by J. K. Beck
“I want to see her.”
He nodded, then led her around the side of the house. With luck, the girl would be in the den—and she wouldn’t be fighting her daemon or sucking on a bag of blood. With even more luck, no one would notice Serge and Alexis lurking about.
For once, fate smiled on Serge. Their view through the window was unobstructed, and they could easily see Sara sitting next to CeeCee on a small couch.
Alexis rose up onto her tiptoes, and Serge closed his hands around her waist, steadying her as she looked inside.
“It’s a puzzle,” she said. “They’re working a jigsaw puzzle.”
She eased back, regaining her footing, but he didn’t remove his hands. He liked the feel of her, the warmth that flowed through him merely from the simple act of touching her. It didn’t last long. She turned, and he had no choice but to release her, though he mourned the loss of contact. She moved away from the window, clearly wanting to ask him something.
“This way,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the beach. If Sara or Luke were paying attention, they’d undoubtedly hear them. But with any luck, the roar of the ocean would cloak the sound.
“You healed her the way you healed me. And then you brought her home to her family?”
He hesitated, his eyes searching hers, then slowly nodded. “I brought her home,” he said, and saw her shoulders sag with relief. “But it’s not what you think.”
A crease formed between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean there was nothing I could do for her.”
“But—with me. I drank, and now I’m—”
“You’re fine. But you weren’t anywhere near as far gone as CeeCee.”
“So you changed her? You made her like … like you?”
“I did,” he said, and the weight of his words seemed to hang between them. She was shaking her head, and though he knew he should let her hate him—should encourage her to walk away—he couldn’t keep his own counsel. “You would rather she was dead? Rotting in the ground? Everything that she was meant to experience ripped from her? No chance to even find out who she really is?”
“Who she is? She’s a vampire.”
He thrust his arm out toward the window. “And what does that mean, exactly? She can walk down a beach on a summer night. She has a warm bed and people to look after her. Yes, she’s a vampire, but she’s still in the world. Some say that’s a curse. Others, that it’s a gift. But if you’re so certain that she’s nothing more than a monster, then kill me now and go after her next.”
“Damn you,” she said, but it was a whisper and not a scream. Even so, she punctuated her words with a blow. He caught her fist and pulled her roughly toward him, a move she countered with a swift kick to his shin that sent them both tumbling backward.
She ended up sprawled on top of him, her body straddling his, her chest heaving against his. Her lips parted, her eyes wide with shock.
He didn’t think, didn’t analyze. He simply acted—and took her mouth with his. With one hand he clutched at her hair, urging her closer, tasting and consuming, and then groaning in pure, animal pleasure when she melted in his arms and the kiss wasn’t merely him taking but them joining. A single moment of heaven that was all too fleeting, because a heartbeat later she broke free of his embrace and climbed to her feet.
“I didn’t—that was a mistake.”
“Was it?” he asked.
“Don’t,” she said. “I can’t do this.”
He rose as well. “Alexis, it’s okay. It was only a kiss.” That was a lie, of course. It was so much more.
“Is that what it was? Not a bribe? Not an enticement to forget the fact that you turned the poor kid into a vampire?”
“Is that what you think? Do you really believe I had a choice?”
“I don’t know! How can I know when—dammit!” Her phone was chirping, and she yanked it out of the pocket of her jeans and glanced at the display. He saw her frown, curse, and then answer the call. And then he saw the blood drain from her face, and he caught the ripe, cloying scent of fear and horror draw tight around her.
“What is it?” he asked as soon as she hung up.
“My friend Edgar,” she said. “He’s dead.”
Serge offered to come with her to Edgar’s house, but Alexis refused, though she had to admit to herself that she was tempted by the idea of having him around. It was that temptation that scared her. That, and her own reaction to what he’d done to CeeCee. She’d been furious, disappointed, scared, and a dozen other horrible emotions that she was more than happy to show him. But what she hadn’t shown him was the tiny bit of traitorous relief. Because, dammit, she believed him. Had he not turned her, the girl would be dead. Instead she was alive and working jigsaw puzzles in Malibu with a woman who truly seemed to adore her. Sure as hell beat her own childhood.
