Blood Curse

by Crystal-Rain Love

  He reached into his back pocket for a moist towelette packet, but stopped short of opening it. Aria needed to see him this way, with his victim's blood dripping from his chin. She needed to see him at his worst in order to chase away any lingering remnants of desire she still held.

  "Come here,” he said gruffly, turning to face her, unprepared for what he found.

  She had crept a few feet away from the fire escape, positioned as though her initial intention was to run away, but her gaze had apparently locked onto him during the attack. He'd expected terror and disgust, maybe even sympathy for the victim, in her gaze, but instead he found her looking at the scene in rapt fascination, her eyes warmed with hunger.

  "Aria!"

  She shook her head as though coming out of a trance and looked once more at the scene. The hunger and fascination in her eyes was replaced with fear before she turned and made a run for it.

  Rialto bit out a curse and ran with the speed of light, capturing her quickly. He held her with one arm wrapped around her waist, the other clasped over her mouth, and lifted her off the ground. He carried her toward the man as she kicked her legs and tried to bite through his hand, ignoring the pain and the frustration she evoked.

  "Look at him,” he ordered, lowering her so she stood firmly on the ground before the dead man's body.

  Right before their eyes, the huge gashes he'd made in the man's neck healed. “He is not completely drained,” he explained as she gazed down at the man's body in disbelief. “To kill someone, you drink until the heart ceases to beat and then you let go. Considering the man is an obvious lowlife, there probably won't be much of an investigation into his death. If there is, it'll be determined that he died due to heart failure.” He sensed her fear ebbing and removed his hand from her mouth.

  "You didn't have to kill him to prove your point,” she said in a low voice, thick with fury and a touch of guilt. Rialto could touch her mind well enough to realize she thought he'd killed the man for the sole purpose of showing her how the healing properties in vampire saliva worked.

  "My initial intention wasn't to kill tonight. Look at her,” he said softly.

  Aria shifted her gaze to the blonde lying unconscious on the ground and gasped, finally seeing what he'd known all along. “I thought she was a woman. She's just a girl!"

  "I'd say about fifteen.” Rialto's stomach churned in disgust. “This man was her pimp. He made her sell her body and her pay was cocaine, a drug which possessed her and made her do whatever he wanted until he was through with her. He was about to kill her when I intervened. If I hadn't killed him, he would have merely gotten up, dusted himself off, and repeated the process with another unfortunate little girl . . . or boy."

  "How do you know he was her pimp?"

  "I can see inside people's minds when I drink their blood.” He let her go so he could wipe away the blood starting to dry on his face and waited for a response. After receiving none he took his gaze away from the young girl and turned it toward Aria. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of her desire. He followed her hungry gaze, realizing he hadn't wiped the blood away from his neck where the man's watch had scraped him. She was staring at the scratch and, to his horror, she licked her lips.

  "Aria!"

  She jumped at his harsh tone as he quickly wiped away the trickle of blood that had escaped the small scratch. It was just like in his dream. She saw his blood and became instantly addicted. He wouldn't let her taste it. She would be lost then.

  "I, uh—” she stammered as the longing daze in her eyes subsided. She looked around in confusion and, if he was correct, embarrassment. “The girl. We can't just leave her here, can we?"

  "I suppose not,” Rialto murmured. He bent down and hoisted the unconscious girl onto his shoulder. “There's a church nearby. The pastor there is a night owl. He'll watch over her."

  "A pastor?"

  Rialto grinned as the irony struck her. “Yes, Aria, although you've seen about the worst of me, I still do associate with men of God on occasion. So far I haven't been struck by lightning while crossing over a church's threshold."

  Fifteen minutes later, Rialto and Christian, the church's leader and fellow vampire, stood over the young girl's body and prayed. Though he focused his concentration on asking God to save this unfortunate girl from her addiction, he could feel the weight of Aria's disbelieving stare. How sad it made him to know she never would have suspected he prayed, that he believed in God and goodness. He chose not to tell her that Christian was a vampire. She'd had enough surprises for one night.

