He saw the pain in her eyes; he felt it as if it were his own, as if they remained connected in a way that went well beyond sex.
“But how can you say no to a traveling priest who arrives at the door, hungry and looking for shelter from the rain, just past dark? How can you turn away a human being in need?” She looked him in the eye. “I did not turn him away. I invited him in, even though my husband was not at home. In a matter of moments the priest who was not a priest at all rendered me immobile, as I have done to you, and I watched as he broke my daughter’s neck and drank every drop of her blood. When that was done he turned to me. I begged him to kill me. I did not want to live without my child. Merry was all I had in my life that was good, and I could not continue on without her.”
Her voice dropped. “The creature did kill me, but he didn’t allow me to remain dead. He brought me back as a vampire, like him. I think if I had not asked him to kill me he would’ve left me alone, he would’ve allowed me to remain dead.”
Perhaps realizing, or at least suspecting, that he did not believe her, Abby smiled. Two fangs appeared, sharp canines elongating and growing more pointed before his eyes, trans forming what should’ve been a pretty smile on a beautiful face into a demonstration of terror.
And he believed. How could he not? The truth was right before his eyes. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” The fangs retracted as quickly as they had grown.
What she’d told him was impossible, in credible, but he had no choice but to believe. Beyond the truth he knew, another world existed. A dark, hidden, terrifying world where creatures he’d thought to be mythical existed. Considering some of the nasty murders he’d seen during his career, he couldn’t be shocked. He was surprised, however, that Abby was a part of it. She wasn’t evil. No matter what she said, he saw who she really was and there was nothing to fear. “What happened next? How did you survive?”
Abby cocked her head and looked at him as if she were confused by his question. Maybe she was just taken aback that he wasn’t begging for mercy or shrinking away in horror. “I was crouched in the corner, holding the body of my child, when Mr. Bailey came home. He didn’t realize what had happened, of course. When he saw us there he thought I’d somehow killed Merry. As if I would’ve ever…” She shook her head quickly. “Mr. Bailey rushed toward me. He raised his hand to strike me as he had a thousand times. But this time, I fought back. I pushed against him as hard as I could and he flew across the room. I followed him, angry and grieving and hungry in a way I did not under stand. My husband screamed when he saw my face and realized what I had become. He pleaded for mercy when I threw him to the floor with a newly discovered strength. While he cried I pounced upon him and I went for his throat. I drank every drop of Mr. Bailey’s sour, old blood, and I liked it.” She looked him in the eye. “I am a monster, Leo.”
He could not argue with that statement, not if what she told him was true. “Did you kill Marisa Blackwell?”
She shook her head. “No. I haven’t killed anyone in a very long time. I can survive quite well on pigs’ blood, and by occasion ally feeding on humans and then making them forget, as I made you forget last night.”
“Last night I…” He got no further before the memory came rushing back, perhaps because she allowed it to return to him. A really great kiss, a quick coupling in the shadows…and more, apparently.
“Other vampires, younger ones, don’t always have such restraint. They either kill randomly or subsist on animal blood until they learn to control their strength and their needs. I serve pigs’ blood in my bar after hours. I teach those who wish to learn how to survive without giving in to their monstrous urges.” Her green eyes went paler than usual, losing almost all their color, for a moment. “It’s not as if we can allow people to disappear night after night, it’s not as if we can feast on the humans around us and continue to thrive. We do not die easily, but we can die. We can be hurt. It is not in our best interest to make our existence known, and that means keeping the body count down no matter how thirsty we might be. In the name of survival we learn to deny our selves what we most want, as I have denied myself you, until now.”
Four hundred years was such a long time. How many people had Abby killed, before she’d learned the control she spoke of? Was she truly a monster behind the face that had en chanted him? Would a monster “most want” a bond with a human, a connection she confessed she had denied?
“What happened to you, after you changed?” he asked.
Abby dipped her head almost demurely, though he knew she was anything but demure. Long, thick, soft hair hid a portion of her face from him. “My little village was entirely wiped out,” she whispered. “There was no one left to tell the tale of what had really happened, so the travelers who found the remains of the carnage blamed the deaths on a terrible disease and burned everything. The vampire who did all the killing survived, of course, as did I and a couple of other fledglings. The others he turned did not last out the year. They weren’t strong enough.”
“What happened to the creature that killed your daughter and all the others?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he saw in them a hatred that would bring most men to their knees. “I learned a few years later that he called himself Callosus. He was ancient then, a power among powers. He survives still, I know it. I swear, some days I’m sure I can feel him close by, other days…nothing. One day I will find him, and when I do I’ll take his head, even if it means losing my own in the process.”
He should not believe a word of Abby’s fantastic tale, but he did. In the face above him he saw the woman and the monster, the tragedy and the slaughter and the heart ache. He saw her heart and the gruesome fiend she was…had been…could be.
He should be terrified, but he wasn’t. It occurred to him with more than a touch of humor that Abby Brown, no matter what she’d done, couldn’t be much more of a blood sucker than his ex-wife….
