Dark Wine at Midnight (A Hill Vampire Novel Book 1)

by Jenna Barwin

  Karen removed an antique enameled tray from the lower cabinet and unfolded the legs. It was the same tray he had used to bring Erin dinner in bed when she was ill once. A small thing, but it marked a phase in their relationship when he still held hope for them.

  Erin had had every right to leave him. He wasn’t honest with her. But his hurt over Erin had become a thing of the past, just like all the other wounds he’d suffered since becoming vampire. Now it was back. Enough.

  He pulled a small bottle of chilled sparkling water out of the refrigerator, added it to the tray, and left without a word, leaving Karen to take the food to Cerissa. He didn’t want to deal with these feelings again. All he wanted was to shower and wash away both the past and the present. Everyone else could just see themselves out.

  * * *

  Propped up by pillows, Cerissa floated on a very pleasant cloud. Zeke had left and the doctor had checked on her, leaving a vial of antibiotics with orders to start taking them tomorrow. She closed her eyes and let the painkiller do its work, but roused when Karen entered the room; the aroma of broth enticed her into opening her eyes.

  “Here you go,” Karen said, setting the tray across her lap.

  The spoon shook when Cerissa raised it to her mouth, some of the broth slopping back into the bowl. She tried not to slurp it, but she was so hungry that she rapidly shoveled the salty broth into her mouth.

  “Slow down,” Karen said. “The doctor doesn’t want you upsetting your stomach.”

  Cerissa slowed down, hard as it was to do. She couldn’t explain to Karen why she desperately needed food to replenish her energy. She bit into a cracker, and crumbs rained down onto the front of her tank top. She leaned forward so the flakes would fall into the soup.

  When she finished eating, she lay back, wanting more. Karen picked up the tray. “I’ll be back.”

  “Would you pl-please send up Henry?” The food had begun to revive her, clearing away some of the drowsiness.

  “Shouldn’t you rest?”

  “I will. I need to… I want to…thank him.”

  Karen agreed, and left the room.

  Cerissa closed her eyes. The pins and needles in her arm meant the local anesthetic had begun to wear off—an unwelcome warning of things to come. The morphine kept the pain distant, like it waited across the room from her, a caged wolf looking for its opportunity to escape. The bandages showed signs of bleeding. Not profuse, but still oozing. Dr. Asshole thought it looked all right. Charlatan. What she needed was food. Real food.

  A tap at her door—she slowly opened her eyes and beckoned Henry to enter. He wore a clean shirt, soft black with a gold thread woven through the fabric. His slightly damp hair hung straight to his shoulders, and a light, warm scent followed him into the room.

  In spite of her exhaustion, she still felt his magnetic pull—just enough of a tingle in key places to tell her surgery hadn’t dulled her attraction to him. Looking good. Definitely.

  Or was it the morphine talking?

  Nah, he just looks damned fine in those tight jeans, a magnificent hunk of man candy.

  Okay, maybe the morphine was talking a little bit.

  He picked up one of the chairs and brought it to her bedside. Concern showed in his deep brown eyes. She liked the way he looked at her.

  “Karen tells me”—she paused briefly—“the shooter is dead.”

  “True. He will not hurt you again.”

  “Was there any-anyone else?”

  “No one was with him.”

  “Who…?”

  “He’s a criminal. Chief Anderson thinks someone hired him. Rolf has placed some calls, and we will see if any of our sources can provide information on the vampire behind this.”

  It was too soon for this conversation—the broth and crackers hadn’t been enough. Her mind felt fuzzy and her ears were slow. Half of what he said didn’t make sense. She was fading again. Doesn’t matter. Hearing him speak was enough, his melodic accent a pleasant distraction. And his hair—he looked so darkly handsome, the way his black hair hung straight to his shoulders, framing his face.

  Oops. She was staring at him, and he was patiently waiting for her to say something.

  “Why do you think…a vampire?” she asked.

