The Billionaire's Heir (Sucubus For Hire Book 1)

by Michael Don Anderson

  He pulled harder on the leash. The goat made off with one sheet. I knew what it was. A copy of a paid invoice. The animal could have it. My grim indifference would make Luis more nervous.

  “Is it warm in here?” He searched the room for a source of the heat.

  It was me. I took a deep breath. Rubbing my arms. My belly was growing cooler. My appetite growing.

  I focused my power on the goat. Felt its complex mammalian life-force through the mystical process my body used to sustain itself. Learned more about it than that it was male. I was able to read the animal the way a fortune teller might read Tarot cards.

  The goat was well past its prime. Sickly. There was something wrong with its stomach. Not cancer. Some illness that animals got that humans didn’t. I sensed it. But couldn’t name it. A vague knowledge that it would suffer but not die quickly.

  I opened myself to the goat. Felt another wave of my power splash outward. It drew energy from the animal. And more. I tasted Luis’ fear like an aphrodisiac. He stood next to the goat. More appealing to my hunger than livestock.

  My focus shifted to him. His emotional bouquet even more complex. Enhanced by too many days of fasting. The way food smelled like ambrosia to a starving man. I took a step forward, lost in his flavor.

  He whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”

  I slammed my shields down hard. Cutting off my power in a backlash of icy pain along the nerves of my skin. His youthful terror helped calm me down. Shamed me. I was bullying him the way he’d bullied his sister. Worse. And I’d almost lost control.

  Fear smelled good. Not as good as sex. But it added spice to testosterone. Terror made it bitter.

  “I’m not going to kill you.”

  He stared like he didn’t believe me. At my face. Into my eyes. I’d forgotten my sunglasses.

  “Stop looking at me!” I shouted.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor. Another spike of fear. The bitterness prickled unpleasantly along my nerves. Luis wouldn’t look at my breasts. Good boys didn’t do that. Not intentionally. Bad boys who were terrified of me didn’t either. I wasn’t sure which he was yet.

  “What do you know about me?” I softened my voice only enough to get him to respond. Not gentle. Just less threatening.

  He kept his eyes focused on the wood floor, hard. “I don’t wanna say.”

  “Tell me or I’ll be very angry.”

  He swallowed. Loudly. Crossing his legs as he stood there. Trying not to piss himself. This was going much worse than I’d hoped. Hunger took away more than one type of self-control.

  “Luis. Luis, don’t look into my eyes. Listen to my voice. Hear the melody of my words. You want to tell me what you know about me. Prove that you know why you should be afraid.”

  “Y—you’re la hija del diablo.” He didn’t even seem to notice he’d switched to Spanish. Didn’t matter. I spoke enough to understand.

  “I’m not the daughter of the Devil.” I moved slowly around the edge of my desk. Mustn’t frighten the prey. “What I do to this goat I won’t do to you.” I paused, to make sure he was listening. “Unless, of course, you hurt your sister again.”

  His head jerked up but he stopped himself before his eyes reached mine. He focused on my lips. Licking his own. Not with sexual interest. Trying to wet them. He watched my ungloved hands move toward the goat. Tracked the way my fingers brushed the animal’s scruffy hair.

  I felt its pain even clearer the moment I made contact with its skin. Stronger than discomfort. It didn’t fear me. Not like Luis did. I kept thinking of it as an ‘it.’ Impersonalized the process. It was dying. All I could sense was the pain of whatever was wrong with the goat’s intestines. A long suffered agony that it had learned to ignore. What else could it do?

  Luis couldn’t see the waves of nurturing energy that flowed from the goat toward me. That travelled along my skin. Seeped into my flesh. Warming me as the goat’s eyes rolled back into its head. Dying faster than the sickness would’ve done. Still unafraid.

  I didn’t just take. I gave. Luis had started to feel a hint of arousal before fear had overwhelmed his body. The goat felt something less carnal. A sea of euphoria. It washed away the pain as I took the animal’s life.

