John's Yearning

by Tina Folsom

  The treatment had worked on the first attempt and resulted in triplets. Three tiny, screaming, and always hungry hybrids that kept everybody in the kingdom on their toes.

  And now they were suddenly sixteen years old.

  “Is everything ready for tonight?” Cain asked.

  “The fireworks are being set up as we speak. The decorations are up. Very goth.” John chuckled to himself.

  Faye clapped her hands. “I don’t know how to thank you, John! I can’t believe you came up with the idea of hosting a vampire-themed birthday party. It solves all our problems with the kids’ human guests. Since everybody’s going to be in vampire costumes, nobody will blink an eye if one of us is seen drinking blood or exposing a fang.”

  “It’s genius,” Cain agreed.

  John shrugged. “I figured with all those vampire books on the bestseller lists and that new vampire series on TV—which is, by the way, totally unrealistic—no human would find it strange that three teenagers requested a vampire-themed party.”

  “Just as well that those vampires on TV are nothing like us,” Cain commented. “As long as they keep getting half of what we do and how we live wrong, we won’t have to worry about them ever figuring us out. Our secret is safe.”

  “I hope it remains that way.” John motioned to the door. “I’d better check that everything is ready for our guests.”

  “You do that. I’ll have a word with the kids, reiterate the rules for tonight.” Cain winked at him. “Just in case. You know how they are when they get excited.”

  John nodded at Cain and Faye, then walked outside. The mansion which housed the king and queen and their three offspring also contained quarters for the king’s guard, highly trained bodyguards whose job it was to make sure no harm came to the family.

  Outside, several small cottages, all retrofitted to be vampire-proof, dotted the expansive grounds. A long, broad driveway led to a public road several miles away. Along this driveway, tents and stalls had been erected, as well as a stage and a dance floor. It looked more like a carnival than a birthday party. Staff members were milling about, arranging last minute items, while early guests were already arriving, parking their cars in a designated area. From there, they would be led to meet the birthday boys and girl, while security staff discretely scanned them for weapons.

  John surveyed the area, sweeping his gaze over the arriving guests. Everything looked good. There were no problems he could detect. There rarely were. His staff was extremely well-trained and dedicated, and the guests had been pre-screened before invitations had been sent out.

  His cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, and when he read the display, smiled. “Hey, my love,” he murmured, answering it. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling really well tonight,” Nicolette answered. “A bit hot, but otherwise fine. And I’m bored.”

  He chuckled. “You are? Then why don’t you text the driver and ask him to bring you here? Faye was asking about you. And I’d love to steal a dance if I may.”

  “I’m fat as a cow, John! You don’t want to dance with me.” There was a breathless quality to her voice, which reminded him of how she breathed whenever they made love. She’d sounded just like that when he’d made love to her two days ago, with her laying on her side to take pressure off her back and him behind her, gently thrusting in and out of her while he caressed her belly and her heavy breasts. “I’m too fat to dance.”

  He quickly glanced around. Nobody was on the terrace that surrounded the house. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice. “You’re not too fat to make love, so if you won’t dance with me, will you at least let me make love to you tomorrow morning?”

  A soft chuckle came through the phone. “Oh, John. I honestly don’t know how you can still find me attractive when I look like a balloon waddling around on two sticks.”

  He threw his head back and laughed at her description of herself. Then he murmured, “Don’t you know how hard it makes me just thinking of you with your big belly and your heavy tits, and your gorgeous ass? If I weren’t so concerned about your and the baby’s health, I’d be fucking you like crazy every single day until you deliver our son. So, get your sweet ass into that limousine and come over here so I can at least put my arms around you and pretend to be civilized.”

  “I love you, John,” she said. “I’ll be there in an hour, just need to put some decent clothes on.”

  “I love you, too.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The arriving guests, a few complications regarding the planned fireworks, and a mix-up in the food tent kept him so busy that the next time John looked at his watch, an hour and a half had passed since he’d spoken to Nicolette. Had she taken longer to get changed into something suitable for a party, or had they run into traffic? He couldn’t help but worry. He always did when he was away from her.

  He called Nicolette’s cell phone. It rang several times, then went to voicemail. He disconnected the call without leaving a message, and instead searched for the number of the driver he’d arranged for her. It rang once before the call was connected.

  “Hello.”

  “Dean, it’s John Grant. I tried my wife’s phone. Is she with you?”

  There was the sound of the car’s engine, then the driver’s voice again, “Oh, hi, Mr. Grant. We’re on our way. Sorry for the delay.”

  “John.” He heard Nicolette’s voice coming over the speaker in the car. “Sorry, I must have forgotten my cell at home. I was trying on every dress I have, because nothing fit.”

  Just like he’d suspected. There was nothing to worry about. “Well, at least you’re on your way now.”

  “We’re only about ten minutes away. We’ll be turning off the freeway in a second,” she said. “There’s our exit already.”

  “Great!” Then he added, “Thanks, Dean. I’ll see you both shortly.”

  He was about to disconnect the call, when he heard Dean’s voice again. “Oh fuck!” Then a high-pitched scream, coming from Nicolette.

