As they drew close, Angela maneuvered into his path. “Are you looking for a good time?”
The potential john looked her over, definitely pleased with what he saw. The sideways glance up and down the street, though, told her the rest of the story. Most of the men she knew frequented working girls, but were embarrassed to be seen with them. Hypocritical, but typical. And something that could easily be dealt with.
Moving closer, Angela placed a hand on his chest, circling her fingers against the shirt. She spoke in a sultry voice not much louder than a whisper. “I know a place not far from here where we can be alone. It’s not the Waldorf, but it’s private enough that we can party for a while without being disturbed.”
“Really?”
The sudden interest confirmed to Angela she had closed the deal. Wrapping her arms around the john’s left arm, she maneuvered him back down the street in the direction of Union Station. “My name’s Angela. What’s yours?”
“Santos.”
The two walked for a few blocks, and then turned down an alley that ran between a pair of old buildings converted into office space for small businesses. They stopped one hundred feet in by an old iron door built into the side of the brick wall and hidden from the street by a dumpster. Most of the paint had long since peeled off the door, and rust had formed on the exposed metal. It might have been mistaken for an abandoned entrance except for the shiny deadbolt. Angela looked around to make certain no one saw them, produced a key from the pocket of her skirt, and quickly unlocked the deadbolt.
“What is this place?”
“You’ll see.” Angela tugged on the handle, and the door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Reaching in, she flicked on a light switch and stepped inside. “Come on, lover.”
Santos obeyed. The two stood on a metal landing to a circular flight of wrought-iron stairs that descended underground. Angela closed and bolted the door behind them. Walking carefully on her toes so as not to get her heels stuck in the stairs, she led the way down. They soon came to a cement landing and another metal door, this one in much better condition and without a lock. Angela opened the door, reached in to switch on another light, and beckoned for Santos to follow.
The room was ten feet wide by fifteen feet long. Another door and a large rectangular window dominated the opposite wall. Nothing could be seen through the window, everything on the other side being pitch dark. Beneath the window and running its length stood an old floor-mounted console with gaping holes where the electronics used to be. An old but reasonably clean mattress sat against the wall to their right.
Angela leaned back against the console, her legs spread invitingly. “Whaddaya think?”
“Nice.” Santos stepped beside her and stared out the window into the void. “Where are we?”
“It’s part of an old train storage line for the Metro. They stopped using it decades ago because it was too close to Union Station and had become congested. Since then, they’ve forgotten about it. A friend of mine who used to work for the Metro gave me the keys. We’d come here once a month. I’d give him a freebie, he’d give me a Metro pass.” Since the idle chatter chewed into her work time, Angela got down to business. “The price is a hundred dollars. For that, you get whatever you want.”
Santos handed her five twenty-dollar bills, which she folded and slid into her skirt pocket. Angela unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off, draping the garment over the console. She started to unzip her skirt, but Santos placed his hand on hers.
“Keep them on.”
“Whatever you want, lover.” She placed the toe of her shoes against his leg, running it up and down. “How do you want it?”
“Turn around.”
Angela obeyed and bent over the console, her legs spread wide. With her left hand, she hefted the leather mini-skirt, exposing her ass. She felt Santos move closer and heard him unzip his pants. His cock head nudged her anus. Then, with a slow thrust, he entered her.
Angela gasped. She had taken it up the ass many times, but rarely with a cock this big. And cold. Usually her johns were so horny their dicks practically burned her. But a cock was a cock. At least this guy had good staying power. Most of her johns shot their wads quickly. Not this guy. He humped her ass with deep, steady strokes. She almost enjoyed this. She could tell by his increasingly heavy breathing that he did, too.
Suddenly, Santos grabbed Angela by the back of the neck and squeezed. The steady rhythm of their sex gave way to aggressive fucking. He began slamming into her as deep and as hard as he could. This went way beyond rough sex.
“Hey, you’re hurting me!”
Santos increased the ferocity of his fucking.
“All right, asshole. Get the fuck off—”
Santos clutched Angela’s hair in his right hand and slammed her face into the console. She felt her nose shatter. The pain from the broken nose and the blow momentarily stunned her. She was only vaguely aware of her attacker grunting like an animal, and raping her so viciously she knew she would have to go to the emergency room afterwards. Tricks had gone bad before, and she had learned to go along with it rather than fight back, and hopefully live through the ordeal. Opening her mouth to breath, she spit a wad of bloody mucus onto the counter.
When Angela looked up into the darkened window, the reflection made her blood run cold. She expected to see her attacker mounted on her, fucking away like a maniac. Instead, she saw a monster. The goatee and long hair had become matted over a pallid face and deeply-furrowed forehead. It panted its lust through an enlarged mouth with animal-like teeth and canines two inches long and razor sharp. When it lowered its head, blood-red eyes gleamed back at her in the reflection. The thing grinned at her and growled.
