by J. K. Beck
Goddammit all. First Penny Martinez and now this girl. And all because he’d fucked up and hadn’t moved fast enough.
He pressed his hand against the teen’s forehead, saw her eyelids flicker. “Don’t … leave,” she whispered, her voice so low and wretched that no human could have heard her.
“No,” he promised. “I won’t go. But I need to check on the woman. She tried to help you?”
“My fault,” the girl said.
“No,” Serge repeated. “His fault. And he’s dead now.” He cupped her cheek. “Hang on for me,” he whispered, then slipped through the night toward the woman.
“You,” she said, her voice low and full of pain but still strong. “I saw you.”
“And I saw you. Here.” He lifted his wrist to his mouth and bit deep, setting his blood to flow. “Drink.”
She recoiled, her eyes going wide, her voice thick with revulsion. “You’re a vampire?”
“Drink,” he repeated. “My blood can heal you.”
She shook her head, and Serge wasn’t sure if it was in confusion or refusal. Was she really so repulsed by the idea that he was a vampire that she would let herself lie there in the dark, bleeding out? She wasn’t on the verge of death, but without help it wouldn’t be far off. And he’d be damned if he’d let her die. Not if he could help it.
“What’s your name?”
She eyed him warily. “Alexis. Why?”
“I’m sorry, Alexis,” he said, as he pressed his wrist against her mouth and held her tight. “But I’m damn well saving you. Whether you want me to or not.”
Alexis wanted to fight. Wanted to turn away and scream and do anything other than swallow his blood. But she had no choice. His wrist was right there, his wound at her mouth, his blood pouring into her.
More than that, she knew that this man—this vampire—was her best chance. As she was, no one would hear her scream for help. She couldn’t die now—not like this.
And so she drank. Deep and long. And as she did, she realized she didn’t want to stop. She could feel his strength flowing through her. His strength, and him.
He was inside her, filling her, warming her. She moaned as life poured back into her, as her mind conjured images of his hands upon her, touching and healing her.
She kept her mouth closed around his wrist and drank greedily, lost in a sensual haze.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice as smooth as melted chocolate. “You’re going to be fine.”
She realized he was about to pull away, and she clung tighter. She wanted more. Wanted him.
And then the reality of her thoughts crashed through her mind, and she called upon her restored strength to push away, suddenly itchy and uncomfortable and even a little bit afraid.
He leaned back on his heels, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at her, his brow furrowed as if he—a friggin’ vampire—was looking for some sort of reassurance from her.
“The girl,” she said, rolling over and intending to crawl toward the teen, but despite the strength she’d felt while drinking from him, her body was still sluggish. Apparently healing wasn’t instantaneous. “Please. Don’t—don’t let her die.” She clutched at him, desperate, her mind swirling wildly, images of Tori mixing with images of that poor girl on the beach. “I can’t let—she has to be okay. Please. Please tell me she’s okay.”
She watched his eyes, but she saw nothing there. No compassion, no regret, no emotion at all. A horrible sob wrenched out of her, and she brought her fist to her mouth, all the horror and fear of the night bursting out with that one terrible sound.
She fought it back, because she had to know, and she couldn’t ask if she couldn’t find her voice. “She’s dead,” Alexis said. The words came out flat. Emotionless. “She’s dead already.”
If she hadn’t been watching him, she might not have noticed the change. But she was, and so she saw it. One simple movement. A tightening of his jaw perhaps, but it made the muscle in his cheek twitch, giving him a determined expression. “She’s not dead,” he said, then tilted his head back and sniffed the air, as if confirming that statement. “Not yet.” He stood up, and Alexis realized that she’d stopped breathing. “I’ll take care of her.”
She exhaled, her relief as sweet as wine. She managed a small smile. “A nice, helpful vampire?”
He gave her a hard look. “The moment you start believing that, you’re dead.”
A chill chased up her spine, and she watched as he hurried across the sand toward the girl. He bent to her, then picked her up, cradling her against his chest.
With the girl held tight in his arms, he looked like a protector. Like a savior.
She shuddered, two words filling her head: Evil vampires. That’s what she’d believed since she’d learned the truth about Tori’s death. It had been her mantra, her driving force. Vampires were vile. They killed. They tortured.
Hell, this vampire had practically told her she was right.
All true. All scary.
So why, then, when she looked at him, did she not believe a word of it?
Serge didn’t compel Alexis to forget, but he did tell her that she ought to get someplace safe and sleep. He’d given her blood, but her body still needed time to heal.
He wasn’t worried about her, though. Dawn was fast approaching, and she’d be safe enough. It was the teenager that troubled him, and he ran, the butterfly-like flutter of the girl’s failing heart pushing him forward. Soon, she’d die in his arms, a young life snuffed out at the hands of a vampire. Lost, like so many others.
“I’ll take care of her,” Serge had promised the woman. But what did that mean?
Drain her to the brink and let her fade slowly into death?
A blessing, perhaps, that sweet eternity. But Serge was certain it wasn’t what the woman expected.
