She slowly applied pressure until she could feel the knob begin to turn. “Oh, thank you, God, thank you!” She was pushing on the door when she felt the vicelike grip of my claws on her neck, digging in and lifting her off her feet.
She gasped and started to scream for help when my hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her breath and making her choke. I turned her, her feet dangling, until she was staring into my face, the face of a monster. My lips gleamed scarlet in the half-light, my protruding fangs iridescent and drooling, with my pointed tongue flickering in and out like some demented reptile.
She struggled but her strength was nothing to me, and I grinned as she twisted and turned, trying to get loose. My voice growled at her, my sewer breath on her face, “Be still, it will do you no good to struggle. I promise you, it will not be painful.”
Another obscene grin as I turned to take her back. “It can even be quite . . . enjoyable.”
I carried her over to where TJ was lying unconscious and held her aloft over TJ’s body. With one pointed claw, I reopened the wound on her neck and positioned her so the blood would drip onto TJ’s lips. Heloise, horrified at what was happening, again tried to struggle but could barely move. Her lips moved silently as she prayed for death to end the nightmare.
TJ tasted the blood, tentatively at first, then more vigorously as she realized what it was. Finally, she began to lick her lips, her body moving sensuously as the taste of the blood began to work on her mind.
I watched TJ’s nipples harden and elongate and her legs spread as her sex became hot and wet with desire. I chuckled to myself, realizing the taste of blood did the same thing to me. Amazing, I thought, how the act of feeding for the Vampyri was a sexual thing and how the two were inextricably linked.
Watching TJ feed and become aroused affected me too, and I felt my penis harden and elongate, straining at my clothes. I held the woman tighter and squeezed her to force her blood to flow faster.
Unable to contain myself, I leaned over and licked the wound with a long, pointed tongue, letting the heady taste of fresh blood excite me even further. It was rich with the flavor of terror. I looked down at TJ, fully awake now and lying with her mouth open to catch every drop of the precious nectar. Her face was wretched and her eyes haunted, and I could see she was fighting the Hunger, but it was much too late. Once the blood was tasted, it was almost impossible to stop the feeding.
As the woman went loose in my hands, unconscious from loss of blood and shock, I pitched her aside and fell to my knees over TJ. She shook her head, grabbing me and pressing her bloodstained lips to mine, moaning in desire and hunger.
I placed her hand on my straining penis and buried my hand between her legs, moaning in my own desire. I picked her up and carried her into her room, our lips locked together. There, on the pallet, we coupled in screaming, howling abandon.
* * *
Later that evening, TJ felt terrible. Her skin was flushed and sweaty and her temperature was over one hundred degrees. The virus, with its deadly cargo of plasmids, was coursing through her body and causing its typical febrile reaction. In addition to invading each red blood cell that it encountered, the virus was entering the bone marrow where the red blood cells were manufactured and corrupting it as well.
As the cells became infected, the body attempted to fight back and sent out hordes of white blood cells, which caused the typical fever and malaise associated with massive infection. Unfortunately, the virus had already entered TJ’s own red blood cells and was thus immune to the white blood cells’ attack.
TJ had broken off all her fingernails trying to scratch through the door. Her fingertips were raw and bloodstained, and her hair was caked with sweat and vomit.
When she heard the warehouse door open, she began to hyperventilate and shiver with fear. She wrapped the soiled robe around her and cowered in the corner of her cell, shutting her eyes against the horror she knew was coming. She began to pray for protection, until the memory of what she had done caused her to feel unworthy of God’s mercy. Her inability to pray somehow gave her courage to face the hunter, and she stopped crying and shivering as she waited for him to appear.
The door opened and was filled by the figure of the hunter. “Tabitha, we must talk. I will await you in the other room.”
TJ tried to rise, but her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. Get up, damn it, she thought. Don’t you dare let the bastard see you crawl, TJ O’Reilley. Slowly and painfully, with every muscle protesting, using the wall for support, she got to her feet and shuffled out to meet him.
