Bloodlust

by Kramer, D. L.

  Aleksander’s face went through a whole range of reactions. Anger, surprise and relief among them.

  “No doubt you’re what happened to the other two I’m missing then,” he said, coming over to offer to shake Rasmussen’s hand. “So tell me, what happened to the bodies?”

  Rasmussen and I glanced at each other.

  “Which ones?” I asked him. I made sure the caps were on each of my paint tubes before putting them back in their box, then set my palette aside and went to clean my brushes. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get much more work done today.

  “Which ones?” Aleksander seemed surprised. “All of them!”

  That set off warning bells in my head. If he didn’t have the two Rasmussen had killed, then who did? We knew who’d taken them, but now I wondered if he was party to that knowledge. Or perhaps he was testing me, not wanting to let on to his involvement with this other old one. That would make the most sense, it was a powerful asset to have.

  “The two I killed became permanent residents of an apartment building incinerator,” I replied. “I assumed you had the other two.”

  “Perhaps Gianna dealt with it,” Aleksander nodded, but I could hear the doubt in his voice. Now what did that mean? He turned to look at me. “Now why did you kill those two? They had a fair amount of promise you know.”

  “They attacked me,” I told him. I finished with one brush and set it aside as I started on the other. “Even when I told them they should leave the area.” Okay, that part wasn’t entirely true. But it was close enough. They could have tried to run away from me. I’m not saying I’d have let them get away, but they could have at least tried.

  Well, they could have.

  “I suppose it’s bound to happen,” he nodded, pausing to brush something from the cuff of one sleeve. “Now what about you?” he asked Rasmussen.

  “What about me?” Rasmussen asked. I could hear the faint bristle to his tone. Apparently he wasn’t impressed with Aleksander either.

  I was liking him more and more.

  “He’s really not involved,” I told Aleksander. “Aside from the fact that he’s been infected, he still has all of the changes ahead of him. I suppose you could say I’ve taken on the role of mentor.” That wasn’t really a role I wanted, but I couldn’t leave him on his own. There were too many things to learn, too much to figure out. I’d have been lost if Marcella hadn’t done the same for me.

  “You’re more than welcome to join us,” Aleksander told him, nodding his head. “To help us create our new world.”

  Oh good, there he was going into rehearsed speech mode again.

  “A new world, huh?” Rasmussen asked, his tone skeptic. “The one we’ve got isn’t too bad as it is.”

  “But it can be so much more! Especially now that you’ve joined us.” He gave a sigh that I can only describe as happily content. “And just think, a detective even.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve agreed to join you yet,” I told Aleksander. I didn’t bother trying to hide the growl in my voice now as I tilted my head to look at him with my white eye.

  “What can I do to convince you?” Aleksander asked me.

  “First of all, why me?” I asked him. I walked from the kitchen to my work area, setting the brushes in their holder so they could dry. “You’ve got more than enough to keep yourself busy.”

  “Because you have skills most don’t,” Aleksander explained. “You know how to fight better than most. You know the finer details of being one of us. If you’ll forgive my saying so, your ferocity is well beyond your years.”

  “His way of saying I get angry when people get in my way,” I explained to Rasmussen. “That whole moody artist thing.”

  “I could tell that about you,” Rasmussen returned, his expression serious as he gave just a hint of the sense of humor Rosie said he had.

  I looked back at Aleksander. “I still believe you’re being a damned fool for this and endangering all of us. It’s reckless, careless and risks too many lives. Just like all of your other schemes.”

  I couldn’t just give in and sign up with him. If I did that, he’d know I was up to something for certain. No, I had to make him think I was joining reluctantly and more importantly, I had to make him think he was the one who’d convinced me.

  “You’re not going back to Cairo, are you?” he asked me. “Even I admit that one was a little much.”

  Oh, look, the understatements were back.

  I folded my arms and looked at him, knowing how intimidating I looked in that position. Between my height and build and the scars running from my neck up across my head, it was enough to make anyone else run from the room. Even Rasmussen seemed to withdraw some.

  I had to admit, being able to do that did come in handy at times.

  “You are doing nothing more than spelling disaster for every one of those people you’ve infected,” I told Aleksander.

  “Then help me,” Aleksander returned. “Help me teach them how to hide until the time is right. Help me teach them how to fight so they won’t die. We don’t need to hide in the shadows anymore, Mikhos. This can finally be our time. We can come out of hiding and claim our piece of the world.”

  Have I mentioned how much I despise rehearsed speeches? In case I haven’t, it really annoys me.

  “Don’t you want to be a part of that?” he asked me. “Or even for the detective here?”

  “I don’t know if I like the sounds of this,” Rasmussen told him. “Mr. Dorian’s right, it sounds like trouble.”

  Aleksander turned to look at him. “Just wait, Detective,” he promised him. “In six months or a year you’ll be speaking very differently.”

