Don’t be stupid. This is big stuff. You owe this fang and you can bet he’ll collect.
Keeli fingered the bandages around her wrists. Jenkins had dressed her burns on the ride back to the precinct. He was an interesting man; despite his career choice, she kind of liked him. He’d looked her straight in the eye and had a clear sharp gaze that wasn’t anything but honest.
Michael had a similar way of looking at her. She wasn’t so sure she liked him, though. Or at least, it seemed unnatural to have any good feelings toward a vampire.
Just wait, she told herself. He’ll show his true colors. If he wants something, you’ll find out soon enough.
She looked forward to it. Maybe then she’d be able to shake him off her mind.
“No, I won’t leave,” someone suddenly said outside her cell, in such an obnoxious voice Keeli peered beyond the circle of her arms to see who was talking. She immediately recognized the face and pressed up tight against the wall.
Brian O’Dell. Werewolf. Journalist—though that was a term she used loosely, considering his articles dished more gossip than news. He was someone who would surely recognize Keeli.
Shit. Is he here for me? How could he have found out so quickly?
“You know we can’t give out that kind of information,” an officer said to him, firm and cool. She had dark skin and fine high cheekbones, the kind of beauty that was both lovely and chiseled. Brian smiled, turning on the charm. Keeli rolled her eyes.
“Sweetheart. You know I’m a journalist. It’s my job to cover all the hairy news, and my nose is telling me you’ve got something juicy my readers would love to hear.”
The officer folded her arms and said nothing.
“See? That just confirms it. Someone got killed tonight, Sheila. I want to know who.”
“Mr. O’Dell—”
“Call me Brian.”
“—you have to leave. If you don’t, I will be more than happy to shoot you.”
“I’m planning a story on police brutality, you know. Maybe you’d like to give me an interview? Over dinner? Breakfast? The blunt end of your nightstick?”
Sheila finally smiled. “Out. Now.”
Brian lifted his hands in silent surrender. His grin was anything but quiet. Keeli could almost see his tail wagging. She watched him leave, and was just about to relax when he passed Jenkins’s desk and stopped cold in his tracks, gazing down. Jenkins noticed immediately and slapped closed the file he had been reading.
“What?” Jenkins said.
Brian shrugged. He glanced around the office and Keeli buried her head in her arms, willing him to pass over her. She imagined she felt him studying her; imagined, too, that he was drawing near to look through the bars, that any moment he would say her name and pressure her for an interview.
Instead, when she finally dared to look, he was gone.
“I really dislike that son of a bitch,” she heard Jenkins say to Sheila. “He’s too nosy for his own good.”
“Free press,” she replied, obviously in a much better mood regarding Brian. “He’s just doing his job.”
Jenkins grunted. “He get anything about the murder?”
Sheila shook her head, all business again. “No. He wanted to know why we were bringing in all those wolves for questioning. He’s worried about a roundup.”
“I would be, too. Doesn’t matter there’s no DNA linking the wolves to the crime. Cause of death was all animal. Absolutely vicious. One more murder like the one tonight, and it’s not gonna matter that it’s vampires dying—the public’s gonna start screaming at the mayor. Once he gets involved, the wolves will be screwed six ways to Sunday. Not that they care. No one from the clans is helping worth shit.”
Keeli closed her eyes. Great. Another vampire murder. Just what her people needed.
And Jenkins was right—no one would care that there was no DNA evidence to link the crimes to the wolves. Mangled bodies were enough for the public.
One problem: the only way a wolf could have killed those vampires without leaving any trace would be to kill with the hands only, encased in gloves. Which sounded far more calculated than an enraged wolf looking to score a kill on some vampire’s ass.
Unless they really did have a serial killer on their hands. A different kind of wolf.
Could be a human. A mech. But that was unlikely, after all the heat from last time. The mech program was in development, and under close scrutiny right now. And no human could kill a vampire with his bare hands. So, wolf.
