Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  "It's legal."

  "So was slavery, once."

  Cammie was lightheaded. She needed to get out of here. "What's your point, officer?"

  "Maybe escape isn't as easy as you thought it was. Maybe your brother is his father's son after all."

  Cammie shook her head. Thornton smiled. "If you're going to investigate, Timms, then you need an open mind."

  "Sounds like your mind is made up," Cammie said. "You think my brother's evil."

  "From the sounds of it," Thornton said, "I don't know your brother any better than you do. You think you're a good guy, and you spend your life killing people. Wonder what he does to blow off that steam from his past? Got any idea? His parents sure didn't. They thought it was all behind him."

  "He had a good life," Cammie said.

  "Did he?" Thornton stood. "Or are we just believing Mom and Dad's P.R.?"

  "There is no P.R.," Cammie said. "Ben survived. He had to."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For the first time since his change, Ben wished he could get drunk. Sweet, sweet oblivion, lost to him now. The only way he could lose himself now [C&F110] would be in someone's neck. Or to take a little garlic. Just enough to put himself out. But even then, he would be in a stupor, not happy and carefree.

  Maybe he would never feel carefree again.

  He sat in the basement of one of Seattle's jazz restaurants. The bar down here, done in crude white plaster walls covered with serapes and Mexican rugs, catered to a new music crowd. The white-covered tables were too close together, and only the carved, cave-like booths built into the walls offered any privacy at all.

  He didn't want privacy.

  He sipped red wine, slowly, and listened to the five-piece band. The singer managed to fit a small piano onto the performance space, and the others circled around it, like lovers. They played a New Age kind of jazz, filled with soft chords and flowing runs. Ben's fingers caressed his glass. Every few minutes, he would scan the room for a single female, but most seemed to come with their boyfriends or other women, and the bar had no place to dance.

  He had forgotten about dancing. He should have walked to a different bar, less upscale but just as nice, on the other side of Mikos’ building. But he hadn't. He wanted some place where the women felt safe, some place where he could get the right kind of cow. Not the kind that had been used over and over like the ones that visited Mikos. No. He wanted someone as fresh and pure as Candyce.

  Candyce. His grip tightened on the glass. She had been a mess when Van finished with her. Eyes open and staring, body bathed in blood. For the first time since he turned, the sight of blood had made him ill instead of arousing him. Maybe he still had some human traits after all.

  He missed her.

  Not the cow she had become, but the girl he had known. The one who had laughed with him, who chose silly movies instead of the latest foreign import. The girl who drank microbrewed beer and made sharp observations about people at the next table.

  That girl had died before Van drained her body.

  This was the kind of life he was doomed to lead. He would find a woman who appealed to him, sleep with her, and she would become a blind follower, with no thoughts of her own. If she had more strength of character, according to Mikos, she would turn on him and try to kill him in his sleep.

  He could no longer laugh and make jokes and enjoy the company of someone close to him.

  Unless he had a child. The child would have a mind of its own, as well as all of his strength. The child would become someone with whom he could have a real relationship.

  The wine had a fruity, almost bloodlike odor. He sipped. The taste was bitter, like drinking over-[C&F111] boiled coffee. Nothing tasted right any more. Only the blood, which tasted better than anything he ever had.

  He should have left Candyce in Eugene, but he hadn't. He had needed that child. The craving was as deep as the blood craving he woke up with each night. The child would push him forward and give him strength. It would also make him the center of the community, because of all of them, he was the only one with the ability to still make children. He would make as many as he could before he turned completely.

  Then he would never be alone again.

  Now that Candyce was dead, his chances for a child had faded. He would have to find the proper woman quickly—and it would have to be a woman whose features he could tolerate. He would never again use someone he had once cared about, so his old girlfriends (what few he had) were out of the question.

  He had to find someone new.

  The music eased its way to an ending, and the leader announced that the band would take a short break. More couples leaned over the small candle lamps in the center of the tables. Large, rowdy groups had filled all the recessed booths. A woman sat alone near the entrance, her long fingers drumming on the tabletop. She was waiting for someone, and it looked like she wouldn't wait much longer.