  I gave out a low growl, drawing Aleksander’s attention immediately. In all of heaven and hell, nobody made me angrier than he did. How was I going to pull off pretending like I was working with him?

  “Now, Mikhos,” he took a slight step back from me. “I’m not asking you to be infecting people.”

  Good, he obviously remembered where I stood on that one.

  “But I could very much use your help. Gianna does what she can, but she doesn’t have the experience you do.” He had switched from flattery to a slight pleading tone. He was definitely running the full gamut with this.

  “And what if you fail?” I asked him. “What if it all falls apart like your other schemes and you lose all control?”

  That triggered something in him. I felt it hit him like a brick. I’d touched on something and he couldn’t hide it from me. His sore spots were absolutely fair game.

  He paused, then took a long, slow breath, exhaling it completely before he spoke again.

  “That’s another reason why I want your help,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine. “So you can help me stop them if needed.”

  The bastard knew how to play his cards. And he knew how to call my hand.

  Damn him.

  “All right,” I told him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Means to An End

  Learning to fish and actually fishing, are two entirely different things. When you learn to fish, you’re taught to hold the fishing pole just so, slack the line just that much, position your fingers just this way around the reel, then there’s the right angle to throw your cast and to be aware of those around you so you don’t catch them with an errant hook. As you grow more confident, you spend less time paying attention to those around you and more time on casting your line to that one spot where you’re absolutely certain your prize fish is lurking.

  Sometimes it lands there on the first try, other times it takes a few casts before you think you’ve hit the right spot. Sometimes you get so frustrated trying you want to give up and start to think maybe poultry or beef are more to your liking.

  Sometimes your prize fish is nowhere to be found that day. And sometimes, you catch it on the first or second cast.

  Another thing you learn when first being taught to fish is how to set the hook so your catch doesn’t get away. That first
dip to the line gets your attention. You ask yourself if that was what you think it was. So you watch, afraid to even blink in case it dips again. Long, agonizing seconds. Then a minute. Then…

  There it was again! Another dip, harder this time. Yes, there’s definitely something there.

  So you pick up the rod slowly, carefully. You don’t want to scare your prize off. And you wait again. But this time it dips again more quickly. You feel it hit the line, then a weight pull against the tension, testing it, recognizing there’s something there. You wind it in a bit, testing the resistance, making sure you’ve really got something. Yes, it’s there. Not just nibbling at the bait or hitting the line to taunt you.

  And that’s when you set the hook. With a practiced pull on the rod, you swing back, rewarded immediately by a jerk in the opposite direction, letting you know you had what you were after. Now the fight to reel them in begins and unless your line breaks or they twist off the hook, you’ll eventually have your reward for your patience and dedication.

  Aleksander clearly believed he’d caught his prize fish.

  I had no intention of telling him I was only playing with the line and he hadn’t hooked me. He clearly thought I was ready to be displayed to anyone who would listen.

  No doubt he was already coming up with some long drawn out tale of how he’d caught me into this scheme.

  You’d think I was some damned white whale he’d been pursuing in fevered fanaticism.

  Then again, he was still a damned fool.

  Rasmussen left my apartment shortly after I’d agreed to help Aleksander. Aleksander stayed far longer than I wanted, ranting and raving about his grand plan. I tuned most of the drivel out, only listening for key points. I had heard this same bit from him before, only the names and locations changed. He spoke about this scheme the same way he had all of the others; passionately, fanatically and like there was no way it could fail.

  And he talked about Gianna. He talked about her enough I started to wonder if he had honest feelings for her. Now that was an odd thought. I’d never known Aleksander to care about anyone as much as he cared about himself. Oddly, while he went on and on about Gianna, he never mentioned anyone else by name that seemed very important. But if he was trying to keep an old one a secret, I suppose he wouldn’t mention them just yet.

  If I were in his position, I’d want to keep a few secrets, especially given our history.

  Hell, if I were in his position, I’d have stayed as far away from me as I could.

  Apparently I’m just odd that way.

  “Mikhos!”

  I turned my attention back to him, suddenly aware I’d let my mind wander.

  “My apologies, what?” I asked. I’d gone back to my painting about an hour into his chatter, so I could at least blame my inattention on that.

  “I asked if that old Italian friend of yours might be interested in joining us. I know she’s living in the area.”

  “Marcella?” I paused, dabbing my brush in the paint. “She keeps to herself, she wouldn’t be interested.”

  “I thought as much,” he nodded. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning back with one arm stretched along the back and one ankle resting over his other knee. “She didn’t seem the sociable type.”

  I shook my head, not really wanting to go into detail on that. Marcella could be plenty sociable. You just had to be on her good side and have known her for a great many years. Being family helped, too. Which made it all of about three of us that she’d talk to regularly. And sometimes I wasn’t so sure about Nicholas. Sometimes I wasn’t so sure about myself.

  All right, so you pretty much just had to be Rosie.

  I dabbed the paint on the canvas, giving a slight roll of the brush between my fingers as I did so, taking the paint around in a perfect swirl of shadow behind a rose.