  His blood chilled. “Nicolette!” he screamed into the phone. “What’s wrong? Dean? What’s going on?”

  But his voice was drowned out by screeching tires, metal-slamming-into-metal, glass breaking.

  “Noooooo!”

  Before he even knew what he was doing, he was running, the phone still pressed to his ear. There was another sound, as if a large object was being slammed against metal or concrete, something hard, and then everything went silent.

  “Nicolette!” But she didn’t answer him. Couldn’t, because the line was dead.

  There was only one other way to connect to her. If she could hear him. Their telepathic bond, a bond only blood-bonded couples had.

  As he ran to the parking lot, he sent his thoughts to her.

  Nicolette! Are you okay? What happened? Please talk to me!

  Nothing. No reply.

  No!

  He reached the valet, snatched the key a guest was just handing him and jumped in the car, slammed the door shut, and took off.

  John.

  The word sounded so weak in his mind, but he heard it clearly.

  Nicolette, I’m coming. Hold on, my love. I’m coming.

  John. Again the message was weak. Hurry.

  He raced down the narrow road and slammed the gas pedal down as far as he could.

  I’m almost there, love. Almost there. Just a few more minutes.

  He turned onto the public road, the tail of his borrowed car spinning out, but he kept the vehicle under control.

  I smell something.

  Panic hit him. No. Please, don’t let it happen!

  You’ve gotta get out of the car! Get out now!

  There was silence for a few seconds, seconds that were too long. Then he heard her again.

  Can’t… seatbelt is stuck.

  He tried to calm himself, not wanting to make Nicolette panic.

  Try to wiggle the seatbelt. Try to loosen it. See if you can slip out.

  I’m sorry.<
br />
  No! he responded. Don’t give up!

  He came up on a curve. Behind it was the exit ramp from the freeway, the one Dean would have taken. He raced toward it, took the curve, and felt his heart stop.

  I’m here, my love.

  The front of the limousine was wedged against a low concrete wall and the tail of a big rig. A big rig that had taken the exit ramp at too high a speed and lost control.

  The gas…

  Nicolette didn’t finish her thought.

  A split-second later, the limousine’s gas tank exploded, engulfing the car and its passengers in flames. John screeched to a halt only yards away from the inferno and jumped from the car. He ran toward the flames, despite the heat that felt as if it was melting the skin off his bones. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was saving his woman and his child.

  With supernatural strength he managed to reach the car. The windows had shattered, and flames were shooting out from them. But flames wouldn’t stop him. Not now, not when he was so close.

  His hands burned. Excruciating pain shot through him as he wrenched the passenger door open. He couldn’t see anything but flames inside. Running on pure adrenaline, he willed his hands to turn into claws and reached inside. There, Nicolette. He felt her big belly, felt the seatbelt restricting her, and sliced through it with his sharp claws. All the while, the fire was burning the clothes off this body and the hair off his head.

  He grabbed Nicolette and heaved her out of the car, brought them to the ground and rolled several times to extinguish the flames.

  “Nicolette, I’ve got you.”

  But his vampire senses had already told him that it was too late. There was no breath, no heartbeat, no blood rushing through her veins. He laid his hand on her pregnant belly. No heartbeat from there either. All that was left was charred skin, singed hair, burned clothes. And unlike John, who would recover from his burns with sufficient blood and restorative sleep, Nicolette wouldn’t. There was no life left in her. He couldn’t even turn her into a vampire to save her; it was too late for that too. He’d failed. Failed to keep her safe, failed to save her. Failed her when she was at her most vulnerable.

  Nicolette was no more.

  He rose and looked at the car wreck, the flames still high, still burning hot. Hot enough to kill a vampire.

  “Nicolette,” he murmured, “I won’t leave you.” He walked toward the flames.

  Strong arms ripped him back. The strong arms of another vampire.

  “No, John, she wouldn’t want that.”

  He turned his head to look at Cain. “I can’t live without her.”

  “You’ll have to learn to. She would want you to.”

  Forgive me, Nicolette. He swallowed back tears, standing there for what felt like an eternity.

  And like a coward, he turned away from the flames and allowed Cain to help him.

  12

  Lack of sleep was finally catching up with him. After all, he hadn’t slept a wink the day before, and despite consuming a larger amount of blood than normal, John knew he needed some shut-eye. But before he could go home and rest for a few hours, he had to make a few phone calls and pay somebody a visit.

  He’d stopped at Scanguards’ office in the Mission an hour before sunrise to use their system to run background checks on the babysitter and the neighbor, and made sure nobody saw him. He was supposed to be training Benjamin and Damian, not letting them run loose in the city. Explaining why they weren’t with him wouldn’t be easy.

  His observations of the babysitter and the neighbor hadn’t yielded any useful information yet, and he wasn’t putting too much stock into the background checks either. But he needed to be thorough.

  After shift change, when the vampires had left the building, he was able to get a few other things taken care of, before he snuck out of Scanguards’ underground garage and headed for Cow Hollow and the Marina. The rays of the rising sun couldn’t penetrate his car, so he was safe.