She saw his eyes widen and his face frown at her appearance and had a momentary hope that he would be disgusted with her and leave her alone. “Tabitha, why do you make it so hard on yourself?” He rose from the table and approached her.
He slid his arm around her shoulders, nose wrinkling at her odor. “Let me make it easy for you. Believe me, the end result is inevitable, so there is no need for you to suffer needlessly.”
TJ shook her head and raised her chin in defiance. “No, I’ll never give in to you, no matter what you make me do.” She pushed his arm away and stumbled over to the table and collapsed onto the seat. Her chest heaving with the effort, she looked him in the eyes. “I told you, I’d rather be dead than be like you!”
The hunter smiled sadly, his eyes glowing with the challenge of converting her. He fixed her with his gaze and projected his will at her. He power-thought images of the strength and nobility of the Vampyri and of what it meant to be immortal. TJ shook her head, trying to ignore the images, but the effects of the virus and her temperature weakened her ability to resist his power.
Slowly, she stood and let the robe fall to the floor, her eyes vacant and her face as devoid of expression as a corpse’s. He took her hand and led her to a shower in the corner of the room. As she entered, he threw off his clothes and joined her naked in the steaming water. He soaped and scrubbed her body and hair, all the while murmuring tales of the glory that would be theirs after her transformation.
He stepped back out of the water and used his fingernail to make a small gash in his neck. TJ’s eyes widened. In spite of her revulsion, she licked her lips and began to salivate at the sight of blood running down his neck. The warm, coppery smell of his blood made her stomach growl.
He leaned forward and offered her his neck. TJ closed her eyes and shrank back into the corner of the shower, the water pouring over her mingling with her tears. He took her head between his hands and gently put her lips against his neck. Hesitantly at first, then with growing urgency, she began to gulp his blood.
Head back, lips parted in ecstasy, he caressed her breasts and buttocks. As she sucked and bit his neck, her hands found his penis and began to stroke it into full erection. Her mind recoiled at what she was doing, but she was powerless to control the urges of her body and the Hunger. He took her hips and lifted her without effort against the shower wall, then moved forward and lowered her, impaling her on his penis.
TJ groaned deep in her throat, offering her neck to him as her body began to move with his hips. When his fangs entered her neck, she began to pulsate in glorious orgasm. Immediately, she fastened her lips on his neck. They coupled frantically in the streaming water, pumping and thrusting. Their growls and grunts rang throughout the building, but there was no human left to hear them.
Thirty-six
The next morning, Clark called a war conference of the Vampire Task Force in his office. While they were filing in, he seemed distracted, unfocused, as if his mind were a thousand miles away. He barely noticed the espresso Sherry handed him, and the ashtray was already full of cigarette butts at eight-thirty. Uh-oh, the shit’s hit the fan, Matt thought as he took his seat.
Clark stubbed out his cigarette, lighting another one immediately. “Well, we had our chance, and we blew it. That bitch on the news has gotten wind of what’s going on and is putting the pressure on the PC to go public with our findings.”
“But, Chief,” argu
ed Shooter, “how can they do that? Who’s gonna believe we’ve got a vampire killer roaming the city?”
Clark smiled grimly and spread his hands. “Oh, I don’t for a minute think that the brass will call it that. They’ll merely state that there is a serial killer in town who cuts his victims’ throats.”
He thought for a moment, staring at the glowing end of his cigarette. “In fact, they’ll probably try to minimize the number of victims and just state he has killed several times.”
“Is there any way we can stop her from going public?” asked Sam. “Maybe if we tell her how harmful it will be to release the information, she’ll reconsider. . .”
“That bitch?” snorted Shooter. “She doesn’t give a shit about what’s right or wrong. All she cares about is being first with the story.”
