Both Ways

by Ileandra Young

  I can’t do this.

  More silence. The beeping outside has stopped. In its place comes the distant roar of traffic and the closer ticking of a clock.

  Several papers flutter free of a plastic wallet and spill across the carpet. Can’t see what they say, but most contain long columns of numbers and dates.

  We bend at the same moment, reaching for the paper.

  Our hands brush.

  A charge leaps between us. I imagine I can see it, bright gold sparks like the crackle of live wires.

  “I—”

  “Agent—”

  Again, at the same moment.

  I tuck my finger beneath her chin and lift until her head tilts.

  Her lips part. Between them, that flash of tongue again, and the shining white of sharp fangs.

  Fuck it.

  I kiss her, running both hands through that incredible pixie-cut hair and mussing it up, like I wanted to before. The strands are sleek, soft, and silky, but that sensation is nothing to the glorious press of her mouth. Soft but firm, sweet yet savoury with the vague hint of something metallic. Like pennies.

  It’s blood. Oh, crap, it’s blood, it’s blood—

  Don’t care.

  The taste of Rayne overwhelms everything and within seconds it’s all about her. I open my mouth across hers, delighted to feel her mimic the gesture, stunned to feel her tongue, awed to feel her teeth. The sharpness against my lips is terrifying and exhilarating, a mad mix that makes my heart spin and my head melt.

  Yeah, I’m sure it’s that way around.

  She shuffles close, giving me all of her, breasts pressed tight to mine, thighs rubbing against my own. More of that softness and hardness and I revel in it and the chance to explore that perfect body up close.

  My bandaged hand hurts but I can’t let go, can’t help but hold tighter, gripping as if she might float away.

  The kiss breaks, and as it does, so does my heart. We can’t do this.

  “Rayne, I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay, Agent.”

  “No it isn’t. I…and you—we…”

  “I said it’s okay. I feel it too.”

  I freeze, my hand still under her chin. “What?”

  “I lied about siren powers on vampires. But I didn’t lie about how they work.”

  I can’t breathe. I must sound like an idiot, but I can’t stop stuttering. The words won’t leave my mouth in a coherent way. “Really? But you never…and you’re not…”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Aren’t I?”

  I kiss her again.

  This time, she curls her arms around me, crushing my body tight to hers.

  Part of me expects her to be hard, all angles and rough edges, but she’s not. Rayne has curves and soft bumps, smooth planes and stiff points, just like any other woman. She kisses like any other woman, whimpering her need into my mouth where I can taste it along with the rest of her.

  “Rayne?”

  “Yes, Agent?”

  “Really?” I sigh. “Call me Danika.”

  “Of course. Danika.”

  My name on her lips lights a flame in my belly, one that roars with increased ferocity as the kiss intensifies. Her tongue lashes against mine, her hands grip my sides and squeeze, pulling me in, rubbing my hips against hers, a familiar dance I long to repeat without the hindrance of clothing.

  This is perfect. So, so perfect and—

  Rayne jerks back. The move is a blur, sharp and sudden enough that her fangs catch the corner of my lip.

  The stab of pain is nothing to the ache at the loss of her touch, but she doesn’t give me time to complain.

  “Vixen’s coming,” she whispers.

  The spell is broken. I’m myself again, back in my body, painfully aware of my position, kneeling on the floor of Jack’s office in the middle of the Clear Blood Foundation. “We need to hide. Quick, we can—”

  She grabs my hand, halting my frantic leap to my feet. “Do you trust me?” She stares into my eyes, lips compressed, eyes intense. “Danika?”

  Fuck.

  She’s a vampire. I watched her mangle half a pack of werewolves. She attacked a policeman—and me—before wrecking an entire room of metal tables and chairs. She necked four litres of cold human blood in a matter of minutes.

  And kissed me like the lover I’ve always dreamed of.

  “Danika?”

  “I trust you.”

  She smiles, the smallest flicker of relief before pulling my body back to hers. She wraps one arm around my waist, the other over the top of my head.

  Then we’re flying.