  Ben grabbed his glass and stood. He would lose his table, but no matter. He threaded his way through the densely packed floor. "Want some company?" he asked.

  He put all the charm he owned into the question. He could feel the power flowing from him. She had chocolate-colored eyes and dark Mediterranean skin. Her hair was black and shone in the soft light. She glanced at the door as if she couldn't decide, then smiled at him. Her teeth were small and white. She was stunning.

  He could look at her forever.

  "Please," she said.

  He pulled the chair back as far as it would go, and slid into it. "I'm Ben," he said, extending his hand. When she took it, a sexual charge jumped between them. First contact made.

  "Judith." Her voice was soft and deep. She smelled fresh. Her blood would be untainted. Saliva formed in the back of his mouth. He wanted her already.

  "Has anyone told you that you're beautiful?"

  She smiled, and then she really was. She leaned closer. Her pupils had dilated. He was succeeding. "Not today."

  "You're beautiful," he said, and kissed her. The kiss was gentle at first, then he put his tongue inside her mouth and touched all corners. Finally,[C&F112] he nipped her lower lip. Her blood was sweet, sweeter than any he had ever had, and he longed to get more. But this was just the hook.

  He pulled out of the kiss. Her eyes were slightly glassy, her cheeks flushed. An overbuilt man wearing a tank top and tight blue jeans stopped beside the table. "Judith!"

  It took her a minute to look up, and even longer to recognize him. "Go away, Rich." Her words were slightly slurred.

  "We had a date," Rich said.

  "Not any more," she said. "I got Ben now."

  Rich faced Ben for the first time. Rich's face was flushed. He looked more confused than angry. "Who're you?"

  "Ben," Ben said, making his tones soft and leaving the charm in. "The lady looked lonely."

  "I was just a few minutes late!"

  "An hour," Judith said to Ben. Her hand was on his arm, her touch light, but her fingers kept stroking his wrist bone. Definitely hooked.

  "An hour's too long to keep a lady waiting," Ben said. He stood and offered Judith his arm. "Let's go, honey."

  She stood too and swayed a little. Rich reached out to catch her, but Ben was quicker. He placed one hand under her elbow and steadied her.

  "Judith," Rich said, "I know you're trying to make me mad, but going off with some guy you don't know is not a good idea."

  Her smile had a vague edge it had not had earlier. "I know him," she said.

  "Judith!" Rich grabbed her free arm. Ben stepped between them.

  Rich smelled of sweat and fear. So the woman meant a lot to him. Ah, well. "She's coming with me," Ben said. "If you want, you can call and check on her in the morning."

  Judith laughed, the sloppy too-high laugh of a drunk. Rich stared at him, then stepped back. Ben put his arm around her waist and propelled her from the bar. He had to get her somewhere. Once he started the seduction, he was as hooked as his cow. He wanted to taste her, to feel the dual orga
sm of taste and explosion flow through him.

  Outside the air was fresh. He nibbled Judith's neck so that the fresh air wouldn't free her. "You live near here?" he asked. She tasted so sweet. She was perfect.

  She shook her head. "But I got my car."

  He smiled. Good. "I'm not staying too far from here. Want to drive me to my hotel?"

  She slid a hand down his back and cupped his buttocks. He leaned over and kissed her, nipping harder. He wanted to take her right here, right now, in full view of everyone, but he needed control. She was fresh. It would be better to take her in a safe place.

  Her car was a five-year-old Datsun that needed a new paint job. Papers were strewn on the seat inside, and the car smelled of cigarette smoke. She would have to quit that habit. He had grown even more sensitive to smoke since his change.

  She drove him to the batch of high-priced downtown hotels. He led her into the Sheraton, and then made a pretense of forgetting his key. He went to the desk and registered under the fake name Mikos had given him. Ben took a suite on the upper floor. No need to skimp on cash if things worked out as he expected.

  She clung to him on the elevator ride. When he got to the room, he pushed open the door. She gasped at the sunken living room and the view of Seattle's skyline. The furniture had an untouched showroom look, but fresh flowers sat on the desk. "My god," she said, and was in his arms.

