Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Ben stepped up on the curb and into the hotel's side door.

  A Mozart piano concerto flowed through speakers overhead. The hotel smelled vaguely of furniture polish and untainted blood. Vampires rarely came in here, and never to feed.

  His hunger was making his hands shake.

  He climbed the green-[C&F142] carpeted steps and glanced at the registration desk. It was empty, although a door was open to the back. Through it, he could see a young woman dressed in blue, bent over a computer keyboard.

  Better that she didn't see him.

  He walked through the lobby, past the closed gift shop, to the bank of elevators. He pushed the button and one opened immediately. He stopped. The interior was lined with mirrors. Good thing he was alone.

  He got in and wiped his hands on his pants. Camila Timms. Cam-Cam.

  (small pixieish face puckered with worry. "What did you do, Ben?")

  They had met somewhere. Before he came to Eugene.

  Once Van had asked him what he knew of his natural parents. Nothing, Ben had replied. His parents were good upstanding citizens. But his natural parents, the ones who gave birth to him, they were ciphers. Until he had been in the nest for a few weeks, he had even forgotten they had existed.

  He pushed the button for the correct floor, feeling the adrenaline run through him, mixing with his hunger. If this was a trap, he was prepared. He would slaughter them all.

  And if it wasn’t, he would get some answers from the mysterious Camila Timms.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cammie had four pillows propped behind her back, and the thin hotel bedspread over her feet. She was watching The Unforgiven on Pay-Per-View while thumbing through a translation of a nineteenth-century German text on vampirism. She had wanted that book for a long time and finally found it at Powell's Bookstore, along with four others, locally published, on vampire rehab theory. She had only seen a few texts on rehab, all of which Anita had scoffed at because she believed that vampires could not be rehabilitated.

  The rehab books fascinated her. The process had gone way beyond counseling to including ways of weaning the vampire off the blood and dealing with the physical changes. Cammie promised herself that when this was over, she would visit one of the rehab clinics and see what they did.

  Two days in the hotel room had nearly driver her crazy. For the most part, she kept the adjoining door open to the detectives' room, but they had started a riotous game of gin that was breaking her concentration. She had already seen the movie three times, and this fourth time served more as background noise, although she did surface for the wonderful scene in the jail with Gene Hackman and Richard Harris.

  No phone calls, no nothing. She figured she would give Ben three more days to take her bait, and then she would go back to Eugene and try something else.

  She could no longer smell the garlic hidden in the folds of the curtain. She had buried the room in it. She wondered how the maid could stand to come in there. She wanted any vampire who entered to immediately suffer the effects of garlic poisoning, to be debilitated instead of merely intoxicated. Ever since she left the Keg, she checked the garlic. It acted as a talisman, something that would keep her safe. She had given the detectives some too, and supervised while they hung the bulbs all over their room.

  She pushed the book away and fluffed up the pillows. Except for short excursions to Powell's and a local grocery store, she had spent the last two days in the room. The inactivity made her uncomfortable. It also made her reflect on her actions.

  She had thought that the pregnancy gambit was her best bet. If it didn't bring Ben to her, it might bring the person who captured both Ben and Candyce. Now, she wasn't so sure. If Ben hadn't slept with a lot of women, then he would know the message for the ploy it was. He would have no reason to find her. The only person the message would bring would be the person who killed Candyce. And that person was probably a vampire.

  During the middle of her vigil the night before, Cammie had nearly packed her things, called to the men in the next room, and left. She didn't want to face a vampire. She wanted to take action, but by taking action, she had forced herself into one small room with nothing to do.

  Eastwood had moved to the final shootout. The blazing guns made her nervous. She hit the mute button, seeing only the flare of the muzzles and then characters falling to the barroom floor.

  The day before, she had spent nearly an hour on the phone with Thornton. It seemed the Seattle police had no more news, and Thornton had moved on to a new case. She had offered to come up to Portland on her day off and help Cammie, which Cammie found oddly touching, but Cammie turned her down. She didn't need one more inexperienced vampire hunter on her team.

  A knock on the door made her start. She glanced at the closed adjoining door, but the sound hadn't come from there. With the TV's sound off, she could hear the detectives' laughter. She hadn't ordered any room service. Her heart started to pound harder.

  "Yeah?" she said.

  "I'm responding to a message left at the Keg." The voice outside sounded male and muffled. Cammie's throat went dry. She pulled on her jeans, put on her side pack, and slipped her bare feet into her tennis shoes.

  "Okay," she said. "Just give me a minute."

  She opened the adjoining door. The detectives looked up from their game. She put a finger to her lips, then nodded toward her room. "We got him," she mouthed. She pulled the door closed, but didn't latch it. Then she pulled open the room door, careful not to unhook the chain.

  The man standing in the hallway was tall and dark. He wore a London Fog raincoat loosely over his shoulders. His jeans were pressed and his white shirt immaculate. "I understand you're looking for Ben Sadler," he said.

  "Yes." Cammie's entire body shook. He was stunning. Twenty-five, maybe younger, with flawless skin and dark brown eyes. His cologne smelled good.