  "Amen.” The vampires ended the prayer in unison.

  "Take care of her,” Rialto said, extending his hand to his old friend, a man who was older than him by far but looked younger. His dark hair was cut into a short, boyish style and his flawless, golden skin added to his youthful appearance.

  "You know I will,” Christian said solemnly, shaking Rialto's hand before casting a glance to where Aria sat in a nearby pew, her normally bright eyes darkened by a mix of anger, confusion and sorrow as she stared at the young girl's unconscious form. “Who's the woman?"

  "Her name is Aria. The Dream Teller sent me to protect her,” Rialto answered, his voice low.

  "She's mortal,” Christian stated.

  "I know."

  "Why would the Dream Teller send you to protect a mortal?"

  "I have no clue."

  "Well, what are you protecting her from?"

  "Again, not a clue. Her mother was murdered not that long ago, left in a park with supposed fang marks in her neck. That probably has something to do with it."

  Christian studied Aria for a moment. “Does she have any brothers or sisters?"

  "I'm pretty sure she doesn't, why?"

  "Because the mother of one of my parishioners, a young man, met the same fate a few weeks ago."

  A cold chill ran through Rialto's body. “The killer has struck more than once and is leaving fang marks on the bodies?"

  "This is not good."

  "That's an understatement. The Dream Teller must have known and sent me here to stop it."

  "Maybe the woman is supposed to be the next victim."

  Rialto clenched his fists tight, knowing if anyone dared lay a finger on Aria he would rip them limb from limb. He blinked, wondering where his rage came from. Despite the years of dreams, the woman was still a stranger to him.

  "Rialto?"

  He turned to look at his old friend and noticed the odd look he got in return.

  "Rialto, does this woman know what we are?"

  He looked away before answering, feeling ten kinds of fool. “She knows what I am, but in my defense, she knew it before we met."

  "How could she know? Who is she? Is she a hunter?"

  "No,” he answered, grinning at the memory of her in the alley with her little bag of stakes and holy water. “She's just a murdered woman's daughter."

  "Murdered women's daughters make vengeful acquaintances. Does she believe a vampire truly killed her mother?"

  "She did, but now she knows a vampire couldn't have left fang marks."

  "She knows this because you told her and she took your word for it?” Christian asked, but by the way he looked at the teenager's body Rialto could tell he was putting the pieces of the evening together.

  "She knows because she watched me kill this young girl's pimp."

  "Oh, Rialto, what have you done?"

  "I saved a young girl's life and showed a woman hell-bent on revenge that vampires aren't to blame for what happened to her mother,” Rialto answered defensively, already on edge enough from the night's events. He didn't need to be reprimanded by his friend on top of everything else.

  "How do you know she doesn't still blame us? She could just be waiting for the right moment to attack."

  "I know because I've touched her thoughts,” Rialto admitted, struck again by the enormity of that fact.

  "She allowed you to drink from her?"

  "I haven't taken a
single sip of her blood."

  Christian stared at him in confusion. “I thought you could only touch the thoughts of a mortal while you drank from one."

  "So did I."

  They both focused a curious gaze upon Aria who chose that moment to look up at them. She looked so lost that Rialto's heart constricted just looking at her. He'd give anything to put a smile on her lovely face. Frowning, he wondered where the hell that thought had come from and quickly pushed it aside.

  "I need to get this girl situated before my morning rush of parishioners hits,” Christian said, scooping the teenager up in his arms. “Be careful, Rialto. Something strange seems to be going on here. You might want to contact Seta."

  "Good idea,” he said in agreement before leveling narrowed eyes on Aria. “And don't worry about me being careful. It takes more than a pretty face to get me to let my guard down.” He might not have to worry about the woman trying to kill him, but he knew she was still dangerous. Witch or not, she was working some kind of magic on him, and for that reason alone, he knew better than to turn his back on her.