But that was all white noise now anyway. Edgar filled her thoughts, and instead of Serge, it was guilt that rode with her on her motorcycle. She should never have told him Sergius’s name, should never have agreed to let him investigate. And she sure as hell shouldn’t have agreed to that police sketch.
Goddamn her! She’d been playing at this like it was a real investigation. Like she could somehow protect them all because she knew the truth. Some child’s version of good winning over evil. But it never did, did it? That’s why Tori died, and now Edgar was dead, too.
Her vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly at a red light, forcing herself not to cry. She had a job to do now, and tears would only get in the way.
At Edgar’s house, she parked her bike, then drew in a deep breath, making sure she at least appeared calm even if she was screaming on the inside. She pulled out her badge, then hurried up the driveway, moving around to the back of the house. Lieutenant Sanders was there, and she approached him first. “Thank you for calling me.”
He nodded, looking like he’d aged a hundred years since the last time she’d seen him, back when she was still with the FBI.
“I know you two were close. I thought you should know. But you shouldn’t have come. I’ve got a crime scene to work here, and it’s a nasty one.”
“You said the wounds were primarily around the neck. That makes it my crime scene, too.” She flashed the badge, then slid it back in her pocket. “This is clearly a task force matter.”
His brow furrowed. “I agree. And I’ve already called it in. But I didn’t think you were on the task force anymore. Didn’t I hear that you quit a while back?”
“Quit? Don’t be ridiculous.” She pointed toward one of the bodies, lying in a heap outside the back door. “If you’ll excuse me.” She hurried quickly away, her heart pounding. Shit. Someone from the task force was already on their way, and that meant that she needed to get the dust and get out of there fast. She paused by the body of a man who’d undoubtedly been Edgar’s friend, then bent down. He’d fallen half on and half off the sidewalk, and she scooped some of the dirt from the yard into her hand, then shoved it into her pocket, not caring if anyone noticed.
She had it, and she knew she should leave. But she couldn’t—not yet. Not without seeing what was inside that house.
Not without seeing Edgar.
She stepped inside, using her badge to forestall any questions. What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks. Blood. So much blood. He’d been tortured, and brutally. This wasn’t about the kill, this was about the pain. And all because she’d pulled him in, asked for his help, and shown him that all those crazy things he believed were absolutely true.
Her stomach twisted and bile rose in her throat. For so long, she’d held the mission to find Tori’s killer close, until it felt like a part of her rather than a distinct goal. Not this. This was new and fresh, and it flashed like a beacon in the dark.
She’d find Edgar’s killer. She’d find the bastard tonight.
And her only regret would be that you could only kill a vampire once.
“Yo,” Doyle said, elbowing Tucker i
n the ribs. “You recognize her?” They were at a crime scene in North Hollywood. An LAPD cop and a civilian, both with their necks ripped out. The woman he was pointing to was hurrying away from the house that Doyle and Tucker were heading into. She’d been at the Mitre crime scene, and Doyle couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing there.
“Told me she was FBI,” Tucker said.
“Well, shit,” Doyle said. “I was hoping the feds weren’t involved. Lot more complicated when we have to clear out multiple agencies.”
“Your call. We can take a pass on this one.”
Doyle considered, then shook his head. The kill was recent, and he needed to get into the victims’ heads. He’d been hearing too many rumors that the attacks on humans were organized, planned and directed by some kingpin-type vamp. So far, he didn’t have a bead on who that ringleader might be, and he wasn’t inclined to pass up a chance to find out.
“Clear ’em out,” he said, then headed toward the first body while Tucker went off to do his thing, messing with the officers’ minds while the other PEC agents arrived and helped him clear the scene.
