by Tinnean
Larry himself was outfitted in his standard pirate costume, with a patch over one eye, a glove with a plastic hook for his left hand—which he had to remove whenever he had to mix drinks—thigh-high boots, and a gaudy shirt unbuttoned to reveal a buff, hairy chest, which, unfortunately, was part of the shirt.
And he always loved it when customers came to his bar in costume also, especially when the straight guys came in dressed as gals. They’d be wearing sweaters over their sisters’ prom dresses or their wives’ bridesmaid’s gowns because they were too brawny through the shoulders to do up the back. Everyone got a good laugh out of it, and the straight guys got to feel daring.
Now Larry looked up as the door to his bar opened. “Ahoy, matey!” A ready smile was on his face.
It dimmed perceptibly when he realized who his latest patron was.
Matt Crist was an okay enough guy, but he was a maudlin drunk who had a tendency to go on and on about how miserable his family life was, all due to the brother who caused the family to break apart.
Larry didn’t understand it—hell, he didn’t have to understand it; listening was part of his job—but he was getting damned tired of it.
“Matt.” He gave a nod, doing his best to appear friendly. That was part of his job too. “Your usual?”
“No.” Crist looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Jesus, had he been hitting the bottle already? “Give me a Jack, straight up.”
Ah, shit. It was going to be one of those nights. He took down the bottle of Jack Daniel’s, filled a shot glass, and set it in front of Matt.
“My grandfather died. I buried him today.”
“I’m sorry!” Larry felt like an asshole.
“So am I. He was the only one….” Crist scrubbed a hand over his face, his words petering out.
“Had he been ill?”
“No. He was a big man, strong as an ox, and he’d never been sick a day in his life. All of a sudden, he just keeled over.”
“Heart attack?”
“I guess. The autopsy report isn’t back yet.” Crist stared dolefully into the glass of whiskey, then picked it up and finished it in one swallow. He pushed the glass toward Larry. “Keep ’em coming.” He laid a couple of twenties on the bar.
Larry shook his head, but filled the glass. “You want to take it easy, Matt.”
“Why? No one cares.”
“That’s not true. You’ve got family.”
“Ha! That’s a laugh. My mother’s busy with her husband and those bratty twins he gave her. You’d think she forgot she had children before them.”
Mama’s boy! Larry didn’t say it out loud, but he wanted to. Of all the bars in this town, he thought sourly. Crist had been coming to his bar since he’d reached the legal drinking age, and he complained every time about his half brothers. On the night his mother had given birth to those “bratty twins,” he’d gotten shitfaced, pissing and moaning to Larry and anyone else who would listen that she already had kids, didn’t need more, and besides, she was too old to start another family.
“It’s like she can’t even be bothered with me. With us.”
“That’s right, you mentioned siblings.”
“They’ve got their own lives.” Crist made a scoffing sound.
He was twenty-nine and still single, and as far as Larry knew, he wasn’t even dating—not a woman, not a man… not that that would have bothered him. He was pretty laid-back when it came to what his patrons did in the privacy of their own bedrooms, and that wasn’t just because it was good business. He figured their sexual preferences were their own, just as Larry’s were… well… his. He looked down the bar at the customer who was dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, and he sighed. Wouldn’t he like to jump his bones?
“And anyway”—Crist was still bemoaning the situation—“they were always jealous because Grandfather favored me the most. They didn’t show any respect this afternoon at the funeral home—they barely stayed long enough to say a prayer.” His gaze shifted away, and Larry wondered what had happened there. “And did they come to the cemetery? Go ahead, Larry, ask me that.”
Larry sighed. “Okay, Matt. Did they—”
“No, they did not!”
“That’s families for you. Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em.”
“I could,” Crist said, his words so low Larry had to strain to hear them, and then he was sorry he had. “I could very easily! Hit me again, Larry.”
“Make this one last, bud. The way you’re belting ’em back—You get stopped for a DUI, I could stand to lose my license.” Just to make sure, though, he’d be certain to be busy at the other end of the bar when Matt finished this one. Two whiskeys had him telling everyone and his brother his life history, three made him weepy, and four made him aggressive. Hopefully he wouldn’t push too hard for that fourth.
“See? Everyone’s looking out for number one.” Crist’s voice had become truculent. Had he skipped over weepy and gone directly to aggressive?
“Look, Matt,” he said as patiently as he could, “I get shut down, you don’t have a place to drink anymore.”
“I guess.” Crist looked up at him, his eyes welling with tears. “I hate Halloween.”
Ah, shit! Larry sighed again. It was going to be a long night. He was used to his customers bending his ear, and most of the time he could commiserate with them, but Matt Crist was a walking depression. It was as if a black cloud hovered perpetually above his head, sucking the joy out of a simple holiday like Halloween.
Okay, the guy had lost his grandfather. Cut him some slack, Donnelly.
The door abruptly swung open.
Please don’t let it be bikers, Larry prayed. He knew what would happen if it were; it happened like clockwork where Matt Crist was concerned. He’d start making snide comments about the leather-clad men, and then he’d get the shit pounded out of him.