  He said goodbye to his friend and walked over to Aria. “Ready to go home?"

  The look she gave him was spiked so heavily with uncertainty he didn't have to touch her thoughts to know he still frightened her.

  "You still have your stake, Aria, and I promise not to touch you. I've already drunk my fill of blood."

  "Am I expected to believe you?"

  "I'm a lot of things but a liar is not one of them,” he murmured, holding out his hand. “You trusted me enough to bring you here. Nothing about me has changed since then, so trust me enough to see you home."

  "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Yes,” Aria answered for the tenth time since their departure from the church, although she didn't know if she would ever be all right again. The very world she had always known no longer existed.

  I just witnessed a vampire slaying a man.

  She should be frightened, horrified, repulsed, something other than what she was feeling. And what was she feeling? Whatever it was, it wasn't normal. But what about her life was normal?

  Her parents had decided to have a biracial child in tiny little Pickahoe, Indiana, knowing such a thing was not condoned there.

  Not normal.

  Her father was murdered by white supremacists.

  Not normal.

  Her skin color changed dramatically from warm seasons to cold, causing her to appear either white or black depending on the time of year.

  Not normal.

  Her mother was murdered by a vampire, only it wasn't a real vampire because they don't leave marks, so it must have been someone pretending to be a vampire.

  So not normal.

  And now she was sitting in her apartment with a real vampire, a sexy as hell vampire who repeatedly seduced her in her dreams, no less. A vampire who had just killed a man in front of her, and rather than be disgusted, she had felt herself wanting to . . . what? Reach out with her tongue and lick that small trace of blood which had seeped out of the scrape on his neck, that small trickle she had smelled from eight feet away?

  Way not normal. In fact, it was down right demented, and that made her one sick puppy.

  "Maybe I shouldn't have fed in front of you."

  No, you shouldn't have, she thought as she looked at Rialto, who sat on her sofa, his long legs stretched out before him as he leaned back against the cushions, each arm stretched out over the back. It worried her how natural he looked lounging on her sofa, in her apartment, in her life.

  "Well, for what it's worth, I believe you now,” she conceded.

  "Then at least it worked.” His eyes were full of concern, odd as that was.

  She found herself wanting to cross the floor, wanting to get closer, but instead opted to remain seated at the dinette table. Her mind was tired and making her see things that weren't there. This man was not a protector, despite having saved her life. He was a vampire, and she couldn't overlook that little fact.

  "So, the question is, who killed my mother and made it look like a vampire had done it? And what was the motive?” she asked, needing to get her mind off him and what he'd done.

  He seemed to think about that. “Any number of enemies. Anyone who knew for a fact of our existence and wanted to bring us out into the open, some twisted vampire wannabe, a psychopath . . . or some wacko who just thought it would be fun to see what would happen once her body was found like that. I don't know."

  Aria nearly smiled, so thankful he hadn't referred to her mother as “The Body” like the jerks at Baltimore Homicide did. To them, once a person died, they became just another body. They failed to think of that person as someone who meant a great deal to those who were left behind, someone who had been filled with so much life. An errant tear escaped before she could blink it back.

  "Aria."

  "I'm fine,” she choked as raw emotion filled her throat, more tears threatening to fall, but he was already kneeling before her.

  "We'll find her killer."

  "We'll find her killer? Why are you being so helpful now? It wasn't so long ago you threatened to kill me."

  "It wasn't so long ago you tried to kill me,” he responded with a hint of a smile. “The Dream Teller sent me to you for a reason, and so far your mother's murder is the only reason I can see."

  "You were sent to help me find my mother's murderer?"

  "I think so. For whatever reason, this murderer branded your mother with fang marks. My kind can't take the risk of mortals discovering our existence."

  "I take it you won't be calling the police if you find the killer?"

  "We have our own way of meting out justice,” he answered, his eyes darkening with the promise of retribution.