Eye for an eye? Possibly. A dead werewolf had turned up only days previous with fang marks in his throat, obviously a vampire kill. Keeli didn’t know the wolf personally, but he’d had a bad reputation. He’d been an unauthorized informant, spilling the beans on werewolf business to the C.C.P.D. and B-Ops alike. Keeli knew for a fact that the wolf had been close to exile—nothing less was suitable punishment for a wolf who betrayed his clan. A vampire wouldn’t know that, though. A vampire who wanted to get back at the wolves for all the recent crimes.
Either way, a werewolf was dead, and so was a vampire. One more vampire to add to the list of those killed in the past month, all with superficial evidence suggesting a werewolf had committed the crimes.
The timing sucked. Or at least it was suspicious. Negotiations with the vampires had not been widely advertised between the clans, but all the wolves in the city knew what was going down in the Maddox tunnels. The Grand Dame had consulted with the lower Alphas before agreeing to speak with the vampire negotiators, and while the Alphas had tried their best not to leak the news, it was inevitable. The only difference was that the local werewolf journalists—Brian O’Dell included—were not permitted to write or speak about the subject. In fact, the Alphas had made it very clear that any wolf caught leaking information about even the possibility of a pact between vampires and werewolves would be severely punished. The kind of punishment that involved exile.
Because if the humans found out that vampires and werewolves were joining forces, shit was going to hit the fan in an ugly way. All the human hate and fear that had the vampires running scared would be turned on the werewolves, and unlike the fangs, Keeli’s people didn’t have the resources to get out of the city fast. The underground was more than just their home; it was livelihood and protection and safety all rolled into one. Take that away from the clans, force a mass exodus out of the city, and it would create war—or at the very least, the dissolution of current clan structures. Every major city had a werewolf population, and those wolves guarded their territories fiercely. A foreign clan in its entirety would never be adopted. Keeli had heard of uprooted wolf clans in Europe who spent twenty years wandering, losing members before finally finding cities large enough to squat in. Always in the ghettos, though. Always topside, and mixing with humans who were too poor to care that their neighbors sometimes wore fur. It was a bad way to live. Hungry, violent, and dirty.
What if these murders aren’t coincidence? What if it’s a deliberate attempt to sabotage our negotiations? To set us at each other’s throats?
Keeli knew for a fact that there were some highly vocal dissenters, Alphas and subordinate wolves, who objected to helping the vampires. Keeli thought they were shortsighted idiots. But even one idiot could do a lot of damage if he had enough motivation. And a good old case of hate could be motivation enough in some circles.
Of course, the first of the murders had begun well before any discussion of an alliance between vampire and werewolf.
Doesn’t matter who started it, or when—the result will be just the same. If this keeps up, not getting an alliance will be the least of our problems. Someone wants to start a street war between werewolves and vampires. And with certain humans on the sidelines, waiting for their moment to bring down the curtain … well, something had to be done.
Oh, yeah. And who’s going to do it? Keeli asked herself. Who’s going to put their neck out on the line and help the cops investigate a murder against a vampire? You?
; Ha. Right.
Still, the thought gave her pause. Who amongst the werewolves would be a good liaison to the police? It was a sure bet that no one would volunteer for the job, which meant the Grand Dame would have to assign a wolf to the position—and Keeli was quite certain her grandmother would never do that. There was no love lost between the old woman and the humans. There was no love at all with the vampires, either, but the Grand Dame knew how to hold a grudge, and she had been treated badly by the police during that Chinatown fiasco. In principal, she might want to help solve the crime, but not in action. In action, the cops and their dead vamps could rot in hell.
Which was not very diplomatic at all. In fact, the only reason the Grand Dame had agreed to negotiations with the vampires was because she saw the threat, the human danger to the clans. And to keep safe the werewolf clans of Crimson City, the Grand Dame Alpha would do anything. Absolutely anything at all.
