by Debra Dunbar
Chapter 7
I didn’t sleep much that night. Too much information pinging around in my head. The victims. The witness. Jones. And the conversation with Dad. The last part pulled what had troubled me from the start into focus, and I said so at the meeting in front of the rest of the task force the next morning.
“I think we’re looking for an ancient.” The weight of so many eyes on me dried the saliva from my tongue. Standing there put me on display. This way no one had to sneak peeks at the crazy transfer. Leading the meeting gave them an excuse to stare to their heart’s content. Jones shot me two thumbs-up from the back of the room where no one would notice, and I soldiered on. “The punctures are too precise, and a scent lingers on two of the bodies. We should have the results of the saliva tests this afternoon. That will confirm we’re dealing with one killer.”
The marshal who had driven Ms. Vasquez home the night before raised her hand. “That’s a lot of blood. Could one vampire hold so much? That must be…” she made a mental calculation, “…thirty pints.”
Most folks didn’t know the math. That she did made me wonder what she was, though I wasn’t so rude as to ask. “I called a consultant last night.” They didn’t need to know it was my dad. “He confirmed the only time a vamp consumes blood in that quantity is after they’ve awakened from a deep sleep.”
The outpost director perked at that, no doubt gleeful to have some other branch to blame the deaths on. “We’ll have to get the vampire council involved if that’s the case.”
“We can’t sit on our hands and wait on them to clean up this mess,” Jones protested. “We’ll have to keep making sweeps. Maybe last night will spook him, and he’ll hole up until they get here.”
“Vamps maintain a strict hunting territory,” I added. “That our perp has ventured outside his zone is worrisome, but I have a theory about that.”
“Last night you thought it was possible he followed us,” Jones said, oblivious to the stares his statement generated. I hadn’t been ready for the others to know there was—or might be—an us. “Are you saying you think he followed you?”
A smart man was Dimples. He had picked up on the link as I had known he would. “As I said, vamps maintain a tight perimeter, but the one thing guaranteed to send a vamp seeking outside his holdings is having another vampire invade his territory. He might have tracked us and killed on what he assumed was my land to prove a point.”
“Don’t the vamps keep records of this kind of thing?” another marshal asked.
“They do.” I was grateful to have done the legwork last night so I had answers this morning. “But if this had been a monitored sleep, the vampire wouldn’t be on the loose now. Assuming that’s what we’re dealing with, he would have been woken at a predetermined time and been fed and cared for until he was at full strength. The process takes around a year.”
“Are you saying this vamp is a rogue?” Director Smith sat up straighter. Labeling him as a rogue, basically any vamp who posed a threat of discovery to the supernatural community based on their erratic behavior, put the vamp squarely in our territory.
“Most vamps sleep for a decade or so, long enough for the world to be new but for their mortal acquaintances to still be alive. If our vamp is an ancient and he went to sleep without someone to wake him, or that person died before he could complete his task, then the vamp rose on his own. It’s possible he’s slept away a century, which means he has no point of contact. No one to care for him. He’s insane. Bloodlust has clouded his judgment, and the advances in technology must terrify him.” Murder was murder, but I had to add, “He hasn’t torn out any throats or otherwise tormented his victims that we can tell. All signs indicate he’s used a lure when feeding. Some part of him might be reachable.”
From the expressions pinned on faces throughout the room, I gathered we had all come to the same realization. The vamp council would pardon an ancient who rose alone, left to fend for himself. As long as he was captured before humans got wise to his killing spree.
Director Smith rubbed his forehead. “I’m calling the vamps. They can send their team. We’ll continue sweeps from dusk until dawn and try to minimize the casualties until backup arrives.” He grunted. “This is all we need. This would have been easier if the killer really had been that goat-sucking thing.”
The meeting broke up after that, and we were told to return to our rooms or homes to rest up for the night shift. Jones and I had ridden together, so we returned to our hotel and parted company in the hallway. I’m not sure how he spent his day, but I burned through mine hunched over my laptop, trying to chart the vamp’s territory and digging for any lore or missing vamps listed in the conclave database that might explain this one’s identity or origins.
Around four in the afternoon, I was wiped and crawled in bed to catch some shut-eye. I noticed the light on my phone flashing, groaned when I realized I hadn’t unmuted it after the meeting, and checked my messages. I had one. From Dad.
“I asked a friend about your predicament, and he’s got an idea of who you might be dealing with. Call me before engaging.”
Two hours until dark. So much for sleep.
Chapter 8
After a restless few hours of failed attempts at sleep, the sun went down, and I dialed up Dad. He answered with a groan that told me I must have woken him. He was usually an up-at-dusk kind of guy, so his muzziness put me on alert.
“Everything okay?” I led with instead of hello.
“Stayed up drinking with the friend I mentioned. Feels like someone struck my head with a hammer.”
Dad was old school. Vein only. Bagged blood need not apply. Usually Mom sustained him, but when her job took her out of town, he visited DeLuca’s, a blood bar. Same for when he entertained fangy friends. Basically, vamps picked donors off the menu and sipped their meal—wrist only—at a table in a mockery of the human dining experience.