  “Because we don’t exist for mortals, unless they become part of a vampire community. They are too easy to mesmerize, to be made to forget what they saw and heard about us. So a vampire must be behind it.”

  “Oh,” she said, gathering up her strength to continue. She had to get her errant mind off his sexy mouth and deep-set eyes. He swept his hair behind one ear with his fingers—very long fingers. What he could do with those fingers….

  Okay, the drugs were talking again. Focus. How can I convince him to keep his mouth shut about the injector? She couldn’t afford having the Lux pissed off at her if word of their secret technology leaked out. Letting Henry see her use it had been stupid.

  “Ah…thank you,” she said, “for not telling Dr. Clarke.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The injector. Thank you…for keeping my secret.”

  “Why not tell him what medicine you took?”

  Tell Dr. Asshole? Not going to happen. She closed her eyes. “It’s new technology. No one can know…not while the patent’s pending,” she added, throwing in a little white lie.

  He had to understand—after all, he was a businessman. Didn’t wineries have trade secrets to protect? She crossed her fingers and opened her eyes.

  “I see.” He twisted the chain of the crucifix he wore. “I am sorry you were hurt on my account. The gunman was targeting me.”

  “I know…I saw the red light on your shirt.”

  He frowned. “You saw the red light?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that’s not possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the shooter used an infrared laser.”

  She froze. Why did she volunteer anything? Oh shit. The morphine strikes again.

  “Look at me,” he demanded. He was out of his chair, his angry face looming over hers. “You couldn’t have seen the light, but you looked for him. How?” His hand wrapped around her uninjured arm, lifting her off the bed. “Are you part of the conspiracy with the shooter?”

  “No—no.”

  “It’s the only way—”

  She tried to twist away from him. “Henry, you’re hurting me.”

  He let her go. “You will tell me the truth.”

  “I have.”

  “You want me to believe you saw infrared light, something impossible for a mortal to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She closed her eyes, shutting out his anger and reaching for sleep. “I don’t care.”

  “You will when I call Chief Anderson and tell her what you told me.”

  A frisson shot down her spine. Her whole body started to tremble, and suddenly she was wide-awake. “You would—you would tell her after I saved your life?”

  “I would do it because you’re in league with the shooter.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just an idiot.”

  She tried to stand. Her head spun, and he gently pushed her back onto the bed, hovering over her.

  “You will go nowhere until you answer my question.”

  The dizziness made it hard to focus on his words. “You won’t—you won’t believe me,” she said, and ran her fingers down her wrist. Time to leave. Feeling for her watch, she traced her fingers back and forth. It has to be here somewhere. Her breathing quickened and her heart thudded in her chest as she frantically searched for the missing timepiece.

  Shit! Karen must have removed it.

  “Where’s my watch?” she asked, not thinking to mask the desperation in her voice. Then she saw it across the room on a chair, sitting atop her blue jeans, next to her cell phone.

  She made one more attempt to stand. If she could just get to it—

  In a flash, Henry was in front of her. �
��I don’t want to hurt you. Sit back down.”

  She tried to step around him, but her head spun, there was a loud buzzing in her ears, and gravity sucked her to the floor. He caught her in his arms, holding her body pressed against his, her legs shaking. She looked up into his eyes. For a moment, they went all black, and she felt her desire stir in answer to them. Then his pupils slowly retreated, the dark brown returning.

  Had her weak aura affected him through touch? Or was it just the closeness of her body? He lifted her back onto the bed. The tank top rode up her legs, and he gave a careful tug to the hem so it covered her thighs.

  The rushing sound of blood in her head slowly died off. She ran her tongue across her lips. “Water, please?”

  He handed her the glass Karen had refilled and left on the bedside table. She took a few sips and handed it back to him, sinking once more against the pillows. She didn’t bother pulling up the sheet to cover her legs again. If she got the chance and the strength, she’d be up and gone.

  He returned the glass to the table. “You will not be allowed to leave here until I have answers.”

