by Liz Meldon
She resisted the urge to ask him what the big deal was. Why should she—or anyone, really—care that a vamp was found dead?
“Thing is, apparently the guy had the Donovan insignia carved into his forehead,” Arthur continued. That caught her attention. “Pretty killer stuff, right? The hunters working that case are making some hefty cash.”
“Why?” Delia cleared her throat as she straightened up. “I mean, there’ve been vamp-on-vamp conflicts in the past. Usually we just clean up the mess. No humans were involved, right?”
Arthur shrugged, fishing his phone out of his pocket and quickly scanning it. “Dunno. I don’t know how they divvy this stuff up. All I know is who gets paid what, and the guys working that case made more than twice what you did in one week—and that’s pretty much all they’ve been working.”
She frowned, a jolt of bitter anger cutting through her. “Are you serious?”
Again, Arthur gave a little half-shrug. “Just telling you what I know. You should try to get on that case though… I hear vamp relations are a bit strained between the clans. Maybe it’ll turn into something bigger.”
Maybe. If she hadn’t been assigned to the case, there was no way scheduling would add her on, and even then, it wasn’t like the hunters assigned to it would want to share. Hunters hoarded lucrative gigs whenever they could, especially in a moderately quiet city like—everyone wanted the big payout and the prestige. If Delia was in their shoes, she’d probably do the same. Nobody wanted to do grunt work, even if grunt work solved most of the everyday vamp issues.
Her schedule for next week consisted of two nights of surveillance outside a bar that supposedly employed vamps as bartenders, a cushy patrol night in the swanky suburbs, then a very low-key takedown of a downtown nest full of clanless blood-pushers. No big players. Just the usual slap-on-the-wrist and deportation kind of jobs.
Which was precisely what one could expect at Delia’s level of the hunter ladder. She wasn’t the only one on it, and she, like everyone else dangling from her rung, lusted after more exciting assignments.
“It’s weird,” she said, struck by a sudden thought, “that they’d leave the body somewhere so public. I mean, usually the big clans are subtler. It’s the little guys we tend to have problems with.”
Delia, along with many other hunters, was under the impression that the “little guys” were just doing the bidding of the more powerful clans, but they were the ones hunters usually caught, arrested, banished—the works. Strange that a Donovan would murder a fellow vamp and leave the body for humans to find. Odder still that they’d even waste time carving their convoluted insignia into the dead vamp’s skin.
“Maybe they’re sending a message?” Arthur tucked his phone away and gave her one last shrug. “I don’t know. Just telling you what I heard.”
“Thanks.” And she meant it. Her League informant Hugh had been annoyingly quiet since his tip about the Banesview masquerade, and he was where she usually got most of her behind-the-scenes intel—intel she had to pay a lot for.
“Times are changing,” Arthur told her, and Delia stepped back with a smile and a wave, mouthing her thanks again as a group of fresh-faced recruits arrived to pick up their pay. As she made her way to the door, she heard Arthur snap, “What do you mean you don’t have photo ID? How’d you expect to get paid, might I ask?”
The soft tread of Delia’s old ballet flats accompanied her through the quiet corridors toward the elevators. League HQ extended almost six stories below Harriswood, with its secret entrance in the employee lounge of the public library. Outside of Arthur’s bland, depressing workspace, HQ was basically a tiny city with all the essential amenities. Training arenas. A fully-stocked armory. A cafeteria serving world-class grub. Pristine conference rooms. Holding cells. Vamp-disposal rooms. There were even rumors that they were going to build a pool. Totally temperature controlled, most of the halls were lit with bulbs that mimicked natural light. If the rent for the hunters’ living suites hadn’t been so ridiculous, Delia might have lived there permanently.
Instead, she lived above ground in a one-bedroom apartment near the business district with shoddy AC and noisy neighbours on all sides. Sometimes she preferred it, flaws and all. Delia actually liked what she did for a living most days, but occasionally it was nice to get some distance.