That right there was enough for me to swear off vamps and their derivatives. I couldn’t deal with my significant other getting toothy with another woman. Or man.
“No.” He snorted at the very idea. “We spend a few hours at DeLuca’s, sampling one of his newest concoctions.”
The only way to get a vamp drunk was for them to dine on inebriated humans. Though I suppose there was just as much variety in how you got them tipsy as in any of the other myriad ways Presley DeLuca kept her clients happy.
“Uh-huh.” I bet that had thrilled Mom. I made a mental note to call her and plead Dad’s case since he had been helping me out with research. “So, what did this old drinking buddy of yours have to say?”
“He mentioned an ancient from the region who went missing a hundred and fifty years ago, give or take a decade. According to lore, a plague wiped out his household, and they took the knowledge of his resting site to their graves.”
Interest piqued, I fumbled for the cheap notepad the hotel provided. “Does he have a name?”
“Captain Fenton Rawlins.” Sounding pleased with his grasp of modern lingo, he added, “You can Google him.”
“I’ll do that,” I promised, ending the call with a tried-and-true hangover recipe.
A quick Internet search provided me with the basics on Captain Rawlins. He had been a rather infamous pirate, born right here on St. Kitts. That set an electric tingle under my skin. This was it. It had to be. Many of the old vamps returned home to sleep. A pity, I had always thought, considering how much it must have changed from the time of their birth, and how much more it would be altered again by the time they rose. Still, I suppose there was comfort in that, even when modern times stripped away the familiar.
With that done, I dialed up Jones. “Hey, I’ve got a bead on our guy. Let me read you what I’ve got, and you tell me if you think it’s plausible.”
I read off my notes and a few choice passages from Wiki corroborated by other sources.
“It fits.” He yawned, making me feel guilty for rousing my second guy in as many phone calls. “An ancient
rising would explain the spree and why we’ve only found traces of one killer at the scenes.” Keys tapped in the background. “Saliva tests came back. We’ve got a match on victim one and three.”
I blew out a slow breath. “So how do we stop this guy from taking victim number four?”
“You said he got pissed when you entered his territory, right?” He sounded more alert. “Why don’t we do another sweep of the sites? Maybe you could take a nibble while you’re there. Wouldn’t that be the vamp equivalent of marking your territory?”
“I don’t have a donor here.” I lowered my voice, part embarrassment and part, well, no. It was all embarrassment. “I pour dinner from a plastic bag into a mug and stick it in the microwave.”
“But you can feed?”
The gentle question made my gut twist. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll try my plan and see where it lands us.”
Did he mean in hot water? “Um, feeding is kind of a personal experience.”
“Which is why I’m willing to shower now to give you a clean place to grab a bite to eat.”
Scalding heat flooded my face, and all the air got sucked from the room as my fangs descended, sharp and eager. “Gotta go,” I lisped around them. “Thee you thoon.”
This was such a bad idea.
So why was my stomach growling?
Chapter 9
Jones and I rendezvoused in the hall. Me frazzled, hungry and mortified. Him clean, freshly shaved and showered, and smiling. Dimples displayed to full effect.
“Have you ever…?” I couldn’t find the words to finish the thought.
“No.” He ducked his head. “You’ll be my first.”
With great effort, I kept my fangs, which stood at attention around Jones, from lengthening. “It’s probably going to hurt. I’m not great with the—” I snapped my teeth together. “I buy bagged. It’s easier.”
“I trust you not to hurt me unnecessarily.” His warm hand landed on my shoulder. “The rest… It’s worth it if we catch this guy.”
Nodding agreement, I bolted out of the hotel, grateful for the cool night air as it hit my face. Jones had pulled on his cop mask, and we didn’t talk on the way to the first kill site. He walked me into the woods, to the location still marked by crime-scene tape knotted around tree trunks, and stood there, expectant.
“I’m not sure…” I didn’t want to hurt him, and worse, I didn’t want my fangs to fail me. How awkward would that be? It’s not like they made little blue pills for vamps.
“Try it.” He unbuttoned his shirt and shoved it partway down one arm, giving me full access to his bare throat and the smooth curve of his shoulder. “If it doesn’t feel right, stop. No harm, no foul. I’m not going to force you, and I’m here of my own free will.”
Screwing up my courage, I crossed to him and curved a palm around one side of his neck, the heat of his skin sending my gut into fits. He bent down, granting me easier access, and I inhaled the column of his throat. Yep. There they were. Fangs punched through my gums so fast they nicked my bottom lip.
Jones’s hand found my hip, squeezed, and I let instinct take over. I raked my teeth down the length of his carotid, found the sweet spot that smelled strongest of him, and bit down with a gentleness that astonished me, given the rumble in my stomach.
Swaying toward me, Jones held on tight to steady himself, moaning into the bite. I took a sip, barely a mouthful, and withdrew. Breathing fast, Jones rested his forehead against mine. Pheromones spiked the air, and I inhaled them, pleased that I had given him pleasure. The numbing solution in our fangs caused euphoria in our victims, but only when I was, ahem, fully engaged.
“That was…” He swallowed hard. “I could do that again.”