But that doesn’t stop the fact that there’s a murderer on the loose, and the police are itchy to pin it on a wolf. Someone needs to make nice with them. Someone who can be trusted, who can work with the police without acting like a total ass. Someone who can be a good little wolf.
Someone who was in the right place, at the right time.
“Shit,” Keeli muttered, hating herself for even contemplating the possibility. If she allied herself with the police, even for something so important, she was going to make a lot of enemies. At the very least, the disapproval would be thick enough to dance on. Good deeds would kill her yet.
So don’t do it. They don’t need you, not really. Let the police take care of these crimes, like they’re supposed to. You don’t investigate your own. You don’t turn over another wolf. Besides, it’s not your responsibility.
Yeah, not her responsibility at all. But if the wolves didn’t give the police some face-value attempt to cooperate, it might mean a whole load of trouble. The idea of another roundup chilled Keeli to the bone, a pure nausea-inducing possibility. And there was the negotiation to think of. What would be better politically than to say the Grand Dame’s own granddaughter was helping solve the murders against the vampires?
Responsibility is unerring, damning. When it calls, you must answer, or else lose honor. Her grandmother’s words—although until now, Keeli had never really understood their true meaning.
Yeah, well, I’m sick of caring what people think of me.
But knowing what she did, hearing those cops talk about how close the wolves were to real trouble, made it impossible not to get involved.
Okay, so do it. Now, before you give yourself time to change your mind.
Which might be at any moment, when her brain finally spun down from its current state of self-righteous commitment and thunked against the hard wall of reality.
She stood up, intent on getting Jenkins’s attention, looked through the bars at the blond officer, who was sitting once again with his shoulders hunched, and then past him, at the faraway door—
The phantom taste of blood filled her mouth, a shimmering memory on her tongue. She felt it slide down her throat, into her tightening stomach, and she wondered what it meant to have vampire blood in her body, what sort of price she would have to pay, and that maybe this inability to look away from the man approaching her—so, so graceful—was the price, and oh, God, what the hell was she going to do. …
“Hello,” Michael said, standing very close to the bars. His cheek glittered, and she realized it was a tattoo set in gold, a circle with winding lines that looked both beautiful and sinister. Much like the rest of him.
“Hi,” Keeli replied, managing to shake off the spell of his eyes before she could make an idiot of herself. She forced her voice into a hard shell, readying herself for trouble. It was inevitable—she would be a fool to think otherwise. “I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. “I thought you had enough class to wait at least a day.”
Michael frowned. “Excuse me?”
“For payback,” Keeli said. “You know, for your help. I had a feeling you’d come around eventually—although this is sooner than I thought.”
Keeli didn’t know him all that well, but she suspected that the sudden furrow between the vampire’s eyes and the slight twist of his mouth were indications of displeasure. Either that, or he had eaten some bad blood on the way in. Maybe he had a stomachache. Did vampires get diarrhea?
“I came to see if you were all right,” he explained coolly. “It’s quite clear to me that you are.”
“I’m just peachy,” Keeli agreed, struggling to maintain her composure. “All this silver is a real turn-on.”
“It could be worse.”
“Well, yes,” she said. There was something strange in Michael’s eyes—disappointment, maybe—that it pained her conscience to see. He had helped her, after all. Even though he was a vampire, he did not deserve cruelty. “It could be a lot worse. I appreciate what you did for me. I do. I don’t know how … how I could have lived with myself if I’d hurt that man.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t have hurt him.”
Keeli shook her head, honesty surging up her throat. “You don’t know my temper.” She found herself reaching out to steady herself against the silver bars and snatched her hands away.
“Keeli,” he said, and oh, it was strange hearing him say her name. She had not been certain he would remember it. He looked down at her hands and reached through the bars. Startled, she wanted to back away, but pride kept her feet rooted to the floor. She held herself very still and allowed him to touch her bandaged wrists. His nearness did not disgust her like she thought it would, but it did feel strange. Very strange.