Angela screamed, even though she knew no one would hear her all the way down here. Half-way through the cry, the thing wrapped its hand over her mouth, talon-like fingernails digging into her cheek. It yanked her head back, wedging her against its chest. She watched in the reflection as the thing’s mouth opened wide. With an animalistic howl, it dropped its head, plunged the fangs into her neck, and sucked. This is fucking insane, she thought, it’s drinking my blood. Angela tried to struggle loose, but the thing gripped her too tight. It grunted and made one final deep thrust, releasing itself inside of Angela as the life passed from her.
Treja entered the abandoned control room after having examined the train storage line for himself. The little whore had been right about this place being isolated. A quarter of a mile of branch line sat just off of this room. The entry into the main subway had been sealed up long ago, so tight in fact that he could barely hear the Metro trains rumbling past on the other side. As far as he could tell, the tunnel’s structural integrity remained intact, with little to no chance of a cave-in. The stairwell from the alley that he and the bitch had entered by was the only way in or out of the tunnel. With the alley door locked, no one could get in. He could set up locks on the door leading into the tunnel so no one could get out.
This location would make a perfect site for his coven.
The bloody body of the whore lay crumbled on the floor in front of the console. She had been a good fuck, but she would make an even better mistress for the new coven.
10.
Rolling onto her stomach, Jessica pulled the pillow against her and hugged it. She sighed. Last night’s lovemaking had been fantastic. Drake had been distracted most of the earlier part of the night through dinner and the movie. Once back at his apartment that changed. Drake literally picked her up and carried her into the bedroom where they made love with a passion she had not experienced since college. Each of them had finished twice before eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms.
She sighed again, burying her cheek into the pillow. How things had changed these past few weeks, and all for the better, which in and of itself seemed unusual. She had the two things she always wanted, a lover and a career, neither of which took more out of the relationship than they gave back.
Drake was the
ideal boyfriend. Confident. Self-reliant. Employed. Most important, he did not feel threatened by a strong, independent woman, especially when her career overlapped with and often opposed his own. Sure, he had some rough edges. But he could say the same thing about her. They had a good relationship.
Much the same could be said for her career. Six months ago it seemed about as badly derailed as an Amtrak train. Her piece on the police raid on the row house redeemed her in the eyes of Philips and the publishers, even if she left out half the truth and stretched the other half so it fit the reader’s preconceived notions of reality. Following that, her review of the Antonio Ferrar exhibit put her in their good graces. Philips had promised her that the next assignment would solidify her position at The Standard. Things looked promising, and by this time next year she should be one of the paper’s star reporters.
Life was good. Which meant Jessica waited for something to come along and fuck it up.
Rolling in the other direction, she went to drape her arm over Drake, but it dropped onto the empty mattress. She opened her eyes and looked around. Drake already had gotten up. The red LED on his alarm clock read 7:38. She didn’t mean to spend the entire night here, and would have to go to work in the same clothes she wore yesterday unless she hustled back to her place.
The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafted into the bedroom. Getting out of bed, she slid on her panties and white blouse, buttoning up the middle three buttons as she exited. She walked down the hall and past the foyer. As she stepped into the living room, she saw Drake seated in his recliner, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. In his left hand he held a glass of iced coffee, which he sipped from every few seconds. With his right hand, he pulled various greens from a Ziploc bag, feeding them one-by-one to van Helsing who sat on his lap. Drake took out a six-inch-long sprig of dill and offered it to the rabbit. Van Helsing consumed the dill, crunching away lustily until the entire sprig disappeared. Drake then fed him a chunk of radicchio.
“How come I don’t get breakfast in bed?”
Jessica’s question startled van Helsing, who crouched in Drake’s lap, the half-eaten piece of radicchio hanging out of his mouth. When he saw the intruder was only Jessica, he resumed munching on his breakfast.
Drake patted his companion’s back as he looked up at Jessica. “I’ll be happy to give you breakfast in bed, if you sit on my lap and let me feed you.”
“I’ll make my own breakfast, thanks.” She slowly moved to the recliner so as not to startle van Helsing and kissed Drake on the forehead. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“Last night when we made love, and now the way you’re playing with van Helsing. You seem so….” Jessica could not think of the right word.
“Alive?”
“Yeah.”
Drake fed van Helsing a carrot slice. “There’s more to life than just hunting vampires.”
“Does that mean you’re giving up hunting?”
“I wish.” With no more greens left to give van Helsing, Drake lifted his companion off his lap and hugged him. Van Helsing tolerated the affection for several seconds, then nudged Drake’s nose with his own and dug with his front paws against his t-shirt. Drake placed van Helsing back on his lap. The rabbit jumped onto the floor and scampered into his den, but not before giving Drake a derisive flick of his rear paws. Drake stood up and brushed fur off of his lap.
“I’d love to give up hunting and lead a normal life. Maybe even open up a private investigation agency.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I have a job to do.” Drake headed toward the kitchen. “I made some hot coffee for you. Want some?”
“I’d love some.” Jessica followed Drake. “You know, you can’t rid the world of the undead by yourself?”
“If everyone thought that way, the world would eventually be overrun by them.” Drake removed a coffee mug from the cabinet and placed it on the counter in front of Jessica, then removed the pot from the coffee maker and filled it. “Besides, I’m not trying to rid the world of the undead. Just Washington.”
Jessica picked up the mug. “I thought you destroyed the nest during the raid on the row house?”
