The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  “Look,” he said, drumming the fingers of one hand restlessly against the outside of his thigh, “maybe I should go after all. I—”

  “Stay,” I said quickly. “Let me get you some food. I dunno about you, but I’m starving.”

  He shot me a look from under dark brows. “Thought you just ate, Z.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Ha. Very funny. Told you, though—I’m only part sex demon. The rest is garden-variety human, which is why I always loved your steaks at AJ’s so much.”

  “Why don’t you two relocate to the kitchen, in that case,” Rans said. “Guthrie’s working on something in the office. I’ll go get him so we only have to run through this once.”

  I shrugged and led the way, Len following me with noticeable reluctance. Ironically enough, a quick poke around the fridge unearthed a couple of New York strip steaks wrapped in paper from a high-end butcher shop downtown.

  “Must be fate,” I said, plopping them down on the counter in front of Len.

  His tense posture softened a fraction. “Must be,” he agreed. “What else you got in there?”

  I rummaged in the vegetable drawer and came up with what I was reasonably certain was endive. Meanwhile, Len unearthed half a loaf of French bread that was stale, but not moldy. Before long, he was deep in preparations, visibly losing himself in the rhythm of preparing food.

  Rans and Guthrie came in, though Guthrie stopped cold at the edge of the room. A frown creased his features, and I wondered if I’d offended him by making free with his hospitality.

  “Hey, Guthrie,” I began. “Sorry to take over your kitchen like this—”

  Rans snorted in derision. “Please. It’s not as though anyone else here is going to use those perfectly nice steaks before they turn green and moldy.”

  Guthrie waved both of us off. “It’s not that. Eat all the damned food you want. It’s just... the smell. Took me by surprise, is all.” He shook his head. “Fuck, that’s weird.”

  I sniffed, but nothing seemed wrong with the scents of searing meat and toasting bread. “What about the smell?”

  Guthrie broke free of his paralysis and went to sit on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. “It doesn’t smell like food anymore.”

  Rans was still propping up the wall near the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you expect? For you and me, it’s not food anymore.”

  Guthrie’s mouth twisted down. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

  Len finished the impromptu gourmet meal and searched around for a couple of plates for us. Once we were installed with our food, I gestured at Rans with a forkful of medium-rare beef.

  “Okay, so tell me more about this plan involving an ocean,” I said. “I’m assuming since this is to do with saltwater, it’s a demon-deterrence thing?”

  “Precisely,” he said. “It occurred to me that after being weakened so badly, it seems unlikely that Myrial would be willing or able to transport across a large body of saltwater to get to us.”

  I chewed and swallowed as I mulled that over. “Nigellus still could, though. He’s proven that already.”

  “Perhaps,” Rans allowed. “Though he’s been drained as well, and he’s already demonstrated a willingness to leave us to our own devices rather than use force against us.”

  “Fair enough,” I agreed. Seeing Len’s look of confusion, I explained, “That bitch at the fetish club who was polishing her nails while people were bleeding out on the floor was a full-blooded demon. She’s got it in for us, so we’re trying to figure out a way to stay out of her clutches. A demon’s only real weakness is salt. It burns them.”

  “Riiight,” Len said, drawing the word out. His fingers tapped nervously on the counter, and I realized that reminding him of the fact that Tristan had been shot in the gut maybe wasn’t the coolest thing I could have done.

  “Okay,” I mumbled, trying to breeze past it. “So, we go someplace in the ocean? Like, an island or something?”

  “Or better yet, a ship,” Rans said, tipping his head toward Guthrie. “Mister Moneybags here isn’t without connections.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Guthrie, a silent question.

  He sighed. “In my line of work, you get to know a lot of rich assholes, as well as undead ones.”

  Rans made a scoffing noise.

  “And these rich assholes have... yachts?” I hazarded.

  “Plenty of them do, yes, but that’s not what I’m thinking of,” Guthrie went on. “Several of my business contacts have been pestering me to go on a high-end chartered pleasure cruise that set off to tour the Caribbean a few days ago. It sounded like a god-awful way to spend two weeks to me, so I kept putting them off.”