  As soon as he’d merged into traffic, he called Benjamin, who picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, John, I was just about to check in.”

  “Good, give me an update.”

  “So this Rachel, she’s a bit of a flake.”

  “How so?”

  “She called in sick the last two days, but she isn’t sick at all.”

  “Where is she?” John asked with interest. Had she fled after Buffy’s kidnapping?

  “Oh, she’s home. But not alone. Looks like a private party involving drugs and sex. Not sure about the rock ‘n’ roll.” Benjamin chuckled.

  John grunted. “Sounds like somebody using her boss’s absence to get away with skipping work, not like somebody involved in a kidnapping.”

  “Possible,” Benjamin said, “but the shit they’re snorting ain’t cheap. I counted quite a few lines of coke. You said to check out anything odd. And considering that the guy she’s with drives a rust bucket, I can’t see where he got the money to pay for that stuff. She makes good money; I found her pay stubs, but from the credit card statements I saw, it looks like whatever she makes she spends just as quickly.”

  “You were inside her place?” John asked, not without admiration. Benjamin showed promise.

  “Yeah, I picked the lock when the two were passed out. Nobody saw me. I made sure of it.”

  “Good work. Stay on her and follow her if she leaves the house today,” John ordered. “Have you run her background check yet?”

  “Sent it through the system a little earlier. Haven’t got it back.”

  “Thanks. Call me when you have any news.”

  “Yep.”

  John disconnected the call and dialed Damian’s number.

  The older twin answered immediately. “Morning, John, still up?”

  “Barely,” John replied. “Anything I should know?”

  “So I’ve been checking out this Alexi guy all night. Total geek. He’s got every cliché down pat: gets home, orders pizza, and spends all night playing computer games or something. Boring as shit, I tell you. No girlfriend from what I could tell. No surprise there. But then I checked out his background, and listen to this.”

  John involuntarily straightened in his seat. “Yeah?”

  “He’s Russian. Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t.” His last name, Denault, didn’t sound Russian at all, though his first name certainly did.

  “Yeah, parents are Russian, he grew up in St. Petersburg. Apparently the grandfather was French.”

  “Well, that explains the non-Russian last name.”

  “Speaks fluent French. Came to the US on a work visa five years ago, started working for Google, but left. Not sure yet why. I’ll try to find out. But I digress. The point is he’s Russian. And you said we’re looking for a child trafficking ring. And who runs those kind of rings?” Damian made a dramatic pause. “The Russians.”

  “Bit of a stereotype, but let’s go with it.” It was at least a start. “What’re your next steps?”

  “I’ll look into his connections, see who he meets, who he talks to, who he corresponds with. And I’ll check out why he left Google and came to work for Ms. Rice.”

  “Good. If you need help, coordinate with your brother. And check if this Alexi owns any properties anywhere. You know, where he could hide the children.”

  “I was gonna do that,” Damian quickly shot back a bit defensively.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I was. Honestly! You’re not gonna use that as a minus point in my eval, are you?”

  “Don’t worry too much about your evaluation. Just get the job done. This is a team effort. Don’t forget that. The goal is to find the girls. The methods don’t matter. You find the girls, you pass the test. Even if you stumble on the way. Clear?” It never hurt to encourage Damian and dangle a reward in front of him.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, good work so far. Call me as soon as you’ve got something. I’ve got one more errand to run and then I’m gonna get
a few hours of shut-eye. But if anything comes up, wake me.”

  “Sure thing.” Damian disconnected the call.

  At the next red light, John turned right, and only once he was halfway down the block, did he realize where his subconscious had taken him. He was outside of Savannah’s condo. He let out a mirthless laugh. He was one sick son of a bitch. After practically mauling her the night before, he was back at the scene of the crime, hungering for more.

  He brought the car to a stop and looked up at the windows on the second floor. Though it was still early, he saw a movement behind one of the windows. Was Savannah in the kitchen, making breakfast? What would it be like to be there with her, to watch her as she made coffee, perhaps still dressed in her bathrobe, naked underneath? Would she interrupt her task if he pulled her into his arms, opened the belt of her robe and touched her? Would she allow him to pull her onto his lap on a chair? Would she ride him right there, in the middle of the kitchen, impaling herself on his rock-hard cock, not stopping until he shot his seed into her?

  His hand went to his crotch. Fuck! He was hard as granite. And confined to his car. There was no garage he could use to access Savannah’s flat without exposing himself to the burning rays of the morning sun. Sexual frustration coursed through him. However, he knew it was better this way. Even if he could safely reach her flat, he shouldn’t, even if there was a spark of attraction between them. Savannah was in a vulnerable position, full of fear for her daughter’s safety, consumed with pain. He had no right to take advantage of a woman like that, even if he didn’t want to harm her, but soothe her, give her comfort.

  Before he could stop himself, he was already dialing her number. When she didn’t answer on the second ring, he wondered if he’d only imagined the movement behind her window, his imagination playing tricks on him. He was about to disconnect the call, when there was a click on the line.

  “Yes?”

  He swallowed. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. “Savannah, it’s John. John Grant,” he felt obliged to say. Who knew how many men named John she knew?