“They don’t hurt,” she found herself saying. “How about your arm?”
“It’s fine,” he said, pulling back. Keeli glanced past him and found Jenkins watching with unabashed curiosity. It occurred to her that everyone in the room was watching, though some had the grace to pretend otherwise.
“So anyway,” Keeli said, straightening up, ignoring the urge to cover her hot cheeks, “what you did for me is too big not to owe you something. I pay my debts, Michael.”
He shook his head, and for just one moment, Keeli thought she glimpsed amusement in his eyes. “Debts,” he said, very quietly, “don’t mean much to me. There is no debt between us. You owe me nothing.”
“Really. You must be some freak version of a vampire.”
“A little politeness might be nice,” he amended.
“Kiss my ass,” Keeli said. “How would you feel if our situations were reversed?”
“Grateful.”
“Wrong. You’d be wondering what the hell was going to happen next. Because let’s face it: Our kind don’t usually do nice things for each other.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” he repeated.
“Uh-huh.”
“Really, I don’t.”
She almost believed him. “Whether or not you want anything is beside the point. I feel obligated, Michael. I have to make things right between us.”
Michael leaned close, menacing. Keeli fought not to react. He inspired a gamut of emotions: fear, anger, curiosity. She knew he couldn’t hurt her—there were bars between them—but the force of his personality was almost physical, and a silver cage was no defense against that.
“There is nothing you can do, or give me, that will make me feel any different about this situation. I did not help you because I wanted something. I helped you because you needed help. So go ahead and feel obligated to pay me back. I can assure you that if you try, I will fight you every step of the way.”
Up until that moment, Keeli had been dimly aware of something flickering on the edge of her vision. She now heard a faint whistle, and tore her gaze from Michael’s face.
“What a way to talk to the ladies,” Jenkins said, appearing beside the vampire. “No wonder you’re still single.”
Michael cast Jenkins such a dirty look that, if Keeli had been in the officer’s shoes, she would have reached fo
r a stake. Jenkins, however, seemed not to notice. He looked disgustingly cheerful, which made Keeli very suspicious. He had no right to be cheerful. Didn’t he have a murder to investigate?
Oh. Crap. No.
“I think I know a way to clear this up,” the policeman said, clapping his hand on Michael’s shoulder. Keeli wondered what his balls were made of.
“If it involves whipped cream and more handcuffs, I am so out of here,” she said, although she had a fairly good idea of what Jenkins was going to suggest.
Michael’s mouth twitched; he briefly closed his eyes. “Jenkins, stay out of this.”
“Sorry, I can’t. She’s offering help, Michael, and you know we need it.”
“I don’t know anything. I told you I would handle the investigation.”
“And you think the werewolves will talk to you?” Jenkins cast a sly glance at Keeli. “I know she heard me talking to Sheila about that murdered vampire. Her ears almost grew an inch during the conversation.”
Keeli scowled. “You did that on purpose.”
“Yes, but it’ll work out in all our favors that I did.”
Michael looked like he wanted to hit someone—Jenkins, probably. “A deal is a deal.”
“And she’ll be getting out in the morning, just like I promised. But if she wants to help, what’s the big fucking deal? Do you know who this girl is? I sure as hell do. Her fingerprints are famous. She’s the granddaughter of the—”
“Stop,” Keeli said, suddenly cold. “Don’t bring her into this.”
Jenkins’s mouth snapped closed. “I’m sorry. But you have connections. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Connections only matter as much as a person’s actions and reputation,” she told him coldly. “If I help you, I’ll be losing something in my clan. A little bit of respect.”
“Then don’t help,” Michael said. “Don’t turn yourself into an outsider, just for this.”
Keeli glared at him. It didn’t matter she had already run through these arguments, that she was ready to help all on her own. She did not like being pressured into anything. She did not like being told what to do—or what not to do.
A Taste of Crimson Page 4
