Vampire Sire (Vampire for Hire Book 15)

by J. R. Rain

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” I said, “I want to talk about my sire.”

  “What do you want to know, Sam?”

  “I want to know why you gave his medallion to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  He didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t ask me to repeat myself. Rand knew what I was talking about, and he leveled his considerable gaze at me. “Easy, Sam. He asked me to.”

  Like an allergic reaction, my tongue suddenly seemed too big for my mouth. But it wasn’t allergies, since I hadn’t had a sniffle in over a decade. When I finally found my voice, I asked, “What else did he say?”

  “You’re emotional, Sam.”

  “Do you care to share?”

  Truth was, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Rand in this moment. That he had extinguished the light of an amazing man, I had no doubt. But I also knew that Rand was just doing his job, fulfilling a role he’d been compelled to do for some time. And not just him... his bloodline. No reason to add this extra burden on the man, not that I cared too much if Rand carried such burdens. It just seemed... unnecessary, and a part of my life I didn’t feel inclined to share with a man who had killed my one-father, even if he hadn’t known J.C. was my one-father. Then again, had he known, I doubted he would have cared, since, at the time, I had been his next target anyway. Just too much to process, and Rand wasn’t the man I wanted to process it with.

  Despite my reservations, he was right. I was emotional, and there was no holding it back. Not now. Not anymore. “I can’t do this,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Be civil,” I said.

  “I don’t under—”

  “You killed him, you motherfucker.”

  He blinked, sat back, and made an unconscious movement toward his jacket, stopping just short of reaching inside, which was a damned good idea, probably for both of us.

  “You killed a great man and a loving father, a man who doggedly pursued the worst piece of shit on this planet. You killed him because it was in your fucking blood. You killed him because, yes, I can see you enjoy killing, no matter how much you claim it’s your heritage. You’re a cold-hearted, reckless, murderous piece of shit.”

  “Sam, calm down.”

  “The only thing keeping me from killing you now is the very man whose life you extinguished. He was a good man who hurt no one, ever. Who lived to avenge my death.”

  “I know that now, Sam. Please, you’re making a scene.”

  His hand was in his jacket, where the revolver was. Truth was, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to rip his throat out. Yes, I was weakened by the damn garlic and a proximity to silver, but fuck all that. I would fight through it, and I would fight him, too. No matter that he was nearly as fast as me, no way was he as strong, and no way could he stop me. No way, just no way...

  I felt the tears streaming. The injustice of it all was just too much. I made to stand, but a hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist; it was Rand.

  “Please, Sam. Don’t leave.”

  I nearly ripped my hand away, but I sensed his strength. Wow, was he strong. But it was the look in his eyes that got me to finally, finally take a deep breath. Then another.

  “Please, Sam. Sit.”

  I did so, slowly, noting all eyes were on us. Hell, even the music had stopped. The manager, I noted was coming our way, until I gave him a quick suggestion that he had to pee, and badly. He crossed his legs and grabbed his pee-pee, and veered off toward the restrooms.

  “You do that?” asked Rand.

  “I did.”

  He nodded. “I hope he makes it.”

  “He will. He doesn’t really have to pee.”

  Rand nearly smiled, but didn’t. His eyes squinted, even as his strong grip adjusted to now hold the top of my hand. His warm fingers curled around my small palm. For the first time, the distant, dancing fire in his eyes was gone.

  “Tell me, Sam. What did you mean... avenge your death?”

  But I couldn’t find the words. Doing so would risk another outburst; in the least, a torrent of tears.

  Rand studied me, his dark eyes searching. The real Rand sought answers. “I don’t understand, Sam.”

  “He was... my father in another lifetime.”

  “Another life...?”

  “A long, long story. He was my father and I was murdered, and my killer is still out there, killing others like me.”

  “Vampires?”

  “No, witches. I had been a witch in my past life.”

  “But, Sam... I had it on good authority that he was one of the oldest vampires, one of the originals—wait, he’d been looking for your killer all this time?”

  “He had.”

  “Geez, Sam. I didn’t know.”

  “But even if you had, you would have killed him anyway. And me.”

  Rand said nothing, but I saw the tears in his own eyes. We both knew my words were true.

  “My revelation changes nothing, of course.”

  “But it does explain why I thought I was about to get my head ripped off,” said Rand. “And the experience did change how I do, um, business. I research more. I follow up more. I weigh the pros and cons. I ask questions of my vampire friends.”

  I nodded. I knew one of his team members was also a vampire.

  Strange bedfellows, indeed.

  “Had I done my due diligence with your, um, father...”

  “Just call him J.C.,” I said.

  “With J.C., yeah, I would have bypassed him in an instant. It was obvious he wasn’t a threat.”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam.”

  “I know you are now. But then...”

  “No, I had misgivings even then, Sam. I studied the man for months, watching his every movement. He knew I was out there. I sensed him sensing me. I watched him feed from the local wildlife, and even then, he didn’t kill the critters. He was no threat, and I knew it.”

