Life Sentence (Paranormal Detectives Series Book 3)

by Lily Luchesi

  “I just might kill her tonight, because this ensemble is so uncomfortable that I am positively murderous,” Vincent commented. He bid the hunters farewell and went to his horse. When he arrived at the manor, he saw that there were a vast array of vampires, mortals, and possibly some witches. If there were other creatures, they were masquerading so well as humans that Vincent could not discern them. He did not think that any of the guests were shifters. Ben’s brother had been unable to confirm all of the guests’ mortality, so Vincent had to be vigilant.

  He entered the manor, which was alight with warm smells and laughter. Music was tinkling from a piano in the parlor. It was a joyful scene, with mortals rubbing elbows with the Undead. He was agog at the fact that these people could very possibly be dinner that night, and yet they did not know it. He suddenly felt like he was part of a herd of cattle on its way to the slaughterhouse. How had he not thought of it sooner? This “ball” could merely be a way to get a bunch of humans in one place for safe feeding. What they’d do with the corpses was unknown to him, but he was beginning to feel feverish. He had a sudden urge to run away and come back with the others to get this over with.

  Unfortunately, that was the exact moment he was spotted. He heard the light voice of Veronica call out his name, and he turned to where the sound came from. For a brief moment, his fears and doubts were taken away when he saw how stunning the vampiress looked that evening. She was wearing a many petticoated lace gown in black and with crimson accents, her dark hair swept up in a plait and her dark eyes glittered like jewels.

  “I am so pleased you came,” she said, greeting him properly.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it,” he said, finding that the words were not exactly untrue. What on Earth was happening to him? “You look lovely, My Lady.”

  She waved a hand. “Oh, none of that. You may call me by my given name. Come, I’d love to show you around my home.”

  Vincent took her arm and allowed her to lead him through the manor, which was beautiful, warm, and felt very lived in. He had little experience with grand houses, but he had always thought of them in the same vein as a cold museum. Cumberland Manor was entirely different.

  Veronica was different. If he had not known she was a vampire, he never would have guessed it. Unlike many of the ones he had killed, she exhibited none of the traits he usually looked for in the Undead save for her porcelain skin. He wanted so terribly to believe that she was different, that he would not have to kill her.

  As he was musing, Veronica turned him down a corridor and suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by his body being slammed against a wall and held there by an inhumanly strong hand.

  “If you scream, I will not hesitate to kill you,” Veronica hissed. He felt her free hand groping in his inner jacket pocket as she took out the vial of holy water and his gun. “Did you honestly think I was fooled by your smile and charm? Did you think I was so simple I could not know a hunter when I saw one?”

  Vincent felt his heart racing, but at the same time he could not conjure up real fear. Somewhere, deep down, he did not believe that Veronica was planning on killing him. A silly notion, but one he could not shake from his mind.

  “Veronica, you don’t want to do this,” he said. “The last recorded murder connected directly to you was over a century ago. Don’t break that streak now, with me. If I do not return, more hunters will show up and you would not stand a chance.”

  After a moment, he felt the pressure on his back ease. Of course. She had his weapons, and he was now powerless in her presence. He turned around and stared into the blood red and black eyes that somehow did not instill fear in him…yet. He felt that he could reach her somehow.

  “Please, you must listen. From the moment I saw you, I knew there was much more to you than the average vampire. I could have killed you the moment you opened the door, but I did not. I have not. I did not even bring stakes or a blade with me, because I did not wish to kill you tonight, either. Not until I had had proof that you were just like the rest. Do not make me have to kill you. I do not want to.” That was the most candid Vincent had ever been with anyone, and he hoped that it was not in vain.

  Veronica stared at him, eyes slowly turning back to their natural brown hue. The menace in her mein seemed to be abating. “I did not understand why you did not try. And you are right: I have never killed for food. Those murders were hunters who had tried to kill me first. I have always survived on living donors. I can show you my books, show you that I pay mortals for blood. It has been my way for four hundred years, and I would never kill for food when it is unnecessary.