  He pushed the door closed with his foot. The slam echoed in the suite. He bit her neck as he unfastened her blouse, then tore it as he tried to get it over her arms. Her jeans were snug and he had to struggle with them. Finally she took his hands and moved them, then wriggled out of the jeans herself. He freed himself without taking off his clothes, and pushed inside her. She was wet and waiting.

  Her blood tasted of sunshine and fresh mints. It made him giddy, and he had to be careful not to take too much. She climaxed beneath him once, twice, screaming her pleasure. His orgasm was slower than he was used to, but it finally flooded through him. He collapsed on top of her, forcing himself to remove his mouth from her neck. He licked the wound and it clotted. Then he sighed.

  He had noticed, in the last few nights with Candyce, that the orgasms were no longer draining, but he had chalked it up to repeat performance with her. It was the same with Judith. The orgasm hardly even felt good. It was as if something tugged inside him, trying to get free. He would rather have kept his lips on her neck and drained her dry. It was a more sensual, fulfilling experience.

  Mikos had told him it would come to this.

  Ben pushed up on his elbows. He brushed a strand of dark hair from her forehead tenderly. She smiled at him, her eyes completely glassy now.

  "I'm sorry," he said, keeping up the fiction. "I didn't ask, and I forgot to use protection."

  "I don't have Aids," she said.

  He knew that. He would have been able to smell any blood disease. He stayed clear of them. But he said nothing. "Good, but that isn't what I meant."

  She frowned. Her hand was playing with his buttocks again. Women were so impatient. He wasn't ready for a second try.

  "You could have gotten pregnant."

  She laughed, the sound even more drunken and sloppy than it had been earlier. Was this what was going to pass for intimacy for him from now on? Women so drugged that they lived only for sex, no matter what kind they found?

  "No, I couldn't." She laughed again.

  He hadn't felt a diaphragm, and her blood was clear of all drugs but the alcohol. "What are you using?"

  "Nothing." Her grin got wider. "Tubes tied—" she laughed "—tied for Rich." Her expression clouded. "Think he's mad?"

  Tubes tied? He had wasted all this effort on a woman who couldn't get pregnant? He grabbed her shoulder so hard she gasped. Then he pushed her face into the sofa.

  "What?" Her voice was muffled. "What?"

  He buried his face in her neck. Wasted. An evening wasted. An entire rotten day. He lost Candyce, then spent too much time with this bimbo, a woman who couldn't help him at all. He drank and drank.

  She pushed at him once, feebly, then her body started to convulse. The orgasms were deep. He could feel them around him. He was startled to find that he had gotten hard. He plunged himself into her, not going for pleasure, but for pain.

  She had no right to lie to him. She had no right to lead him up here on false pretenses. His teeth ripped through her skin, but her body kept expressing its enjoyment. Her hands gripped his backside, forcing him deeper.

  He wanted her to hurt, to push him away, to cry out, but she did nothing, except whisper "more, more," the harsher he got. Finally he pushed away from her, slamming her head against the sofa's arm rest. Her cheeks were pasty white and her mouth slack. She licked her lips and slid a hand over her own breast.

  "Please?" she whispered.

  "Jesus," he said. He zipped up and went into the bathroom. The bathroom was done in gold, with gold faucets and even a gold toilet. He didn't look at the mirror. Practice made that possible. He turned on the separate handles for hot and cold, and splashed his face. The blood swirled down the marble-inlaid sink. He took toilet paper and dried his skin, then rubbed his face with a towel. No stains that way. He wiped off everything he touched when he had finished.

  Then he checked his clothes for blood. Finding none, he went back into the main room.

  She hadn't changed position. Her head lolled back, eyes half open, hand still cupping a breast. For a moment, he thought she was dead, but then she sighed, a deep contented sound.

  In the morning, she would wake up and he would be gone. She wouldn't remember his name (although Rich would—Ben would have to be more careful next time), and it would all become an exciting memory. Rich would never be able to compare sexually.

