by J. R. Rain
“How was Caesar after the fight?” I asked.
“Woozy. The punch really rang his bell. Remember, the guy was like a five-time karate champion. The dude knows how to throw a punch. But there’s more.”
I waited. I considered lighting up another cigarette myself, but didn’t want to smell too much like smoke around the kids. Tammy has a sensitive nose, and there was a good chance she was allergic to the smell of cigarettes.
I can’t buy a break, I thought.
When Allison had gathered her thoughts, she said, “I haven’t told anyone this, mind you.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I mean, no one would believe me.”
I nodded encouragingly, waited.
“You’re the first person who I think I can trust with this information...and perhaps the first person who wouldn’t laugh me off immediately. Maybe you are a godsend.”
I wondered what God thought of that, but said, “Well, drinking someone’s blood has that effect.” I didn’t mention that she also knew my super-secret identity, which bonded us further. Or condemned her.
She took in some air and plunged forward, “Caesar was never the same after that punch.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was different. Not entirely...there. He seemed to have suffered a concussion, of some sort, but the doctors who checked him out said he wasn’t showing typical concussion symptoms—nausea, blurred vision, vomiting, stuff like that.”
“So what was wrong?”
Allison thought about that, pursuing her lips. “Well, everything, actually. He rarely talked. Rarely slept. I would often find him sitting in the dark alone. He spoke in a monotone. He rarely laughed, and when he did, it seemed forced. My last memories of him are not good ones. My last memories of him—namely the two weeks leading up to his fight in Vegas—were filled with constant worry and concern.”
“The doctors couldn’t pinpoint anything?”
“The doctor didn’t think anything was wrong.”
“And you think the punch had something to do with his death?” I asked.
Allison held my gaze. I suddenly felt as if I’d known her for a long time. As if this wasn’t our first meeting. I shook off the feeling.
She said, “I know the punch had something to with his death, Sam.” She got up and moved over to her sliding glass window and looked down at the street below. “I just know it. And he should never have fought Russell Baker.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t ready for the fight. He was still out of it. I mean, Jesus, he was sleeping before the fight. Sleeping. He never sleeps before a fight. He was usually bouncing off the walls.”
Her words triggered a memory. “Romero told me he had to calm Caesar down before the fight.”
“Usually. Romero was always good at getting Caesar to focus, to channel his energy, so to speak.”
“But not this last fight?”
“No. Caesar was already calm. So calm that he was sleeping.”
I nodded and thought about all of this, and kept thinking about it all the way home.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was late.
I was at home, looking into Allison’s allegations. Unfortunately, there was no video of the charity fight anywhere. That would have been nice to see. The karate champion in question was Andre Fine, and he was generally recognized as the best in his weight class, holding various titles and many degrees of black belt. Apparently, he was the baddest of the bad.
I found his website and studied his many pictures. I also found many YouTube video clips of his fights. He was, from all appearances, lightning fast, and tended to really hurt his opponents. More than one went down and stayed down.
I sat back and rubbed my eyes out of habit. Truth was, they didn’t hurt. Truth was, they never hurt and I had perfect vision. Especially after a day like today.
When I had consumed fresh human blood.
Human blood from a more-than-willing donor.
The small amount that I had indeed consumed from Allison’s finger was more than enough to sustain me for a day or two. Human blood has that effect: long-lasting and filling. Even small amounts of the stuff went a long way.
I thought of Allison again, a woman who loved to have her blood consumed. And I mean loved to have it consumed. And here I was, a woman and vampire who knew the benefits of human blood. The supernatural, unparalleled benefits. It was hard not to see that this could be a match made in Heaven.
Or, more accurately, in one of the outer rings of Hell.
Andre Fine. He looked like a tough dude. He knew how to punch. How to guard. He seemed to have an almost supernatural grasp of what his opponent would do next. From the footage I saw, no one had gotten close to him. No one had hurt him, and all were beaten—badly.
Except, he didn’t strike me as something supernatural. He wasn’t a particularly big man, and, according to Kingsley the Buttface, I now knew that werewolves actually grew in size as time went on. Kingsley himself had started out as a much smaller man, which made me wonder how big Kingsley would eventually get. Or, if there was a capping-off of size.
Then again, maybe I didn’t care, at least, not about Kingsley.
But I did care. I did care that he had cheated on me, and it was all I could do to not drive over there, kick his door in, and then kick his face in.
But he had been set up.
So what?
Easy excuse.
Jerk off.
Perhaps Andre Fine was a new werewolf, then, not yet old enough to achieve the bigger size. Kingsley, after all, possessed such quickness and strength. But Andre Fine was slight, even. He was, in fact, often smaller than his opponents...although clearly faster and stronger and more skilled.