  “But it’s a private chartered cruise,” Rans put in. “Plus, it’s moving around. Guthrie’s connections make it possible for him to pull up an itinerary for the cruise—but that will be much more challenging information for the Fae to track down. Assuming they even figure out where to look for us in the first place.”

  Len looked up and frowned, his restless fingers going still. “Wait. Fae? I... thought demons were after you?”

  “They are,” Rans said dryly.

  “We’ve managed to piss off a wide variety of people lately,” I said around a mouthful of endive.

  “Shocking, that,” Guthrie muttered.

  Len looked between the three of us. “So... Fae, as in...?”

  “Fairies,” I confirmed. “But the scary, full-sized ‘stealing your baby from the crib and replacing it with a changeling’ kind. Not the tiny, cute kind with wings.”

  He blinked at me, and I launched into an abbreviated synopsis of the war between Hell and Dhuinne, trying to ignore the glazed look settling over his features.

  “O-kay,” he said slowly, once I’d finished. Then he blinked again, lowered his eyes to his plate, and started cutting his steak into tiny pieces with great focus.

  “Anyway, back to the matter at hand,” Rans said. “My biggest concern is getting from here to the cruise ship without tripping any alarm bells. As it stands, the Fae ought to be completely clueless regarding our whereabouts. Once we start traveling commercially—especially outside of the country—that may change.”

  I set my cutlery down and worried my lower lip between my thumb and forefinger. “Not to mention how much time it will take. Time that might give Myrial a chance to finish whatever PR battle she’s fighting with Nigellus right now, and get out of Hell before we manage to get someplace with saltwater.”

  “Quite,” Rans agreed. “However, I don’t really see a way around it.”

  I pinned him with a flat stare. “Well, yeah. I mean, if only we knew someone who could transport people over long distances using magic, right?”

  Okay. I was aware, on some level, that sarcasm wasn’t my most attractive trait. But, seriously, the testosterone-fueled pissing match between Rans and Albigard had been going on long enough. And I was banking on the fact that when push came to shove, Rans wouldn’t let his wounded pride take precedence over our safety.

  Though he didn’t move from his casual slouch against the wall, I watched as his spine went rigid. A tendon ticked at the corner of his jaw. I didn’t drop my heavy stare. The silent battle of wills raged on for nearly a full minute before Rans sighed, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.

  “Fine. I’ll call the bloody wanker, if you’re really that set on it. And if he double-crosses us somehow, I’ll take great pleasure in carving his Fae heart out with a rusty iron spoon.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I said. “And, hey, with an apology like that, I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance to repair your friendship... or whatever you want to call it.”

  “I don’t owe him a fucking apology,” Rans spat. “He owes me an apology.”

  I refrained with some difficulty from rolling my eyes. “Uh-huh. That seems... totally likely to happen. Tell you what—why don’t you give him a call right now?”

  As we spoke, Len’s gaze ha
d drifted up from his meal despite himself, while Guthrie had been watching the byplay like someone watching a tennis match.

  “Do I want to know the back-story, here?” Guthrie asked.

  “Probably not,” Rans and I said in unison.

  “I sort of figured,” Guthrie observed, with the philosophical air of someone who was sorry he’d asked in the first place.

  Rans gave me a last, long look and shook his head in disgust, taking out his phone and dialing. I waited, holding my breath. As a Fae, Albigard tended to have an... unfortunate effect on electronics in his immediate area. For this reason, he didn’t have a cell phone—only an old rotary landline with a remote voicemail service. Getting hold of him was, therefore, hit or miss.

  After long enough that I was starting to think we’d be out of luck tonight, Rans straightened. He listened for a moment, and a furrow of irritation formed between his brows.

  “I know perfectly well whose damned residence it is,” he said. “Find your liege lord and tell him that if he calls me within the hour, I won’t put a sword through his heart the next time I see him.”

  With that, he hung up.