Hunting ill-behaved vampires and keeping people safe gave her an immense sense of purpose—more than she would ever feel if she were still shackled to retail hell. Or if she’d pursued her generalized arts degree. As soon as her aunt, all but famous on the West Coast for her hunting prowess, had invited Delia into the mysterious underground world of vampires, life had never been the same. She’d never figured out what Aunt Julia had seen in Delia’s twenty-one-year-old self that made her think she’d do well as a hunter—but five years later Delia was still grateful for the exclusive one-way ticket into her aunt’s world.
Most days Delia felt like her eyes were truly open, like she could see the world for what it really was, while everyone else just existed in their vampless, sunshine-and-daisies reality.
Still. There were only so many patrols or surveillance gigs one could go on before the mid-to-low–level assignments lost their sense of awe and wonder. Even if she liked it, some days a job was just a job, especially with no upward mobility in sight. After her royal fuck-up at the masquerade ball, Delia had attempted to embrace the comfortable familiarity of the day-to-day stuff.
A challenge, yes, but damn it, she was trying.
The metallic double doors of the elevator peeled back a few moments after she pressed the up button, revealing walls painted in comforting neutral greens and browns—a stark contrast to the off-white of Arthur’s domain. The radio hummed softly through the overhead speakers, and the light panels always reminded her of a sunny day with a hint of overcast.
Delia was digging her phone out of her purse, leaning back against the wall, when a hand jammed itself between the elevator doors, closely followed by a wriggling body. A young hunter whose acne suggested he was just out of his late teens shuffled in beside her, face flushed. Even though she got no service this far below ground courtesy of her shitty phone provider, Delia still pretended to be busy texting someone as he hit the button for the second floor—suites, kitchens, common areas—and exhaled noisily.
“Fucking…accountant Nazi,” he grumbled, arms crossed as he shifted his weight between both legs. He glanced back at Delia, the movement caught in her peripherals, and gave a breathy laugh. “Am I right?”
His smile faltered at the unimpressed look she shot him, and he quickly faced forward again.
“All right then,” she heard him mutter, ever the comedian. Rolling her eyes, she went back to her phone, flipping through the various pages of apps just to look busy. There was an abundance of standoffish, snippy, rude loner-types in the vampire hunter world, and while Delia wasn’t one of them, anyone who called a good guy like Arthur a Nazi was automatically out of her good graces.
The elevator continued to rise, blanketed in a tense silence, and as soon as they reached the kid’s floor, he was out of there like a shot. Delia pushed the button to close the doors before any other idiots joined her, then it was only another twenty-second ride to the first floor—reception, conference rooms, hunter archives, library, and transport hangar. Once there, Delia slipped out as another group of hunters entered, all of them men. It wasn’t until she was off that she thought she noticed the smooth lilt of Kain’s Irish accent, but the doors closed before she could look back to confirm.
Shoulders back, she moved through the well-lit corridors with maroon-tiled floors, smiling occasionally at a few of the records staff she recognized, then stopped at a wide-set steel doorway with a keypad off to the side. Hoping she remembered correctly, she punched in this week’s code, nibbling her lower lip. A few harrowing seconds later, the pad buzzed, followed by the sound of the door unlocking, and then she was taking the stairs on the other side two at a time. Another doo
r with yet another keypad and a different numerical password—and she was out.
Back to the outside world—also known as the dingy employee lounge of the public library. The few elderly librarians enjoying their lunch didn’t even look up as she passed, but Delia didn’t stop for pleasantries either. In fact, she didn’t pause until halfway down the street, beneath the blaring sun in the sweltering heat of the August afternoon.
Downtown Harriswood bustled at lunch hour, the sidewalks and streets full of office drones breaking for sustenance and errand-running. Flowers bloomed in the baskets hanging from the street lamps, and outdoor cafés overflowed with patrons. Harriswood in the summer was always like this: tourists and college kids. Delia longed for the quiet of fall, but not the bitter bite of winter.
With the rest of her day free, a delicious iced coffee and double-fudge muffin from her favourite café were both singing their siren song.
Grinning, Delia fell back into the sea of pedestrians and let her feet lead the way to sweet indulgence.
