by Taryn Rose
Riverdale Avenue Books LLC
5676 Riverdale Avenue, Suite 101
Riverdale, New York 10471
www.riverdaleavebooks.com
Blood and Lust in New York City
Copyright © 2013 by Taryn Rose
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-053-6
Cover by Emalyn Feitshans
Formatting by www.formatting4U.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Riverdale Avenue Books LLC e-book publication: October 2013
Chapter One: Emma
“Emma, wait.”
She felt a hand on her arm. Hank Sherman, one of the show’s producers, had followed her out of the bar. The cast party was still going strong, but Emma decided to leave early to get a good night’s sleep. She was wise enough, at the ripe old age of 24, to cut off her partying before it ate into the next day, or worse, the next performance. And the stakes were higher now that she had her first role in a Broadway show.
“I need to rest my voice, Hank. But you go ahead and have fun. It was a fantastic opening night.”
“You were magical,” Hank said, and stumbled over himself.
Emma had been told her whole life that she lit up the stage. That she had classic ingénue features—lustrous blonde hair, big blue eyes, delicate bone structure—and a soaring soprano voice. But what the people back home in Ohio didn’t understand was how competitive the New York theater scene was. After two years of auditioning, Emma finally landed her first big break as a chorus girl.
She pecked the producer’s cheek to be polite. “Goodnight, Hank.” She turned her attention back to the rush of cars streaming down Broadway. “Taxi!”
“Let my driver take you home. Please.” Hank motioned to a stretch limousine that was parked a few feet from the famed Fiorello’s restaurant and bar, where the cast and crew were celebrating. She glanced over and headlights popped on, the car slowly making its way over to them. Even though a ride was unnecessary—her apartment was not far from the restaurant, the last thing Emma wanted to do was piss off a producer. He opened the back passenger door and grinned.
Emma slid inside and to her surprise, Hank followed, closing the door after him. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Cristal.
“Champagne?” he said, holding up the bottle, and Emma declined.
“You didn’t have to leave on my account. It’s your big night too,” she said, nervously.
“It’s no fun if you’re not there,” he said and loosened his tie. His gut spilled over his sides as he leaned back. He downed a glass of champagne like it was water and inched closer to Emma. She smelled tobacco on his breath and politely slid away. He smiled creepily, and the glass divider separating the passengers from the driver started buzzing up. Emma caught a knowing glance between the driver and Hank through the rearview mirror.
“Please tell your driver to take me to Christopher Street,” she said.
“Douglas, she lives on Christopher Street,” he repeated to the walled-off driver. Emma doubted the driver could hear anything behind the partition.
Emma continued to shift her position until she was against the car door. Hank slithered closer to her, unbuttoning his shirt. She felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. “Hank, what are you doing?”
“I lobbied for you, Emma. I said you had that certain something.” He threw off his shirt, revealing a bushel of white chest hairs that didn’t match the greasy dyed-black ones on his head. Emma knew she owed this man nothing. She earned the part on her merits as a singer, an actress and a dancer.
“Relax.” Hank pulled a joint out of his pocket and she watched him light it and take a long drag. “Smoke?” he offered as he exhaled a cloudy white stream.
“I…I just want to go home.” Her heart was pounding and her mind raced—was she strong enough to fight this man off if she had to?
“Actresses. You all think you’re so special.” He slapped her thigh and started pushing his moist palm up her leg.
“Please…don’t.”
He smirked and started undoing his pants.
“I have a boyfriend,” she lied, gently pushing him off of her. “Please.” But he wouldn’t budge and she struggled against his hold. “Stop!”
He pressed his hand over her lips. “No one can hear you so you might as well relax.”
With every ounce of strength she could muster, she resisted him as he mashed his blubbery body against hers. She gagged at the smell of his aftershave mixed with sweat and clawed at him, shocked at how he was able to pry her legs apart against her will. He yanked her camisole, ripping it down the middle and revealing her breasts. He growled and pawed at them.
“Get off of me!” she yelled, and slapped his face. Her eyes began to water as she fought with him. Be strong, she told herself.
Suddenly the car jolted to a stop and shook violently. Hank rolled off of Emma onto the floor. Then a sinking sensation filled her stomach. Not unlike the feeling of being on an airplane taking off. She twisted to look out the window. The front of the car was off the ground. It was hung up on something. Hank froze and looked up through the sunroof.
“What the hell is going on?” he yelled.
The car dipped forward, falling back down onto the ground. Emma gripped the sides of her seat for support as the front wheels hit the ground with force. The car shook again, causing their bodies to bounce forward then harshly back. Hank’s mouth was wide open, his expression one of disbelief. A male scream filled the air. “Please, please, please!” the voice begged until his cries abruptly stopped.
“Douglas! That’s Douglas!” Hank shouted. “Who’s out there? What do you want?” Suddenly, something crashed through the back passenger window and shards of glass flew onto the floor next to Hank. He looked up at the empty window frame and started screaming. He crawled to the middle of the car and pushed down frantically on the button to lower the divider.
