A Vampire's Thirst_Ivan

by Marissa Farrar

  “We’re going to need to interview everyone who was in the area last night, see if anyone saw or heard anything unusual.”

  Stephen nodded his agreement. “Yes, though that’s going to take a while. This is a big area.”

  “But sparsely populated. We’ll need to try to interview anyone who might have been passing through as well.”

  He heaved out a sigh. “Going to be a long day.”

  She gave a wry smile. “All part of the job.”

  Chapter 5

  The scent of blood surrounded Ivan.

  He hadn’t even opened his eyes, yet already his fangs lengthened from his gums, and a thirst he’d never experienced before constricted his throat.

  Ivan opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling of the hotel room. Bewildered, he lifted his hands in front of his face. He widened his eyes in shock. His hands were covered with dried blood. He lowered his chin to his chest and looked down to find more blood, which had also dried, soaked into the material of his shirt.

  What had happened last night?

  It took him a moment to piece together the events that led to now. Of course, he was in a hotel on Dartmoor, in Devon, England. He’d come in search of Deacon’s daughter. Had he found her yet? Was that what all the blood was about? He scoured his memories, trying to remember. He’d arrived at the hotel, and the thirst he’d experienced back in London, with the man outside of the club, had arrived with full force. But he’d brought bagged blood with him. He’d moved it in from the car, together with his luggage. Was this where all the blood had come from? It didn’t make sense. Why would he be covered in it?

  Needing answers, Ivan sat up from the bed and got to his feet. A small under counter fridge—together with tea and coffee making facilities, which he clearly wasn’t going to need—was positioned beneath the desk in the room. He remembered placing the bags of blood in the fridge to join the small bottles of wine, vodka, and gin that had been provided by the hotel. He pulled open the door and bent to check inside. The bags of blood he’d brought with him met his gaze.

  “What the hell?”

  So, the blood covering his hands and face and the bedsheets wasn’t from the blood bags.

  Though he wanted to solve the mystery, the thirst he’d woken with showed no sign of abating. At the sight of the blood bags, the hunger intensified, and without thinking any further, Ivan snatched out the first bag and drained it. The blood was cold and not to his taste, but it slid across his tongue and down his throat beautifully. He gulped and gulped, draining the bag. Not pausing, he threw it to one side and started on the second.

  The two bags of blood had been meant to last him the entire trip, but he drank them dry. What was happening? He was an older vampire and had his bloodlust strictly under control. But right now, all he could think about was sinking his fangs into a smooth young throat and drawing hot blood up over his tongue. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he realised it wasn’t only the blood he was interested in. He would like to push his cock between the soft, wet folds of a young woman at the same time he was sinking his teeth into her throat, and fuck her hard.

  With a growl, Ivan spun away and slammed the fridge door shut. He clutched both hands to the sides of his head and tried to dispel the images crowding his mind. What was going on with him? This wasn’t like him at all.

  Realisation dawned on him.

  Of course. How had he not recognised it sooner? He’d already witnessed this happening to another vampire recently—his own progeny, Nikolai. For some reason, it had been easier to spot from the outside looking in rather than diagnosing it in himself. Perhaps if Nikolai had been around, and less caught up in his Bloodmate, he would have seen it developing in his maker, but they hadn’t seen much of each other since Nikolai had found Lauren.

  Ivan gave another growl and stalked over to the mirror. He slammed his hands down on the dressing table beneath and leaned forward to get a better look at himself. His fangs were out, and his eyes were burning with a red tinge. Dried blood coated the lower half of his face and had dried to an almost black crust. More of the blood had dried on the collar and top of his shirt, the material stiff. His hands and arms were also covered.

  He squeezed his eyes shut against the image and shook his head. “What the fuck happened last night?”

  He remembered getting to the hotel and checking in. He’d brought his bags up to the room, and after that ...

  Nothing.

  Just darkness.