Clark looked at Sam. “I’m afraid Shooter is right. I tried calling Ms. James to discuss the case with her, but all she kept quoting was ‘the people’s right to know.’ I even sounded her out to see exactly how much she really knew.” He paused long enough to take a deep draught of his espresso, then looked at them with hooded eyes. “She knows plenty from the source she has within the department.”
Sherry and Shooter looked at each other. “That’s impossible,” said Sherry. “None of the guys would give that bitch the time of day.”
Clark exhaled a cloud of smoke, shaking his head. “Well, someone has been talking to her. When I told her that her premature release of our findings might alert the killer to our search and help him escape, she said that was our problem, not hers.”
“Nice lady,” Matt said.
“What are we going to do?” asked Shooter.
Clark lit another cigarette off the butt of the last, adding more smoke to the haze that was already thick in the room. “I figure we’ve got one more day. The PC and the mayor are planning a news conference at six o’clock tonight. After that, we’ll be lucky to go to the bathroom without a reporter hanging over our shoulders taking notes.” He stood up and leaned both hands on his desk. “Shooter, I want you and Shelly to get to work on that moving company. Lean on them as heavy as you need to, but get them to open up those files and find out where they moved Dr. Niemann’s stuff.”
He glanced at Sherry. “You get over to the tax office and tell them that the mayor wants to know why those expensive computers can’t answer a simple question like what a tax payment was for.”
Sam said, “What about me?”
Clark said, “Sam, I need you to make a list of all our forensic evidence and samples. The presence of a serial killer running amok in Houston is going to be a hard sell to the PC and mayor, so I’ll need all the evidence laid out in a convincing manner.”
Tired of being ignored, Matt asked, “Chief, is it okay if I go with Sherry? Maybe if there’s two of us we’ll have better luck getting them to cooperate.”
Clark straightened and rubbed the small of his back while he stretched. “Sure, Matt, go ahead. I’m going to try and talk the PC out of going public, but I doubt if I’ll succeed. His worst fear is the mayor, and the mayor’s worst fear is a television reporter on the scent of a story.”
* * *
Sherry stopped Matt with a hand on his shoulder before they entered the courthouse. With an arched eyebrow, she asked, “How do you suggest we handle this, Matt?”
He held up his hands. “Hey, Sherry, you’re the officer in charge here, I’m just along for the ride.”
This got him a chuckle and a pat on the back. “Okay, you’re in for your first lesson on how to handle stubborn bureaucrats.”
Sherry stepped up to the window at the tax assessor’s office and plopped her badge down on the countertop. “Let me see your boss, right now!” she said to the small Hispanic woman who was standing there. The woman looked at the badge, then at Sherry. She started to speak, but thought better of it when she saw the look in Sherry’s eyes and turned and walked away. A few minutes later she returned and motioned Sherry and Matt through a side door. “Right this way, please.”
A portly, balding man in shirtsleeves stood and offered Matt his hand as they entered his office. Matt didn’t take it, just glanced at Sherry, letting the bureaucrat know who was in charge. He frowned uncertainly as he looked at her.
Sherry glanced down at his name tag. “Mr. Meyer, I’m here on official business and need some information right away.”
“Officer, I’m sure we’ll do whatever we can to assist you in any way.”
Sherry smiled. “Good.” She handed him Niemann’s canceled check marked taxes made out to the Port Authority. “I need to know the address of the property these taxes were on.”
Meyer smiled and shook his head, trying to hand the check back to Sherry. “I’m afraid we can’t help you. This check is made out to the Port Authority. You’ll have to get your information from them.”
Sherry made no move to take the check. “Mr. Meyer, I’ve already been to the Port Authority and they said their records aren’t on computer and that it would take about a week to go through them by hand and get me what I need. I don’t have a week. They said you had the same information on computer here and it would be a simple matter for you to pull up the address out of your databank.”