  “I do not want to kill you, either. I have grown rather fond of you despite knowing what you are.”

  Vincent allowed himself a smirk. “I suppose I could say the exact same thing.”

  “Not all monsters are murderers. However, all hunters are. Your kind do not understand our ways. You have murdered my friends. You have murdered employees of mine. You have murdered werewolves who fight for king and country in the wars. All because you fear what you cannot understand. We are no different than humans. Some of us have families. We have lives. We can fall in love.”

  That last statement was delivered with a direct gaze and a softening of the eye. “I know you cannot believe me simply on my honor, but I can show you the truth. Let me live tonight, and return here tomorrow. Bring your hunter friends if you must. Allow me the grace to state my case, just as mortals on trial get the opportunity to. Let me show you that I could never hurt anyone…least of all you.”

  When the paroxysm of love and passion is upon a person, all rational thought leaves the mind as the heart takes over. Vincent closed the distance between them in two long strides of his six-foot-two frame and had her cold body in his arms. She did not fight him. She still did not fight as his eyes gazed upon her and kissed her like a drowning man gasps for air.

  ***

  Later that same night

  “Where could he be?” Leander asked, pacing back and forth across the library floor.

  “It’s a vampire’s ball: it could go on much later than we are used to,” Michael commented. Leander looked between him and Ben, and realized that they were not nearly half as concerned about Vincent as Leander was. Why was that? They had just sent a man who had not been hunting a year into the lion’s den with nothing more than holy water to protect himself. Leander was wondering if he had made a mistake and acted too rashly in sending Vincent.

  If something happened to him, Leander would never forgive himself.

  His thoughts were broken by Ben standing and stretching. “I believe I am going to take a walk and get some blood flowing in my legs. I’ve done little more than read in bed all day today.”

  “Well, you did a little more than that,” Michael said with a laugh, but cut himself short with a glare from Ben’s icy eyes. The coroner left, leaving silence in his wake. However, the usually quiet Michael was not silent for long.

  “Leander, may I ask you a question, and I swear there will be no judgment from me no matter your response.”

  Leander said, “Proceed, Doctor.”

  “You are unusually close with Vincent. I was wondering if there was something aside from friendship between the two of you. Or is there nothing there and you wish there was?”

  Leander felt like someone had simultaneously slapped him upside the head and punched him in the gut. Where the deuce did that question come from?

  “Are you absolutely mad?” Leander demanded. “No, there’s nothing more than friendship between us! I am simply worried that I sent a good man to his death tonight. And if he is merely injured, will he blame me? I am not prepared to see hate in his eyes toward me. I have never ordered a man to his death before, nor sent one into a vampire’s nest.”

  “And you didn’t do that now, either,” Michael replied, using his calming doctor voice. “Vincent is a strong, competent hunter. You trained him well. He would not have gone had he not been at least halfway certain that he would com
e back alive and well.”

  Leander was about to respond when the library door opened and in walked the man himself.

  Ignoring Ben behind him, and ignoring any personal boundaries propriety inflicted upon people in those days, Leander jumped up and gave Vincent a hug, shrouding the six-foot-two man with his six-foot-five body.

  Vincent laughed, his deep voice making Leander’s chest shake. “Well, I did not realize I was so missed!”

  Leander pulled away, and he was sure that the worry was showing on his face. “What on Earth took you so long, Cross? You had me pacing the floors!”

  “I do apologize for causing any concern,” Vincent said, removing his hat and cravat. “I could not leave early; it would have looked odd. Now, allow me to sit, please. I am afraid I do not have much to tell at the moment.”

  He sat in his usual chair and everyone crowded around him for his news. “The party was for mostly mortals. There were a few vampires, and I think a shifter or two. I know that vampires don’t normally get on with the species as a whole.

  “The most interesting piece of information I received tonight had nothing to do with Veronica. It had to do with werewolves. There is an entire branch of the British military compiled of werewolves. They go and fight for us mortals, feeding as they please on the enemy. God knows I tried, but I cannot for the life of me find fault in that. After all, we take the enemies’ lives as well, only with bullets and bayonets.”