Doyle, however, was interested only in the vics. The first one was outside, lying in a heap. It took no time for Doyle to get into his head, and the truth was there wasn’t much in there. A layer of euphoria—he’d been mingling with vampires and the foolish fuck had thought that was cool—and then nothing. Just the red flash of pain and then the black static of death.
Whoever had killed him had attacked him from behind.
Well, shit.
Frustrated, he moved inside the house, ignoring the looks from the human officers who hadn’t yet encountered Tucker and his mind fuck. He found the body and bit back a wave of disgust. Goddamn vampires, they were fucking animals.
He brushed aside the human cop who tried to stop him, then bent and laid his hands on the body’s forehead. Edgar Garvey was the vic, and he sure as hell hadn’t deserved to die like this.
A wave of loathing washed over Doyle for the vampire who had murdered these two men, for the dark twisted world he lived in, and even for himself, half human and half daemon and not really belonging to either world. But he had his gift, and though he cursed the toll it took, at least he could do this. At least he could look into the mind of the dead and maybe, just maybe, help balance the scales.
Tears streamed down Leena’s face. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Alexis’s stomach clenched, and she reached out to grab Leena’s hand. “I know. Dear God, I know.” She felt hollow, lost. It was like losing a parent. Only this time it felt more real, because Edgar really had been family in a way that her parents never had. “Oh, Leena.” She squeezed her friend’s hand and felt the returning pressure.
“Can you concentrate? Can you find who did this?”
Leena brushed the back of her hand under her eyes and looked at the dirt on the table, along with the bowls and herbs. “For Edgar, yes. Absolutely yes.” As if to punctuate the point, she focused on the table, taking the dirt in hand. “If you’re ready to hunt, I’m ready to do my part.”
“I’m ready,” Alexis said. “I just hope our killer’s on the hunt himself.” It was a perverse wish, but she’d long ago come to terms with the fact that in order to find a vampire, that vampire actually had to be on the prowl.
As she watched, Leena went through the motions of tracking the vampire’s aura. Of pulling it into the ball. Of turning the ball into a map. She was working hard, faster than usual, calling her powers out with more force than Alexis had seen her do in the past.
Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and upper lip, and her fair skin splotched red from concentration. After what seemed an interminable length of time, Leena finally looked up with an exhausted smile. “Look,” she said. “Our vamp’s on the move.”
Sure enough, that pinpoint of light had appeared on the etched surface of the ball. Alexis took it and peered closely, trying to discern the location.
“I’ll get the street map,” Leena said, but Alexis only shook her head.
“No,” she croaked, realizing her throat was thick with fear. “I recognize it.” She met Leena’s eyes. “Oh, God, Leena. He’s here.” She lunged sideways, going for the gun she’d left sitting by the kitchen sink. She didn’t make it.
“She’s here, you mean.” The voice was cold and feminine, and before Alexis made it to her weapon, a dark figure was at her side, mouth at her neck, and Alexis knew that this was the end. This vampire had found her, and she was going to kill her, and damn Alexis all to hell, but it wasn’t Tori she was thinking about, but Serge.
“No!” Leena’s scream cut the silence as she rushed forward, shoving the end of her cane toward the vampire. But the female only grabbed the cane and pulled Leena close, then pressed a palm against her chest and shoved her so hard she slammed into the far wall.
“Don’t worry,” the female said, turning her attention back to Alexis. “I’m not going to kill you straightaway. You and I are going to have so much fun together.”
“Can’t I play, too?” Serge’s voice. Alexis blinked, certain that she was dreaming. That the female had already bit her, drained her, and she was hallucinating as death approached.
“Sergius!” The female’s cry was delighted. “Derrick will be so thrilled!”
On the ground, Leena screamed, her hands clutching at her temples as she writhed in pain, and Alexis could only stand there, fearing for her own life and listening to her friend suffer.