*
Unfortunately, on the walk to her favourite coffee shop, adulthood responsibilities got the better of her and Delia made a quick detour to the bank to deposit her measly pay. While she would have rather spent a full twenty on a massive cup of coffee and one of the pricier “fancy” muffins in the display case, she knew she and her bank account would feel better about buying something cheaper. And, just like that, her indulgent midday treat downgraded to whatever spare change she had in her purse by the time she reached the register.
Stepping from the scorching outdoors into the café was like hitting a wall of ice. The frigid blast of the air-conditioning almost warranted a sweater, and, as she brushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead, she noted that a few of the long-term residents—those with a full laptop and work station set up on the small round tables, empty mugs and plates teetering on the edges—had bundled up to combat the climate. Delia, meanwhile, savored the chilly air, loitering beneath one of the air vents by the front door until a pointed throat-clear from behind hurried her along.
While she normally enjoyed wasting away hours in the café, sometimes with Ali or Arthur or Devin—schedule permitting—and sometimes flying solo, today it steadily lost points due to the sheer number of people inside. The majority of them were in line, but, as she scanned the armchairs and booths, she realized that by the time she actually received her order, seating would be limited too. Apparently today was not the day for people-watching in her usual armchair by the corner window.
As soon as she joined the massive line, taking her place next to the display of organic imported coffee beans, Delia felt someone join the queue behind her. The body hovered a little too close for comfort, and she stepped forward a few inches, in no mood to be crowded when she was already at a broil from the summer sunshine.
The line crept forward at a glacial page. As she waited, Delia checked her phone for any messages from Hugh. He hadn’t had another worthwhile tip for her since the night of the Banesview masquerade, despite her pestering, and today was no different.
Nothin to report 4 usual price. Raise ur rate and well talk.
As always, Hugh’s texts were an assault to one’s grammatical senses. Rolling her eyes, Delia tucked her phone away with a huff. There were still eight people in front of her—and the one at the front seemed to be haggling over the quality of the green tea. Delia let out a soft groan.
When it was finally—finally—her turn, she was actually pretty ready to get the hell out of there. Her sweaty figure had dried, turning cold under the merciless gusts of AC, and all the constant chatter around her was giving her a headache. But she wasn’t going to let the crowd beat her. Not today, tourists.
“An iced coffee,” Delia said to the barista behind the cash register, “and…” She leaned to the side, scanning the glass case of dessert treats. No double chocolate muffins left. Of course. “An oatmeal muffin, I guess.”
Then Delia realized why the line had been moving so slowly: the barista probably took a full minute to punch in her order, his face screwed in concentration, cheeks stained bright red and a bit of sweat on his upper lip. As she fished her wallet out of her purse, she noted the ‘trainee’ sticker added to his nametag. Poor guy. When he finally had the amount up on the screen in front of her, she shot him the most reassuring smile she could.
“Fifteen-sixty.”
And just like that, the smile was gone. Delia’s gaze darted to the price board behind him. “Are you sure?”
The colour on his cheeks darkened as he rechecked his screen, then nodded. “Yup.”
Sure enough, they’d upped the prices on her usual “cheap” drink, and she suddenly found herself scrambling to make exact change, not wanting to use her credit card for such a silly purchase.
“Just a second…” The sound of her coins dropping onto the small counter brought heat to her face, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted the barista fidgeting, probably anxious to be kept waiting. Unfortunately, every coin and bill in her wallet only amounted to eleven-seventy. She cursed under her breath, then started scooping it all back into her cupped hands. “Uh, let me… I’ll put it on credit, I guess.”
Before she had a chance to pull the card out, a large hand reached around her and set a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
Delia stared, not entirely believing what she was seeing. Sure, people were nicer in Harriswood than in some of the bigger cities she’d lived in, but no one had ever offered to pay the difference on her coffee order before. Taking a quick breath, she turned back to insist that the gesture was appreciated but totally unnecessary, only to find herself looking at a familiar face—a familiar handsome vampire face.
