by Debra Dunbar
I didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t tell an addict to lay off the smack, to walk away. You couldn’t convince him that his seductive drug of choice was going to kill him. All I could do was hope the tub of ice cream that Sarge was massacring was going to help him make the right choice.
“Tonight is our night. You know, for us to really be together. I’ve been waiting eight weeks for this night, and I get the feeling it’s going to be our last.”
Sarge stopped stabbing the ice cream and set it on the coffee table next to Swift and Beachum’s Cabalistic Rites. I looked at the sad container of melting cookie-dough, then up at Sarge. “I think that’s even more reason for you to just enjoy tonight.”
Because tomorrow he’d be dead? Or ditched and facing the mother of all detox? Or turned, although I’m pretty sure that discussion would have been on the table prior to tonight.
The man shook his head. “I want more. He wants more. But we both know where that will end. This whole relationship was doomed from the start.”
It was. I wish I had some magical spell to lessen the addictive nature of the venom, or to allow a human to regenerate blood loss overnight. I barely knew Sarge, but I felt for him and his romantic tragedy. I wanted to be the good friend and just listen and sympathize, but it was hard to see anyone standing on the edge of a cliff and watch while they jumped.
“What do you want to happen? I mean, within the realm of reality, there are only three choices, and you’re going to have to pick one. You keep going like this and you’ll have a few weeks of non-stop ecstasy before you die. And I’m trying to stress the ‘die’ here.”
He eyed the ice cream. “Part of me wants that. I’d die happy. I wouldn’t suffer, Geraldo would make sure of that. Beats getting hit by a bus.”
Yeah, we all died eventually. I thought of Essie and her comment when I’d brought Dario to Middleburg last week. It would totally be worth it if Sarge were over a hundred years old or terminally ill. He was a healthy young man, though. He had his whole life ahead of him, and it could be a happy life. He’d never know if he went down this path.
“Have you spoken to him about possibly turning you?” That was one of the other options. I don’t know if he’d get the weeks of ecstasy—possibly only the one night before Geraldo did the deed. I wasn’t sure exactly how it worked except that it involved exsanguination on both sides and an overnight blood bath.
Sarge looked shocked at my question. “That’s not common. It would be a great honor, and I’ve put it out there that I wouldn’t refuse, but that’s not the sort of thing you ask. From what I’ve been told, it’s rarely offered. Siring takes a huge toll on the vampire, and there’s a lot of responsibility involved. Even the oldest of them have only turned a few dozen in their lifetime.”
I blinked in surprise. Dario had twice offered it to me and he’d never even shared my blood. It shed light onto those conversations and revealed some nuances I wasn’t sure I was willing to think about right now. Not that it mattered. I’m sure that and all other offers were off the table now.
“Besides,” Sarge continued. “It would completely change our relationship. In a way, we’d have a deeper connection, and we’d probably still love each other, but it wouldn’t be the same.”
No, there would be no sharing of blood, no drug-fueled orgasms. They’d both feed from humans, finding emotional and physical satisfaction in blood slaves. It sounded weird that Sarge would miss the obsessive need of a blood slave for his vampire, but it was true. Unfortunately, the man couldn’t have his cake and eat the whole darned thing without it killing him.
“Then you need to walk away.” Here came my tough love speech, the one I wasn’t sure I would heed if I were in Sarge’s shoes. “You walk away, get clean and find a boyfriend who isn’t a vampire.”
Sarge’s eyes met mine. “Could you? Walk away, that is?”
Probably not. Still, I needed to be the voice of reason. “Three choices, my friend. Three. Indulge and die an early death. Break with polite convention and have the make-me-a-vampire talk. Or walk and live. There are good guys out there, Sarge. Once you come down off the venom addiction, you’ll see that there are great guys out there to love who won’t wind up killing you.”
He smiled sadly. “You wait and see. I tried to break things off once, and went right back after a month. Sex isn’t as good. No one else is as good. All you do is think about them and how incredible you feel when you’re with them. I’d walk away and be living like a hollow shell, constantly missing what I’d left behind. I think I’d rather be dead.”