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I like you,” she said, “even though I should not. You make me feel lonely, when for the past two hundred years I have been more than happy enough to remain alone, to rely on no one but myself, to be solitary in all ways. It’s too dangerous to get close to anyone or anything. Every few years I change my last name, though I keep the name Abby or Abigail. That’s not much, but it’s all I have left of who I once was and I am loath to let it go entirely. I have been content. I have not killed—I’ve tried to live my life simply, with no complications, and now…and now here you are, a complication of the worst sort.”
Beyond the sad and horrifying story, behind the fangs and the assertion that she was a monster, Leo saw something more. He saw the woman he’d been drawn to from the beginning. She was real. Not exactly as he had believed her to be, not as simple or ordinary, but still, she was real and she was here and there was a reason for this confession.
“You’re telling me all this because you want my body,” he said wryly.
“In more ways than one,” she responded. “The sex is fabulous. I’d for got ten how powerful a man and woman coming together in the name of pleasure could be. And I swear, I want to suck on every vein in your body.”
He could not stop the mental image that formed in his mind. “Every one? Have at it.”
“Don’t be flip,” Abby said, slightly angry, still more sad. “It simply can’t be. For a few nights, maybe even a few years, perhaps we could make it work. But I would always have to hide the truth from you, feed on you and hope I don’t feed too much, take away the memories you cannot keep…”
“I don’t want you to take away my memories.”
“I know.” She caressed his face. She looked into his eyes in that way she had, and suddenly he could move again. He had control of his body once more. Any sane man would leap from the bed and run like hell, but instead Leo took Abby into his arms. He should not believe what she’d told him, but he did. He should be afraid, but he was not. If she’d wanted anything from hi
m that he wasn’t willing to give she could’ve taken it last night, or when he’d shown up at her door. She could’ve taken him up on any one of his invitations during the past three months and while they were alone she could’ve done whatever she’d pleased with him.
For now, at least, she didn’t want anything other than what he most craved.
Her skin had grown cool again and he tasted it with relish. Not as she had tasted him, to the bone, but still, he feasted.
CHAPTER FOUR
REMY MET ABBY at the door to the Sundown Bar at opening time. He wouldn’t start playing for an hour or two, but like her, he was tired of hiding in his apartment. He stood behind her and took a long breath. “Abigail, darlin’,” he said, his Cajun accent heavy, even after all his time away from the city where he’d been born—both in body and as a vampire, “you smell like police.”
She sighed, unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I showered.” Twice.
“He’s not just on you, he’s in you. He’s in your very cells and he’s in your veins. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
First Margaret and now Remy! “It’s my life to do with as I please.” She glared at him. “It’s not like you can criticize. You take up with humans all the time.”
“Not policemen.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, police women would be more my type, if I were so foolish.”
She spun on him. “Marisa Black well? For goodness’ sake, Remy, she was little more than a child!”
His expression was suddenly solemn. “She was no child, I assure you. And since you are so obviously wondering, I didn’t kill her.”
“You screwed her and fed on her. How am I to know you didn’t get carried away and take it all?” Goodness knows she’d been tempted enough to take every drop of Leo’s blood.
“I did not,” he said softly. “Believe me or don’t.”
The door swung open and the first of their human customers arrived. There was nothing more to be said, not until much later. “Swear to me,” she whispered.
Remy’s expression didn’t change. “Believe me or don’t. I do not beg or swear.”
LEO WAS STRANGELY tired, but he didn’t let up as the afternoon turned into night. None of the usual suspects made any sense at all in Marisa Blackwell’s case. She hadn’t been robbed. She didn’t have anything other than the most casual ex-boy friend. She wasn’t into drugs. Her frequent evenings at the Sundown Bar were her only evidence of a wild side, that and her affair with Remy.
She’d told several of her friends about him, though her family had never heard the name. In their eyes she was a sweet, un touched, virginal angel. He didn’t bother to disabuse them of that notion, and wouldn’t unless it became necessary for the case.
Remy or the elusive Mike and Jason? Someone he had missed entirely? A sociopath passing through town? This case wasn’t nearly neat enough to suit him.
In many ways, the piano player was the only suspect that made any sense to Leo. Still, he had no proof and he didn’t want Remy to be the one. He wasn’t sure why and it didn’t matter what he wanted. Between Remy Zeringue or a serial killer—or killers, if that was Jason and Mike’s game—with no motive other than “she was there,” he’d take Remy any day.
At least tonight he’d get to see Abby when he went by her place to collect the sketches. He’d meant to do that this afternoon, but had never made it over that way. He must be coming down with something. Instead of going to Abby’s place and insisting on collecting those sketches she’d promised him, he’d…well, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so side tracked, but hours after he’d left the station he’d woken from a long, mind-numbing nap in his car, parked behind the Dollar General Store on the main drag.
He couldn’t afford to get sick now, and he had to look beyond Remy. Until he tracked down the men who’d been with Marisa and her friend Monday night, he couldn’t settle on anyone as the sole suspect. Some sort of proof would be nice, and at the moment he had none.
He was suddenly assaulted by a craving for cookies.