  “I saved your life. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “You have thirty seconds to tell me the truth, or I’ll call Chief Anderson. You can answer her questions. She isn’t known for being gentle with mortals who are a threat to us.”

  “I’m no threat to you.”

  He crossed his arms, twisting his wrist to pointedly glance at his watch. “Your thirty seconds are almost gone.”

  She set her jaw. “Are you…an honorable man?”

  “I am vampire.”

  “Yeah, I know…a big, bad vampire,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What I mean…are you an honorable vampire?”

  “My honor is not in question. Your trustworthiness, however, is.”

  How did she wind up here? Oh yeah, she was stupid enough to save his life. Options, quickly, options. Bluff her way with the chief? And if that doesn’t work? Disappear? Her phone and watch were across the room. Her lenses didn’t transmit—they only stored and retrieved data. She had no energy left to influence him with her aura. Damn that fucking painkiller. She had to think her way out, but her mind was moving at the speed of an Edsel when she needed to be a Ferrari.

  He glanced down at his watch again. “You have two seconds left to answer my question.”

  What would Ari do? “Play by the book,” Ari had taught her, a truism in the spy business as well as in blackjack. Okay then. First rule: when all else fails, buy time. But how? The book said—

  That was it! The Scheherazade gambit. She could tell Henry the truth—well, at least some of the truth. Straight out of the playbook. Her great-grandmother had done it, so why couldn’t she? He won’t believe me, but if I can hook his curiosity with the story, he might hold off calling Tig.

  She took a deep breath. “What I just told you…I can prove it. But you…you must promise me…you’ll say nothing to anyone. Not Tig. Not even Rolf.”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes held only his cold resolve.

  “Go downstairs…tell the others to leave and send Karen up here. Once they’re all gone…I’ll prove it.”

  “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  “Do I look like I’m any threat…in the condition I’m in? I don’t want them overhearing. Get them out of the house…and I’ll prove what I say.”

  Henry eyed her suspiciously. She tried her best to look helpless, which wasn’t hard to do. He stood and kicked the chair aside. “I will take these with me,” he said, grabbing her phone and watch.

  Damn. Double damn. How could I be so stupid to tip him off? She closed her eyes and focused on clearing the human painkiller from her body. What little energy the broth provided was consumed in the purification process—hunger gnawed at her body and pain radiated through her arm. At least she was clearheaded by the time Karen returned.

  “How are you doing?” Karen asked. She stopped at the foot of the bed. “You’re not looking good.”

  “I’m all right,” Cerissa replied curtly, feeling edgy from the pain. At least she wasn’t stuttering anymore. “I need something to eat, something more substantial than broth. You’re going home to pack an overnight bag, right? Bring food with you.”

  “I’ll check with the doctor and find out what you can have.”

  “Damn the doctor,” she shot back, her arm on fire. “I need high-quality calories—chicken or fish. Even soybeans would do.”

  “Okay, don’t worry. I have to eat too, so I’ll pack a cooler.”

  Karen left, and Cerissa closed her eyes. Now what can I tell Henry to get him off my back? She was still mapping out her strategy when a strong knock at the bedroom door interrupted her.

  Okay, here we go, ready or not.

  Chapter 21

  Henry opened the door when she called out, “Come in.” He still carried her phone and watch, and slid both devices into his shirt pocket. Lines of pain surrounded her eyes—lying there, she looked beautifully fragile.

  Sympathy should be one of the seven deadly sins. He couldn’t let her pain sway him. He sat on the chair by her bed, crossing his legs. “They have gone. Now prove your innocence.”

  She took a deep breath. “First, do I have your word of honor you’ll tell no one?”

  Experience had taught him to be careful with what he promised. After all, she was the one who’d deceived him. Why should he make an absolute vow?

  “Yes,” he finally agreed. “But only if I decide you aren’t a threat to our community.”

  “I’m not. A threat. I am….” She stopped. “May I have more water, please?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You are trying my patience,” he said, and handed her the glass.