I shifted gears, and within a few minutes, I had all his personal information in front of me, as well. I now knew his last three residences, including his current one in Malibu. He was single, no kids, and had an interesting rap sheet. He’d spent time in county jail for beating a man nearly to death in a barroom brawl. His hands were registered as lethal weapons, so the fight was considered a felony. He also seemed to like to beat up his various girlfriends. Three different complaints from three different women. No arrests, warnings only. I looked up his birth certificate, and confirmed that he was not an immortal who had lived hundreds of years, although he certainly fought like an immortal. He was thirty-four.
Still, how could a single punch have an effect a month later?
I didn’t know. But I knew someone who might. I picked up my cell and called Chad Helling, my ex-partner with HUD. He answered on the second ring.
“Better?” he asked.
“I like being a second-ring kind of gal,” I said.
“You do realize we’re not partners anymore, Moon Shine,” he said, using one of his trillions of nicknames he had for me. “I’m not obligated to pick up at all. In fact, my life would be a lot easier if I just let your calls go to voicemail.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“I said my life would easier.”
“So that means you still love me.”
“No, I love Monica. I put up with you.”
“Good enough,” I said.
“So, how can I plunder the government’s resources for you this time, Sunshine?”
“Not the government’s resources. Your gray matter. I’m calling to pick your brain. I need your expertise.”
“In beer?”
“Fighting,” I said, knowing that Chad Helling was an amateur MMA fighter.
“Sometimes they’re one and the same,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. I told him about my case and about Allison’s theory. And to my complete surprise, Chad didn’t laugh immediately, which is what I had expected.
When I finished, he said, “Andre Fine is a bad dude.”
“That’s what I gathered.”
“No, I mean a bad dude.”
“Okay, you lost me,” I said.
“But why is he legendary?”
“Did you catch the part about being champion for five straight years?”
“I did,” I said. “But I also noted something else in your voice.”
“Geez, Moon River, I can’t keep anything from you.”
“Nope. Now, out with it.”
“Okay, here’s the dope.”
“Dope?”
“It’s like the new catch phrase these days.”
“Fine. Give me the dope.”
“Ugh.”
“Ugh what?” I said.
“Doesn’t sound right coming from you. Sounds too mom-ish.”
“Well, I am a mom. Now tell me what you know or I’ll shove my mommy sneaker up your ass.”
“Now that’s the Samantha Moon that I remember.”
“Chad...”
“Right. Fine. Look, some of this isn’t easy to talk about. I mean, it’s kind of crazy, actually.”
“Crazy, how?”
“You know about Bruce Lee, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Kung fu guy?”
“Well, he was much more than just a kung fu guy, but yeah, him. Anyway, he died of cerebral edema caused by pain medication. A bad reaction, you know? He died at age thirty-two.”
“So what about him?” I asked.
“In 1985, Black Belt Magazine stirred up some controversy when it suggested that Bruce Lee had, in fact, been killed by a dim mak.”
“Dim mak?”
“Death touch.”
“Of course,” I said.
“You might laugh but there are lots of fighters and martial artists out there who think the dim mak is real.”
“And how might one die from a dim mak?”
“That part isn’t so easy to explain. But it has something to do with stopping life flow or life force, or what some call prana.”
“Did you just say prana?”
“I know. New Age-y, woo-woo stuff. But think of it as the opposite of acupuncture, which encourages the flow of energy through a body.”
“And the dim mak discourages the flow of energy?”
“That’s the theory.”
“On Google, do I just type in death touch? Or touch of death?”
“Like I said, Moon Glow, you can laugh, but there are many who believe it’s real—and a few who claim they’ve seen the dim mak in action. And those who are reputed to have the skill are given a wide berth.”
“Let me guess...” I said.
I could almost see Chad nodding his squarish head over there on his side of the line. “Yes,” he said. “Andre Fine is one of those who’s reputed to know the dim mak.”
“Lucky him,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I was sitting at my desk, drumming my fingers, listening to my children sleeping from down the hallway, thinking about damned “touches of death” when it happened.
It was a vision.
A powerful vision, so powerful that I knew it could have only come from Fang. It filled my waking thoughts completely, blurring my vision enough for me to believe that what was happening to him was happening to me.
This happened to us sometimes. If Fang was experiencing something powerful enough, emotional enough, or exciting enough, it nearly always flooded my thoughts.
As it did now.
Usually, I can switch off the image, and leave Fang to his privacy. But as I sat back in my desk chair, the image I saw in my mind made me gasp.
It was of Detective Hanner. And she was hovering over Fang, straddling him. She was wearing next to nothing. The light shifted. His eyes shifted. Correction. She was, in fact, wearing nothing. Standing over him, naked.
I shouldn’t be watching this, I thought.
I could turn off the image. Block it, so to speak.
But I didn’t. I continued watching, like a voyeur through a bedroom window. I watched because I suspected I knew what was going to happen. I knew it, but I wanted to be sure. I wanted to see it for myself.
Fang, I saw, was naked, too. He was sitting in a chair. I could see his chest heaving. His skin was gleaming slightly. I hadn’t seen him naked before. This was a first...and it was impressive. All of it...and all of him.