  Leander was astounded. “Are you sure? That is…outrageous. I cannot believe that. I must ponder on this for a bit, once Delarue is taken care of.”

  “What did you learn about Delarue?” Michael asked.

  Vincent shifted in his chair. “I am afraid not much. One thing: I think she is paying mortals to be living blood donors. I have no proof, and will need to go back to be positive before we make any accusations. Otherwise, she was a gracious host, as one would expect a lady to be at a ball. If she is a murderer, she hides it well. I checked the guest list, and not a single person who had arrived did not leave the party. I waited outside to be sure. Everyone was in good spirits…especially the ones who had drunk too much port.” He laughed lightly. “I am sorry I did not get much more information. I searched for her coffin, but the second floor’s rooms were locked, and I did not bring any lock picks with me.”

  Leander clapped Vincent on the shoulder and said, “You got more information than we would have had you not gone, and the most important thing is that you made it back. We’ll get her. Don’t you worry. She has lived many centuries, but she will not get to see another one. I vow it.”

  It took many weeks to pass for Leander to become suspicious of his flatmate’s strange absences in the evenings. Since Leander had offered Vincent a flatshare after his flat had been destroyed by the werewolf, the older man had been a creature of habit. In the weeks following the ball at Delarue’s house, he had begun changing his routine, but not in any way that was predictable.

  Leander knew he was not turned, but what could have caused this change? Was she glamouring him from afar? He had asked Vincent once, and Vincent had replied with a vague, “I enjoy walking at night: it clears my mind for a good slumber.”

  One night, Vincent had come in smelling distinctly of an eau de cologne marketed toward women. Leander wondered if Vincent had a secret paramour, but if he did, why was he hiding her? Was he ashamed of what he was, of what the four of them did in the dark of the night?

  Leander knew it was wrong, but he decided to follow Vincent one night, making sure to keep out of sight, especially when Vincent hailed a taxi and Leander needed to make sure his carriage did not come too close to Vincent’s.

  Leander was an intelligent man, but even he could not have guessed where Vincent was going, and no one could have been more surprised as he was when Vincent’s chalise dropped him off outside of Cumberland Manor.

  So she has been bewitching him! Leander thought, hurriedly paying his driver and alighting the carriage faster than a man of his height and breadth should have been able to go. He was unsure of what to do. Go back for Ben and Michael? That would take too long. Go in and ambush Delarue? That could get Vincent killed. He decided the best course of action to take was to wait in the shrubbery outside of the manor’s gates for Vincent’s exit. Hopefully he did make an exit tonight.

  Leander took out his pocket watch and timed the visit. After exactly seventy-three minutes the manor door opened, but Vincent was not alone in the distant doorway. Behind him with her hand on his shoulder was Delarue.

  She turned his face toward hers and leaned in, as if to bite him. Leander leapt from his hiding spot and fired off a bullet from his gun as a warning.

  Vincent jumped, and Veronica let out a very undignified squeak of shock.

  “Let him go, you fiend!” Leander cried, pointing the gun at Delarue. His gun had holy water saturated silver bullets, which would wound her, but not kill her. He had his blade ready to finish her off, if only she would let Vincent go!

  “I thought I smelled another mortal. I assumed your stench had simply rubbed off on Vincent,” Delarue said, her eyes glowing with Undead fire. “Leave. Now. I have not harmed you, and you have harmed nothing but my door. If you go now, I will forget this ever happened.”

  Leander laughed. “As if I could take the word of a monster! You have bewitched my friend, you are a bloodthirsty killer, and it is high time the world was rid of your presence!” He cocked his gun again, but Vincent stepped in his line of sight.

  “Leander, leave. Go home. There is much more going on here than your limited mind can comprehend,” he said, shielding Veronica with his body.

  “You’re glamoured, Vincent. You don’t know what you’re saying,” Leander said, more to convince himself than explain to his friend.

