by Michele Hauf
Then he hung up. No goodbye. No words of concern for her and what she had been through.
But then she and Karl had never had that kind of relationship. It was silly to expect it now.
She glanced at the clock. She had maybe three hours before whatever team Karl chose arrived, and she was five minutes late for her meeting with Marc. If he left without her, she would be spending those three hours tracking him.
She would have the stake, but Karl apparently had no interest in it.
Her attention moved to the plastic-wrapped weapon. She couldn’t take it with her. After glancing around the room, she settled on the mattress. Cliché, but the best she had on short notice. She tore the material with her teeth, then shoved the stake inside. With the mattress and bed coverings back in place, she was ready for her date with a vampire.
A vampire whom members of her pack were on their way to kill, or at least frame with a crime.
Chapter 11
Marc waited in the shadows outside CeCe’s hotel room. He’d seen her enter the room almost an hour earlier, a pack on her back. When the light clicked off and she stepped out into the night, she was ten minutes late for their meeting.
Her heels hit the concrete first as she speed-walked to the diner. He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her hotel room’s door. She’d carried the backpack for a reason and he didn’t think it was to keep her lipstick fresh. Treasure or stake? He’d like to find both.
However, if he investigated now, he wouldn’t be able to beat her to the restaurant, or appear to have beaten her.
Deciding for now that keeping CeCe’s guard low was most important, he cut through an alley, his feet moving over the ground so quickly he almost took flight. Within minutes, he had arrived at the diner and climbed through the restaurant’s bathroom window. After taking a moment to wash and get the scent of soap on his hands, to further convince the werewolf he had indeed arrived before her, he opened the door and strolled into the dining room.
CeCe stood near the jukebox, scanning the room.
He lifted his chin and gestured to a booth in the back.
She hadn’t changed or bathed since he’d last seen her and tiny bits of dead leaves clung to her clothes. Bits too small for a human to see. Either the werewolf assumed the same was true for a vampire or she had been too rushed to check her appearance.
The woods then. She could have simply gone to retrieve her phone, but she wouldn’t have needed a backpack for that. Rolling the possibilities around, he stood to one side and let her choose the side of the booth she preferred.
She slid into the seat that kept her back to the wall and offered a full view of the dining room and main entrance.
Always a smart choice, but it made Marc wonder if she was expecting someone. No, it told him she was expecting someone.
“Did you make good use of your time?” he asked, picking up the photocopied menu that had been tucked between the salt and pepper shakers.
“It’s only been two hours. I’m afraid I wasn’t able to solve the world’s problems in that time.” Her jaw was tense and when he reached for a second menu to hand to her, she jumped.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I don’t drink caffeine.”
“I meant, have you had any? You’re on edge. What happened?” In her current state of mind, being direct seemed his best method of getting information.
She stared at him for a second as if surprised at his question. Then she sucked in a breath and dropped her gaze to the table. “Nothing.”
“You called your pack.”
She looked up. “You knew I was going to.”
“And what did you tell them?”
She picked up a menu. “That Russell is dead. That he had a stake through his heart.”
“Did you mention me?”
Her jaw tightened. He could see that she didn’t want to answer, but finally she did. “Yes.”
Her honesty surprised him. He lifted his head. “You told them about me. Did you tell them you suspected me?”
She met his gaze then. “No, I told them I thought you were innocent.”
“Really?” He tilted his head, not sure he believed her. “Then I guess I’m in the clear. We can each go back to what we were doing here and you can look for the real killer.” Casual, believing. He moved his gaze to the menu, let her think he wasn’t watching her, gauging her reaction. “They have grits with cheese. I’ve never had them. Have you?”
“Of course.” She wouldn’t look at him.
He raised his brows. “Do you like them?”
“What?” She frowned.
“Grits? You said you’d had them.”
She glanced at the menu, then pursed her lips. “I meant, of course, I will look for the real killer.”
“Of course. What else would you do?” He held her gaze, or tried to. She looked away.
It was obvious she was lying. He’d pushed her enough. He’d worry about dealing with whatever werewolves arrived intent on framing him for Russell’s death later. For now he might as well use his time gathering other information.
He waved the menu in the air and called to a waitress.
After placing his order and waiting for CeCe to do the same, he returned to their conversation.
“Where do you call home?” Where is the pack located? How long before they arrive? Her answer could tell him many things.
She slid her menu back into place, then tilted her head. Her hair fell to one side of her face. Despite her height, she looked young and feminine, not at all like people envisioned a werewolf. And while she was muscular, it wasn’t in an obvious way. More like a professional volleyball player than a weight lifter.
“I don’t call anywhere home,” she replied. “How about you?”
He smiled. She was smooth, reversing the tables on him. If this kept up, they would be dancing like this all night. And that would be fine with him. He was simply killing time now, waiting to see who showed up and what they would do when they did arrive, and for an opportunity to search her room.