  "Well, you just found him. May I come in or should we talk in the hall?" His voice came from deep inside his chest. It had a richness that some of the best actors emulated.

  Cammie undid the chain lock. She turned her back on the door, as if the man's entrance held no importance to her. The door's latch clicked as the door closed.

  Ben. Her brother. All grown up.

  "Have a seat," Cammie said. She took one of the chairs beneath the curtains, as close to the garlic as she could get. Then she looked up.

  The man's face caught the light and it took all of her strength not to gasp. He had the long, narrow features of her father, with the same wide black eyes. His mouth was softer, and his skin more elastic, but this was not the cherubic baby face she remembered.

  "I never saw you before in my life," he said. He sounded surprised.

  "Not true." Cammie swallowed. Her throat was dry. "You spent the first three years of your life with me. I'm your sister, Camila."

  He put a hand to his forehead and swayed. The frown on his face was as familiar as one on her own. "Sister?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Cam-Cam?" Little boy's inflections in a man's voice.

  She held her breath and nodded.

  "Why're you looking for me?" He loosened his collar with one hand and took a deep breath. His features were gaining color. She must have shocked him. "Why now?"

  She stood. He wasn't a vampire. He wouldn't have been able to stay in the garlic so long.

  "Because," she said. "I finally remembered."

  "Remembered," he whispered. "The dreams…"

  She could barely breathe. Something like hope was rising in her chest. "You're having dreams too?"

  He nodded. He stood up, walked across the room, and caressed her arm. His touch felt good. "I've been having a lot of dreams. Nightmares." He wiped a hand across his forehead. "This room is hot."

  "No," Cammie said. "It's cool. Are you okay?"

  "Dreams," he whispered. He was very close to her. "My sister." He pulled her against him. His body was cool. "Cam-Cam."

  He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. Her entire body b
ecame rigid. No. Brothers didn't…

  …and then she relaxed into him. He tasted good. Very good. She slipped her hands along his back and pulled him closer. Family. They needed each other.

  Brothers didn't…

  But he tasted so good…

  She pushed him away. He was a vampire. Jesus. The garlic was getting to him, but not like she had expected. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You're a vampire."

  He tilted his head, the softness gone from his face. "What did you expect, girl?"

  He thought she was too. No, he wouldn't. He would be able to smell that she wasn't. "Not this," she said. "Not—"

  He grabbed her arm with in his hand. The strength in his fingers pinched the bone. "I remember you," he said, his words slurring. You pounded that stake, all the blood flying, Dad screaming. Now it's my turn, isn't it?"

  "No," she said. She tried to wrench her arm free, but he wouldn't let go. "I came to see how you were doing, Ben."

  "Doing?" He pulled her close. His pupils were dilated and he was swaying like a drunk. When her pelvis hit his, she realized his penis was hard. "Doing? You fucking lie!"

  With a roar, he sank his teeth into her neck. She screamed, but he jammed his shoulder into her mouth. With her good hand, she pushed him, but he didn't budge. He was sucking. She could feel the blood draining. God, it felt good. Her groin throbbed in response. He stuck his other hand inside her shirt, and pinched her nipple.

  The pain aroused her farther. She arched against him, her body responding although her mind was screaming. She tried to twist free.

  "Goddammit!" She sounded hoarse. "I'm your sister!"

  He didn't respond except to pull her closer. A bang sounded behind them.

  "Let her go!" John. His voice was shaking.

  Ben turned. "All right."

  He let go of her arm. She stared at it, thinking she needed to move, but she couldn't remember how. Her groin tingled and her breasts ached. Something warm flowed through her, like good brandy.

  He had bit her. Drained her. She was drugged.

  Like those people in the cow-bar.

  She had always wondered what would happen to her if she got bit.

  Ben held up his hands. John advanced, holding up his cross and garlic. Norm stood behind him, and pulled out his gun.

  Not a gun! Cammie said. I told you a gun won't work. But the words didn't come out. She couldn't open her mouth.

  Ben took another step closer, then, moving with that incredible speed, kicked John in the groin. John fell to his knees. Ben grabbed John's head and forced it against his chest. His neck broke with an audible snap.

  Cammie gasped and moved, but it felt as if she were underwater. Norm leveled the gun at Ben, but Ben kept coming forward. When he reached Norm, he slammed him against the wall and buried his face in Norm's throat.

  He's strong. He's so strong. Cammie licked her lips. Stronger than any she had ever seen before. This much garlic should have debilitated him.

  Norm had stopped struggling, but still Ben ripped at his neck.

  Cammie walked quietly. Her entire body tingled. Drugged. The feelings she had were not hers. They belonged to the drug Ben had put into her system. She wasn't thinking clearly. She was forgetting something. She knelt over John's body and pulled the stake and hammer from his side pack.

  Ben's hand wrapped itself around her wrist. "Oh, no," he said. His words were slurred. "You're not going to do me, you little bitch. I don't know how you found me, but you were determined to destroy the men in this family, weren't you? But I'm not going to fucking let you."

  He shook the stake out of her hand, then pulled her close again and kissed her, his tongue invading her mouth.

