by Reinke, Sara
“Brace yourself,” Mueller had told him earlier, having reached him on his cell phone shortly after Elías had left Melaza. “Miguel Torres was murdered.”
He’d meant this sarcastically, because neither detective had harbored any doubt of this upon their arrival at the crime scene that morning.
“Autopsy’s still underway,” Mueller had said. “I’m down here at the coroner’s, sitting in on it. Just stepped out to let you know—they found an inch-and-a-half-wide knife wound through the fourth overlapping external and internal intercostal muscles, straight into the left ventricle. The knife was long enough to go all the way through, meaning it was a one-shot deal—straight in, straight out. Straight through the heart.”
Valien had access to Pilar’s bike, the one with the smaller wheel base, Elías thought, punching the bag again and again, his brows furrowed deeply. And I bet that big black guy I saw working out there today did too—his name was Jackson, wasn’t it? He hooked his left fist around, then as it recoiled, whipping his right in a sharp upper cut. He’s definitely the right size to take on someone like Torres and walk away. And didn’t he say he and Valien were working together last night?
“Wait, there’s more,” Mueller had told him on the phone. “The press has gotten wind of this somehow too.”
“What?” Elías had bitten back a groan. As soon as Pepe found out one of his lieutenants was dead, the shit would hit the fan. Unlike the police, Los Pandilleros didn’t need minor details like evidence to prove innocence or guilt. Once word reached them that Miguel Torres was dead, they’d assume the worst—Los Guerreros—and be all over Valien and his crew like flies on shit.
“Don’t panic. Not yet, anyway,” Mueller had said. “I told them the body hasn’t been identified.”
“That’s good.” Elías had heaved a sigh of relief.
“I told them it was El Chupacabra,” Mueller continued, and then Elías really had groaned. Mueller apparently found this funny as hell and had himself a good chortle. “You know, that half-lizard, half-man thing people keep saying crawls in and out of the canals, snatching dogs?”
“Great. You know, that doesn’t help things at all,” Elías had assured him.
Gasping heavily for breath, Elías caught the bag in his hands, then shoved his sopping hair back off his brow. It hadn’t been any imaginary monster that had killer Miguel Torres. But he felt certain he knew who had.
Three people were involved in Enrique’s murder, he thought. Miguel Torres, Tomás Lovato and Pepe Cervantes—though I’m willing to bet it was Pepe who pulled the trigger in the end. All three of them all took turns raping Pilar. I’m willing to bet on that too.
Just the thought of this was enough to make his brows crimp again, his teeth gritting tightly. With a furious shout, he slammed his fist into the bag, sending it swinging wildly on its chain.
Did she tell her brother about that? Or was the murder alone enough to make him go after them? Either way, he’s got Pilar running reconnaissance for him, working at Melaza, reporting back on Pepe’s movements. That’s got to be what she’s doing there.
Elías turned, stalking out of the room, ripping at the tape around his wrists and hands, loosening it as he went. Maybe I can get her to listen to me. Maybe I can reason with her, convince her to help me call Valien off, he thought. Tossing the tape into the bathroom trash can, he stripped off his shirt, then reached into the tub, turning on the shower. It’s not too late. I just have to make her believe I can catch them, bring them to justice for her father—for her. He shoved his sweatpants down from his hips, then stepped naked into the tub, closing his eyes against the stinging spray that pelted him headlong.
I have to make her believe in me.
****
By seven thirty, the festín was well underway, a modest gathering of humans and Nahual that a passing observer might have otherwise at first mistaken for nothing more than a cocktail party or casual get-together among friends. They ate hors d’oeurves and sipped cocktails and wine. No one had to worry about driving drunk, because alcohol metabolized more quickly in a Nahual’s system than a human’s, and all the humans had planned to spend the entire night at Estela’s house in the wake of the feeding. After Valien had recited the traditional ceremonial stories and they’d clapped and danced, the atmosphere had become dramatically more comfortable, casual and light, with Nahual and their human feeders drifting off in couples, trios and quartets into quiet corners to feed. Soon the smell of blood filtered tantalizingly through the air.
Estela had been among the first to feed, then had retreated to her bedroom upstairs, as was her habit. Pilar hadn’t missed the tearful sheen in her eyes during Valien’s recitations, and knew that the feeding celebrations reminded her as poignantly and painfully of Enrique—and his loss—as they did her.
Curiously, although she’d seen Téo and his parents on more than one occasion, Pilar had yet to run into Chita at the party. She didn’t have quite as much luck with Téo, however, despite their earlier argument.
“I’m going to feed from her,” he murmured near her ear on the one occasion he’d dared to sneak up on Pilar from behind. When she glanced back, he nodded once to indicate a pretty young human girl standing by a nearby table. “I hear her blood tastes really sweet.”
“Yummy,” she said drolly, walking pointedly away, not falling for his ridiculous attempt to make her jealous. However, the mention of sweet blood made her mind turn toward Elías.
“Mom, I really wish you’d stop trying to push me and Téo together,” she’d told Estela shortly after her confrontation with Téo in the basement. “I’ve told you before. He’s not my pareja.”