Or take that same blood from her, and then open his own vein to the girl. Turn her into a vampire. A creature of the night. Subject her to the pain of the daemon, the pull of the darkness.
Was that what Alexis had hoped for her?
Serge knew it wasn’t, and yet there was no other way. He couldn’t bear to watch the light fade from this girl. Not when he could bring her back. He couldn’t stand the thought that she would be buried in an anonymous grave somewhere. That would mean the rogue bastard that had attacked her had won.
In the end, it was pointless. The debate over what was right and what was wrong, what the girl deserved and what she would get. He knew what he was going to do.
He would save her, even if by saving her he was condemning her.
There was simply no other choice to be made.
“The investigation into these human deaths is not an Alliance matter,” Nostramo Bosch said. The director of the Division 6 violent crimes subdivision sat across from Luke in one of the conference rooms. Sara, a Division 6 prosecutor, sat beside Bosch, her placement suggesting that she was aligned with him.
Perhaps she was. Though Sara was Luke’s wife and the love of his life, she knew her own mind, and didn’t hesitate to tell Luke when she disagreed with him. So far, though, she’d said nothing of the kind.
“I’m not trying to control the investigation or usurp the agents’ authority, either in Los Angeles or in any other jurisdiction. But I was recently named the governor of the Los Angeles territory, I make my home in Los Angeles, and I used to be the liaison between the Alliance and Division Six. I’m sure you understand why I’m interested in both these local human deaths and the similar attacks that have been reported across the country.”
A few months ago, his concern wouldn’t have been so broad. But he’d since been thrust into the role of Alliance chairman, and that made the entire shadow world his responsibility. Locally, there had been almost ten deaths in the last two months that they knew about, which unfortunately suggested that there were exponentially more that they didn’t.
“I understand all of that,” Bosch said. “My goal is to ensure you understand that you are not in ch
arge of this investigation. You may make suggestions. You may make your opinions known.” At this last, he looked at Sara. “But unless we learn that these murders were somehow politically motivated, the Alliance is here only as an observer. You do not give orders to the investigating agents or the prosecutorial team.”
“Of course, Nostramo,” Luke said, intentionally using the subdirector’s first name. “I thought that was understood.”
Bosch’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the subtle scent of cinnamon filled the small room. “The same holds true for our investigation into the desiccated vampires.”
Luke caught Sara’s eyes and saw that her frown mirrored his own. “Investigation? I thought the desiccations were considered a medical matter.”
Bosch’s posture slackened, and he appeared tired and frustrated. It passed in an instant, his eyes sharpening after that brief moment of vulnerability. “The cause of death remains undetermined.” His frown deepened. “We’ve also become aware that a number of vampires have gone missing,” he said.
“Missing?” Luke repeated.
“It’s possible that they simply left the Los Angeles area,” Bosch said, “but the reports have come from friends who would presumably have been aware of any intention to relocate. Also, the vampires haven’t resurfaced in other locations of which we’re aware.”
“You think they were staked,” Sara said.
“I think it’s a reasonable possibility.”
“And you think they may be linked to the dead humans,” Luke added.
Bosch shot him a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’ve raised it in this conversation.”
“You’re right, of course,” the subdirector acknowledged. “We have no confirmation. Merely suspicions. But sometimes suspicions are enough. I raise the point now because I want to be clear: Division Six is currently dealing with several baffling matters. Your thoughts on any are appreciated. But your interference will not be tolerated.” He stood. “For the record, I have no objection to your appointment to the Alliance table or to the governorship. But I will protect this division, and I won’t allow it to become an investigative arm of the Alliance.”
“That is not my intent,” Luke said, also standing.
Bosch nodded, his expression tentative but relieved. “I’ll leave you and Ms. Constantine, then. I’m sure you’ll want to … debrief.” The slightest of smiles touched his lips before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Luke lifted a brow as he looked at his wife. “Care to debrief, Ms. Constantine?” She was Mrs. Dragos now, but as a prosecutor, she continued to use her maiden name.
Sara smirked. “Cut him some slack. He respects you, but because you’re here, it feels like the Alliance is all over division’s business.”
“His interests align fully with mine. I’m only interested in stopping a killer.”
She rested her chin on her hand as she looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She really was too perceptive by half. “What makes you think I’m holding anything back?”
“Rogue vampires have killed humans since the beginning of time,” she said. “There’s nothing to suggest that the deaths are politically motivated.” She looked at him, as if waiting for him to comment on that point. He stayed silent.
“You have other obligations now,” she continued. “And while I love having my husband around, the other members of the Alliance are looking to you for direction. If you have any interest in keeping your position when the election comes up, you need to work on those relationships. You know that, right?”
“Of course,” he said.
She nodded, as if his answer was a given. “But you’re here, poking around division and these homicides. That means there’s a big reason, and you haven’t told me what. I want to know, Luke. I want to know what’s going on with my husband.”
“And I want to share with my wife,” he said. “I’m not yet ready to share with Prosecutor Constantine.”