“How were you turned?” he asked, suddenly curious.
Her eyes widened.
“I assume you were young. Since you obviously aren’t old now.”
“I...” She placed her hand against her neck, drawing his attention to her pale skin, reminding him of the tantalizing scent and taste of her.
His groin hardened. He ground his jaws together.
“I wasn’t. Not all werewolves are.”
“You’re genetic?” He’d heard rumors of genetic werewolves, but never met one, never truly believed they were real.
“Yes.” She glanced toward the kitchen. The warming shelf was empty and their waitress was across the room, refilling an older couple’s mugs with coffee.
“There’s no such thing with a vampire.” Vampires didn’t have children, didn’t have families, not even the ones they had been born into. That was taken from them with the turn. There was no coming out of the coffin, no hope for acceptance. Nothing but a life alone, for eternity. It’s why he guessed so many went insane, took out their rage on humans who had what the vampire himself had lost.
Her gaze shifted back to him. Her lips parted, a tiny puff of air escaped them.
He’d surprised her, but then he’d surprised himself. It was a small bit of truth he’d told her, but from the shadow that flitted behind her eyes, he could tell his tone had given away more than he had intended.
He snapped the menu against the table.
“And the treasure. How did you hear about that? What claim do the werewolves make on it?” Brusque.
Her head lifted and her expression changed, hardened. “It belongs to the wolves. What claim do the vampires make?”
Marc slid the menu onto the ta
ble. “Two of the coins pictured were vampire.” Maker coins. Many vampires had coins made that they gave to each of their “children.”
“Really? I didn’t realize vampires had their own system of trade?” Her voice was coy, superior.
He batted back at her. “I am sure there are many things you don’t realize about vampires.” He paused. “And many I’d be willing to teach you.”
She pressed her lips together.
The waitress approached with a glass of water in each hand. Seeing them, she took half a step back.
Marc turned and hit the poor human with a full force of thrall. Nodding, she placed the glasses on the table and shuffled away.
“You did something to her,” CeCe commented.
Marc picked up his glass and took a sip. The water was cold, wet and completely unsatisfying.
He looked back at the female wolf. She appeared completely under control, but he could see her pulse moving at the base of her throat.
She was no more relaxed than he was.
Desire curled inside him like a live thing. Her blood called to him. She called to him. He’d told her he could teach her about vampires, and it was true. But what was more true, what he hadn’t said, was how much he wanted to.
And suddenly, he had to get away. Without speaking, he stood and strode to the restroom.
Inside the small room, he stared at his reflection. A reflection many believed he couldn’t cast. His features looked as they always did, no dent in the calm he wore like a B-movie vampire’s cape.
But inside, behind that facade, a crack was forming, a crack in the shell he’d used for two hundred years to protect himself.
And it was the female werewolf who was creating it.
Playing with CeCe, he realized, was like juggling stakes. If he didn’t concentrate, keep his mind focused on who she was, what she was, he was going to get cut.
Then when her pack arrived, he would be weak and vulnerable. Nothing for them to do but gather around and lap up his blood.
* * *
CeCe dipped her fingers into the new sweating glass of water and trailed icy liquid down her neck. Following Karl’s directions shouldn’t have been difficult. Watch the vampire. Keep him occupied until the pack arrived.
And it wouldn’t have been, if she could think of Marc as the vampire, but more and more she forgot what he was, on what side of the divide between the two groups he stood.
He was just Marc, a man who listened to her, had an interest in her. Of course, she knew the interest was false; it had to be. But then he’d give what appeared to be a slip, show her some hurt, and damn everything, she’d forget.
She stared ahead blindly.
Her fingers shook. She was losing it. She had to get back under control.
Probably even now Mar—the vampire—was busy doing something, calling someone to back him up, calling in more vampires. And meanwhile, here she sat like a duck waiting to be shot.
She picked up her glass and slammed the contents back. Then she set it back on the table and went to do her job.
Watch the vampire.
* * *
The kitchen was directly across from the men’s restroom. There was no way for CeCe to listen at the door without every busboy and waitress in the place seeing her and thinking she was...odd.
With just a glance at the closed door, she walked past and into the women’s bathroom. With the door closed behind her, she moved to the wall that separated the two rooms and pressed her ear against it.
There was no sound from the other side, not even a flush.
She bunched her hand into a fist and pressed it against the wall.
She was getting nowhere, or worse she might be moving backward. Marc...the vampire...might have already escaped.
Her gaze shifted to the end of the room and the small window centered in the wall.
If she couldn’t watch the vampire from inside the diner, she would have to do so from the outside.
Good intentions that ended poorly.
The window was painted shut. Standing on the sink, she broke the first layer of paint with her thumbnail, then shoved the window open.