  I have time to remind myself that vampires can’t do that, before Rayne’s fist punches through a ceiling tile directly above. Her leap takes us into the narrow space between floors. Dust rolls through the dimness, shallow and crammed with pipes, wires, and switches. She pushes me further along with the whispered directive to lie flat, then pulls herself up to join me.

  She shifts the bent ceiling tile back into place.

  “No, wait”—I wave at her—“leave it ajar so we can see.”

  A quick adjustment, then the door opens.

  Through it storms Jack, straight for his desk. He snags a packet of wet wipes from the bottom drawer and wipes the side of his neck.

  Rayne squeezes my wrist. Good thing, because I’d forgotten I’m meant to be hiding.

  There’s blood on his neck. And his collar.

  He dashes away the crimson spots, then drops the damp rag in the wicker bin at his feet. Then he opens another drawer and fishes out a small stick of concealer and a pad of foundation. He applies both while staring into the shaving mirror, muttering the whole time.

  As he finishes, two more figures sweep into the room, one already speaking in soft, relaxing tones. “Please calm down, Mr. Cobé.” That voice. I’m angled wrong to see the newcomers clearly, but I recognize at least one. I’d remember that voice even after a hundred years. Amelia Smythe.

  Jack slams the make-up into his desk. “Cut the foreplay, if you would. I’m not in the mood. How long have you known?”

  A soft chuckle. “Long enough. But so long as your supernatural proclivities have no effect on what you do here or how you use my money, I see no reason why I should concern myself. Play with vampires as much as you wish, there’s no harm in it. Is there, Marco?”

  A second figure steps up to the desk and rubs the sides of his mouth. It’s the Cold Blood Tongue speaking creep from downstairs. From the restaurant. “None at all. Indeed, as much as I respect and appreciate the efforts of your companions here at Clear Blood, I sometimes wish humans could offer blood on a more…mutually agreeable basis.”

  Bile rises in my throat.

  Rayne’s hand tightens on my wrist, but it doesn’t help.

  Jackson Cobé, a fang junkie? Mum would be horrified.

  “No harm?” Jack snorts. “Clearly you’ve never been on the wrong side of a hungry vampire.”

  “And you have?”

  “Last night. I barely escaped.”

  Amelia—no, Vixen—loiters near the door, still out of sight. “Tell me.” Her voice is hard and sharp.

  As Jack tells his story, Rayne’s grip tightens to the point of pain. I nudge her, poke her, prod her until she finally lets go. My wrist creaks as I work the kinks out.

  “…and then I drove away.” Jack shrugs. “Of course I would have stayed to help, but Danika knows what she’s doing. She didn’t need my help.”

  “Danika?” Marco stiffens, his smug smile sliding away. “Danika Karson?”

  “That’s right.”

  A lump of dust rolls along the tiles, hurried by my breathing. Small motes tickle my nose. I feel a sneeze approaching.

  “I see. Did she arrive when you were leaving? Perhaps running a sweep through the car park?”

  Jack, busy double-checking his make-up, fails to notice the faint silver glint in Marco’s eyes. “No, I ate with her. You saw her, at the table with her mother. We ordered des
sert together.”

  Vixen hisses softly through her teeth. “So you’ve met her?”

  Marco flinches. “I—”

  “Tall woman? Dark? Wears her hair in dreadlocks?”

  “And smoking hot in red, that’s right.” Jack grins. “You know her, Amelia?”

  “We’ve met.”

  At my side, Rayne gives the faintest of growls. Her arm curls protectively around my shoulders.

  A cough from Marco. “If I’d known I was speaking to the great Danika Karson, I would have handled things differently. Though I should have known. That level of arrogance could only stem from a reputation like hers.”

  I wrinkle my nose, a combination of anger and that bloody dust. What does he mean, arrogance? Just because I called him a disgusting parasite and told him to hug a wooden pin cushion? That was the gist of it anyway; Cold Blood Tongue doesn’t translate well into English.