Submarine hissed. His ears flattened, his back arched, and his tail spiked.
What the—Larry let out a breath. It was just a…. He blinked. A pale guy, a little under average height, wearing a cloak?
Well, yeah, it was Halloween.
Submarine yowled and made a mad dash for the back of the bar.
What the hell had gotten into his cat?
He shook his head, then turned to the man and smiled. “Arrr, matey! What can I get for you?”
III
THE BARTENDER thought a heart attack had felled his grandfather, but nothing like that would have stopped him from fighting the good fight. Matthew knew those monsters were behind it. They always had been. After all, they’d killed his uncles, one by one.
And now Matthew was the only one left.
He’d need to marry soon. Of course he’d have to find a good, strong woman first. Grandfather had told him he’d have to choose wisely; his wife would bear warriors who would help him bring down the wicked of this world.
He thought wistfully of the girl in high school. April Valentine had been so pretty—slim and blonde and with the bluest eyes. But when he’d brought her home, Grandfather had become furious, ordering her from the house and forbidding Matthew from ever seeing her again.
“But why, Grandfather?”
“She’s the spawn of the devil! She’ll lead you down the same path Benjamin Small led your mother, and I won’t have it! I won’t have you ruined!” The old man’s eyes had glowed with fanatical fire. “You’re the best of them, Matthew! I won’t lose you too!”
“N-no, Grandfather.”
“Promise me you won’t see her again!”
And he’d promised.
“Good boy.” Grandfather had squeezed his shoulder. Matthew was certain he wasn’t aware how much that hurt. “When the time comes for you to marry, I’ll choose one of your cousins for you.”
Relieved when Grandfather had finally let him go, he’d simply said, “Yes, Grandfather.”
April had tried to talk to him in school, but he’d turned his back on her and walked away. It broke his heart, but he wouldn�
��t disappoint his grandfather.
And he saw she really wasn’t worth it. Did she wait for him? No, she went right to another guy, who just so happened to be his own brother. Luke tried to explain, saying April just wanted to talk, that she was confused by Matthew’s about-face. Matthew didn’t believe him. He wanted to knock him down and kick the shit out of him, and he would have, only Grandfather would have wanted to know why, and how could he reveal his brother should have been named Cain?
He eventually realized April wasn’t around, and he struggled to keep from asking, but finally he had to know. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend, Matt.” God, he hated when Luke got that patient, long-suffering tone in his voice. “But if you really want to know, she’s gone.”
“What?”
“It’s a little late for you to show you care, but her family’s left town.”
As if Matthew did care. He’d scowled at his brother and stalked away.
After that, he’d been too involved with the work they were doing to get close to another girl, even though Grandfather had hinted Uncle Jonah wouldn’t object if Matthew wanted to keep company with Naomi.
Of course, shortly after that they’d lost Uncle Jonah, and Aunt Elisheba took their children, including Naomi, and left the farm. Grandfather had been furious, but no matter where he searched, he’d been unable to find them.
Now that Grandfather was gone, perhaps he’d need to look elsewhere to find a woman.
He picked up the last drink Donnelly had put in front of him. Perhaps he would.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Just what he needed. Some asshole with a Spanish accent hitting on him.
“As a matter of fact, ye—” He glanced sideways, then blinked and turned to face the man fully. The man standing there sort of reminded him of Grandfather. “Uh, no. No, I don’t mind at all.”
“Thank you.” He signaled to the bartender. “I will have a Romanée-Conti.”
“Sorry, bud. We don’t carry that.”
“And why not?”
“No call for it. This is just a little bar, and that’s one expensive wine.”
“Indeed.” The Spanish guy’s lip was curled in a sneer. Matthew wished he could master an expression like that.
He shivered. Had the air in here suddenly turned chilly?
“Very well,” the Spanish guy said. “What would you recommend?”
“There’s a local vineyard that offers a very nice Cabernet.” Larry spoke as if he didn’t notice the change in the temperature.
“If that is the best you can offer….” The man beside Matthew shrugged.
Donnelly brought the glass of red wine. “That’ll be four fifty.”
“I’ll get it!” Matthew pushed one of the fives he’d received in change across the bar.
“Thank you.” The man reached for his glass. “To your… good health.” He barely seemed to touch the rim to his lips. “I was sorry to hear of Noah Crist’s passing.”
“You… you knew Grandfather?”
“Rather, let us say I knew of him. He was a dedicated man.”
“Yes. He was. He shouldn’t have died!”
“No, he should not.” The Spaniard looked around. “I believe I will have a seat at a booth. It is so much more comfortable than these stools. Will you join me?”
“Uh… sure.” Matthew scooped up his change in one hand, took his drink in the other, and followed him to a booth toward the back. It was getting late, and there weren’t many people in that area of the bar now, so they had their choice. He slid into the seat facing the back, while the man sat opposite him. “This is much better. Larry was starting to be a wet blanket.”
“Larry?”
“The bartender.”
“Ah. May I speak frankly?”
“Sure.”
“There is still much to do.”
“I was just thinking that!”