Laughing softly, I meant to rest my cheek against his since his blood smeared my lips, but he turned his head at the last second, and our mouths collided. His kiss tasted of mint and copper, and it left my toes curled in my boots. A needy sound clawed up the back of my throat, and he responded with an urgent growl.
Between one press of his soft lips and the next, Jones vanished. My eyes popped open, and a chill rippled down my spine. I was alone in the clearing. Jones was nowhere in sight.
“You dare hunt on my lands?” a voice thick with an accent I couldn’t place rolled through the trees. “You. A child. A female.”
Oh great. He was one of those vamps. I suppose it came with the centuries-old territory.
“Where’s my partner?” The high of Jones’s blood singing in my veins forced me to see Dad’s trip to DeLuca’s in a different light. “My—meal.”
“I am Captain Fenton Rawlins, and this is my land,” he snarled again, sounding closer. “He is mine to take, and you are mine to punish.”
As much as I appreciated the confirmation, the reek hit me then, almost sending all that delicious blood splashing onto the sand. God, he hadn’t bathed since rising, and the rotting blood scent compounded his own moldering body odor. And then there was his breath.
Gag.
The vamp council ought to include a toothbrush and toothpaste in his Welcome to the 21st Century gift bag.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I squared off against the deepest shadows. “He’s mine.”
A sibilant hiss erupted from the trees, and a blur of pale flesh rushed me. The feedings had filled out the vamp to anorexic human proportions, and he was well on his way to being reconstituted.
Lashing out with his claws, he raked the ragged tips across my cheek. I reared back, too slow. Vamp beat dhampir any day, and this one was buzzed from gorging. Blood poured down my chin, a scent that mingled mine with Jones and set my inner predator purring.
“Leave.” He jabbed the air with a withered finger. “Go now, and I will take your meal as payment for your trespass.”
“Again, I hate to tell you this, but he’s mine. You can’t have him.”
A shaft of clear moonlight hit him square in a face that might have once been considered ruggedly handsome, but now looked mostly pissed and insane. A combo I had gotten up close and personal with one too many times in this line of work.
“Then you sign your own death warrant,” he yelled, leaping into the air and tackling me to the ground. Straddling my chest, he wrapped his palms around my throat, tightening his grip until I gasped. “This is my home. Mine.”
“Not anymore,” Jones said from behind him then fired three rounds into the ancient’s skull.
Old blood sprayed my face, black and tarry, and Captain Rawlins collapsed on top of me. A sliver of me, more vamp than fae, urged me to lick my lips, absorb the power in that crimson smear. The rest of me recalled the faces of his victims, and I kept my mouth shut.
“Hang on.” Jones gripped the vamp by the collar and lifted him off, dropping him facedown in the sand before murmuring a restraining Word to bind his wrists and then his ankles together with magic. “You okay?”
I held up a finger then used the tail of my shirt to wipe off the blood. “Yeah. I appreciate the save.”
He offered me his hand and hauled me to my feet, flashing dimples all the while. “We make a good team.”
“Yeah.” I had to admit, dusting sand off my pants, we did.
Jones called in the capture, and soon the night was saturated with wailing sirens and flashing lights. We stood aside while Captain Rawlins was collected by four men dressed in black suits. Those must be the vamp reps. No one else would fuss with a tie before wrestling an animated cadaver with breath that could shrivel the tassels on their loafers.
With the ancient surrendered to the proper authorities, and after the director’s apologies for Jones filling Captain Rawlins with lead, Jones and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder as we gave our statements.
It was over. The killer had been caught. The good people of St. Kitts were safe once more.
“I could go for lobster,” Jones murmured once we stood alone. “How about you?”
I cocked my head at him. “Are you asking me out on a date right now
?” I gestured toward the blood soaking my clothes. “Really?”
“I warned you I would once the case was wrapped. Not my fault if you didn’t believe me.” He cupped the side of my neck with his palm and traced his thumb over the quick-beating pulse there. “I want another one of those kisses.”
Lips tingling with promise, I gave a slight nod, and he lowered his mouth to mine. This time, when my fangs snicked down, it was his lip I scratched, and he didn’t mind. He wrapped his arms around me, hauling me close, giving me more of his drugging blood.
“I like the way you taste,” I said against his lips.
“The feeling is mutual,” he replied between sharp nips of his blunt teeth, giving as good as he got. “Now, how about that dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.” I wet my lips, tasting him there. “Not for lobster at least.”
“How about we pick up a to-go plate for me, and I slather some of the lemon-herb butter on my throat for you back at the hotel?”
Mouth watering for another taste, I threaded my fingers through his. “It’s a date.”
About the Author
Hailey Edwards writes about questionable applications of otherwise perfectly good magic, the transformative power of love, the family you choose for yourself, and blowing stuff up. Not necessarily all at once. That could get messy. She lives in Alabama with her husband, their daughter, and a herd of dachshunds.
Want more Marshal Ayer? Check out the Gemini series. The adventure begins with Dead in the Water.
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Enzili
by Mark Henwick
Author’s note
Enzili, sometimes given as Erzulie,
is also called Oshun in the religion of Voodou.
She is the Goddess of Love.