  She tried to pull away but he held her tight. Then she leaned into him. Sweet Jesus, he tasted good. She never knew a man could taste like that. She slid her free arm around him. She needed him to touch her, needed to feel him all over her—

  Then he pulled away, and she felt as if she had lost something important. She reached for him, but he smiled and took her hand. "That's right, Cam-Cam," he said. "I'll have you soon. Real soon."

  He ran a thumb along her lip and it came away bloody. He took the edge of the bedspread and wiped her mouth, then checked his shirt. Flecks of blood marred the white. He slid his arms into his coat sleeves and buttoned the raincoat.

  He pulled her collar over the warm, pulsing spot on her neck. "Come along, sweetness," he said. "We're going to have a party, just you and I."

  * * *

  "Wake up, sweetness. We're going to have a party, just you and I."

  Cammie felt hands on her chest. She rolled over, trying to cling to sleep, but the hands forced her to stay on her back. Her feet were cold. The covers were gone, and her nightgown was wrapped around her waist.

  Fingers on her face. "Wake up, honey."

  The hands slid down and forced her thighs apart. The bed creaked as a new weight settled on it. Bare legs brushed hers. "Come on, little girl. Daddy needs some of that comfort you been sharing with that brother of yours."

  Something hard poked her. She was suddenly wide awake and struggling to get free. The hands grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. "Oh, no, sweetness. Daddy loves you."

  His whiskers scratched her neck. Then he bit her and she screamed. He brought one hand down and covered her mouth. She kicked at him, and he wrapped his legs around hers.

  The warmth was spreading through her, making her tingle with fear and excitement. She was screaming against his hand. His tongue played with the wound in her neck.

  Then he shoved himself inside her, and a pain ripped kitty corner through her groin and stomach. She screamed so hard that her throat tore, but the only sound in the room was his breathing and grunts of pleasure.

  His hand gripped her mouth so hard that she bit the insides of her cheeks. She could barely breathe. He pounded at her bottom while his teeth remained in her neck. The square light fixture on the ceiling, the one with the race cars, was only a faint shape in the darkness. It started to spin. It whirled round and round, faster and faster, taking her somewhere else, away from all this pain.

  Then he fell on her. His hand went lax and slipped off her face. Her entire body was one big heartbeat. She no longer wanted to scream. No one would hear her anyway. She tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge.

  "Ah, sweetness," he said. "You're the only person in the world who tastes like honey."

  He eased off her. He tugged her nightgown down, and pulled the covers over her, folding them over her chest like they did on television. He kissed her forehead. A light kiss, barely a brush.

  "Sleep well, Camila," he said, and opened the door. The hallway light was bright. It made him all shadow and blackness. So big, like a monster from the dark.

  "Good night, Daddy," she said, then rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep.

  Part Three

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Seven squad cars blocked the entrance to the hotel, their blue and red lights flashing across the brick façade. Eliason leaned against the window of the white rental car, the armrest digging into his side. His entire body was cold.

  "We're not going to get in there," Whitney said. His voice trembled. He obviously was as upset about this as Eliason was.

  God, why did Cammie have to go to a whole new state? If they had been in Wisconsin, they would have been able to work with the cops. Eliason swallowed. "Find a place to park."

  "They're not going to let us in."

  "We don't know until we try."

  Whitney moved the car out of traffic and into an empty spot in front of a two-hour meter. Eliason was out of the car before it stopped. He jogged across the four-lane street, weaving in and out of the cars. One narrowly missed him and honked. Eliason ignored it. Something had lodged in his throat, and his breathing was ragged. He was too late. He had delayed too long. He was too late.

  No one sat in the squads near the door. A handful of people had gathere
d on the sidewalk, staring at the double glass doors as if they held a secret.

  "What's going on?" Eliason asked as he ran by.

  "I don't know," a woman replied. No one else answered him. He pushed open the glass doors, and a hotel clerk, his face white, put a hand on Eliason's shoulder, stopping him.

  "I can't let you go any farther, sir."

  "You just tell me," Eliason said. "Does this have anything to do with Cammie Timms?"

  The clerk's eyes grew wider. Eliason's heart felt as if it had stopped in his chest.

  "Camila Timms is my wife." Eliason said the first thing that had come to mind. "You let me up there or I swear to God I won't be responsible for what happens to you."

  At that moment, Whitney came through the doors. He was breathing hard. Sweat covered his forehead and dotted his curly red hair.

  "Room 361," the clerk said. He stepped away as if Eliason had contaminated him.

  "Come on, Whitney," Eliason said. He ran to the elevators without checking if Whitney was following. A balding man, wearing brown slippers, his red robe barely covering his paunch, strode down the hall.

  "Do you know what all this noise is?" he asked Eliason.

  Eliason didn't answer. He pressed the up button on the elevator. He shifted back and forth on both feet, hating the wait. Each second was another that Cammie needed him. After a moment, he looked around for a stairway. It was to the left of the elevators, beneath a large red sign marked Exit.

  He yanked open the heavy metal door. The stairwell was made of concrete. His footsteps echoed inside. It was colder here than the main part of the hotel. He took the steps two at a time, and noted the yellow numbers painted on the doors on each landing. When he hit three, he pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.