  “Wow, lover,” I said, feigning an impressed tone. “Diplomacy for the win. Never let it be said you don’t know how to lay on the charm when it’s required.”

  Len pushed away from the kitchen island and picked up the empty plates. “Right, so I think this might be my cue to get on out of your hair. Thanks for the food, anyway—and, y’know, for the fresh helping of existential dread.” He deposited the dishes in the sink and gave them a quick rinse. “Z, it sounds like you’ll be out of St. Louis soon, but—”

  He turned and I let out a surprised gasp. “Len, you’re bleeding. Your nose...”

  Len frowned and lifted a hand to his face, looking down at it in surprise when it came away smeared with red. “Oh. Um, not to worry. Just a little nosebleed.”

  He reached for the roll of paper towels next to the sink and tore off a couple with his free hand. Some inner sense made me whirl toward Guthrie, perhaps in response to a small noise or movement in my peripheral vision; I wasn’t sure.

  Whatever the case, I found Guthrie staring fixedly at Len’s profile, his nostrils flared and his eyes glowing with a predatory inner light. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing viciously pointed fangs.

  SIX

  I DREW BREATH to cry out a warning at the same instant Guthrie sprang. Without thinking, I hurled myself into his path, blocking his access to Len. Before I could brace for impact or even properly start to second-guess my life choices, another figure was between us, moving too fast for my eye to follow.

  Rans shoved Guthrie backward by the chest, driving his shoulders into the front of the refrigerator. The heavy appliance screeched backward an inch or two along the tile floor until it hit the wall, the stainless steel door denting under the impact of Guthrie’s body.

  “Don’t,” Rans said in a hard tone of warning. “Keep your head in the game, mate. You and I are going to go get you a nice blood bag now, and I don’t think you really want me hauling you there by the scruff of the neck. Which I absolutely will in about three seconds, if I don’t see you exercising some control.”

  “Let me go,” Guthrie snarled, his attention still focused more on Len and me than on the vampire currently pinning him to a kitchen appliance.

  “Guthrie,” I begged softly, aching at the knowledge of how much the soft-spoken man would hate what was happening to him right now. I kept my arms splayed, caging Len behind my smaller frame.

  Guthrie blinked twice. Deep brown replaced the predatory glow behind his irises, and suddenly he was cringing back in Rans’ grip rather than leaning into it. “Shit,” he breathed. “Shit, shit.”

  Rans unclamped the fingers that had been fisted in his friend’s shirt and spoke to us without looking. “Right. Sorry about that, you two. Crisis averted. We’re just going to take a quick trip to the wet bar’s fridge, where the blood is stashed. Back in a mo’.”

  With a grip on his arm that now appeared more supporting than restraining, he chivvied Guthrie’s unresisting form out of the room, leaving behind a silence that was very nearly deafening. Eventually, Len broke it.

  “Um...”

  I wrenched myself free of adrenaline paralysis and turned around, backing off a few steps to give Len some space. He’d frozen, the paper towels gripped in one hand. Blood was still trickling from his right nostril, dripping onto his black Social Distortion t-shirt. Following my gaze, he seemed to shake himself out of his fugue, and lifted the paper towels to his nose, pinching it.

  I sighed, trying to drain some of the tension from my own muscles. “So, you know how I said Guthrie had just recently been turned into a vampire? I... didn’t really mention how recently. He’s still a bit, what’s the word I’m looking for...”

  “Bitey?” Len suggested, eyeing me with the air of someone who knew they’d walked into an insane asylum, but somehow hadn’t quite found the wherewithal to turn around and walk back out again.

  I gestured at his nose. “I think it was the unexpected sight of blood that triggered him. I’m really sorry, Len.”

  “Yeah, don’t mention it,” he said. “Oddly enough, it’s not even the worst thing that’s happened to me tonight.”

  I left that alone, at least for now. “Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked, gesturing at his face.

  He shrugged, keeping pressure on the paper towels. “It’s just a nosebleed, Z. Shit happens sometimes. It’ll stop in a minute.”