And with that, I realized that Sarge had made his choice. It was a choice that scared me, that brought a sting of tears to my eyes. The man stood picking up the container of soupy ice cream and taking it to my kitchen.
“Normally we meet at my house, but tonight I’m going to meet Geraldo at his place.”
I waited a second, wondering the significance of this.
“I’ve been there before. You know how vampires are about anyone knowing where they rest. Well, blood slaves are different. I’ve been to his house, I’ve met the other vampires in the Balaj. I’m part of their family. It’s what being a blood slave is all about.”
“So you’re going to ask him to turn you?” I hoped this was where Sarge was going with all of this.
He shrugged. “I’m leaving that up to him. I won’t ask. I’ll just be there when he wakes, so the first blood he tastes is mine. And there I’ll remain, in his house.”
I felt a chill as I understood. Sarge was all in. He was going to enjoy tonight, encourage Geraldo to take more than the customary pint. And he was going to remain there for his vampire every night until he had no more left to give.
“And what if he makes you leave? What if he breaks things off with you?”
I had no idea how this worked. Last month I would have assumed any vampire would jump at the chance to drain a beloved blood slave dry over the course of a few weeks. They were willing, and the vampires I’d read about wouldn’t say no to an eager buffet.
But now I wasn’t sure. There were things that Dario had shared which made me rethink my opinions. Geraldo’s hunger might win out. If so I’d never see Sarge again. Or Geraldo might have some shred of humanity left in him. He might have strength and control over his instincts. Maybe he’d love Sarge enough to set him free.
The man shook his head. “Geraldo has said he would leave me before he’d hurt me, but I’ve seen the look in his eyes. He can’t help himself any more than I can help going to him tonight.”
I remembered the predatory look that flashed across Dario’s dark eyes on more than one occasion and agreed. The hunger would win. I got the feeling it won most every time.
My heart ached for him. “Enjoy tonight, Sarge.”
He nodded, his mouth wobbling up into a smile. “I will. Oh, trust me I will completely enjoy tonight. And I better get going if I’m going to be there when Geraldo awakens. A guy’s gotta get all primped up for a big date like this, you know?”
Totally. Not that I was busy primping for my own date, who would be here any minute. The difference struck me and I thought about Sarge’s words. Vampire venom aside, I got the feeling he truly loved Geraldo. And I doubted their relationship had started with a date he hadn’t even bothered to wash his hair for. If he had hair, that is. I really should have cancelled this thing with Zac.
I stood and gave Sarge a hug, then walked him to the door. A scrap of paper on the table caught my eye. “Hey, do you know where this is?”
I’d only been in Baltimore for six months, and was still figuring out my way around the sprawling city with its neighborhoods and suburbs.
He laughed. “Gay Street, five hundred block. Old Town Mall. It’s just off Orleans. It used to be one of those pedestrian open-air markets with hip little shops but that all fell apart in the ’70s. Supposedly a developer bought it and plans to turn it into housing, but right now everything is shut down and boarded up. The Mall is kind of a cool
spot to take photos on urban decay and graffiti, but nothing beyond that. And I wouldn’t go there at night, unless you had the boss with you, that is.”
The boss. Dario. I still hadn’t quite figured out why he was “the boss” and Leonora was Mistress.
“Dario and I aren’t together,” I hastily assured Sarge. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got a really big sword.”
The man eyed my neck. “It’s clear to everyone that Dario has a thing for you. All the other vampires know you’re off limits. How long are you going to hold out?”
Forever. I ignored Sarge’s question and opened the door for him, again wishing him a good evening. As he edged past me, I saw Zac climbing the last flight of stairs to my apartment. The guys passed each other on the landing, doing that sizing-up thing men do. It was kinda funny, huge weight-lifter, bald-headed Sarge with his tattoos, brushing shoulders with Zac—a guy who was only a few inches taller than me and had a geeky vibe to match his slim build.