But I was seeing what he was seeing, and now his gaze shifted as she slowly swung a leg over him and straddled him. I felt him shiver. Heard him moan and gasp. She adjusted herself on him, reaching down, and now he moaned low and long as she slid him inside her.
A powerful wave of pleasure swept through him and subsequently me, too. I felt him throbbing.
Jesus, no wonder guys love those things so much.
But this wasn’t about sex. I knew that. Fang knew it, too. This was just preparing him for what was to come. He was waiting for it. I could sense his thoughts, even if they were a bit scrambled. He was willing her to do it, to do it, to do it.
Please. Do it. Please. God, please.
His thoughts briefly overcame mine, his line of thinking replacing mine.
I shook my head, and nearly pulled out of the scene, but I had to see what happened next. I had to see what was going to happen to my one-time friend, Fang.
Do it, love. Do it, baby. Do it, do it. DO IT!!
I shook my head, trying to clear it, trying to focus on what was happening, but Fang’s thoughts were too intense, too powerful, too overwhelming. I had two choices only: block the vision completely...or give into it.
I debated only briefly.
And gave into it...
Chapter Twenty-nine
They writhed.
I writhed, too, along with Fang, since I was living through him, experiencing through him, feeling through him. All while I sat here alone in my office, while he made love in another part of town, with a vampire.
A very dangerous vampire.
I did not feel jealous. I loved Fang, but for different reasons. He had been a friend first...and a stalker later. Knowing his past later did not wipe away the feelings of warmth I had developed for him. He had helped me through some very dark times in my life, and for that, I would always be grateful.
That he had had an agenda only came out later.
Agenda or not, he had always been my Fang, my friend, my confidant, my rock, my source of information and sometimes, even inspiration.
But I was losing him tonight.
I was losing him forever.
The sound of his panting filled my thoughts. I could also feel his heart racing. Nearly uncontrollably. Fang had the mother of all delusions. Early on in life, thanks to a rare defect, he had believed he was a vampire. And a part of me suspected he still believed he was a vampire.
At least, a vampire at heart.
Fang was the embodiment of the Law of Attraction. He believed it hard enough, wanted it bad enough, lived it, breathed it...and now he was about to become it.
The real deal.
A vampire.
His lifelong wish, his fondest desire, his burning passion was about to become real, and he could barely control himself. No, he couldn’t control himself. I felt ghost tears pouring down my face. But they were his tears pouring steadily down his face. Our connection was still so strong, so powerful. In this moment, we were one.
I could stop the connection, but still I resisted.
I had to know what was happening to my friend...I had to know what was going through him, and what she would do to him.
She writhed on his lap, faster and faster. From his blurred vision, I saw his hand reaching up for her hair, pulling on it. She went with it and bared her teeth. Not unnaturally long canines, no. Normal teeth. I was the same. My teeth were always the same size. Nothing pointy. Nothing I ever had to hide.
Thank God. Going through this life was hard enough being what I was. At least I didn’t want to have to keep my lips closed, too.
Her teeth were unna
turally white. Same with mine. No coffee stains. No yellowing. Apparently, a steady diet of blood whitened teeth, too. Go figure.
Her chest was small. Not a lot of bouncing or heaving there, but I saw that one of Fang’s hands were groping them absently. Mostly he was concentrating on her face, her mouth. I saw what he saw—and he was laser-focused on her teeth.
Her pure white teeth, which she flashed once more.
She was going to do it. She’s doing it. Please do it. Please. I need this. I have to have this. I must have this.
Fang’s vision focused and unfocused, wavered, spun briefly. He was close to hyperventilating. Close to passing out. He wanted this so bad, was so excited, so turned on...
Deep breaths, Aaron, he told himself, his thoughts appearing in mine. Deep breaths. There. There. She’s doing it. Oh, God, she’s doing it...
His eyes unfocused and I saw that Hanner had indeed lowered her face...briefly to his lips, which she grazed with her own, now down along his chain and onto his neck, all of which she kissed and licked hungrily...
Jesus, it’s really happening.
I wasn’t sure if that had been Fang’s thoughts or my own, until I realized it didn’t matter.
One thing I did know was that Fang was close to orgasm.
Jesus, I shouldn’t be seeing this, feeling this, I thought.
Her rhythm increased, her hips riding me—Fang—harder and faster. I felt her body thrust against me, her breasts grazing me. Her lips kissing me. Fang and I were one, truly one, and it was all I could do to not gasp. Something was rising in him, an incredible sensation. It was building powerfully. He gripped the chair he was sitting in. I gripped my own chair.
And just as I felt a sharp pain in my neck—no, an excruciating pain—Fang released powerfully into her, crying out, holding her tightly.
Even while she drank deeply from him.
Chapter Thirty
It was the next day, and I was with my daughter.
We were at the Brea Mall, which was next door to the same Embassy Suites where I had stayed for a few weeks last year, back when my ex-husband, Danny, had been trying to destroy me. He’s cute like that.
