by Jenn Windrow
Reaper paced behind the couch, one hand on his hip, the other rubbed his forehead. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The heavy thud of his boots on the wood floors got louder with each step.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Dinner’s ready. I shoved a straw in the vampire Capri-sun, and planted myself on a leather ottoman in front of Reaper. I sucked down the blood until the bag flattened and wrinkled, then licked my lips. Half of Reaper’s upper lip lifted so high even Elvis would have been impressed.
I picked up my fuzzy security blanket before she scurried away and buried my face in her fur. Finally ready, I answered my partner. “I lost control. It happens.” It was a crappy explanation, but all I felt Reaper deserved.
“Not around me it doesn’t.” He took a step back, gaze moving up and down my body. “I thought the vampire got away.”
I shut my eyes before he noticed the anguish etched in the depths of my pupil’s. “He did.”
He ran a finger along my thigh and through the ash clinging to my leather pants. He held it up for me to see. “Who’s this?”
Nathan’s ash on Mr.-I-Hate-Vampire’s finger drove a stake into my heart. “What do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m just glad tonight wasn’t a total waste.” He wiped Nathan’s remains on his army green cargo pants, a long grey smudge wrapped around his thick thigh.
I started counting in my head. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thous... Oh, who was I kidding. “Fuck you, Reaper.”
“Not on your life, princess.” He sat back on my couch and crossed one ankle over his knee. “So, who’d you dust?”
The casual tone he used toward a vampire’s death really pissed me off, always had, but tonight it caused an eruption at my core. An eruption that spewed foul language and bad choices all over my living room.
I leapt off the ottoman, my foot knocking into the table, sending the candles and remote controls scattering to the floor. Reaper found himself pinned to the sofa, my fingers wrapped tightly into the fabric of his shirt. I pulled him forward until we were nose to nose. “When it’s any of your fucking business who I dust, I’ll fucking tell you.”
He pried my fingers free and pushed me off his lap. The back of my legs smacked into the coffee table sending the last few remaining items to the ground. He pointed a finger at my chest, the tip just barely touching me. “I don’t give a shit if it’s your father you staked. Killing vampires is your job. Spare me the tortured theatrics.”
The angel of gloom and doom stuck me with Mr. Personality. That didn’t mean I had to take his crap. I grabbed his finger and bent it back. “I never wanted this job.”
“No one forced you to take it.” He yanked his pointer from my grasp and rubbed the knuckle.
“I had two choices. Death or Curse.”
“You could have chosen death.” Reaper’s cold tone matched his frigid demeanor.
“I could have, but you’d be out of a job.”
“So why’d you take it?”
I’ve wondered the same thing for the past two years. It’s not the they-should-be-reported-to-OSHA working conditions or crappy co-workers that keep me around. Nope. The only thing that kept me going night after night was the big bonus at retirement. The return of my soul. Humanity.
“You know what, I don’t give a shit.” He pointed his finger at my face this time. “You don’t drink from humans. Period.”
Reaper was the last person who needed to remind me. I promised myself when I became Evil’s Assassin that I wouldn’t take human blood from the vein again. I’d broken that vow tonight and it scared the shit out of me. The fear that one small taste, one miniscule drop, would tear through my carefully built defenses and trigger my inner beast.
I didn’t need a reminder that a killer lurked just below my flesh. A killer who waited for the opportunity to ruin everything I’ve worked for. “I know. Trust me. I know.”
“Make sure you do. I won’t have a partner who can’t control herself.”
“I never agreed to a partner.” If my words had been a gun, Reaper’s ass would be full of lead.
“Don’t think of me as your partner, think of me as a babysitter. A guard to make sure you don’t slip and make a snack out of an innocent bystander.” He paused. “And neither of us is getting rid of the other until one of us dies.”
“That could be arranged.” Spoken nice and clear so he’d understand I meant every word.
His gaze settled on the stake sticking out of my boot. “Better watch it. I won’t hesitate to stake you myself.”