“We can’t be certain we got the master.” Drake finished off his iced coffee and placed the empty glass in the sink. “For all we know, she’s still alive and is rebuilding the nest.”
“But you’ve already cleaned out the city of most of its vampires.”
“That’s not the point. I signed on to clear Washington of all its vampires. Until I’ve done that, I’m in for the duration.” Van Helsing entered the kitchen, his claws clicking on the tiled floor. He ran up to Drake, nudged his foot, and presented himself. Drake bent over and picked up the rabbit, cradling him in his arms and kissing him on the forehead. “I just have to spend more time appreciating those things that are important to me.”
“Like van Helsing.”
“And you.”
Jessica took a long drink of coffee, more to hide her smile than anything else. Every day she became more attracted to Drake. She had several relationships in the past, and even a few that had not ended in disaster. She had a unique relationship with Drake, and not just because it was a bond between opposites. The investigator and the investigatee. The coward and the daredevil. The homebody and the hellion. This went deeper than affection based on differences. She felt complete when with Drake because he never criticized or tried to change her. He didn’t talk down to her or treat her like a trophy girlfriend. They had only known each other for a few weeks, and had dated for even less. Yet during that time, he had been nothing but supportive, even when their professional interests were opposed to one another. What started out for her as a news story had turned into an affair, one that made her happier than she had felt in years. She only had to make sure that Drake didn’t get himself killed or that she didn’t fuck it up.
No problem at all, if she excluded the fact that Drake hunted the undead for a living and her job was to report that to the public.
Jessica would deal with those concerns later. Right now, she had something more important to take care of. Taking a last sip of coffee, she placed the glass on the counter. “Do you mind if I take a shower before work?”
“Go ahead.”
“Can you get me a towel?”
“They’re in the linen closet just outside the bathroom.”
“I want you to get it for me.”
Drake looked up quizzically, but stopped before he could say anything. Jessica unbuttoned her blouse and slid out of it. With a flick of the wrist, she tossed the garment on the counter in front of him and headed back toward the bedroom. As she left the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder. Drake followed close behind, taking off his own shirt.
* * *
Stepping into the outer office, Alison made her way to her desk, peering into Drake’s office as she passed by, but saw no one. She looked at her watch. A few minutes before ten o’clock. That did not surprise her, though. The past few days, Drake had been coming in late, even by his usual standards. It was the reason she no longer hauled her ass in here on time. She hated being the only one in the building. Well, not quite. Jim arrived every morning around seven, then became so engrossed puttering around in his workshop that he rarely came down to say hello. It had nothing to do with rudeness, just his being absent minded. Even so, it meant she still spent the morning in the office alone.
Alison slipped off her leather greatcoat to reveal her outfit—a leather skirt, high-heel boots, and white turtle neck sweater. Why she bothered dressing up, she had no idea. It did no good. Drake never noticed. To get his attention these days, Alison would need to be blonde, big-titted, and perky. Just like Blondie.
Slipping into her chair, Alison switched on her computer and waited for it to boot up. She reprimanded herself for sounding like a jealous teenager. Although in all honesty her dislike for Blondie went beyond her unrequited feelings for Drake. Sure, Alison resented that not being the primary woman
in Drake’s life. What really bothered her was that Blondie distracted Drake who now spent less time at the office, and consequently less time hunting. If a vampire threat still existed in Washington, which it most likely did, then every night Drake spent with Blondie meant another opportunity for the master to rebuild the nest.
Thankfully, Drake had not gotten to the point where he became overly cautious, a prospect that concerned Alison. She originally ruled it out as something that could never happen. But a week ago she would have refused to believe that Drake would spend more time with a vapid blonde then in hunting the undead. Alison would watch how things played out the next few weeks. If Drake became too wary during their hunts, refraining from taking the necessary risks to bring down the undead, and instead concentrated on playing it safe so he could get home to Blondie, Alison would have to rethink staying on as a hunter. She did not mind risking her life in the line of duty, but would be damned if she would do so in some watered-down hunt where the goal was not to kill vampires but to make sure Drake got home safe so she could get laid.
By now, the computer had fully booted up. Alison accessed the Internet and began searching local news sites for stories about missing persons and unexplained violent attacks that might indicate the presence of the undead. About ten minutes into surfing she heard, through the ceiling, a muffled swoosh from upstairs, similar to a can of whipped cream being emptied all at once. A moment later, feet scuffled across the floor toward the stairs. She heard a stumble, then the sound of a stool or small table being knocked over. Opening her desk drawer, Alison pulled out a stake. She reached under the drawer, detached the 9mm Sig Sauer from its holster attached to its underside, pulled back the slide, and switched off the safety. Holding the Sig Sauer in her right hand and the stake in her left, Alison rushed to the stairs leading to Jim’s work area.
Jim stumbled down the steps. His eyes were closed tight and tears streamed down his cheeks. He bumped his shoulder along the wall for guidance. A whitish cloud of smoke billowed after him, stopping two stairs down and hanging in mid-air. Alison met him halfway up the stairs and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Jim jumped back, startled.
The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon Page 20