  Thank you, Ermanno, for another perfected technique. I’d have never thought to roll the brush like that on my own.

  “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Aleksander began, pausing before continuing.

  “Ask me what?”

  “What were you doing at the hospital and that church?”

  “Following me now?” I asked in response. He had to know he’d be exposing his own actions by asking me that.

  “I just wanted to have an idea what you’d been up to,” he replied, his tone a bit too innocent.

  I already knew he was hoping to find something to use against me. That’s why I hadn’t held Dawn the second time, just in case.

  “Scouting ideas for my next painting,” I replied, still concentrating on the shadows behind the rose. “I wanted to do something showing a parallel between healing the body and healing the soul.” I already knew I could lie convincingly to him. I’d done it a number of times in the past. And I’d had plenty of time to come up with how I was going to answer that very question.

  I paused to glance back at him as he tilted his head back and laughed. Unlike Marcella’s deep cackle, his laugh was full and came from his very core.

  And it grated on my every nerve.

  “I should have known it was something to do with your art,” he finally said after composing himself. Especially when everyone I mentioned you to had no idea who I was talking about, even when I tried making them tell me at the hospital.

  Gayle had been able to lie to him even when he’d imposed his will on her?

  At this point, I really was about to hug her the next time I saw her.

  And I don’t do hugging.

  “I do my best to stay unnoticed, you know that.”

  He nodded. “That would be why you donated that painting to the church anonymously?” His tone had taken on a slightly more serious tone. Like he thought he’d caught me doing something underhanded.

  You’d think by now he’d know I don’t do things that way.

  “I donated the painting anonymously because I didn’t want my name all over the papers for it. I do, however, want the charitable donation on my financials for this year.”

  Always have an answer when you’re dealing with Aleksander. Always.

  “And it gave me an excuse to be in the church.”

  Aleksander chuckled, nodding his head. “That it did.” He shifted his weight on the sofa, repositioning himself slightly. “So you’ll come to our next gathering tomorrow night?”

  “I suppose,” I nodded. I changed brushes and mixed a bit more brown into the paint on my palette then finished touching up the last shadow.

  He was waiting for something. I could feel it in the air and practically taste the anticipation from him.

  “I can’t imagine watching me paint is all that exciting,” I noted. I tested the air around me, but didn’t pick up any scents out of the ordinary. I could smell him and my paints and the linseed oil, turpentine…the leftover bit of tea in the cup on the counter next to the sink. My neighbors across the hall cooking something with a lot of onions. The exhaust fumes from the road out front of the building.

  “It’s actually more interesting than you’d think,” he replied, interrupting my thoughts. “I never realized the attention to detail it requires.”

  I could hear it in his voice now. I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at him with my clear eye.

  “All right, what is it?” I demanded.

  He looked innocent.

  Aleksander is never innocent.

  “What is what?”

  “Whatever you’re waiting for.”

  He sighed, obviously pretending to be disappointed.

  I growled.

  That got his attention. He knew better at that point.

  I felt him withdraw some, pulling back internally. I wondered what he’d do if I put down my palette and brush and extended my claws. I debated doing it just to find out.

  “No reason to get all worked up, Mikhos,” he said, his tone cautious now. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to ask you--” he hesitated. I set my brush and palette down and turned to face him fully, folding my arms. />
  “What?”

  He sighed. “Did I really blind you in that unfortunate altercation when we were last together?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me,” he said, almost sounding sincere. Almost. “Despite our differences, you are still someone I consider a friend and even a brother to some degree. Temper and anger can make one do things they might not otherwise do.”

  I seemed to consider that. I wondered if he’d be upset if I reminded him we’d been about to kill each other until Marcella had pulled us apart.

  Temper and anger, indeed.

  “Yes,” I finally replied, lying openly to his face. I knew he’d believe me. He always did. “All I see out of that eye now are a few faint shadows of movement and white.” As far as anyone could tell, it did look like I was blind in that eye. It had healed remarkably well from when he’d tried to gouge it out. I had wondered if I’d lost my sight for a while, but it had eventually mostly come back.

  “I am sorry,” he said, still almost sounding sincere. I knew otherwise. I knew he was looking for what might be a weakness if we came to blows again. He was testing boundaries, checking if things were the same and if not, how much they’d changed. He didn’t intend on losing the next time.

  “Did you ever regain your hearing in that ear after Marcella ripped your ear and half your scalp off?” I asked. I could play this game, too. I might even play it better. I already knew he hadn’t lost his hearing. He didn’t use the subtle tilt to his head that people use when they had. He didn’t subconsciously overcompensate for it by speaking louder, or sitting closer to things.

  His hearing was just fine.

  Congratulations to us and our remarkable healing skills.

  And I was pretty sure I won the prize for the best liar.

  “Some,” he replied. “I got some of it back, but have frequent bouts of ringing in it now.”

  Yes, I did win the prize for best liar.