  “I wouldn’t say arrogant, but she is a bit rough around the edges.” Jack’s voice becomes wistful. “Doesn’t stop her doing the job though. That vampire she captured yesterday was tiny, but strong, and she dealt with it quicker than anything I’ve ever seen. Danika’s an incredible agent.”

  “Yes, she’s quite impressive,” Marco cuts in with another cough. “Skilled enough to rein in that lone vampire and take her back to SPEAR single-handedly.”

  Rayne tuts and pushes off the edge of the tile frame. She presses a finger to her lips, then slithers away through the darkness of the crawl space, belly flat like a snake.

  I’ve no idea what she’s doing, but I can’t follow. They’d hear my clumsy human arse in an instant.

  No choice but to wait and watch. And try not to sneeze.

  Below, Vixen finally enters my view, glaring at Marco until he turns away, shoulders bowed, head lowered. “I see. I had no idea. Regardless, I’m glad you’re safe. Though this does make our scheduled chat all the more important.”

  “Why? That was a one-off incident. Clearly that vampire was crazed and now she’s been dealt with.”

  “Perhaps, but you and your campaign for mayor are a significant financial investment. I’d sleep better knowing you’re safe and protected at all times. Given your encounter last night and the stigma related to your…other hobbies, I suggest you take on Marco as your personal bodyguard.”

  I gasp. Dust flies into my face and straight up my nostrils.

  Jack straightens in the chair. “Absolutely not.”

  “Excellent idea.” Marco, recovered from his subtle scolding, steps up to Jack and lays his hand on the back of the chair. “Obviously in daylight hours, I’ll arrange for other, more suitable protection, but for evening meetings and late night lab work, I’d be more than happy to guard you, Mr. Cobé.”

  “But—”

  “Then it’s settled.” The ice in Vixen’s tone leaves no room for argument. “I’ve other matters to attend tonight, so I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss the finer details. Good evening.” She stalks out of the room.

  Silence.

  The urge to sneeze pounds within me. I cram my fingers into my mouth and use the other hand to squeeze my nostrils shut.

  “She seems stressed.” Jack scratches the side of his neck. “What’s rubbed her the wrong way?”

  It’s not working. My nose, my mouth, everything itches. I’m going to sneeze. There’s nothing I can do.

  “I believe Ms. Smythe has received some distressing news.” Marco wanders to the window and out of my line of sight. His voice is low and steady, but there’s an edge there, and a hint of the Italian accent I heard last night.

  My pulse throbs in my ears. My eyes scrunch shut. The back of my throat convulses.

  “Mr. Cobé, I think we should discuss how we’ll go about—”

  I sneeze.

  Jack looks up from his desk. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Marco grunts. “Shh.”

  I tuck my face into the bend of my elbow. Another sneeze builds at the back of my nose.

  A loud siren blares through the air, a two-tone whine directly beneath me.

  My yelp of surprise is drowned out completely, though my feet drum hard against the floor tiles.

  Marco darts back into view, glaring at the tiny sliver of a gap in the ceiling tiles.

  Every muscle in my body locks down, a frantic attempt to make myself invisible.

  Can he see me? Am I back far enough?

  Jack bolts from his desk. “We need to go.”

  “But—”

  “That’s the fire alarm. You may be fireproof, but I’m certainly not. There’s enough explosive chemicals in this building to blow this city off the grid, and I don’t want to be in here if it’s not a drill.”

  Still Marco stares at the ceiling.

  My second sneeze bursts free, caught against my face by Rayne’s hand curving around my jaw. I sag into her, and she rubs small, comforting circles on my back.

  “Hey.” Jack stands by the door, beckoning. “We need to go.”

  At last Marco turns and follows Jack out.

  Rayne pins me flat for several more seconds before shifting the ceiling tile. She drops back into the office and raises her arms. Both hands close neatly around my waist as she catches me, a bizarre show of strength against her slight frame.

  “Where did you go?” I rub snotty drops on the back of my sleeve.

  She snags my hand and starts running. “You heard Marco—now Vixen knows I was the one attacking Jack last night and that you took me in. If she thinks I’m imprisoned or dead, then that’s even more reason to kill you.”