I pulled out the pointy wood and handed it to him. “Go ahead.” I tugged down the edge of my tank top and exposed the flesh that covered my heart. “Here’s your target.”
He rolled the wood in his palm then gripped it in a tight fist. The corners of his mouth lifted just a fraction and his eyes twinkled. Reaper’s grudge against vampires made the Grand Canyon look like a roadside ditch.
I hoped his hatred ran so deep that he’d slam the stake through my flesh and bone and into my heart. A stake through the heart brought me peace. A stake through the heart erased the guilt. A stake through the heart ended my miserable existence.
My only regret is that he hadn’t killed me sooner. At least then Nathan would be alive.
He held the stake high over his head, the skin over his knuckles blanched under the pressure. His lips pinched into a thin line and his eyes focused on my chest.
I smiled and made sure to show a lot of fang. “Don’t fuck this up. You’ve only got one shot.”
His hand shot forward, the point of the stake aimed for its target. But stopped just before the tip touched my flesh. “Too easy.” He let the stake fall to his side and tapped the dark colored wood against his leg. “You deserve to die, but not until the job’s over. For now at least you’re being useful and not sucking the world dry.”
“That’s me: Alexis Black, the useful vampire.”
I had forty-seven years, thirty-eight weeks, and ten days left as Caleb’s guided missile. By the time my contract ended, Reaper would be just another annoying patient in Shady Hills nursing home.
“One day.” Reaper tossed the stake on top of the coffee table.
“Is that a warning or a promise?”
“Warning for you.” He looked me straight in the eyes. “Promise for me.”
There’s an old saying. With friends like you, who needs enemies? That’s where Reaper and I stood and always would. I could sit here all day and try to convince him I’m not a monster, but that would be a waste of my undead life. Reaper considered me a means to an end. What end I didn’t know. We both had our secrets.
I went to the elevator, and slid the cage open. “Leave. Now.”
Reaper grabbed the remote control off the black and tan rug and pushed the button, the television flickered on. “Watch the news. The vampires are getting brave, reckless. There are reports of attacks all over the city, even in the burbs.” He bent down and picked his keys up off the floor. “Don’t forget that it’s our job to keep them from slaughtering the innocents. Every time you kill one of those monsters, it’s one more human life saved.” He brushed past me, and stepped onto the elevator. “By the way, I came to tell you that your victim is perfectly healthy.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the wall.
I pushed the button and watched the top of Reaper’s blond crew cut disappear down the shaft.
The front door slammed and I called the elevator to the upper floor, then sat down, flipping through news channel after news channel. Reaper was right—report after report of vampire attacks. The VAU couldn’t keep up. The hospitals were overloaded with victims. Why now? Why four years after the start of the Eradication? What had brought the vampire’s back out of the shadows? A little voice in my head told me I wasn’t going to like the answer to those questions.
Turning off the T.V., I picked up a purring Raja, got a box from the top shelf of the hall closet, and headed to my room.
After
stripping out of my uniform of black leather pants and deep red tank top, then kicking my boots across the room, I wiped dust from the lid and dumped the contents on the red brocade comforter and sifted through the mementos. I picked up a stub from the last concert Nathan and I saw together, The Smiths, three years ago in Texas. A playbook from a production of Les Miserable I dragged him to. And photo after photo after photo of our almost fifty years together. Each and every one a stick-a-knife-in-my-heart memory of Nathan.
Pathetic. Wasting your time mourning over death. I’m going to bed. The connection to Eddie went blissfully quiet.
The first rays of the morning sun snuck through a small crack in my black-out shades. I placed Nathan’s memories back in the box and set it on the floor, curled around my already snoozing kitty, and attempted to fall into a deep slumber.
Sleep didn’t come easy. It came on the heels of dark memories, dark thoughts, and an even darker mood. But I needed the rest because tomorrow night I anticipated an ass kicking of monumental proportion.