Terrified, Emma pulled at the handle on her door, but the lock wouldn’t move. Hank trapped me inside. Panicked, she turned back and watched a bare arm reach in through the empty window, leading with a fist. The hand uncurled itself and grabbed Hank by his head. They were the longest fingers Emma had ever seen. The arm, slender but muscular, extended inhumanly far, it seemed. It was all too much to process. The hand was pulling him out the window, slowly at first. Hank was screaming at the top of his lungs and Emma grabbed onto her side of the car. Hank struggled, but couldn’t pry those fingers off his face. His body squirmed and squeezed out the window.
Emma tried her side door again. Frenzied, she pressed every button she could see. None of them unlocked the door. She pressed the divider control button and it lowered some more, revealing that the windshield was covered in blood. She gasped at the sight. The driver’s door was flung wide open too. She realized it was her only escape, so she hurled her waiflike body up to squeeze through the partition. She kicked off her heels, her heart pounding up to her throat. The driver must be dead, she thought. She could hear Hank pleading for his life after his body smashed against the car, until his cries faded into the night. The vein in her neck throbbed with fear. Her body felt languid, and the world spun in circles each time she moved her head. She blinked hard to relieve the dizzi
ness and pulled herself through the partition head first. Her hands latched onto the front seat. She crawled forward so the rest of her body could get through the divider when two powerful hands suddenly stopped her, pressing down forcefully onto hers. Fingertips reached underneath her grasping ones and gently but firmly pushed her back up through the divider. She looked up and saw fierce emerald eyes. Translucent green marbles over pools of white. Emma did not dare disobey those eyes. She eased back into her seat. A woman, she thought, and swallowed down the knot in her throat.
The driver’s door slammed shut. Those strong hands took control of the wheel. The woman’s head grazed the top of the car. Washer fluid spurted out onto the windshield and wipers washed the blood away. The car started moving. They were driving along as if nothing had happened. Emma sat in silence with the woman.
She tried to catch another glimpse of her through the rearview mirror. Emma had to see those determined eyes again to figure out if she was in danger or not.
“Are you alright?” asked the dark-haired woman, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” Emma answered.
“Any cuts or abrasions?”
Emma suddenly felt those eyes on her through the mirror. She instantly pulled her wrap over her exposed chest. The emerald eyes politely turned away.
“No.”
“Good.”
Emma’s heart was still pounding. If this woman was going to hurt her, wouldn’t she have laid a hand on her by now, as she did the others?
“That man was going to rape me. You saved me.”
“The driver was guilty also,” the woman replied.
Emma shifted in her seat, taken aback that the woman seemed to know what was about to happen.
“Are they…” Emma cleared her throat. She couldn’t get the word out. It seemed too unbelievable.
“They are alive.” The woman rubbed her chin with those long fingers and placed her hand on the wheel again.
“Thank heavens,” Emma sighed.
“Those men were going to hurt you, possibly even kill you.” Her voice was velvety smooth, but deep. If she sang, she would be on the lower range of altos, Emma thought.
“They were here a minute ago. I just can’t imagine them…”
“Deceased.”
“Yes.”
“That’s very generous of you.” The woman eyed Emma curiously through the mirror. Emma adjusted her wrap and looked down, but she could feel those eyes remaining on her. It was a powerful gaze, even through a mirror, but somehow it didn’t feel threatening. Emma sensed that she could trust this woman with her life. But it was too risky to go with her gut feeling. She had to focus on getting away.
The car’s pace picked up and Emma’s eyes widened when she saw they were no longer on city streets. They were heading north on the highway, leaving the city behind. She swallowed hard.
“I really need to go home,” she said in a soft, pleading whisper.
“I can’t take you to your home, Emma. I’m very sorry.” The woman’s eyes locked with Emma’s and this time a wave of terror rippled through her body. How does she know my name?
Chapter Two: Skarlet
“Please, where are we going?” the girl asked.
Skarlet listened to the pulsing heart beat, not to her words. She inhaled the delicious scent of thickening, stressed blood rapidly heating underneath warm flesh. She sensed water droplets pushing out the girl’s pores and felt a pang of guilt over being the cause of her distress. Her awareness of this invasion tempered the intoxication she felt at each physical manifestation of the girl’s fright. She pushed up at her molars with the tip of her tongue and struggled to contain her bestial urges.
“I appreciate all you’ve done tonight,” the girl spoke delicately. “You saved my life and I’ll be forever grateful.”
The girl’s timbre was pleasing to Skarlet’s ear, but she did not respond to her sweet voice. The warehouse was still a ways ahead and to be honest about what was coming next would be cruel. She peeked again through the mirror and saw that healthy bosom, full of lush veins. Such a pretty girl, she thought, and fair. The Scandinavians usually are. A contrast to Skarlet’s own Mediterranean ancestry. Back when she was mortal, how tanned her skin would become in summertime! How people marveled at her bronzed, statuesque beauty, she reminisced with a touch of sadness.