“Oh my god,” she blurted, louder than she meant to, as she gawked at the man behind her—the man wearing an obnoxious amount of clothing given the weather, and a pair of sunglasses so dark that she couldn’t see even a hint of the electric blue eyes she knew lurked behind them.
Claude Grimm. Mask-wearing Fool. Great in bed. The vamp who’d left two permanent puncture marks on her throat. In the months that followed the masquerade, he had always been at a distance—never so close that she could breathe in his scent or feel the heat of his body. Her stomach rolled over and over, mouth suddenly dry as her jumbled brain tried to decide what to do with itself: fight or flight.
She’d been more inclined toward flight in the past, always hurrying away before the vamp had ventured too close. But there was no chance for that now, sandwiched between his hard body and the counter, people on every side, Claude towering over her with a smirk. Her eyes briefly flitted to his lips before she cleared her throat and leaned back.
“I… Uh…”
Smooth.
“Why don’t you add a small tea to the order,” Claude said, catching her wrist and fishing her money out of her palm. He dropped the coins back into the open change slot in her wallet, displaying more poise in those five seconds than Delia had been able to muster all day. Sliding his money across the counter, he offered a wry smile that seemed only meant for her, one that made her heart beat just a little bit faster. “Is there anything else you’d like to add, Delia?”
“You don’t…have to…” Again, words failed her. In her mind’s eye, Claude Grimm was the mysterious vamp from the masquerade, all polished and refined and so out of her league. And a vampire—absolutely off-limits romantically.
But here he was ordinary. Aside from his clothing, the fitted black trench coat and dark dress pants making him stand out like a sore thumb in the sea of summer dresses and board shorts, Claude seemed so normal. Getting a cup of tea at a local café. It was easy to forget, for a fleeting moment, that he was a totally off-limits vampire, what with his warm fingers wrapped around her wrist like a snare. In the daytime.
“Will that be for here or to go?” the barista asked as he handed back the change, which Claude also deposited smoothly into her wallet. The vamp looked from the barista to Delia, lingering on her, and then
back again.
“To go, I think?” His black eyebrows rose over the brim of his sunglasses when he turned to her, as if to confirm his decision; against her better judgement Delia nodded. He grinned, then guided her out of the line, toward the far end of the counter where they would grab their order. A cluster of customers hovered around the small countertop, some on their phones, others chatting amongst themselves—not a soul aware of the supernatural creature in their midst.
One she’d fucked.
And couldn’t stop thinking about.
Delia gave her arm a tug, trying to free her wrist from his grasp, only to purse her lips when she failed.
“Let go.”
“If I do that, you’ll run.”
“How astute of you.” Her eyes honed in on his impossibly dark sunglasses. “Can you at least take those off? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I thought they were quite on trend,” he remarked, pushing the almost opaque glasses up so they sat on his head. Vibrant blue eyes met her gaze, and only then, as she consciously tried to frown so that her mouth wouldn’t turn up into an appreciative grin, did she realize her mistake. This would be so much easier with his glasses on. Those eyes were like the tide, eager to pull her out to sea.
“We’re not in a bar,” she fired back weakly, still trying to subtly wriggle free. “Nobody wears sunglasses inside.”
“Well, I find the glare today a little overpowering.” It was then she noticed he squinted somewhat as he looked around, the skin by his eyes crinkled.
“Is that why you look like a high-priced limo driver?” she asked, eyes sweeping over his outfit. “The sun? How are you even here right now?”
“Comes with being warm-bodied.” They both stepped toward the counter as a group of women grabbed their drinks and left, though a few more patrons quickly sidled up behind them, forcing them closer together. Delia’s breath caught in her throat. “Though I cannot say I’m entirely comfortable in the daylight, despite what others in my situation boast.”
“So why are you here?” If she couldn’t overpower him, maybe she could out-talk him. Get him to drop his guard—and the second he did, she’d bolt. There was no way he’d go all vamp-speed here, not with so many members of the general public standing around. Very few humans were privy to the existence of vamps, and Delia was under the impression that the bloodsuckers preferred to keep it that way.