  “But—”

  We dart past the lifts and towards the rear stairs, marked with the green and white exit sign.

  “I set off the fire alarm. I had to, he would have found you.”

  Another weak sneeze splatters my chest with spit. “I think he did.”

  Down the first flight, two at a time, half running, half flying with Rayne in the lead.

  “He won’t know it was you up there, not with all that room fragrance. So long as we can get out without him or Vixen seeing us.”

  I stumble on the second flight, tumbling forward with a cry. Rayne snags my other wrist and yanks me back to my feet.

  “You okay?” Her eyes shimmer with concern.

  My heart skips a gleeful triple step. “Fine.”

  On the third flight we meet with other occupants of the building. Rayne and I fall in at a more moderate pace, mingling with the flow to ground level.

  Outside, men, women, and edanes gather in a confused cluster, gazing up at the building. Blue lights from a pair of speeding fire engines illuminate the crowd and street, while the low, two-tone wail of the chemical threats unit fills the air.

  Jack stands well back from the rest, almost on the corner of the street, with Marco at his side. He watches the moving vehicles with open curiosity, unresisting as Marco draws him off the road.

  Rayne leads us in the opposite direction, back towards short stay parking where she insisted I move the car.

  Before I round the corner, I chance a look back. My gut clenches.

  Marco is watching us, lips drawn back in a snarl, a bright silver glint shining in his eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Back in the car Rayne is calmer. Still jittery, but no longer clawing my arm.

  I pull up beneath a street lamp outside an independent butcher and unlock my phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  I sigh. “It’s time to update SPEAR. Even I have to admit this has gone too far.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to you. Promise. But if fangers—I mean, vampires—can walk by day, SPEAR has to know. Can you imagine how much extra work we’ll have on our hands? And don’t forget the hundred-strong nest of unregistered vamps.”

  Rayne’s lower lip quivers. Both hands clench on her lap, flex, then release. “Okay. Do it.”

  As I dial, I find myself wondering if I’d still call if she
said no. Would have I risked whatever it is growing between us for the sake of following protocol? The answer, just out of reach, is so frightening, that I decide not to chase it.

  “SPEAR switchboard. Please state the agent or extension you require.”

  “Noel González, ID A20280508B05.”

  “Please wait.”

  Chirrup. Ringing.

  “Hola, Agent González here—”

  “Noel, it’s me.”

  Silence. Scuffling. “Dee-Dee?” His voice is hoarse and hushed. “Mierda, what are you doing? Quinn is ready to string you up, sí?”

  “Long story, but I need your help.”

  “Of course, for you, Dee-Dee, anything, but what is all this talk of vampires and breakouts? Rumours here, they say you took a vampire from custody.”

  Damn that Shakka. When we next meet, he and I are going to have words.

  “I had to. She had information on—”

  “It’s true?” He mutters some more, a sibilant stream of Spanish no doubt cursing me and all my ancestors. Or something like that.

  I tighten my grip on the phone. “Please, this is important. There’s a nest of vampires here under a single queen. Her name is Vixen, but she—”

  Rayne flinches at my side. I don’t know what she hears, but she’s staring at my phone as if it’s about to bite me.

  “Karson? Karson, is that you?”

  Ah.

  “That better be and you’d better explain why you’re calling Agent González instead of me.” Quinn’s voice lashes down the line, a whip crack harsh enough to sting.

  I chance a glance at Rayne, then switch off the engine. This is going to be a long one. “I can explain.”

  “You damn well better. I’ve just had a call from security at Clear Blood saying they found you snooping around one of the offices. A little before that, we had another call, also from Clear Blood, talking about a vampire in blood mania brought in by a single agent fitting your description.”

  “There was a vampire in blood mania, but—”

  “Right. And I suppose the chase through Misona earlier was something to do with you? The slew of injured werewolves lined up for medical aid?”

  “That wasn’t my fault.”

  “And did you smuggle a vampire out of holding yesterday? It’s crazy, even for you, but given your behaviour so far, I’ve got to ask. Did you do something as stupid and dangerous as release a wild vampire?”