“They’ll notice me missing. I’m in a show. It’s on Broadway. My first Broadway musical. Please, I can tell that you are kind.” The girl leaned into the open divider and Skarlet detected a watermelon-like scent mixed in with the natural musk of the girl’s body.
Besides the magnificent voice and incredible beauty, the woman in the backseat had an inexplicable star quality. Emma Jones was a person that others pay money to admire on the stage. She watched the girl’s head tilt against the window, staring out, fearing for her life.
“I have roommates. They’re expecting me,” the girl looked up and continued, then inhaled a staggered breath.
Skarlet ran her fingers through her hair. She felt for the girl. Her conscience, that human abstraction, hadn’t died along with her mortality. Sometimes she wished she could suppress it and achieve the feeling of omnipotence like the other vampires do. But in truth, she was loathe to sever the connection with her old life. She knew that once she viewed humans solely as sustenance for her kind, she would be lost—like the others.
“You’re an actress,” said Skarlet.
The girl enlivened suddenly. “Yes. And a singer too. I sing and dance in the chorus.”
“The Great White Way,” Skarlet enunciated with a touch of theater.
“Yes! Have you been to a Broadway show before? It’s the most magical experience.”
Skarlet stifled a smile. Did the girl intuit that she had never been privy to that particular spectacle?
“I have not. But I always liked Shakespeare, and magic.”
“Well, you must come and see my show. I’ll get you the best seats in the house.”
Skarlet laughed. This young beauty! So full of life, and hope. Such is the human condition. They either fail to comprehend or relentlessly ignore that their expiration date is fast approaching. She connected with the starlet through the rearview mirror, and Emma smiled at her, hesitantly. That slight grin sent a tingle down Skarlet’s spine and caused her to smile back.
“I’m Emma Jones,” she said, crossing her legs. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“Emma,” Skarlet repeated.
“How do you know me?” She paused a beat, waiting for a response. “Please.” The girl’s body quivered.
Skarlet wanted to say Emma’s name again. Let it linger in her throat then exhale it. Back in her mortal days, a human girl of Emma’s physical caliber could have unraveled her with a mere flutter of her lashes. Emma Jones was that kind of girl. An “It” girl, as they say. The most sought after kind. Just like her Norse blood. Oh, to taste that blood…
“You didn’t tell me your name,” Emma spoke again, interrupting Skarlet’s thoughts, making her aware of how ridiculous they were. The girl’s confidence was growing, she sensed. She knows I find her attractive. Have I revealed myself? Skarlet closed her eyes for a moment and forced her brain to change its course. It didn’t matter who Emma was in her human world. She was in Skarlet’s world now. A world where all the experiences that made her who she was were meaningless. How tragic, she thought, and pondered the irony of it. What was tragic for a human was a joy for her kind.
“Skarlet,” she answered, finally.
“Skarlet,” Emma repeated. “How lovely. It goes with you,” she said, sliding herself back into the middle seat. Skarlet caught a glimpse of Emma’s lean, fit legs in the mirror. No sheathing separating her skin from the air. Had the girl picked up on her nature? Was she…flirting? Skarlet let out a chuckle this time. It was the first time she truly enjoyed her power all night.
“I’m not your knight in shining armor, Emma. You shouldn’t have any illusions.”
&nbs
p; Clearly frustrated, Emma slid back and perched her head against the window. Skarlet kept on driving, in silence.
After an hour, she exited off the highway and continued down an ill-lit path until the headlights shone on a sign welcoming all who entered to a town called Goshen. Soon after, she pulled up at the abandoned warehouse she was assigned to. She sensed Emma’s increased heart rate and the faster circulation of her blood. She swallowed down the extra saliva that her own glands instinctively produced and gritted her fangs down. Emma Jones was that rare find where the beauty of her insides matched the outside. She turned off the ignition and got out of the car. Her boots crunched down on the gravel as she came around, and she opened Emma’s door. She stood, waiting for Emma to lift her head out of her palms. When she did, she locked her water-filled eyes with Skarlet’s larger ones. Skarlet realized it was their first moment of connection without a mirror between them, and it softened her somehow. She extended her hand.
“Come,” she commanded gently, fully unraveling her fingers. She noticed Emma eye them before leaning toward her. She offered Skarlet her hand as if it were a precious jewel and held her gaze before standing up.
The girl’s hand was warm and soft. It seemed smaller and more delicate in Skarlet’s palm. She grasped it, and surreptitiously reveled in its warmth.
“You’re cold,” said Emma, clutching her hand back, lifting herself up. “But you’re not cold hearted, Skarlet.”
Skarlet took a deep breath and walked assuredly. Letting her hand go, she assumed Emma would keep pace with her. She could feel her eyeing her up then down and took pleasure from the attention, allowing herself the fleeting fantasy that she was someone Emma loved. Not a henchman of the Commission taking her to her doom.
“Who are you, Skarlet?” the girl asked. “Where are you taking me?”
Skarlet kept walking and did not answer.
“Please talk to me.”
She did not, and she saw the girl look behind her.