Meyer shook his head again. “Oh my, I’m afraid you were misinformed. In the first place, that information is confidential, and in the second place it’s not my job to do the Port Authority’s work for them.” He looked around at the stack of papers and charts on his desk and smiled again, spreading his hands, playing the overworked city employee. “I’m much too busy to take the time to . . .”
Sherry took a small notebook out of her purse and began writing in it. Meyer glanced nervously at the notebook. “Why, what are you doing, officer?”
She looked up and smiled, and Matt thought to himself that he’d never seen such a dangerous smile.
“How old are you, Mr. Meyer?” she asked.
“Why . . . um, why do you ask?” He took a soiled handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at sweat that suddenly appeared on his forehead.
Sherry tore out the page she had been writing on and handed it to him. “Well, the mayor was concerned that you wouldn’t be able to find another job. There’s the mayor’s private phone number. Would you please call him and tell him that his request is too much trouble for you.”
“Oh . . . oh, well . . . you didn’t say the mayor wanted . . .”
Sherry looked pointedly at her watch. “Meyer, either get cranking on your computer, or make the phone call. I don’t have all day to waste playing games with you.”
He looked down at the check, nodding his head vigorously. “Yes, ma’am.” He sat at his computer and his hands began to fly over the keys, his head still nodding.
Sherry and Matt came out of the office thirty minutes later into a driving rainstorm. She covered her head with her purse as they ran for her car. Once inside, she looked at the address on the paper that Meyer had given her and said, “Gotcha, you bastard.”
She pulled directly out into the street, causing several horns to blare and Matt to hunch his shoulders in anticipation of a crash. As they weaved in and out through traffic, she radioed headquarters and asked for Clark, only to be told that he was in conference with the PC and couldn’t be disturbed. “The hell with it,” she said. She drove in silence for a minute, finally asking Matt, “You want me to drop you off somewhere?”
“Not if you’re going to that address Meyer gave you. I told you, I’m along for the ride.”
She shook her head. “If Niemann’s there, it could get dicey. I don’t want you in the way.”
Matt pulled the Beretta out of his coat and jacked a round into the chamber. “I won’t be.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling, “just don’t tell the boss or I’ll be shuffling papers the rest of my life.” She keyed the mike again. “Officer needs backup at 2329 Port Avenue. Send a patrol car to meet me there.”
Even though it was midafternoon, the storm had darkene
d the sky and made the Houston traffic a nightmare. It took Sherry almost an hour to make the journey across town to the port area, where they found the blue and white patrol car waiting for them. By the time she had retrieved her umbrella from the backseat, they were both soaked to the skin. The patrolmen stayed in their car, smiling as she leaned over and rapped on their window.
One rolled his window down an inch or two and said, “You the detective that radioed for backup?”
Sherry stared for a moment, the rain running down the back of her neck. “No, you asshole. I’m Esther Williams, and I thought I’d come out for a swim! Now get your lazy butts out here and follow us.”
She started for the warehouse door without waiting to see if they followed. At the door Matt looked up and saw the last number in the address had lost a nail and turned upside down. The address read 2326, but he knew instinctively that she had the correct building. He shivered, more from the feel of evil surrounding the place than from the chill of the rain. As the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed, Matt fully expected the monster to come crashing through the door and attack them at any moment.
The patrolmen approached, laughing and joking. Their smiles faded and their brows furrowed when they saw Sherry take out her revolver and stand beside the door with her back to the wall. When Matt pulled his Beretta, they looked at each other and shrugged. One shucked a shell into the chamber of his shotgun while the other drew his revolver, flipping the cylinder open to make sure it was full.
Sherry banged on the door with the flat of her hand, shouting, “Open up, it’s the police.” When she got no response, she repeated the shout and banged on the door again. Finally, she turned to the patrolmen and said, “Open it.”
One of them went to the door and checked the locks, then rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. He turned to Sherry and said, “No way. That door’s solid steel. We’ll have to call a locksmith.”
Night Blood Page 27