Zac smiled at me as I waited for him in my doorway. I could see the doubt in his eyes, and gave him props for not asking about the guy just leaving my apartment—the one who looked like he could bench press a Volvo.
“Sarge,” I told him. “He’s got boyfriend problems so we ate ice cream and chatted.”
No one actually ate the ice cream, but Zac got the idea and visibly relaxed when he realized Sarge was not competing with him for my affections.
“Cool. You guys hang out often?”
I watched Sarge’s bald head drop out of view as he rounded the last set of stairs. “Not really. I’ll probably never see him again.”
And as I ushered Zac into my apartment and closed my door, I thought how true those words were. It was unlikely I’d ever see Sarge again.
Chapter 4
OF ALL THE places for Zac to take me on our date, he chose Sesarios. I didn’t have the heart to tell him a sexy vampire, about whom I still had some rather lurid fantasies, had taken me there last. Instead I nodded and agreed that their gnocchi was amazing and that they had the best cannoli in town. I should know, I’d eaten six of them in twelve hours once. The one saving grace was that it was August, which meant the sun didn’t go down until nine at night. Which meant there were no vampires dining when we were there.
Running into Dario would have been awkward, as unlikely as that prospect was, but I was more worried about being able to focus on my date-night conversation with the prickly feel of vampire energy filling the restaurant. I couldn’t help but sense them, and once I knew they were there, it was hard to ignore their presence.
Instinctively my hand went to cover my Templar tattoo as the hostess seated us. I’d left off wearing the wide leather bracelet that covered it when I’d moved to Baltimore, thinking it was time for me to embrace who I was and for everyone else to accept it. Hiding it from Haul Du hadn’t helped, they’d found out anyway. Might as well let everyone see the thing right up front, judge me as they may.
It hadn’t been a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal for most Templars although we tended to hang out with our own kind. The only real repercussion of my open display of the tattoo was that Dario had recognized me, and that had led to my project with the vampires last week.
There was an uneasy truce between Templars and vampires. I’d felt confident enough in that truce to tease Dario by sending him Bloody Marys and other nonsense for months. I didn’t feel so confident walking into a vampire friendly establishment, even before dusk, with my tattoo clearly revealed.
The hostess’s eyes snagged on my wrist, although to give the woman credit, her warm welcome never faltered. The waiter also kept sneaking peeks at the tattoo as he recited the specials. I hoped this wasn’t going to be a problem. It seemed Templars were okay if they were accompanied by a vampire with status in the local Balaj, but not when they were with a human date.
Zac was either oblivious or polite enough not to comment. He took charge, asking me about my preferences and ordering dinner as well as our wine. It was more old-fashioned than I’d expected from him, but he’d done it with a friendly smile that didn’t raise any of my feminist hackles.
“I half expected you to cancel after what happened in the park,” he admitted sheepishly.
I’d considered it, but not for the reasons he thought. “It takes more than a dead body to make me cancel a date.”
He smiled. “Well, that wasn’t your run-of-the-mill dead body. Not that I’ve ever seen a dead body outside of a funeral viewing.”
Which made me realized I had no idea what Zac actually did besides gaming. At least I now knew that it didn’t involve dead bodies. “So I take it your job isn’t at the local coroner’s office or in mortuary services?”
“I sell medical equipment. Mostly to hospitals, although my territory includes some private practices and urgent care facilities.”
That was… well, whatever it was it didn’t sound very interesting. I guess someone had to sell those things. I’m sure there would come a day when I was glad the hospital had chosen the something-something machine that caught my tumor early.
“So, are you in college? I know you work at the coffee shop part-time with Brandi.”
I winced, realizing that probably sounded just as boring to him. In fact, I probably came across like a lazy bum who had no ambition whatsoever. He wasn’t far from the truth.