  Had The Thirst taken hold and he’d blacked out from it? A sudden spurt of panic sent adrenaline racing through him. Had he found Michaela and she’d put up a fight, and this blood belonged to her? He lowered his nose to his shoulder and sniffed. The blood was far from fresh, but it was definitely human. No hint of werewolf in its scent at all. A small part of him relaxed. Okay, so he hadn’t found and attacked Michaela, but he’d hurt someone. He hoped it hadn’t been the pretty young receptionist from last night. Perhaps he’d not killed the person and had simply fed, albeit messily, and then compelled them to forget what had happened and sent them home.

  Ivan focused for a moment and extended his sense of hearing. Was the hotel in chaos? If he’d gone on a rampage of some kind, then surely people would be panicking? But he couldn’t hear anything outside of what he’d normally expect in a hotel—people chatting at the bar, staff behind reception, a maid wheeling a cart up the hall. There was nothing indicating the inhabitants of the hotel were concerned because a body had been found. He flicked his gaze to the door. He’d locked it, and the safety chain was still on, so no one had been inside his hotel room while he’d slept away the day. Good thing, too. He imagined how that would have looked, him lying on the bed, covered in blood and apparently dead. He had blackout blinds—the kind you could sucker to the window—to prevent any light coming in while he slept, but he still couldn’t have run the risk that someone might enter the room and draw back the curtains, letting the light in. His body would have reacted to save himself, crawling beneath the bed, or shutting himself in the windowless bathroom, but it wasn’t something he’d ever want to explain.

  Still, none of those things had happened, so there was no point wasting time worrying about them. The reality was that he still had a lot of blood on him, and no idea where it had come from. The blackout was worrying, too. Nikolai hadn’t mentioned anything about blackouts when he’d been struggling with The Thirst. Was this a symptom independent to him, or had others suffered with blackouts as well? He didn’t know, but he did need to get back to London and find some help. He didn’t like the idea of not being able to trust himself. Okay, maybe he hadn’t been the most well-behaved vampire of all time—he’d always enjoyed a drink, women, and even a little gambling here and there—but he’d been in control of what he was doing. He was a vampire, and unlike some vampires who seemed to hate what they were so much that they fought against every natural impulse, he enjoyed being one. He didn’t believe he should be ashamed of needing blood and sex, but not like this. He took what he wanted, but he was constantly in control, and whoever he took it from was a willing victim.

  He wouldn’t be able to travel back to London looking like this, though. He needed to wash off the blood, ditch the ruined shirt, and dress in clean clothing. Frowning, he glanced around for his shoes. There they were. By the door. But there was mud tracked on the patterned hotel carpet, and both the fronts and the soles of the shoes were caked with mud. Wherever he’d been the previous night, it looked as though it had been muddy.

  Okay, so he’d been outside of the hotel. He hoped that meant whoever the blood belonged to hadn’t also been a hotel guest. He needed to get out of here as quickly as possible before his misdemeanours caught up to him.

  Ivan yanked off the filthy shirt, then reached to his suit trousers and popped the button and undid the fly. As he let them drop from his hips, he moved in the direction of the bathroom. It was compact, with a walk-in shower and no bath, but he wasn’t in the mood for luxu
ry anyway. A quick wash to rid himself of the blood was all he needed. The hotel provided miniature items of toiletries—a body wash and a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. He turned on the shower, and steam quickly filled the room, and he stepped beneath the flow of water.

  Immediately, the dried blood on his skin began to wash away, so red poured down his body and swirled in the water around his feet. At the sight, a surge of hunger and lust rose inside him, and his cock twitched, his balls tingling. Damn it. He needed to get a move on, but now his thoughts had been crowded out again with images of blood and fucking. Tension flooded through his balls and out to his cock, his erection growing harder. He groaned and reached out to place both palms on the cool tiled wall. He hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the swirling red at his feet. Now was not the time, but he had the feeling he’d be able to think clearer if he just gave in and did what his body needed.