  Ben smiled. Their relationship was doomed. Poor Judith, forever seeking the sexual satisfaction she had found for one night only.

  Served her right, the stupid bitch. Fooling him like that. It would serve her right if she paid forever.

  He climbed up the two stairs and opened the door into the hallway. The whole day had been a screw-up. He would have to look harder for the right kind of woman, and before he took her he would have to be sure.

  He shut the door quietly behind him. The wide tan hallway was empty.

  Or maybe he would get an apartment, and bring a parade of women up there. Once in bed, they would tell him if they could get pregnant. Then he would have an option. He wouldn't have to be sexual with them if they couldn't have children. He could drain them dry and let them go.

  He smiled. He wasn't acting on impulse any more. He finally had a bit of a plan.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cammie had expected the University Hill area to be near the University of Oregon, and had spent a good five minutes on the wrong side of the aqueduct. Then a kind woman had told her that University Hill was near the baseball diamond. Cammie knew where that was. She drove right to it.

  Dr. Brooker's office was a red brick building with matching brick sidewalk and a sculpted lawn. Willamette Street turned from one way to two way right on the corner, and the local baseball stadium was only a block away. Cammie had to drive around that stadium twice before finding a place to park.

  Her meeting with Thornton had left her crabby and on edge. The officer had no right to comment on Cammie's life. Cammie's work had been perfectly legal. The Eradication program even served as therapy for adult survivors[C&F113] . Just because customs were different here did not allow Thornton to accuse Cammie of being no better than a vampire.

  Maybe Brooker would be different. Cammie needed some help if she were[C&F114] going to track down Ben.

  The door to the office was made of paneled wood. A small arched window stood about eye level. Cammie tried the knob. The door pushed open, and the scent of roses greeted her.

  A large bouquet of white roses sat on top of the glass-topped coffee table in the middle of the room. Small pink and green roses decorated the sofa, loveseat, and easy chair. A Dali orig
inal hung over the fireplace and two signed prints hung on the wall above the sofa. The room would have looked like someone's living room if it weren't for the oversized reception desk blocking the entrance to what had once been a kitchen.

  "Help you?" The same bored voice Cammie had heard on the phone. Its owner was young—maybe twenty—with obviously dyed straw-blonde hair. The desk dwarfed her. She wore a blue cardigan sweater skirt outfit that might have belonged to Cammie's mother, and a thin, cheap diamond engagement ring.

  "I'm here to see Dr. Brooker."

  "Oh, the lady from out of town." The woman smiled. "Have a seat. He'll be with you soonest."

  Cammie sank onto the sofa. It had a firmness that surprised her. Next to the arm was a bookshelf with psychology and pop-psychology titles: The Dance of Anger, Adult Children of Alcoholics, On Death and Dying, Surviving Sexual Abuse, and Rowan's classic, The Vampire. Cammie was reaching for one when the stout door in the hallway opened.

  A woman with dark, stringy hair came out. She saw Cammie and averted her gaze, drawing her raincoat tighter as she let herself out of the building. A thin man with hair cropped too close to be an afro emerged behind her. His suit coat hung loosely on his tall frame. His light brown skin bore traces of acne scars, and his wide eyes had an unusual warmth.

  He stopped in front of her. "Miss Timms, I'm Ted Brooker."

  Cammie stood and took his hand. His palm was warm, dry, and calloused. Not the hand of a man who worked indoors all day.

  "I understand you're with the Westrina Center," he said, leading the way into his office.

  "Yes," she said. "But I'm in Eugene on personal business."

  Brooker's office was as large as the reception area. A faint odor of pipe tobacco lingered in the air. It made her want to sneeze. An oriental rug covered the brown carpet, and the sofa in here was done in deep, masculine brown. An oversized rocking chair faced the sofa, and a hand-[C&F115] carved oak desk, covered with stacks of papers and reports, dominated the left side of the room.

  Brooker sat in the rocking chair. That left Cammie no choice but to sit on the couch. This couch was older than the first and twice as comfortable. She sank into the folds and fought the urge to relax.