  "Maybe it's wrong of me, but I'm glad to hear that,” Aria admitted. “Anyone evil enough to kill a woman as kind as my mother deserves no mercy."

  She thought back to the alley behind Fat Kracker's and imagined him delivering the same justice to her mother's killer. The image stirred something inside her, some dark part of her struggling to get out, and she recalled the scent of Rialto's blood so strongly he may as well have been bleeding before her now. Her mouth watered with anticipation as she wondered how rich and flavorful his blood would taste coating her tongue.

  Shocked by her own thought, Aria bolted straight up in her chair, her mouth gaping as she looked into Rialto's narrowed eyes.

  "What is it?” he asked.

  "N-nothing,” she stammered trying to still her heart before it lurched out of her chest. What the hell was wrong with her? “I'm just trying to piece together why someone would kill my mother and make it look as if she were a vampire victim."

  "Are you sure that's all?” He seemed to study every inch of her face, his stare cutting right through her, straight inside her mind. And suddenly she knew that he knew. Just like he knew it when he saw her staring at that small trickle of blood on his neck, licking her lips, thinking of what it would taste like. He knew.

  "Of course."

  He didn't believe her. Any idiot could see the proof of that etched into every line of his gorgeous, bronzed face.

  "Aria, what you saw tonight, what you've been through, would be hard for anyone to understand. I know it must be confusing, and you're probably unsure about what exactly it is you're feeling right now . . .” He broke off, letting his gaze fall to the floor, as if he might find the rest of what he wanted to say scattered there.

  "I'm fine,” Aria said a bit too defiantly, and wondered if she was trying to convince herself instead of him.

  He shrugged as if giving up on the argument—if it could even be classified as an argument—and walked back over to the sofa. He snagged Alfred Dunn's journal from the coffee table before sinking back onto the blue cushions. He leafed through the pages and let out a grunt of derision. “How did you come to gain possession of this?"

  "I got it at the library. The librarian's aide knew that I was studying vampires—"<
br />
  "Studying ways to kill us, you mean."

  "I thought one of you had killed my mother."

  Rialto shrugged, his body language seeming to say it was all water under the bridge. “I can't believe you came across this at a library. I knew this man."

  "You knew Alfred Dunn?"

  "How else do you think he knew my name? He was a rather odd fellow. He saw dead people. He communicated with them."

  "Really?” Aria tried to recall what she'd read in the journal earlier. “He doesn't mention that in the diary."

  "Actually, he does. Many of his “sources” listed in here are actually apparitions. To him, seeing dead people was normal. What actually fascinated him was the vampire race. I think that's what drove him crazy. He wanted to hate us, but instead he was in awe of us."

  "Why?"

  "I have no idea. I only met him once, when he was searching for Eron."

  "Did you know Eron?"

  "Yes. We were part of The Order, a group of vampires who made it our mission to bring true justice upon the evil who walked among us. We only drank from truly horrid people, killing them in the process. Murderers, rapists, and the worst of all—child abusers."

  "Why did Eron kill Alfred Dunn's son?"

  "He was a child molester. He never touched his own, but there were plenty of other small victims. Eron never warned Alfred, though. Alfred had a vision, saw Eron feeding on his son. I'm afraid by the time that incident had happened, Alfred's special gifts had already started to drive him mad."

  "Alfred Dunn was a psychic?” Aria turned toward Rialto, intrigued by the story.

  "Yes, his main gift being the ability to see and converse with the dead. When he had the vision of Eron killing his son, he started hunting us, but he never really posed a threat. He was too intrigued by us to harm us, and we were too intrigued by him. The ability to speak to the dead is something we envy, especially since we have lost so many lives dear to us."

  She'd never thought of that. Her own soul was weighed down with grief after losing two parents. How many loved ones had Rialto loved and lost? And why did she feel jealous over the thought of Rialto possibly having loved other women?