  Though the words were casual, I was getting that jittery vibe off of him again. Unsure what to do with it—if anything—I just nodded and turned my focus to the dishes in the sink. Len leaned against the counter nearby.

  “So, that guy’s your grandfather, huh?” he asked, eyes on the doorway through which Rans and Guthrie had disappeared. “He doesn’t really look old enough, you know.”

  I shot him a sidelong glance. “He’s... well-preserved, I guess you could say. And, well—he’s sort of my grandfather, yes. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated?” Len asked, laying on the irony with a trowel. “Really? You’re shocking me over here, Z.”

  “Ha,” I told him flatly. “The short version is that demons can’t actually... reproduce. Not on their own. So my sex-demon grandparent stole Guthrie’s DNA without his knowledge and used it to impregnate my grandmother.”

  Len lowered the paper towels and dabbed at his nose with cautious movements as he frowned at me. “Stole his DNA? How does that work, then?”

  “About the way you’d expect,” I replied in a dry tone.

  He digested that for a moment, gingerly wiping at the blood on his face and shirt. “And now the guy’s a vampire.”

  “Yup. And now he’s a vampire,” I agreed.

  “No offense, but your family is whacked, Z. And I say that as someone who comes from a pretty jacked-up background myself.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He tossed the red-stained towels in the trash and regarded me steadily.

  “What?” I asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  Len drew breath to answer, but was interrupted by Rans and Guthrie’s return.

  “Feeling better now, man?” he asked instead, eyeing Guthrie. “Sorry about flashing the red cape like that. I didn’t realize.”

  Guthrie stared back at him for a long moment. He looked haggard, and I was once again wracked with guilt over what had happened to him. Over what we’d done to him.

  “Can we just... not talk about it, please?” he said tightly. “You were right earlier. It would probably be best if you left.”

  Rans lifted an eyebrow, looking back and forth between them. “No, it wouldn’t. In fact, now that you’re temporarily sated on the bagged stuff, Guthrie, this would be the ideal opportunity to introduce you to live meals. Len, mate, it looks like you’ve stopped leaking, at least. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Guthrie stared at Rans like he’d
grown a second head. “Rans, are you fucking kidding me? I just tried to go for the poor kid’s throat!”

  Len just looked resigned. “Not a kid, gramps. Also standing right here.” He sighed. “Fine. Why the fuck not? It seems like an oddly appropriate end to the day I’ve just had.”

  “Len,” I began, but he waved me off.

  “It’s fine, Z.”

  Rans lifted his chin approvingly. “That’s the spirit. Guthrie, get over here. I promise you won’t regret it. As B-negative goes, it’s quite a good vintage, really.”

  Len gave him a flat stare. “Excellent iron levels, or so I’m told.”

  “Oh, indeed,” Rans agreed, his tone complacent. He more or less dragged Guthrie into Len’s personal space, ignoring the way both of them tensed. “All right, then. Might as well ease you into a bit of vampiric mesmerism while we’re at it. Turn on those high beams and gaze deeply into his eyes, yadda yadda. Tell him not to be afraid, that he won’t feel any pain, blah, blah, blah; and once he’s under, I’ll walk you through feeding from the wrist.”

  “What the hell is my life now,” Len muttered, not directing the words to anyone in particular.

  Guthrie was holding himself very, very still. “Son, you can’t really be all right with this.”

  Len cocked an eyebrow and jerked his chin toward Rans. Metal piercings glinted under the kitchen lights. “As much as it pains me, this asshole saved the life of someone important to me, gramps. And not to put too fine a point on it, after seeing that little performance earlier, I think I’d rather have you practice on me while he’s here watching over things, as opposed to you going after some random person in the street.”

  “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Rans said approvingly. “Right, Guthrie. Listen to that nice, steady heartbeat. Think about how good the blood will taste when it’s at human body temperature rather than straight out of a fridge.”

  Guthrie’s eyes flared amethyst and zeroed in on Len, who stiffened and backed up a step despite his best efforts.