ABBY FURIOUSLY WIPED down the bar, ignoring the stares from humans and vamps alike. She was moving a touch faster than was normal for any human; she knew that and still she couldn’t make herself slow down. Let them stare; she didn’t care. Her mind was spinning and her body was tense, tight, on fire. It was probably no coincidence that Remy was playing a haunting version of “Crazy” at the moment.
Remy—and others—had often encouraged her to take up with a human or humans in a sexual way. Many vampires kept ignorant mortals as sexual partners, treating them as if they were pets. Abby had dismissed the notion, claiming it was a weakness to need anything from a human beyond blood. She needed no one, least of all something—someone—as fragile as a man.
Her craving for Leo should be satisfied by now. She’d sampled his body and his blood all afternoon; she’d enjoyed pleasure and warm sustenance and even laughter. The bed she never slept in had become a haven for one fine afternoon. And then she’d wiped Leo’s mind of their interlude and sent him away.
Abby was now acutely sensitive to Leo, thanks to the blood she’d taken in. When he pulled into the parking lot, she felt his close ness. She knew, before he opened the door to the bar, that he was confused by the missing time and weakened by the loss of blood. And all she wanted was to hold him, take him into her body again, and taste his blood. Just a drop. That would be enough, for now.
Maybe.
Leo smiled wanly as he walked toward her. Every vamp in the place, every one, watched Leo with too interested eyes. Were they made curious by his reaction to her, or by her reaction to him?
“Do you have those sketches?”
“Yes.” She reached under the bar and pulled out two pencil drawings of the men she remembered seeing with Marisa and Alicia. Not that they would do him any good. The more she picked from Leo’s brain concerning the murder, the more certain she was a vamp had done the deed.
“Thanks.” He took a stool, ran fingers through his hair, and reached for the sketches she offered. “Wow, these are great. I didn’t know you were such an artist.”
Abby’s heart broke a little. Just hours ago he’d admired her paintings. After sex, explanations he’d miraculously accepted and sex once more, he’d asked about the artwork in her bedroom. She’d told him when and where she’d painted them, and what her life had been like at the time. As she’d shared that part of her past, she’d realized that in her most productive years, artistically speaking, she’d been alone. Entirely, completely alone, existing cautiously from one meal to the next, filling the long hours with paint and can vases and strangers who would never remember that they’d met her.
Naturally, Leo remembered nothing of the conversation, which was the reason she’d felt so free with him. If she were so foolish as to have sex with him again, she’d have to tell him once more that she could not have children so he did not need the blasted condom in his wallet. For him, sex with her would always be the first time. There could never be anything resembling a meaningful relationship between them—as if that was possible for any vampire.
“I’m not really an artist,” she said. “I dabble. You look beat. How about a nice, tall glass of…”
He stopped her with a raised hand. “On duty.”
“Orange juice,” she finished with a smile.
He grinned. “Probably not a bad idea. I feel like I’m coming down with something.” He studied the drawings. “I fully intended to drop by your place this afternoon and see if these were ready, but I didn’t make it.” He frowned; wrinkles in his forehead creased. She wanted to soothe him, to explain that he wasn’t losing his mind. If she got too close she’d have him back in her bed, and this time she might not let him go.
“I have the oddest craving for cookies,” he said. “I don’t usually have much of a sweet tooth, but man, I’d kill for a sugar cookie right now.”
In the old days she might’ve chained Leo to her bed and taken what she wanted until she tired of
him, and then she’d make him forget everything and release him after he was so dazed and damaged that he no longer appealed to her. These days people did not go missing without causing a stir, especially not a cop. More’s the pity. He was so in credibly special and different. She had never known another man like him.
Abby steeled her spine. She was beginning to sound like a human, weak and sentimental, instead of approaching Leo as if she were the monster and he the victim. Did monsters love? Not that she had seen. There was loyalty, in some cases. There was occasion ally com pan ion ship or friend ship or an alliance formed for the sole purpose of self-preservation. But that was not real love. It was part of the price she paid for immortality, for strength, for gifts that no human could ever under stand.
Sadly, she realized that she couldn’t stay here much longer. Looking at Leo she knew that too well. He would always be a temptation, and she could not afford to be tempted. As soon as Marisa’s murder was solved, she’d make arrangements to move on. If she disappeared now, without cause and a modicum of preparation, he would surely consider her a suspect. It wouldn’t do for him to chase after her.
“I need to talk to your piano player,” Leo said. “Did you know Remy was seeing Marisa Blackwell?”
“No, I didn’t. Are you sure?” He’d told her the news this afternoon, but of course he didn’t remember.
Remy wasn’t above taking a woman home, sleeping with her and taking what he needed, but like Abby he was old and powerful and had control of his needs. He would never kill to take the blood he required; it was simply unnecessary. He said he hadn’t killed Marisa, and she took him at his word. If vampires had souls—and Abby was conflicted about that question—then Remy’s was one of the good ones. As long as he had his music and a string of women for sexual entertainment and blood, he was content. He had no reason to kill.
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