“You might not want to admit that he is,” Estela had replied dismissively, “but that’s because you’re testaruda—bullheaded. Téo loves you.”
“Yes, but I don’t love him,” Pilar had insisted, exasperated and annoyed. “What if I’m not meant to be with anyone? Or at least not a Nahual?”
Estela had laughed at this, then shoved a bowl of fruit salad into her hands to be delivered downstairs. “Don’t be silly.”
“What if…what if I fall in love with a human and want to be with him?” Pilar had asked in a small, hesitant voice.
Estela had stopped laughing. Brows narrowed, she’d turned to face her daughter. “What would your father have thought of such a thing?”
And at this, Pilar had fallen silent because although her father had never strictly forbidden human and Nahual relationships outside of the feeder dynamic, he’d also made no secret that he felt it would violate their ages-old traditions and ways, would contaminate the purity of their corillo bloodlines if consummated.
“Escúcheme,” Estela had said, cupping Pilar’s face, her eyes round and mournful. Listen to me. “You’re twenty-two years old now…”
In Nahual years, even though considerably longer-lived than humans—if they survived each other, that was—this equated to being on the trailing edge of old-maidhood.
“And we lost so many men from our corillo when your father died,” Estela had continued.
“I know,” Pilar had whispered.
“There are so few of us left—our Nahual bloodlines are even more precious now, cariña. They were so important to your father and they…” Estela’s voice had grown strained, her eyes glassy with tears. “They’re all we have left of him. Do you understand?”
Pilar had nodded, pressing her lips together, saying no more. I understand, she’d thought miserably.
“Hey, Pilar,” Jackson Jones said, startling her as she nearly plowed headfirst into the massive expanse of his muscled chest.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, spilling the small plate of fruit and dip she’d been carrying all over his shirt. “Oh, God, Jackie, I’m so sorry!”
“It was my fault,” he said, accepting the napkin she offered and mopping at his front. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Catching her by the arm as she stooped to clean up her mess, he added, “I’ll get it. You’ll
get something on your dress.”
As he leaned down, chivalrously retrieving the fallen strawberries and dabbing at a puddle of dip, she tapped his shoulder and drew his gaze. “Taya’s lucky, you know.”
He raised a curious brow, feigning innocence—despite the fact she knew damn good and well that he and Duke Parker’s daughter had been seeing each other—and more besides—for months now. “Why is that?”
“You’re a good man, Jackson Jones,” she told him. “A terrible actor, but a good man.”
He laughed, rising to his feet, cradling what was left of her snack. “Hang on. I’ll go get you some more fruit.”
She caught his arm to draw his gaze before he could walk away. “It’s all right,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not very hungry anyway.”
Jackson touched her mouth, brushing his fingertips lightly, curiously, observing the noticeable lack of blood, a sure indicator she hadn’t yet fed. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t mention that the reason she didn’t want to feed was because she’d dipped into the corillo blood bank supply shortly after her argument with Téo. She’d felt stressed out and strained and had been unable to wait, sneaking in several greedy, gulping ounces without her mother or Valien noticing. With a smile, Pilar rose onto her tiptoes and kissed Jackson lightly on the cheek. “But thanks anyway.”
Leaving the basement, she went upstairs, brushing politely past a handful of guests who had gathered in the kitchen. Most of the main floor was empty because they all took great pains to keep the feedings secreted from any possible prying eyes. The basement windows had been covered for the night with plywood panels painted black, disguised for better aesthetics with heavy drapes.
There was a small half-bathroom off the kitchen, and Pilar meant to duck inside, then retreat to her room. When she opened the door, however, she drew back in wide-eyed surprise to find Valien inside.
As the leader of their corillo, he had first pick among the feeders and could indulge in as much as he wanted without bothering to share. Apparently that night, he’d set his sights and fangs on Taya Parker.
Taya had worn a black tank dress to the party, but the spaghetti straps had been pulled down from her shoulders, the cotton bodice bunched around her waist, her bare breasts exposed. She sat on top of the sink, the basin cradling her buttocks, her thighs spread wide, her panties shoved down past her knees. Valien had one hand thrust between her thighs, beneath the edge of her skirt. He’d bent over, sinking his fangs just below her left breast, his head cocked at an angle. Taya’s fingers were tangled in his hair, and she gasped for breath, her entire body shuddering as if she was experiencing a massive orgasm.
Without retracting his teeth, Valien looked up at Pilar. His eyes were black, gleaming in reflected light, and there was no mistaking the unspoken message in his obvious scowl: Get out.
Valien had always had a thing for Taya, as much of a crush as Chita had harbored for him. He and Jackie were friends—had become best friends, in fact, nearly inseparable, despite their differences in species—but all at once, Pilar wondered what the bigger man would think had he been the one to walk in on Valien both feeding from and apparently fingering his girl.
Get out of here, Pilar. Now Valien spoke to her inside her mind, his voice low and angry.
“Lo siento,” Pilar said, backpedaling hastily, closing the door behind her. I’m sorry.