  One final surge of energy and the goat collapsed at Luis’ feet. Dead. No more pain. No cruel fear of the butcher’s knife. I’d given it a kindness which made me feel slightly less monstrous for feeding from a living creature. But the goat’s life-force had barely touched my hunger.

  I was too close to Luis. His scent swirled at the edges of my power. My stomach grew cold with renewed hunger pangs. Crept lower into my loins. He was an adult male. Meant for sexual interaction. His need responded to me.

  My power tried to spill out again. I’d waited too long to eat. The goat hadn’t been nearly enough. Especially since the animal’s age meant a reduction in testosterone. Only fierce restraint on my part kept Luis safe. The shock of pulling my power back into me actually hurt. I hissed in frustration.

  “Madre de Dios!” He looked up at me despite himself. Then closed his eyes when he remembered not to meet my gaze. “Please, no, no, no. Do not kill me.”

  “What did I say, Luis? Listen to my voice and answer me. What did I say.” The power of my words was almost nothing compared to staring into my eyes. But there was something mystical in my voice. Enough to override his fear. For him to hear me.

  “You won’t kill me like you killed the goat.”

  “As long as?”

  He swallowed. “Don’t hurt my sister.”

  “Don’t bully your sister. Don’t bully anyone.” I sat on the edge of my desk to avoid stepping closer to the young man. “I’m not dangerous to people I respect, Luis.”

  “People you respect?” The young man’s voice broke. Reminding me that the emphasis was on ‘young.’

  “I don’t respect bullies.”

  He nodded, as if trying to shake something loose. Violent jerks of his chin while tears streamed down his eyes. Fighting a need to sob.

  I felt Janet watching me from the open doorway. I glanced at her, somber. A flash of remorse in my eyes. I hated making Luis cry like a frightened child. But he was a man. Didn’t matter that he was younger than some. I didn’t stomach men bullying women. Much less bullying young girls. Family protects family. He was letting his family down.

  “Are you going to be a bully, Luis?”

  “N—no, Miss Bianca.”

  “Then we’re still friends.”

  That confused him. I’d threatened him. Killed a goat in front of him with just a touch. He’d felt my power lick at his life-force in an accidental loss of control. He’d lusted after me all while being terrified. And I’d let him think it was intentional.

  I was treating him like some of the bad men I’d experienced in the world. Scaring him more than I should have. Being a bully myself.

  Damn it! It was my hunger. He was my food of choice. But since I was keeping my lust in check, that only left anger.

  “Friends?” He swallowed again. His eyes stared down at the goat. He didn’t trust himself to look at any part of me.

  I counted to three. Taking a deep breath at the end of it. “I care about your family, Luis. Your parents are good people.”

  “Yes, Miss Bianca. They work very hard.” His voice trembled.

  “And you? Do you work hard?”

  “Y—yes.” He jerked his head upward but stopped himself. “Juana said you don’t like us to sound Mexican.”

  I frowned. “That’s not what I said. I said I don’t like people lying to me. That I know perfectly well just how good her English is.”

  “Most people expect illegals to sell goats and chickens. Not college graduates.”

  “And most people don’t expect college-educated brothers to bully their sisters.”

  He shook his head, raising his eyes. His gaze lingered at my lips, fought against meeting my eyes. He struggled for a response. Afraid to argue with me. Afraid to admit what he
’d done.

  “As long as Juana doesn’t come visit me with any new bruises or tears, we can be friends again, Luis. Do you want to be my friend?”

  That jerking ‘yes’ motion again. I was afraid his neck would break. “Yes, please.”

  “Good.” I ran my nails along the wood of the desk. His eyes followed their movement. Like a rabbit wanting to run, but knowing it had to remain frozen. “How many old male goats can you provide? Like this one.”

  “By when?”

  I watched him, clutching at my stomach. Digging my fingertips into my ribs. Sometimes pain helped me fight the hunger. Sometimes it did the opposite. “Tomorrow?”

  “F—five. I can ask around for more.”

  “Five will do. But don’t be late like you were today. If I’m not here, leave them with Janet. She’ll pay cash.”