  A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, and he released one hand from the wall to grab his cock. The moment he tightened his fingers around his length, a tiny part of the tension in his body eased. Yes, this was what he needed. If he couldn’t have the real thing, this would have to do. He used a little of the body wash to slick his palm and then gripped himself at the very base and ran his hand up his length.

  A flash of an image appeared in his mind. A blonde, tall—statuesque, even. Blue eyes filled with determination. A woman. Who was she? The same person the blood belonged to? She had an incredible mouth, her lips plump as they parted and said something. What was that? He struggled to lip-read her, distracted as he was.

  He continued to work his cock, running his hand up and down his erection, pumping hard. The head was swollen purple, the slit gleaming under the water. His balls pulled into his body, his arousal building, tightening all of his muscles. His abs were rigid, his thighs taut muscle. The arm he was using to masturbate bulged at the biceps, and the muscles of his forearm stood out beneath his skin. His breathing came faster, morphing to grunts with every pump of his fist. He needed to come so badly, but his mind was now filled with the face of a blonde woman he’d never seen before. Was it her? Was she the one he’d fed from? Yet that didn’t seem quite right, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.

  He sensed her beside him, somehow here, and yet not here.

  She leaned in closer, her breasts pressed against the side of his arm, and then her perfect mouth was only inches from his ear. Slowly, she breathed out, sending her hot breath to caress his lobe.

  Ivan’s orgasm hit, and he squeezed his eyes shut right before exploding over the tiled wall. A stream of white ribbons hit the tile, and his hips jerked, the muscles of his arse tight as he came, once, twice.

  He exhaled a long, shaky breath and lowered his forearm to the arm still pressed against the cool tile. Jesus Christ. What was going on with him? He needed to get out of here, not jerk off in the shower to the face of some blonde he didn’t even know.

  Quickly, he finished showering, soaping his body down and rinsing off, before turning off the water and stepping out. He grabbed the hotel towel and was relieved he left no stain of pink on the white after he rubbed it across his face. He’d need to get rid of the bloodstained shirt and he imagined there was all sorts of evidence of wrongdoing on the soles of his shoes—if, in fact, he’d done something wrong—but he’d travelled light and had only brought that one pair.

  He dressed in clean clothes and hastily packed. With his luggage in one hand, he looked around, wishing he could wipe the room clean of fingerprints. But there was no point. If someone really wanted to track him down, they could. He’d used his credit card when he’d checked in, and it was his vehicle in the hotel car park. They could easily run the number plate and see it registered to his home address.

  He just needed to get out of here. Get to London, get in touch with Nikolai, maybe even contact The Directive. Shit. What would they do with him? Would he even tell them about his blackout? Yes, he’d have to. Until they came up with a cure—if they were even working on such a thing—he was going to be a danger to everyone around him.

  Slipping the chain of the latch, he unlocked the door. He used his hearing again to tell if anyone was around but didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary. Clutching his bag tightly in one hand, and the ruined shirt bundled in the other, he opened the door and pulled it shut behind him. An elderly couple were walking towards him, and both smiled and nodded at him as they passed. Ivan did his best to smile in return, but their expressions faltered as he accidentally revealed his fangs. His vampire side was far more pronounced right now, and he didn’t feel he could do anything to rein it back in. Maybe more blood would help, but he couldn’t allow himself to think on that too hard, worried it would spur him into attacking someone for their blood, or even bring about another blackout. That was something he certainly couldn’t risk.

  A little farther up the hall was a maid’s cart. It was unattended, and at the rear of the cart was a black bag used for rubbish. Only wanting to be rid of the thing, he glanced around to make sure he wasn’t going to be seen, and then shoved the ruined shirt right into the bottom of the rubbish bag.

  Ivan kept walking.

  He reached the lobby. People milled around, but none of them seemed particularly anxious. He needed to check out of his hotel room, but the receptionist was already busy with another man.