  Vincent stepped down the three stairs leading to the front door. “Put your gun away, Price, and get away from us. Veronica is no killer: you have it all wrong.”

  Leander did not put his firearm away, instead he gripped it tighter. His eyes widened in shock as Vincent took his own gun from his holster and pointed it at him. “What the devil are you doing, Cross?” Leander cried.

  “What you taught me to do: protecting the innocent from coldblooded killers like you.” Vincent maintained eye contact with Leander as he said, “Don’t say I did not give you a warning.” In a blink, he fired his gun, hitting Leander in the shoulder.

  ***

  Chicago, Illinois

  Present Day

  The vision ended, but Danny was in no position to address it, or the demon who had given it to him. His head was spinning and his limbs were like gelatin as he leaned against the bridge for support. He heard Leander’s fading laugh, but his vision was going black at the corners, and he could not see him. He wondered if this was how he’d die, his energy drained by the Lieutenant of the Underworld.

  “Christ, Danny.” Danny could hear Brighton’s distinctive deep voice, but he barely had the energy to open his eyes. He felt the lid being rolled back by a gloved hand, and could see a puzzled expression on Brighton’s face. “Demons. I should have told you—they feed on people like us, mimicking psychic vampires. Come on. Let’s get you back to the offices.” He held Danny by the underarms. “At least you look drunk. No one will think I’ve drugged and am kidnapping you.”

  Danny tried to move his tired limbs, and he hoped he was helping rather than hindering Brighton’s gait as they walked to the taxi he’d been riding in.

  As Brighton settled him in the backseat, he said, “This is what, the second time this month that this has happened to you? Are you a danger magnet or something?”

  “Apparently so,” he murmured, barely able to get the words out. He felt the cab come to a stop, and Brighton paid.

  “You’ll say nothing about my friend here, eh?” he asked the driver, passing him a bill. “Bit of trouble, but he’s a cop. Nothing he can’t handle.”

  He physically hauled Danny out of the cab and helped carry him into the vestibul
e, where Mark was waiting with a wheelchair from their medical wing. They took him into the elevator, talking as if he couldn’t hear them.

  “How on Earth did you know he was in trouble?” Mark asked. “And what happened?”

  “Demon. His energy is drained. That’s what demons do to people with certain brain activity. It’s frightening to say the very least. I know Danny’s mind is one that they like to feed on, and just got a feeling,” Brighton replied. “We’re dealing with quite a few of them now, and I should never have let him leave on his own. He doesn’t know about their appetites.”

  “You mean…” Danny coughed. “He talked to me so long because he wanted to consume me?”

  “Oh, you’re awake!” Mark said, bending down to check his vitals again. “I think you’re going to be fine. Lucky Brighton found you when he did. A few more minutes and your heart might have stopped.”

  Danny felt himself manhandled into one of the sitting rooms in the office, and one of the other workers came soon with one of those shakes in an extra-large glass.

  Danny was trembling, could barely hold the glass to his lips to take a few sips. He had never been this weak since he’d caught a particularly bad strain of the swine flu back in 2007. Both now and then, he was certain that he was dying.

  After a few more sips of the disgusting shake, he started to feel it work its magic in his body. As each second passed, his head became less muddled and his body stronger. He leaned his head back, feeling the clamminess of his skin abate and his heart resumed beating at a normal rate.

  “I don’t care whatever illegal steroid is in these things: I’d be dead many times over if it wasn’t for them,” he commented.

  “What’d you just say?” Brighton asked, an amused smirk on his face. “Mancini, that’s no steroid: that’s pure vampire blood they put in there. They give it to their human employees to keep their strength up during long battles. Didn’t Angelica tell— OW!”

  Mark gave Brighton a good whack on his head, sending his dark curls flying.

  “Have you no verbal filter?” Mark asked him. “Of course she never told him: he used to hate vampires remember? And what time has she to tell him the truth since he put his prejudices aside? None. She was going to tell him.”