Chapter Four
Reaper slammed my head into the blue gym mat—hard. Hard enough that my brain bounced around in my skull and my fangs cut through my lower lip. I stared at the row of punching bags that hung from the ceiling like the bats I imagined circling my head, and let my body recover.
The past two years of training with Reaper never prepared me for the brain rattling assault he pulled out of his beat-Alexis-to-a-bloody-pulp arsenal.
Every single day I cursed Caleb for forcing me to spar with Reaper. I mentioned this to Reaper once. His answer: “Being a blood sucking leach isn’t enough to defeat the monsters.” So, early every evening, Reaper spends his time training me in hand-to-hand combat, and the proper handling of guns and knives.
I rolled to my side, and surveyed the gym. It was one of those old-time boxing gyms, something that you would see in Rocky. No fancy machines, just free weights, a sparring ring, and bench press off in the corner.
Reaper was strong and fast for a human, and most nights we were evenly matched. So evenly matched I wondered if Caleb had given him super powers to go along with his super-annoying attitude. But tonight was different. Tonight my body was his Alexis-shaped punching bag, and his goal was to turn my innards into outtards. I didn’t want to stand up and face him. In fact, lying on the ground for the rest of the night sounded like a good plan. Too bad it wasn’t Reaper’s plan.
He pounded his fist into the mat and missed my head by centimeters. His eyes radiated with hatred and rage. “Pay attention, blood sucker, or I’ll use you as a mop, wipe up the floor, wring you out and hang you on a wall.”
He yanked me to my feet by my braid, placed his hand on my back and shoved me across the room. I tripped, but turned my stumble into a somersault that ended in a ten-point dismount.
Reaper was a tank in tennis shoes and camo pants. Two hundred and forty pounds of hard-earned muscle. All it took was one look and a sensible person peed their pants and scrambled to get away.
I’m not sensible. I’m not human either.
“You may be bigger. But I’m faster. Stronger.”
Reaper curled his finger inward, his smile smug. A smile that my fists ached to wipe off his face.
I bee-lined for him. At the last second I flipped over his head, and landed behind him. In the moment it took him to turn around, I sent a roundhouse kick to his ribs. He grabbed his side, but stayed standing.
My fists flew. One connected with his jaw. The other he batted away. His right fist came at my chest. I dodged to the left and it missed its target. His left one didn’t. Four sharp knuckles hit my face with a holy-hell-the-pain-might-kill-me crunch. One broken nose. Blood gushed down the back of my throat and puddled on my tongue. I spit wet glob on the floor. More blood dripped from my nostrils and ran down my lips and neck and cleavage.
Tilting my head back a notch, I wiped away the blood running down my face with the back of my hand. “That’s the last hit you’re getting in tonight.” I attacked.
My speed caused him to go on the defensive, but I wasn’t fast enough. Every punch he blocked. Every kick he dodged. Every move he anticipated.
Pain and anger made me sloppy, and being sloppy would get me hurt…again. Sweat mixed with blood dripped down my face and fell to the mat. I glanced at my opponent. Reaper’s forehead was as dry as his personality.
I tightened my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palm, and ground my teeth against each other. His smug smile forced me to kick high at his chest, but never made contact. Reaper grabbed my heel with one hand, my toes with the other and twisted. My body followed the same direction as my foot and I ended up face first on the mat. I battered the ground with my fists.
This was pathetic, and the butt beating was my fault. My heart and mind were preoccupied with other things. Nathan’s death. It weighed on me like a coffin tied to my ankle.
What the hell was I still doing here?
Jumping up, I gathered what was left of my pride and walked to the exit. And almost made it. Almost. But a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, one across my chest, and the other between my legs. He lifted and tossed me to the ground. The impact evacuated my breath in a loud whoosh. I pushed to my elbows, but Reaper positioned his full weight on my chest, and pinned my arms over my head.