“I have a degree in history. Which doesn’t make me very employable, I guess.” I laughed awkwardly. The history degree had been perfectly suitable for someone who would take their Oath and spend their life in service to the Temple. A degree, and four years of specialized training. And here I was making lattes.
“You’ll find your calling.” Far from bored, Zac seemed intrigued by the idea of a woman with a history degree pouring coffee part-time. “The perfect job will come along. You just have to be ready to take that chance when opportunity knocks.”
I envisioned my opening the door to find a pack of harpies on the other side, tied up with a bow and ready to kill. I’m sure that’s not what Zac meant. Still, I wondered whether selling medical equipment was his calling. Maybe he loved dealing with the doctors and technicians, telling them about the latest products and recommending things that would make their jobs easier, that might save lives. Who was I to judge another’s passion?
Conversation faded, and we both began to flounder for anything discussion-worthy. I knew nothing of local politics or sports. Zac barely knew the Mona Lisa from a Degas. We both breathed a sigh of relief when dinner arrived and we turned to the one thing we knew we had in common.
“You’re gonna need to dial back your swing a bit in the LARPs before you put half the other team in the hospital.”
I took a bite of gnocchi and hid a smile at Zac’s exaggeration. Yeah, I was hitting harder than I should, but I doubted anyone was going to wind up concussed. “All right, who complained?”
He laughed. “Well none of the guys, because no man is going to whine that a woman is hitting too hard. They did all comment admirably on the strength of your arm and your amazing reflexes, though.”
I squirmed, pleased that I’d made an impression. “So who did whine? Let me guess—that Melisandre mage woman?”
Zac nodded. “She said you nailed her with a head shot, too.”
“She’s all of five feet tall,” I complained. “That should have been a shoulder blow on anyone of reasonable height. Next time make her wear stilts or something.”
“She said you hit her after she froze you with a spell.”
Oh, that snitch. “Reflexes. And how is a beanbag with no verbal incantation whatsoever a spell? Bogus. Her complaints are totally bogus.”
The rest of our meal was not bogus. We bantered about the LARP, discussed strategy for our next melee, and pondered whether the city would ever allow us to do mounted combat. Maryland’s state sport was jousting. There totally needed to be jousting in Baltimore City parks.
The waiter cleared the plates away, and right before coffee arrived Zac reached acro
ss the table, taking my hands in his and looking into my eyes with a serious expression.
“Aria Ainsworth, will you do me the great honor of… of joining my Anderon game Wednesday nights at my house?”
It was the oddest proposal I’d ever received. Actually it was the only proposal I’d ever received and it wasn’t even a marriage one. Thankfully. I was more excited about the prospect of the Anderon game, and I demonstrated this by squealing and yanking my hands from Zac’s so I could clap enthusiastically.
“Yes! Oh, yes!”
He smiled, face flushed and eyes sparkling as he reached into the messenger bag by his side and pulled out a sheet of paper. Next came a little leather bag that rattled as he sat it on the table. “Excellent. Let’s roll up your character over coffee.”
I’d done some research ever since I’d mistaken RPGs for rocket propelled grenades, so I looked down at the ability categories eagerly. “I want to be a chaotic good, half-dragon fighter.”
Half dragon. The very thought made me want to giggle. Dragons were reptiles, and although sentient and scary-smart, they weren’t physically compatible with humans. Half-dragon. Ha ha ha.
“Let’s see what you roll up first.”
I took the four six-sided dice and tossed them on the table. Then I added the highest three numbers. “Four.”
Zac recoiled as if I’d just punched him. “Four?”
“Yeah. Is that bad?”
He swallowed a few times. “Well, ten to twelve is a normal, average score.”
So four was bad. I looked down the list. Strength. Constitution. Dexterity. Intelligence. Wisdom. Charisma. A four strength would really suck, but none of the others was a great choice either. Too weak to pick up more than a sock. Keels over dead when someone sneezes at me. Stumbles over dust. Has the IQ of a toddler. Decides jumping face first into lava is a good idea. So ugly I make ugly people run and cry.