  “And you killed him anyway.”

  “I... I didn’t know any better, Sam. It’s what we did. It was what my family did.”

  “A poor excuse to kill a good man.”

  “That’s just the thing, Sam. I didn’t see him as a man. I saw him as a monster. There is something within me that just... hates the things I hunt.”

  “You hate me?”

  “I try not to.”

  “But you do?”

  He took in some air. “I try not to. Let’s leave it at that.”

  We were quiet for a heartbeat or two. Any of the lingering stares we got soon turned away. I quickly scanned the surrounding minds and verified no one had overheard us. The dueling pianos had long since started dueling again.

  “Are we good, Sam?”

  “As good as we can be.”

  “You were asking about the medallion. Would you like to hear more?”

  I nodded, looked away from his eyes. There was real warmth there, even if there was confusion. I was his natural prey. I knew that. I knew he fought it when he was around me, and he probably fought when he was around his vampire team member. The good news was... he’d learned his lesson, even if it meant a good man—my one-time father—had to die.

  “Sam, my aim that night was off, just enough that... J.C. survived the shot.”

  “A crossbow bolt?” I asked.

  He nodded, and now, it was his turn to look away. “It had just missed his heart, but it had done enough damage to render him... immobile.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “The bolt had pinned him to a wall.”

  “Where?”

  “In his home.”

  “You killed him in his home?”

  “Yes, Sam.”

  “Was he asleep?”

  “As terrible as you think I am, or was, I would not attack a defenseless target.”

  “But you attacked me when I first opened my hotel room door.”

  “I attacked you in the evening, when you were at full power. I gave you every chance to defend you
rself, and you did.”

  “You could have gone in for the kill,” I said, recalling the bolt plowing into my shoulder and spinning me into the hotel bathroom. The pain had been unreal.

  “Truth be known, Sam, I couldn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Kill you.”

  “You aimed for my heart.”

  “But I paused, certainly long enough for you to turn away.”

  “Why did you pause?”

  “I...” Rand opened his mouth and closed it again. “It was your sire. Already, his death was affecting me. It had, quite frankly, haunted me. I couldn’t shake it, not like the others.”

  I watched the handsome, grizzled, blond-haired man work through his own emotions. I noted the scars on his arms and knuckles. The man had gone to war for the mortals of the earth, whether they appreciated it or not. At the moment, I appreciated it not.

  “Mostly, Sam, I remembered how he spoke of you.”

  “How did he speak of me?”

  “With love, Sam.”

  My throat constricted, but I managed to speak anyway. “What did he say?”

  “He was mortally wounded. I believe the bolt pierced his lungs and even, perhaps, his trachea. Instead of grabbing for it and trying to pull himself free, he reached for a medallion hanging around his neck. I approached him cautiously, to say the least. Vampires, especially older vampires, have more than a few tricks up their sleeves. Some have even learned minor enchantments, as I knew J.C. had.”

  “He knew you were onto him,” I said, highly aware that I sounded like Dick Tracy but not caring one iota.

  “Vampires are rarely surprised by my presence. Some flee. Some stay and fight. Most know of me and my talents. Most know it will be a fair-enough fight.”

  “Fair enough?”

  “I’m just a mortal with a crossbow, Sam. I won’t kill them in their sleep, but I do need to protect myself.”

  “You are more than mortal.”

  “No, Sam. I can die from salmonella poisoning like any other human. I can just channel the best of us when needed.”

  I caught the “us” part but let it slide. A speaking error only, obviously. Instead, I said, “Fine. What happened with the medallion?”

  Rand nodded, held eye contact with me. Say what you will about the hunter, he had compassion, even if he was never, ever, truly sorry for his kills.

  “He pulled it over his head with some difficulty and held it out to me. I told him to drop it, figuring it was a charm of some sort. He said he would not drop it, that it was a special gift. I stood there, with the next bolt notched and ready for the kill shot, and the old man—clearly the oldest-looking vampire I’d ever hunted—stared back at me with determination in his eyes. I asked him what he wanted me to do with it and he said to give it to you.”

  “At the time, did you know about me?”

  “Of course, Sam. I had my...”

  “Hit list.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did I find my way onto your list?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t give away all my secrets, Sam.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Back to the necklace. I assume you took it.”

  Rand drummed his fingers on the scarred table, cracked his neck like a pro, then looked back at me. “Against my better judgment, I took it from him.”

  “I assume nothing terrible happened?”

  “No, Sam.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He did. He told me to tell his daughter that he loved her more than she would ever know, and that he was sorry he failed her twice. He said he was never more lost than when she was taken from him, and never more centered than when he found her again, time after time. He said his greatest gift was her and he was so proud to be her father. Sam... I didn’t know he had been talking about you. I looked for his daughter, but found no indication of her anywhere... and soon forgot about his message... until now.”

