The Last Vampire Box Set
Page 43
Rans snorted. “Sometimes she just says shit like that, mate. I usually try to ignore it.”
I glared at him. “Yeah? Well, guess what—not everyone is a suicidally reckless vampire with a martyr complex!”
He returned the look, measure for measure. “Pot. Kettle.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. “I’m not a vampire,” I muttered.
Len had been watching the exchange closely. “Are you human, though, Zorah? And, no, I can’t quite believe I just asked that question out loud, in case you’re wondering.”
I felt something inside me deflate. “I’m… mostly human,” I said, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Apparently, one of my grandparents was a demon, and that means I should never have been conceived, much less born. My existence is proof that the demon in question broke an important peace treaty that ended a supernatural war.”
Len blinked at me.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Rans said. “But suffice to say, there are powerful parties who would prefer that Zorah’s existence be quietly erased, and others who would love to capture her for even less savory reasons.”
“Are there, now?” Len asked. “And what about you, vampire? What’s your angle?”
Rans’ smile was brief and tight. “I have my own reasons for not wanting to see a war that ended more than two centuries ago claim any more casualties than it already has.”
Len was silent for a beat.
“Okay,” he said eventually. “Fine. Take my damned blood. But I swear if you try to pull a Bella Lugosi seduction routine on my neck, I am punching you in the face.”
I choked on nothing. A flash of genuine amusement crinkled the corners of Rans’ eyes, before his expression once more became a smooth mask.
“I think a wrist will suffice, thanks all the same,” he said.
Len grimly thrust an arm in his direction, his lips pressed tight.
“Don’t overdo it, okay?” I warned Rans. “Remember what happened the last time you were shot.”
He threw me a sideways glance as he took Len’s wrist in a light grip. “You are literally never going to let me live that down, are you?”
I just stared at him, until he shook his head ruefully.
“Not to worry, luv. I’ll only tap a pint or so from our mate here, and then I can pop back to the front office and make up the difference from the night manager. That should be enough to have me right as rain again before our guest arrives.”
“You make me sound like a keg of beer,” Len grumbled, tensing as Rans lifted his wrist closer to his fangs.
“Not at all. American blood is as good as any other blood. American beer, on the other hand, is universally shite,” Rans said, and bit him.
Len hissed in a breath and held it, relaxing by degrees when it became obvious that A) this wasn’t going to turn into a shark-like supernatural feeding frenzy, and B) it didn’t even hurt very much, all things considered.
“Doing all right?” I asked, trying my best not to be completely weirded out by the situation.
“Ask me again after I’ve had a chance to pinch myself and determine that this hasn’t all been a really bad acid flashback,” Len muttered through gritted teeth.
Rans pulled away, scoring the tip of his finger on a fang and using the resulting drops of blood to close the twin wounds.
“Don’t get your hopes up, mate.” He licked his lips. “Mmm. B-negative. Very nice.”
“Now you’re just trying to freak him out,” I accused.
His lips twitched. “Would I do such a thing?”
“Undead asshole,” Len muttered.
“Yep. For seven centuries and counting,” Rans agreed readily. “Now, lick that blood off your wrist. It’ll heal your split lip and the bruise on your face so you don’t have to try and explain them to anyone tomorrow.”
Len stared at the blood for only a moment before doing as he was told, albeit with a look of mild disgust on his face.
Rans nodded approval. “If you’re still sure about this, let’s go and get your man sorted out. Then you can both be on your way.”
Len’s expression went carefully blank, but he nodded. The three of us trooped back into the main room, where Tristan waited in exactly the same place Len had left him. I couldn’t lie—this aspect of Rans’ abilities still made my skin crawl. I’d never seen him misuse it like I’d seen the Fae misuse their influence over humans, but it was still an awful lot of power to hold over other people’s minds.
Rans stepped up to Tristan and brushed a fingertip beneath his chin, tipping his face up until their eyes met. Len shifted restlessly beside me.