He leaned so close I could see the faint flecks of gold in his eyes and smell the coffee on his breath. “Here’s your lesson for today.” The chill in his voice iced my bones like the Chicago streets in January. “Don’t ever turn your back on your opponent. Unless they’re passed out or dead.”
I obviously needed the reminder.
I may be pinned under a Reaper-shaped dumb-bell, but I still had my vampire strength. I raised my hips and knocked him to the ground. Stood up, dusted off my yoga pants, and headed to the door.
“We’re not done,” Reaper called after me.
I lifted my arms high and gave him a double one-finger salute.
“Don’t make me come get you.”
Don’t turn around. Do. Not. Turn. Around.
“The tough, little vampire can’t take a beating?”
His words wiggled their way into my blood, my ego, my brain. Damn, he was good.
I stopped, sighed, and spun around. He leaned against the rope of the sparing ring and picked his nails. “You know I can.”
“Prove it.” The crooked smile he wore told me he couldn’t wait for me to do just that.
So I did.
An hour later, I walked out my front door. Reaper’s 1970 SS Chevelle waited at the curb. Midnight blue with two white stripes on the hood, the car demanded attention with the rumble of its engine and the growl of its exhaust pipe. The perfect car for Reaper.
The passenger side door opened with a creak. “You’re late. Get. In.”
I slid into the seat and glanced at the seething human. His jaw tight, teeth grinding. One hand clutched the steering wheel, and the other held an ice pack over his newly blackened eye.
I thought about suppressing my smile at the sight of his bumps and bruises but didn’t. Let him see it. “Ready?” My word was happy and high.
“Don’t talk.” The quiet fury in Reaper’s voice told me I was about to push his patience off a cliff.
Alexis twenty-three. Reaper twenty. Not that I was keeping score.
The too-chirpy voice of the GPS unit led us through the maze of downtown Chicago. Eminem played on the radio, looking for the “Real Slim Shady”, and I sat and watched the world go by at forty miles per hour. A glimpse of humanity speeding past through a thin layer of glass.
I coveted their lives. Men, women, and children with the freedom to live how they wanted. No angelic contract or mysterious vampire body snatcher or prejudiced partners.
I clung to my dreams like a five year old clings to their mother’s leg on their first day of kindergarten. The dream of a beating heart. The warmth of the sun on my skin. A family of my own. The return of what was stolen from me—my humanity.
Those are the dreams. And the reason I put up with Reaper each and every night.
The landscape changed from the urban nightlife of the city streets to the tall pine trees and dense evergreens of the suburbs. The city water tower announced we were in Oak Park, just one of the many suburbs that surrounded the city.
Reaper turned into a small paved parking lot attached to a neighborhood park. Loose gravel crunched under the tires. He parked the car and the engine rumbled to a stop.
“I’ve started researching areas with high assault rates. This used to be a quiet community, now it’s not.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. “Thought it was worth checking out.”
Between Reaper’s instincts and the police scanners he used for back up, my partner was usually right. “Then let’s see what’s disturbing the good people of Oak Park.”
I opened my door and took a deep breath. Clean air. Wet grass. Spilled blood.
Vampire.
Eddie woke up with a jolt. More than one.
I got out of the car and followed the coppery smell along a well-worn path of pebbles, lined with maroon and yellow mums, and past a row of wooden benches, straight into the middle of a playground.
Pink and grey Nike’s peeked out from underneath the slide.
I rushed to the slide and fell to my knees next to the body of a girl, maybe nineteen, in black running shorts and tank top. Arms spread wide, legs spread wide, mouth spread wide in a scream that would never be heard.
Eddie rushed to the surface, tried to gain control, at the sight of her too-still lifeless body, but I fought it back and refused to let it come out and play.
I knew before my hand touched the side of her neck there wouldn’t be a pulse, but I still had to check, in case there was a bit of life left in her battered body. There wasn’t. With the tip of my fingers I slid her eyes closed. What a wholesome place for such a horrific act. Swings, slides, and monkey bars all witness to the carnage. Desecrated by brutality and death and horror.