  “I will?” asked Janet from the doorway, no longer trying to be surreptitious.

  “You will.”

  “And I’ll just lock the five goats up in your office, shall I?”

  “There’s the janitor’s closet in the hallway. Just move everything toxic into your office so the goats don’t die.”

  She frowned unhappily. “Fine. But you’re going to explain to the cleaning crew why there’s feces in the closet.”

  “Mary won’t complain. We pay well enough.” I stared down at the corpse. “The dead goats will be a bigger problem.”

  “Can I go now?” A rush of words as Luis edged away from me.

  “Not yet.”

  He stiffened. Turning to Janet for help. A mere human woman. The only refuge when facing the daughter of the Devil, I supposed.

  Janet was a soft-sell. She put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Relax, Luis. You heard, Bee. She wants to be your friend.”

  “Then why can’t I go?”

  I laughed. “Because you haven’t been paid for this goat. And you don’t know how often I’ll need more delivered.”

  “Oh.” He took a few deep breaths. Nodding slower than before. “Okay.”

  “I want five tomorrow and after that, one a day. Two if you can manage.”

  “One a day?” He blinked and looked up. I turned away and it reminded him. He finally dropped his gaze to my breasts and then looked at Janet, horrified by his lapse.

  “You can’t manage that?”

  “No. I mean, I can. I think I can. I’ll have to get them from other farms. Most don’t keep the old and sick ones.”

  “Old’s only for moral benefit. Male and adult is a must. No little ones.”

  That seemed to reassure him. “I—I can do it. Probably two.”

  “Good. This will give you and I an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

  He swallowed hard and tugged at his belt-loop with two fingers nervously. “Juana usually delivers.”

  “Do we have a problem, Luis? Don’t you want my business?”

  Again that head bob. “No. I do.”

  “Did you drive it here?”

  He motioned outside. “There was a parking spot two streets over.”

  “You walked that animal two blocks in downtown Long Beach?” Janet glared at me again, shaking her head. “How’s he gonna manage five?”

  “I’m sure Luis will think it’s worthwhile. As I told Juana, we’ll pay double his usual rates.”

  “Really?” Luis forgot to be afraid for a second. Money was almost as powerful as magic for some people.

  “You may leave, Luis. Janet, pay him. I want all future deliveries before three in the afternoon.”

  “Can Juana help me bring the five? I can manage two but—?”

  “Of course.”

  He bobbed a rushed ‘thank you’ without looking at me and followed Janet eagerly into her outer office. I stared down at the dead goat. “Luis? Can you take the body with you?”

  “But you’re paying for it,” he protested.

  “And now I’m done with it. Go on. It won’t affect how much you get.”

  He came back in much more reluctantly than he’d left. He grabbed the front legs of the goat and dragged it into Janet’s office. I doubted he’d drag it the entire way back to his truck but that wasn’t my concern. I was starving and had a case to deal with. The only upside was that interviewing vampires wasn’t a problem being hungry. Not on my end.

  Maybe I couldn’t sense undead energy, but Joseph could feed on me. That was a different problem. One that wood-tipped bullets could solve if they had to. If they arrived in time.

  Chapter Six

  Janet had her sweater draped over one arm. Her purse slung over the opposite shoulder. She glanced at her watch. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  “I don’t know how this is going to go or how long it’ll last. You’ve been a great help today.”

  “If you say so.” She eyed my cross. “Won’t that be a problem for him?”

  I tucked it under the lacy bra. Only the chain was visible. “Better?”

  “I suppose.” She forced a smile. “I don’t want to come in tomorrow morning and find blood all over the floor. Especially not yours.”

  I patted my shoulder holster. “Wood-tips locked and loaded. Now stop playing mama hen. You’ve got a family to get home to.”

  “And Bob’ll have burnt the lasagna again. Men. Sometimes I think they turn off their brains when they marry a competent woman.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I grinned at her. It didn’t stop her from looking sad on my behalf. “Now scoot! Don’t give Bob more reasons to make you retire.”