Wood creaked and paint flecks fell, but within moments she was standing in an alley that ran behind the diner.
Ten feet down the wall, leading into what had to be the men’s room, was a second window. And like the window in the women’s room, it had until recently been painted shut.
The same bits of paint that she had left behind in the women’s restroom dusted the ground here and the lower sash was open, far enough a body could easily have slipped through.
CeCe cursed.
She had lost him.
She stood for a moment, cursing her own stupidity. Then as she decided her best move was to go to the vampire’s motel room—find him there or take advantage of his absence to search his belongings for evidence he was connected to Russell’s death—a noise so soft she sensed more than heard it startled her out of her musings.
As if a cat had crossed her path, the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
She spun.
A male figure crouched atop a Dumpster. Not Marc. It was the only thought that registered as CeCe moved.
The figure stood and raced toward her. His feet seemed to barely touch the Dumpster’s metal lid. He leaped and flew toward her, almost as if he had wings.
She stepped back, raising her arm in a defensive action while at the same time releasing her wolf.
She felt the shift coming, felt her eyes slanting and her senses increasing.
The man leaped on top of her, knocking her to the ground. Caught in the shift, she fell, but inside her wolf roared. Even falling, she smiled.
Let the fight begin.
She stretched out to make the change easier, swifter. Opened her mind and heart to the wolf.
Its power raced through her, filling her with excitement and the desire to hunt...to fight.
She was ready.
The man grabbed at her wrists, tried to pin her down, and she looked up.
Into the face of a monster...a vampire. She couldn’t see past his open mouth, past his fangs...covered in silver and descending toward her.
Her wolf howled in recognition and rage.
And then his silver-capped fangs sank into her skin and her wolf froze...paralyzed by the bite of silver.
* * *
Marc approached the booth where CeCe should have been waiting. The waitress had come and gone, leaving two steaming bowls of grits with cheese sitting on the table.
But the bowls sat untouched; the werewolf wasn’t there.
He grabbed the waitress by the arm and swung her toward the table. “The woman. Have you seen her?”
The waitress’ eyes widened and her face paled. Shaking her head, she tried to pull free. Marc held on, but only for a second.
There was no reason for the human to lie to him. And no benefit in scaring her further.
With a growl, he pulled bills out of his wallet and tossed them onto the table. Then he stalked to the front door and into the night.
The werewolf had bolted. Where? Why?
Marc didn’t have to ask. He knew. Her precious pack must have arrived. She must have left to be with them, to set up whatever trap they had planned to catch him.
* * *
Silver bit into CeCe, freezing her shift.
The metal was cold and cloying, its poison working its way through her body. She clawed at her attacker; her nails, those of a wolf, scraped down his back.
Material ripped, but the vampire didn’t loosen his hold. Her blood ran, thin but hot down her neck.
Her wolf could smell it, but couldn’t come out, couldn’t fight back. She was trapped half human and half wolf...a werewolf
’s worst nightmare.
The vampire’s lips moved. He was smiling, laughing at her pain and frustration, enjoying her failure.
She flung her arms to the side and groped for a weapon, anything that might dislodge the monster draining her life. Her hand hit dirt, debris...a paper cup...nothing dangerous, nothing that could save her.
She thought of the stake, wished she’d carried it with her, wished she had the power to bring it to her now.
But wishes were for fools. Action was all that could save her.
She gathered her strength and rolled to the side, managing to lift herself and the vampire six inches before crashing back down under his weight and enthusiasm. He was enjoying himself, feeding not only on her blood, but her pain.
Her eyelids fluttered.
She was weak...from the silver and loss of blood. She couldn’t shift. She couldn’t find a weapon.
What could she do besides die?
She opened her mouth and screamed—rage and pain mixing into one long soul-shattering howl.
Chapter 12
A scream tore through the night. Standing in the street across from the diner, heading toward CeCe’s motel room, Marc paused.
A human in trouble. It had to be.
It didn’t pay for a vampire to interfere in human affairs, no matter how dire things might be for the human. People didn’t remember how the vampire had saved them. They only saw and remembered vampire—monster.
Marc lifted his foot ready to leave, but slowly he lowered it again.
Then he turned. The scream had come from the alley.
The alley that lay behind the diner and outside the bathroom where CeCe had seen him go. The scream still sounded...too long...then it shifted, no longer a scream. Now it was a howl.
With a curse, he began to run.
Twenty feet from the alley, he smelled blood. CeCe’s blood.
His fangs lengthened and his heart slowed to a deadly determined beat. The dark became light and as he turned the corner, the image of a man pressed on the alley floor with a woman...CeCe...beneath him almost glowed.
Rage, hunger, hate...they balled together into one blazing emotion that Marc couldn’t control. Had no desire to control.