Just as the smell of blood had been thick in the basement, so, too, had the aroma of Taya’s blood filled the bathroom. Normally, this might have aroused the bloodlust in Pilar, but instead, she found herself thinking again about Elías again. In fact, as she cut across the empty living room, she imagined she could smell him, that distinctive fragrance that she’d come to associate exclusively, even fondly, with him. With a soft smile and the memory of his sweet thought in her mind: I want you more than anything.
She closed her eyes and slipped out of her sandals, carrying them across the carpet toward the hall leading to her bedroom.
Then the doorbell rang, snapping her abruptly from these distracted thoughts. With a frown, she turned and walked back into the living room, sparing a glance at the nearest clock as she passed. Who on earth could this be? she thought. And why the hell are they getting here so late?
She opened the door; then her eyes flew wide and it felt for all the world like her heart shuddered to a startled halt beneath her breasts. “Elías?” she gasped.
Elías smiled at her through the screen door, offering a clumsy wave. “Hey,” he said. Then as his gaze wandered down her body, taking her dress into account, he grew visibly flustered. “Wow. Whoa.” He looked back at her face, his dark eyes round. “I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”
What is he doing here? Pilar thought in a sudden panic. Oh, my God, you can’t be here right now, Elías—not now!
Because he was a human standing on the threshold of a house full of vampires currently in feeding mode.
“You need to go.” Pilar threw the screen door open, forcing him back a startled, stumbling step. She darted out onto the porch, whipping the front door shut behind her. Some of the corillo were smokers and might be outside; she glanced wildly around the yard to make sure they were alone. Seizing Elías by the hand, she jerked him in tow, marching him toward the street. “You need to go now.”
“Wait a minute.” He stopped, despite her fervent tugging, and she swung to him, annoyed. “Wait,” he said again, bewildered. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not leaving yet.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a hint of movement from the backyard—Téo and his father standing together within her line of sight, smoking cigarillos and talking together.
Mierda, she thought.
“Yes.” She jerked at Elías’s arm. “You are.”
“I need to talk to you,” Elías said, shrugging loose of her grasp, then stubbornly crossing his arms at his chest. “I mean it, Pilar.”
Téo spotted her; God, it was like he had some kind of radar finely tuned to her presence or something.
Pilar? he thought, opening his mind to her telepathically. His brows raised, surprised at first; then when he realized her company, he broke away from his father. Pilar, quién es ése? Who is that?
Mierda! Pilar thought.
“Take me somewhere,” she said to Elías.
He blinked at her. “What?”
Because his arms had loosened in reflexive surprise, she was able to grab his hand again. “Take me somewhere so we can talk.”
Still clearly at a loss, he shook his head. “Like where?”
“I don’t know.” Spinning him around, she dragged him toward the street. Their driveway was lined with motorcycles and cars, as was the street in front of them in either direction, for nearly the entire length of the block. “Anywhere. I don’t care.”
Pilar, wait, Téo snapped in her mind.
“Where’s your car?” she asked Elías.
“Over here.” He seemed bemused but let her haul him in tow. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a key tab and thumbed off his car alarm. She heard a corresponding chirp and saw a pair of taillights from a low-slung gray sedan up ahead obligingly flash.
“Good,” she said. “Come on.”
He tried to be courteous and opened the passenger door for her, but she beat him to the punch by leaning out, snatching the handle and quickly slamming it shut on her own. By the time he walked around and settled himself into the driver’s seat, she could see Téo in the side mirror, crossing the front yard, following them.
What are you doing? he demanded in her mind. His brows were furrowed now, his fists balled; whether he was worried, alarmed, pissed off or all three, she couldn’t tell. Pilar, stop!
“You know, this is turning out a lot differently than I’d expected,” Elías remarked, glancing at her as he turned the key in the ignition.
“Drive,” Pilar told him.
He smiled for her, a wry upturn to th
e corner of his mouth. “Tus deseos son órdenes,” he said, dropping the car in gear. Your wish is my command.
CHAPTER TEN
Elías gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove and tried his damndest to pretend his palms weren’t tacky with anxious sweat, despite the blasting air-conditioning. He cut a glance to his right, where Pilar sat in the passenger seat. She looked stunning—an ivory sundress fashioned out of some sort of gauzy, nearly translucent material, with a demure neckline and waist that made her look ingenuous and innocent…except for the fact that when she was seated, the hem of her flowing skirt had ridden midway up her thighs. This left him with a decidedly tantalizing view of her legs, and even though he’d seen more of her body than this—and in far less clothing—somehow this teasing hint was even more erotic to him than her costumes at the strip club.
“You look great,” he said at length, feeling awkward but obliged to acknowledge this, considering they’d obviously just left behind some sort of family gathering or social event. “Is it someone’s birthday?”
She’d been staring out the window looking restless and disconcerted. As she turned to him now, the corners of her lips lifted in an enigmatic sort of smile. “Something like that.”
“I didn’t mean to drag you away from anything important.”
Her smile widened and he forgot momentarily to watch the road. “You didn’t.”
Madre de Dios, she’s beautiful.
“Besides, I think I was the one doing the dragging,” she added, making him laugh. “So where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, laughing again. “This all happened sort of fast. I hadn’t really planned on it. Are you hungry?”