  I briefly covered my eyes and asked Rand what happened next. After accepting the medallion and hearing J.C.’s final request, he’d said goodbye to the old man, who had nodded once and closed his eyes, and Rand had promptly plunged a silver dagger deep into his heart.

  “I didn’t feel right about it, Sam,” said Rand.

  “But you did it anyway.”

  “I had to. I’m sorry. The compulsion, at that time, was undeniable.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I have some control over it. Enough to make my own decisions.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  “And good for you, too, Sam. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “What do you know of the Red Rider?” I asked suddenly, wanting to get off the subject of my one-father’s death.

  “Nothing, Sam. I’m sorry.”

  “But he is immortal... surely, he’s on your radar... or the radars of your ancestors.”

  Rand shook his head. “From what I understand, he is a magical being first and foremost. He is not possessed by a dark master.”

  Rand stood and came around to my side of the table. He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and, inside of me, Elizabeth recoiled at his touch. How many of her dark masters had he and his ancestors displaced? I didn’t know, but she would know. Dozens, perhaps. Maybe even hundreds. No wonder why she’d recoiled.

  “I hope you find the bastard, Sam. If you need my help, you have my number. I will be in L.A. for the next few weeks or so.”

  “Hunting mermen.”

  “One merman. Let’s just hope I find him.”

  He patted my shoulder again, and headed off toward the door, weaving between the dueling pianos. He’d left behind a crisp hundred-dollar bill, which I hadn’t seen until now. I grabbed it, held it up, protesting that it was way too much.

  But he was already gone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I’d just paid the bill—or, rather, Rand had just paid—when the Angel of Death appeared by my side. Like right there, stride for stride, all glowing eight feet of him. I gasped and jumped and might have trembled a little. Since others didn’t appear to see him, I kept my cool as best as I could, especially since most of the restaurant already thought I was freak.

  I pushed through the glass double doors and stepped out onto Harbor Boulevard and into downtown Fullerton. The Angel of Death didn’t step through the double doors; he walked through the brick façade of the old building itself... and continued by my side down a crowded sidewalk.

  “It’s been a while, Samantha.”

  “It has.”

  “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  Squinting, I glanced up at the massive entity that should have blocked out the sun angling down in the same direction, except, being mostly transparent, the sun shone straight through him. “A giant, invisible angel suddenly appearing by my side? Why would I be startled?”

  “Oh, others can see me, Sam. Look around.”

  I did, scanning the faces around us. There, a homeless man looked up from his seat against a wall across the street. Now, he was standing, watching us closely, mouth open.

  “Why him?” I asked.

  “There’s more, look.”

  I did. A woman in a passing bus pressed her face against the smoky glass, eyes wide, breath fogging before her. A man coming toward us stopped in his tracks and dropped his cell phone. I snatched it up before it hit the ground. I tucked it in his pants pocket and nearly gave him a prompt to forget what he had seen, when I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “Leave him, Sam.”

  “But...”

  The hand on my shoulder guided me around the man staring at us, whose mouth also hung open. I didn’t blame him.

  “But... they saw you. Won’t that freak them out?”

  “Not as much as you think, Sam.”

  A man on a passing bike hit his brakes and nearly went over his handlebars. Feet planted on the ground, he stared, mouth also hanging open. I was noticing a trend.

  “But why them?” I asked, watching
a woman from across the street stop and stare, both hands clutching white gift bags. She nearly dropped them but managed to keep it together enough not to.

  “Those who asked can see me.”

  “Asked to see the Angel of Death?”

  “No, Sam. Asked to see a miracle. Asked to see proof that there is something beyond their five senses. Asked for something to believe in. First and foremost, Sam, I am an angel.”

  “An archangel,” I said.

  “Indeed, Sam. And, as such, I also work as an agent for something greater than me.”

  “God.”

  “God, the Creator, the Source, the All That Is, the Origin.”

  “The Big Tuna.”

  “If that works for you, Sam.”

  “Have you seen God?”

  “We all have, Sam. Every day. Every second. Every atom is infused with the breath of God.”

  “Okay, that’s the boring answer. How about giving me the answer I’m really looking for?”

  “You are asking if I have seen the face of God?”

  “His face, his hair, any part of him, really.”

  “God makes frequent appearances here on earth... and in many other worlds of his creations, disguised as one of his creations. I use the masculine here for the sake of convenience. God is pure energy and without gender, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  I thought back to my conversation with God just a few months ago. It had taken place in my minivan, via a pen and pad of paper. True, I’d had similar such conversations; that is, through automatic writing. But this conversation had been... different. This conversation came with a trip to heaven, a trip that I’d been hesitant to speak about to anyone. I both wanted to forget what I had seen, and wanted to think about it continuously. But knowing I would never see this paradise again was too much to deal with, and so I didn’t. I did my best to put it out of my thoughts. Interestingly, I also thought back to the man who had called himself Jack, a man I’d met at a Denny’s nearly six years ago, a man who had known everything about me... and did not judge me.