  The thump of heartbeats surrounded him, the whoosh of hot blood pumping through the veins of the humans. He shuffled from foot to foot, glancing between the reception and the front doors. Screw it. He spun away from the reception desk, heading in the direction of the exit. Outside, a car approached, a swathe of pulsing blue light stopping him. Shit, it was the police. He tightened his hand around the bag. What to do? Turn and run, making himself appear instantly guilty, or lift his chin and march out there? They had no reason to stop him that he was aware of.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed out of the door. Fresh air hit his face. The sun hadn’t been down for long, and the ground beneath his feet still held some warmth. He didn’t even glance over at the police car, which was already parked. The driver’s door opened, but Ivan focussed on his own car. A part of him wanted to use a spurt of speed, to be in the car and gone before the police officer had even noticed him, but he knew doing so would make him look guilty. He glanced back at the front of the hotel. Just as he’d suspected, they had security cameras. A second thought swept over him. What if they had footage of him returning, covered in blood? He didn’t want to give them a reason to check the tapes.

  He’d almost reached his car now. He was so close, he could reach out and touch the door handle.

  “Sir? Excuse me, sir.” A female voice, and there was no mistaking that it was directed at him.

  Ivan froze, every muscle in his body tensed. He forced a smile, careful to make it a closed-lipped one so the police officer didn’t see his fangs, and slowly turned.

  But he didn’t get the chance to think any further. A scent swept over him, erasing all concerns about himself, blood, and his blackouts from his mind. And that wasn’t all. Though the woman standing before him wore a black police uniform, and her blonde hair was tucked into a neat bun at the back of her head, there was no mistaking that this was the same woman he’d visualised in the shower.

  “Sir?” the woman said to him again, her eyebrows lifting, and Ivan realised he’d been staring.

  Could she feel it, too, this knowledge that they already knew each other? At least he could forget the idea that she’d been the one the blood belonged to. Unless, of course, he had fed from her and then compelled her to forget. That was always a possibility, but he didn’t believe it to be true. He’d never have forgotten that scent surrounding her—dark chocolate and red wine and orange blossom. It swept over him, igniting his senses, filling his nostrils and seeping into his veins. His fangs reacted and the itching, gnawing hunger that had been plaguing him since leaving London faded away.

  She was still staring at him, and he shook h
is head, trying to clear his mind. “I’m sorry, Officer. How can I help?”

  Who was this woman? She was tall—not as tall as he was, but five feet ten, at least. Even with the police uniform masking her figure, he could tell she had a good set of hips, a nipped-in waist, and a generous chest. She didn’t look waiflike at all, more like she could flip him onto his back and straddle him if she wanted, and the idea excited him.

  She frowned at him. “Are you leaving?”

  He glanced down at his bag in hand. “Oh, I have a meeting in London I have to get to.”

  Her frown deepened. “At this time in the evening?”

  He forced a chuckle, trying to appear relaxed. “No, of course not. But I have an early start.” Could she tell he was a vampire? He didn’t know how things worked down here. In London, they all had their places where they hung out. There were werewolf zones, and areas you were more likely to find vampires. Even the most reclusive types of paranormal creatures had their own favourite haunts. He didn’t know anything about this area, however, but it seemed more full of human hikers and tourists than anything paranormal. He hadn’t even spotted any sign of Michaela, which had been the whole reason he’d come down here in the first place. Strangely, he’d discovered she’d been the furthest thing from his mind.

  But however enticing he found this woman—a police officer, no less—he still needed to get to London. If he was suffering with The Thirst, he needed to get help, and he didn’t have time to deal with the police.

  She was human, of that he was sure, so he would be able to make her forget about him. The prospect of doing so twisted something in his chest, but he didn’t have any choice.

  He reached inside himself for his power, feeling it tingling through his veins and into his eyes. He locked his gaze on hers, staring deep into her wide, blue eyes, and trying not to get distracted by how long her eyelashes were.