under a stack of paper and busied himself with the onerous task of loading up a staple gun.

  "I just put some coffee on. Kind of chilly this morning. Come on out when you want some."

  "Thanks," Brandon called out. When Everett left, he slammed his fist onto the freshly loaded stapler as if to test it. The truth was, he just wanted to punch something. He couldn't deny that Chuck's sincerity and caring had genuinely touched him. What a contrast his attentions were to Zachariah's condescending, even contemptuous, treatment of him. He really had to get Zachariah out of his mind and out of his blood.

  But he knew it wouldn't happen today.

  *~*~*

  All day, he fretted about how he would tell Chuck he'd be staying late instead of catching a ride home with him. Over and over, he rehearsed various scenarios that might sound plausible. Unfortunately, none of them did. Luckily, in the end, he was spared the need to fib at all.

  Chuck entered the mailroom with his coat on, though they had another half an hour to go before quitting time. "David just asked me to run up to the printer and drop off a payment. He's worried there might be a delay in the next issue if we don't bring our account up to date. Do you mind waiting for me? When I get back, we can talk about our story."

  "Yeah, sure. No problem. I can find my way home on my own if you want."

  "Nope. I'm driving you. I want to make sure you get back safe. I shouldn't be more than a few minutes late."

  After assuring Chuck that he could take as much time as he needed, and trying not to sound too eager to get rid of him, Brandon puttered around until Everett and David both left. Careful not to let the door lock behind him, he slipped out into the darkened parking lot and looked for Zachariah. Part of him wondered if he would really show up. In truth, a small part of him hoped he wouldn't. But a much bigger part couldn't wait to be close to him again.

  In the end, he appeared just as Brandon imagined he would—aloof, silent, lingering like a ghost in the shadows at the edge of the building. Brandon couldn't see his car, so either he'd come on foot or had stashed it down the street to make his approach all the more discreet and dramatic. He crossed the puddle-strewn blacktop with his dark eyes trained on Brandon, his leather coat flapping behind him and the fog swirling around his booted feet. Brandon didn't think any man had ever looked sexier to him—or more dangerously unpredictable.

  "He's not a vampire," he reminded himself, speaking the words under his breath. Somehow saying them aloud made them seem more believable. "He just thinks he's one—or wants me to think so."

  Zachariah wore a small smile as he stepped in front of Brandon and thrust his hands into his pockets. Had he heard Brandon talking to himself?

  Brandon wasted no time. Chuck might be back at any moment, so best to get this over with. "All right, we're here. So talk."

  "I have to confess something to you." Zachariah's face showed strain. "You've probably already guessed as much."

  Though Brandon had no idea what he was talking about, he tilted his head expectantly and played it cool. He got a lot of practice at hiding his true feelings these days, he thought. He wasn't sure if he liked it. "Go on."

  "The ad I placed—I didn't do it for the reasons you might think."

  "No?"

  "No. It's a bit complicated to get into—vampire politics I won't burden you with—but to sum it all up, for years I and those like me have been dealing with a certain scourge we have not been able to rid ourselves of. They are what you might call hunters… vampire hunters. A number of them still exist, even though it must sound like something out of the eighteenth century to you. In a way, it is. These people have been at this for generations. It's a bit like a cult—and what binds them together is an urge to destroy us—or just me, in this case."

  "Vampire hunters," Brandon repeated the word in a trancelike voice. Just when he thought he had Zachariah figured out, he flung him another greased curve ball. All of this was getting to be too much for him to wrap his spinning head around. The whole thing was ludicrous, like some kind of fantasy gone wildly wrong. At the same time, if he really thought about it, nothing else explained the things he had seen and experienced in the last few days. "Huh."

  "You might not believe me, I realize, but that is immaterial just now. What I'm trying to tell you is that recently, things have felt different to me. I have learned to pay attention to those kinds of signs. Occasionally, accidents would take place around me—the most disturbing being a fire in my previous car, which ignited just after I had stepped out. I can only surmise one of them was following me and trying to take my life."

  "But who do you think he is?" Brandon looked around the parking lot, half-expecting to see someone crouching in the shadows with a maniacal grin and a blow torch.

  "I have no idea. That's the point. The ad was an attempt to flush him out. And forgive me, but when you followed me to the bar that first night… well, I thought it might be you. That was why I pushed that other boy away without giving him a chance. I felt my attentions would be more profitably directed toward you."

  "Me? A hunter? That's insane! I had never heard about any of this vampire stuff until I met you. And even if I had, I wouldn't get involved in killing anyone, undead or not!"

  "I know that now. But I had to be sure. I told you it was a game, and so it was. I made
a move and waited for you to respond. Meanwhile, I checked you out as best I could and even followed you a few times. I regret that now… some of it, anyway."

  Brandon scowled. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Did you… um… make any progress in finding out who's after you?"

  "Sadly, no. I suspect my ad idea was what we might charitably call a bust. Still, I had to try. Among other reasons, I really didn't want to shop for another car right away. I find hanging around at auto lots unspeakably tedious, and the prices are outlandish these days."

  "Tell me about it," Brandon said, shaking his head again as he recalled that dreadful night when both Zachariah and Chuck had shown up at his house. Obviously there had been a lot more going on than he had realized at the time. "Speaking of that, I don't suppose you got a good look at the creep who destroyed my bike that time you drove me home? I can't believe it was you."

  Zachariah looked alarmed. "Your bike? What do you mean?"

  Briefly Brandon recounted the story of his bike's being wrecked. When he finished, Zachariah set his mouth in a grim line.

  "I saw nothing—and no one—that night." He licked his lips, making Brandon feel that familiar tingle in his body again. He thought about coaxing that pale mouth against his skin somehow, and his heart began to beat faster. "Still, what you have told me worries me."

  "It might have nothing to do with what you were just telling me. It might have just been kids fooling around."

  "True—or it might have been a message. One I unwisely and unfortunately missed. I admit, I was not paying attention as I should have been. I was distracted by other concerns." Zachariah sighed, and Brandon saw his body stiffen in frustration. That was an emotion he knew all too well himself.

  When Zachariah lifted his chin again, Brandon saw a strangely intense glow in his eyes. They almost looked red in the reflection of the streetlights. He figured it was some kind of optical illusion.

  "I want to take your blood more than you know. The little taste of you I had that night… it has been all I can think about."