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” Sergius said, his attention only on the female.
“I’m Bella. And you are nothing short of a legend.” She shook Alexis, who stiffened and tried not to be afraid. “Would you like the honor of the kill?”
His eyes were cold, hard, like nothing that Alexis had seen before. And as he walked toward her, she knew this was the end. Oh God, oh God, how could she have been so stupid? How could she have trusted a vampire? How could she—
And then it was over. With speed too fast to be seen, Serge whipped out a stake and drove it hard into the female’s chest. The woman’s mouth formed a surprised O, but that was all. Then she was dust, gone, and with nothing to hold Alexis up anymore, her knees went limp and she started to fall.
Serge’s strong arms caught her, pulling her back up, pressing her to him. A swell of relief passed through her—she’d doubted him. She’d doubted him, and yet he’d saved her anyway.
“Alexis,” he murmured, his lips touching her hair. “God, Alexis, if I’d been even a little bit later.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay.”
But the world was still tilting, because through the haze of relief, she saw Leena stand. Saw her grab Alexis’s gun from where she’d left it on by the sink. Saw her aim it at Serge.
“Leena, no!”
“It’s Sergius,” her friend said, her eyes wilder than Alexis had ever seen them. “It’s Sergius, and he has to die.”
He’s right there. The vampire. One of the pair she’d been searching for.
His chest opened to her. A gun in her hand. A wooden bullet, and a clear shot to satisfaction and revenge.
Eva didn’t take it.
Not because he deserved a second chance, but because she could use him. It was all so clear now. Alexis had led her to Sergius, just as Eva had seen in that very first vision. A blinding flash of prescient knowledge the first time that Leena had taken the girl’s hand. A spark that let her know in no uncertain terms that somehow, someway, Alexis was the key to finding Sergius and Derrick. That somehow Los Angeles played into it.
And then, when Leena had learned that the vampire Alexis sought was in Los Angeles, the pieces fell into place. They moved here, and the hunt began.
Now she’d found Sergius, just as the vision had predicted. And if she let him live a little bit longer, Sergius could lead her to Derrick.
It was hard to think—her head still throbbed. But she fought through the pain, and knew what she had to
do. It wouldn’t be hard.
She’d been patient for so long … she just had to wait a little bit longer.
Wait … and keep the little bitch down.
Not that Leena wasn’t without her uses, just like all the others before her had been. And there’d been so many before her, starting with her own daughter.
The men had arrived unexpectedly, surprising Derrick, who held Tomas in his arms. The other one, Sergius, had already grabbed her, had ripped open her vein and was drawing in her blood. She’d been fading, losing her grip upon life, his actions proving that it wasn’t her help that he’d truly wanted, but her blood. He wasn’t worthy of what she could offer, of the way she could bind his daemon. How could he be, a filthy vampire? A bastardization of nature?
Death might be coming for her, but he’d die there in the cookhouse, too, she was certain of it. The Dumont men were fools; not one of them truly understood what she was, what power she wielded. But they were not weak, and they knew well how to defeat vampires. Derrick and Sergius would see no more of the world. Their reign would end tonight.
Except it didn’t.
The men took Derrick away, but she later learned that they didn’t kill him, choosing instead to torture him for eternity, locked deep within a crypt with no blood to nourish him.
They’d planned the same fate for Sergius, and they’d rushed him, not the least bit mindful of her limp body when he tossed it aside, a barrier between him and the raging men. Still, there’d been no escape for the vampire, and of that she’d been glad.
But she hadn’t anticipated her own daughter. The foolish child had made a noise, and the vampire had heard it. He’d grabbed the girl from the cupboard in which she hid, and he’d used her as a shield. It had bought him time and distance, for the child’s father wasn’t Tomas, but the eldest Dumont male. And thus Sergius had escaped, tossing the child back into the cookhouse at the last possible minute and buying himself a few precious seconds.