  She took a sip and then held the glass, her eyes directed toward the water. “I was able to see the infrared light, well, because I’m not human.”

  He had already figured that out. “So what are you?”

  “I’m part of the Alatus Lux.”

  “Winged light?”

  “Or winged enlightenment,” she said, her eyes widening. “You know Latin? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I know many things. Before we’re through, I’ll know more.” She kept staring into the water. He was tempted to yank the glass out her hand and force her to look at him. “A name is not enough. No more stalling—tell me what you really are.”

  “Ah, well, we’re not entirely sure.”

  “Do you take me for a tonto del culo?” he demanded, his anger rising.

  “No, I don’t think you’re a fool. We can appear to be human, even though we aren’t.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “How? Are you fairy or werewolf? There are legends, but I have never met one.”

  “You believe all that supernatural stuff, don’t you?”

  He looked at her sternly. “I have no choice, given what I am.”

  “Well, you may be supernatural, but I’m not, not in the way you mean it.” She took another sip of water and set the glass on the bedstand nearest her. “I’m not a fairy—I can’t do magic or any of the stuff fairies are supposed to do—and I’m not werewolf either. The moon doesn’t compel me to change back to my native form. Pain and stress do; they interfere with my control. The medication in the injector stops me from morphing. It’s a stabilizer.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere. She grimaced, her mouth twisting with pain. He hated seeing her pretty mouth so distressed, but he had to know the truth.

  “If you are able to change shape, why have you not healed the wound?” he asked.

  “The stabilizer keeps me locked in human form. Without food to fuel the process, I can’t overcome it to heal the internal wound. Besides, if I healed it completely, the doctor would guess something was wrong.”

  “Prove what you say.”

  “I’ll need the injector again.” She pointed to her jeans, draped over the other chair.

  “Why?”

  “To reverse the effect of the stabil
izer.”

  He removed the injector from her jeans pocket and handed it to her. She dialed in a number. “A reduced dose of the antidote,” she said, and pressed the injector against her left hand. Finished, she held out her hand to him. “Take it in yours.”

  He accepted her hand, trying to be gentle. With her touch, he began to relax, a light feeling of peace invading him, a hint of sexual desire rising. He ignored it.

  “Watch the fingers and the back of the hand,” she said.

  Slowly her fingers elongated and her hand became slenderer than a normal human hand. The color changed ever so gradually, until her skin was almost translucent, with a bluish radiance. Five fingers were replaced with six. Four were delicate, the two opposable thumbs sturdy. The change stopped at her wrist. She sighed.

  He ran his finger across the back of her hand, which had the feel of fine silk. Her skin lightened where he touched it, the blue shimmering slightly from the pressure. He turned her hand over and gently touched the pad of a delicate fingertip. “You are not human.”

  “Told you so.” She raised her hand to his face. “Prove it to yourself.”

  He sniffed her palm. “The scent of your blood is not right.”

  “It wouldn’t taste right to you, either. I assume it won’t hurt you, but I don’t suggest drinking it—it’s nothing like human blood.” She looked distressed again. “I need to change back, or let the transformation continue. I can’t stay this way for long.”

  She took her hand back and closed her eyes while her hand slowly transformed. Her blue skin gave way to brown, the sixth finger reabsorbed, and her fingers shortened. He picked up her hand and sniffed it again.

  Human blood—tasty, pungent, seductive human blood. His fangs extended, his control gone. The stress of resisting her blood since the shooting had zapped his restraint. Bloodlust roared through him. He dropped her hand like it was made of silver, and fled the room.

  * * *

  So the self-righteous Henry was capable of succumbing to bloodlust just like any other vampire? A small smile crossed Cerissa’s lips. Watching him run off was the most fun she’d had since being shot.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the delicate process of repairing the damage caused by the bullet and the clumsy surgery of Dr. Asshole. The muscle fibers began weaving together, only to come undone the moment she stopped. When Henry returned, his color was better. He must have gone downstairs to feed. If only she could eat some real food.