  “With what you pay me?” She barked with laughter and I joined her. “Good night, Bianca. Call if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Janet. Give him my love.”

  “If he burns my lasagna again, I’ll promise him just that.” She disappeared, still smiling.

  I heard the outer door close. She locked the latch. Habit. I heard her unlock it again. Then silence.

  I glanced at the clock above the two client-chairs. Ten minutes to dark. Thirty minutes until Joseph was supposed to show. Gibraltar’s secretary had insisted he’d need twenty minutes to get across town. I assumed by car. Vampires couldn’t fly. Except in the movies.

  Time enough for a phone call. To find out what I could before my meeting. I used my rolodex to find the number. Teresa Waldheim. Folklore specialist at UC Santa Barbara. And my version of a good friend.

  It rang twice before she picked up. “Bianca?”

  “Caller ID is a wonderful thing. Glad to know you’ll still pick up for me.”

  She sounded hesitant. “I was just on my way out the door.”

  “Hot date?”

  “Popcorn and cuddling with Snickerdoodle.”

  “What grown woman names her Airedale ‘Snickerdoodle.’”

  “A grown woman without a life. Without a man.” She paused. Adjusting herself. I heard the squeak of plastic as she settled into her office chair. “Alright. Snickerdoodle can wait. What’s up?”

  “How do you know it’s not a social call?”

  “Because my caller ID says it’s Bianca Savage. She doesn’t do social.”

  I frowned at the phone. “Okay. I deserved that. When was the last time we went drinking?”

  “Who’s President?”

  “Ha ha.” I screwed up my face in thought. “It rained as we were leaving the bar. Spring?”

  “Four months ago.”

  “Really?” I hadn’t realized so much time had passed. “It doesn’t feel that long.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “Ter, I’m sorry. You know I’m not good with this end of things.”

  “This end of things? You mean friendship?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Friendship. Work keeps me busier than you might imagine.”

  “Seriously. What can I do for you?” She didn’t sound angry. But I felt like I’d just missed an opportunity to fix something then.

  “I have some questions about vampires.”

  She perked up. “I’m listening
.”

  I explained cryptically about the kidnapping. What little I knew about Joseph and the Atlantic Street Revenants, without naming names. She’d figure out it was Vincent Gibraltar because the case was all over the news. What else she guessed depended on how much she paid attention and put two and two together.

  “What can you tell me about covens?”

  “It’s pretty straight forward. People like to think of vampires as solitary creatures. Hunting prey and hiding in some lonely basement. But they’re social. Like bats. Like people who are bats.”

  “Vampires aren’t bats. They don’t even turn into bats.”

  “I know. But people see the fangs. They only come out at night. Movies make it worse. So they get lumped in with chiroptera. I’m just drawing on the folk references we study.”

  “You like saying chiroptera.”

  I heard the smile in her voice. “I do.”

  “Alright. Go on. Vampires are social. How does that apply to the coven?”

  “There’s a single dominant vampire in the group. Part of the coven. But above the rest in status. They feed socially. Sleep socially. All of them in the same room. Touching.”

  That seemed odd to me. I couldn’t resist asking. “Why touching?”

  “They’re undead. It isn’t about body warmth or safety. They have a lifeforce of sorts. Touching strengthens that connection. Balances it.”

  “I don’t follow. Balances what?” I hadn’t felt anything inside Joseph that I could’ve fed on. Nothing I could classify as a lifeforce. Not even a flicker.

  “Energy levels. The undead energy they gain from feeding.”

  “Go on.”

  I could hear her grow frustrated. “Let me try it this way. Imagine that a coven is five vampires. Three of them are able to feed well. Two not well at all. Too new or too weak—metaphysically speaking. When they sleep during the day, their bodies metabolize the blood they’ve consumed. They store energy for when they wake. The ones who feed well, those three share some of their energy with the two who haven’t. Touching allows this transference.”

  “What happens if a vampire doesn’t eat enough? If the two were on their own, for example?”