“Indeed. Perhaps you would care to join me, Matthew.”
“You know my name?”
“That surprises you? It should not. Your family is well known in my community.”
“Your community? What community is that? Who’re you?”
“How remiss of me. I am Juan de Vivar.”
“I don’t recognize that name.”
“There is no reason why you should. We are a very private people.”
“I’m….” Matthew frowned. “I’m the only one left.”
“Surely not. I believe you have brothers and sisters.”
“Sisters, yes, but only one brother,” he snapped. No way in hell would he acknowledge his mother’s twin brats or the monster that had ruined everything.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! They’re my family!” Only he’d disowned them this afternoon. “They were my family,” he corrected.
“Ah. I was positive I had heard somewhere you had a younger brother. Tyrell, I believe his name is.”
“That freak! He’s no brother of mine!”
“That is rather harsh, do you not think?”
Matthew hunched a shoulder. He was drunk, but not so drunk he would reveal family secrets to this man. It was one thing to discuss this with Grandfather, but with strangers….
“It’s because of him my parents broke up.”
“What a pity.”
“It’s more than a pity! He needs to be—” Matthew bit back the words. If he said that filthy thing needed to be killed, that could get him in trouble—thrown in jail or even worse, put in the loony bin, and if he was behind bars, he’d never be able to continue Grandfather’s work. He cleared his throat. “He needs to be found and held responsible for… for what he’s responsible for.” He stared at the drink in front of him. He was positive he held his liquor better than this.
“But he was a mere infant.”
“Are you sticking up for him? What do you know about it?” he asked truculently. “Doesn’t matter.” He pushed aside his concern about the amount of alcohol he’d had to drink and continued, each word laced with belligerence. “Everything was fine before he showed up. Everything was shot to shit after.”
“I understand. In that case, he does need to pay.” De Vivar raised the glass to his lips, then paused again and set it down. “Suppose I were to tell you I know where he is?”
“Do you?” Matthew felt excitement rise in him. This would be an ideal way to honor his grandfather, to venerate his passing!
The man smiled, and the light above the booth glinted off his prominent canine teeth. “Perhaps.”
“Don’t toy with me, dammit! I’ve been searching for that monster for the past two years!”
“Only two years? Now, why was that? If I understand correctly, he is eighteen. He should have reached puberty two years ago.”
Something about those words bothered Matthew, but he knew he could get a little foggy when the Jack had him too deep in its hold. He’d just have to wait until the morning and give it some thought then. “Yes, but before that my uncles were the ones looking for him.”
“And they do this no more?”
He stared down into the amber liquid in his glass. “Uncle Caleb—he died two years ago. He was the last one.”
“Ah. I see.” The man smiled. “And now it has fallen to you.”
Matthew blinked blearily. Had de Vivar’s teeth lengthened?
He shook his head. No, it was probably the Jack Daniel’s getting to him, just as he’d thought. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. Whiskey on top of grief was never a good pairing.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Of course.”
Matthew shifted out of the booth and tried to stand, but found himself swaying. “Whoa!” he giggled. “Shun’t’ve had that last one!”
“Here, let me help you.”
Matthew drew himself up. “’m fine. I can handle myself.”
“Of course you can. I beg your pardon.”
“Yeah.” He hiccuped. “Uh�
��. G’night.”
He was halfway to the door when Larry called out, “Where are you going, Matt?”
“Home.”
“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not driving anywhere. Sit down. I’m calling you a cab.”
Matthew would have snarled at him that he was perfectly fine to drive, but when he turned to glare at Larry, there were two of him behind the bar. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for him to get behind the wheel. “Um… okay.”
IV
JUAN DE Vivar frowned as he watched Matthew Crist stagger toward the door and then change direction and collapse against the bar. He should have acquiesced when de Vivar had offered his assistance.
Why hadn’t he?
Ah, of course. De Vivar had other things, more important things, on his mind and hadn’t given him his complete attention.
He would have the Crist whelp bend to him yet.
Foolish saborese, thinking he could disown his heritage so easily.
It had taken de Vivar more than two hundred years to track down this line. He’d had the opportunity to feed from a Dragomir—the rege’s own line of sabors—centuries ago in the old country, and to learn there was now one whose blood was combined with the Lupsecu was most fortuitous.
The two most powerful saborese families…. He would be delicious.
And he should have been de Vivar’s.
The family went by the name of Small now. Why these Americans persisted in changing their names baffled him. Had they no pride in their blood?
His frown deepened into a scowl as he recalled the scene earlier when he’d gone to claim the sabor.
Adam Dasani had gotten there ahead of him, and de Vivar’s fangs had elongated with the desire to sink them into the younger vampyr’s throat and tear it open.
They hadn’t realized he’d been watching their tender little moment from the shadows. The sabor wore a red shirt and black trousers.
Red and black, the colors of passion and power. An arousing combination. And what made him all the more desirable was the fact he was virgin in every way he could be. Not only had he never been debauched, but no other vampyr had drunk from him before. De Vivar ran his tongue over his fangs, making tiny slices, and the taste of his own blood filled his mouth.