For a moment, she said nothing, and Luke knew that she was weighing her options. Sara’s belief in the judicial system ran deep, and it was against her nature to ignore information that might otherwise relate to a case. She’d loosened up, though, recognizing that shades of gray colored the world, particularly where shadowers were concerned. Still, Luke knew that it was a constant battle for her. He also knew that she would never betray his confidence. If she decided that she wanted to know his reasons, he knew she wouldn’t use the information in the case.
“Tell me,” she finally said.
“Sergius,” he said. “I believe he’s involved, though I’m not yet sure how.”
As he’d expected, her eyes went wide, her face registering shock. “Why do you think so?”
“I caught his scent at the crime scene today.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s a surprisingly difficult question to answer. I’ve known him all my life, both human and vampire. And though I haven’t seen him for almost a year, I could never forget his scent.” He frowned, remembering the subtle undertones he’d detected at the scene. “It was him—and yet it wasn’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Honestly, I don’t either.”
“Something about the curse?” Sara asked.
It was a possibility Luke hated to consider and yet couldn’t ignore. Serge had willingly accepted the burden of a curse that transformed him into a monster. He’d known at the time that he would be undergoing a transformation, but he hadn’t known that he would fall victim to a madman. Serge had become a monster, a slave, and when the curse was finally broken they’d all believed that he would become himself again. But what if they’d been wrong? What if that was why Serge had hidden himself away for so many months?
“Are you saying you believe he killed Penny Martinez?”
“No,” Luke said, the speed of his answer underscoring his certainty. “The scent was on the air, but not on the girl. No, I don’t believe he killed her—”
“But you are afraid that he’s in trouble.”
A wry smile touched Luke’s lips. “Serge has been in trouble for a very long time.”
She touched his arm softly, offering comfort. “And you’ve always been there to help him. This time, he’s not letting you.”
He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, once again overwhelmed that he’d been lucky enough to find a woman who understood him so well.
“There is one thing you could do to help him,” Sara said. “You’re in a position now to pardon him.”
“I’ve considered it,” Luke admitted. “But I know him as well as I know myself, and he’d never forgive me if I did that without him agreeing first.”
“We’ll find him,” Sara said. “And hopefully he’ll let you help him.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
She offered Luke a small smile. “Then we’ll hope that someone else does.”
A knock at the conference room door interrupted them before Luke could respond, and the door opened to reveal Doyle. He’d looked wiped out when he’d left the crime scene, but he’d obviously fed since then. Exhaustion still lined his face, but he no longer seemed gaunt and weak, and when he strode into the room, a grim smile lit his bloodshot eyes.
“Been staring at a goddamn computer for the last six hours,” he said to Sara. “But it was worth it.” He slapped a photograph down on the table. “I found the bastard.”
Much like the human world, which had passport and driver’s license photos, the shadow world kept computerized images of as many shadowers as possible. Technically, every shadower was supposed to report for imaging every decade. Not all did, of course. For that matter, there were some vampires—turned by rogues and left to fend for themselves—who didn’t even know the organized shadow world existed. “Who is he?” Luke asked.
Doyle turned to face him, the contempt in his face obvious. They had a long history, and Luke ke
pt hoping they were past it. Apparently they weren’t. Not yet.
“When did you start working as a prosecutor?” Doyle asked.
“Dammit, Doyle,” Sara said. “Leave your petty differences outside, okay? Now tell us. Who is he?”
“Mitre. Christopher Mitre. Turned about eighty years ago, so still a babe in the woods by vampire standards.”
“Which is how he managed the attack during daylight,” she said.
“Record?” Luke asked.
“Not even a blip,” Doyle said, this time answering without hesitation.
“And you’re sure of the ID?” Sara pressed.
“Not a doubt in my mind.”
Sara nodded. “I’ll get an arrest warrant right now.” She stood. “Address?”
“Nothing solid yet. I’ve got Tucker trying to run him down,” Doyle added, referring to his partner. “Most recent census shows him living in Stockholm.”
“Apparently the cold didn’t suit him,” Luke said.
“I’ll keep poking around. Learn what I can about the guy.”
Sara stood up and started gathering her things. “What’s the probability that Mitre’s behind the other human deaths?” None of the other bodies had been found quickly enough for Doyle to ID the perp.
“No idea,” Doyle said. “But I hope that’s the case. If we can lay them all on Mitre, then we’re just looking at one sick fuck.”
“If he’s not the only one, then we may be dealing with an organized attack on humans,” Sara said. She circled the conference table and squeezed Luke’s hand before going to the door. She pulled it open, then let out a little gasp of surprise. Severin Tucker was on the other side of the door, his hand raised as if he was just about to knock.
“We got another dehydrated corpse,” he said.
“That’s a matter for Orion,” Sara said, referring to the medical examiner for Division 6, Richard Erasmus Orion III. Lately, he’d been spending the bulk of his time searching for a medical cause behind the desiccations.
“This one’s a matter for us,” Tucker said, his eyes on Doyle. “Victim’s our boy Mitre.” He glanced around the room, looking at each of them, before letting his eyes rest on Luke. “And he’s got a great big hole in his chest.”