The glow in Rans’ eyes flared icy blue, and his voice grew resonant. “Listen carefully, Tristan. You and Len went to the BDSM club, but you got bored, so you decided to leave early and go to a bar instead. You only had a couple of drinks, but the bartender must have made them too strong, because you started to feel dizzy and disorientated.”
Len pursed his lips, obviously taking mental notes so his story would jive with Tristan’s altered memories.
“Your boyfriend is going to take you home and put you to bed,” Rans continued. “You will sleep soundly, and when you wake up, you won’t remember much about what happened after you went to the fetish club. Aside from feeling tired and having a bit of a hangover, though, you’ll be fine. You will decide that there’s no need to speak with your doctor about the interaction of the alcohol with your medication. Instead, you’ll just avoid drinking more than a single glass at a time in the future. Do you understand?”
Tristan nodded agreeably, the dazed expression never leaving his face. Rans gave his shoulder a brief clasp and let him go, turning back to us.
“There you go, mate. He should be docile enough that you can get him home and clean him up without much trouble. If he asks about his missing shirt, tell him he threw up on it or something. Oh, and I don’t think I bled on your car’s back seat upholstery, but you might want to double check before he sees it, just in case.”
“Thank you,” Len said quietly.
I turned to Len and hugged him. “Thank you. I’m not kidding, Len. You’re a good friend, and I have no idea what I ever did to deserve you.”
He set me back gently. “You’re a nice girl, Zorah. And you used to compliment my steaks all the time, back at AJ’s. I’m damned glad you resurfaced after that shitshow with the police a few weeks ago, though I can’t say I ever expected anything like this.”
“I really am sorry all this happened,” I insisted.
Len blew out a breath. “No one I knew personally got killed. We didn’t even get arrested. So I’ve had worse nights, I guess. Now, are you two sure you want me to just leave you here? I could drop you someplace on the way back to the riverfront.”
“No,” Rans said. “Just go. We still have a meeting scheduled, and this is the best place for it.”
“We’re fine,” I agreed. “Get Tristan home and put him to bed.”
Len nodded slowly. “You said you still had my number, right? Text me tomorrow and let me know you’re all right.”
I dredged up a smile for him. “Will do.”
“Thanks for the top-off, mate,” Rans said, as Len pulled out his car keys and urged Tristan to his feet. “Nice iron levels.”
Len shook his head in apparent disbelief, but didn’t respond to the quip. He guided Tristan out the door without looking back, while I shot Rans a look that said, ‘Really?’ A few moments later, the engine rumbled to life and headlights illuminated the ugly curtains on the front window. The car pulled away, and Len was gone.
“I’m going to go put a sippy straw in the manager’s vein,” Rans muttered. “Back in a tick.”
Despite his earlier banter with Len, now that we were alone Rans looked drawn as tight as a bowstring. I gave an absent nod of agreement as the events of the night starting to sink in properly. Once he’d slung his leather coat over his bare torso and left, I walked into the bathroom, moving like a zombie.
A look in the mirror showed a trail of dried blood snaking down my arm. The itching under the scab on my shoulder had eased, the skin around it starting to pucker in a way that said it would probably fall off soon. My brain didn’t want to examine that fact head-on quite yet, so I started scrubbing the blood off my skin instead.
When that was done, I washed off my ruined makeup. I was just blotting my face dry on a scratchy towel when Rans returned. He looked to be fully recovered from his flirtation with multiple gunshots wounds, but he was still tense. My eyes dropped to his pale chest of their own accord.
“You’ve still got the demon’s blood on you,” I said, looking at the rusty smear the woman had left on him after slicing her own palm. “And, well, your blood too, obviously. Plus the dried wax. You should clean up.”
But he shook his head. “Not yet. That blood is how she’ll find us. Might as well get whatever this is over with.”
“Or you could scrub it off really thoroughly. Then we could call a cab and make a run for it,” I said under my breath.
I wasn’t sure why the idea of meeting the woman again put me so badly on edge. Demons were… arguably… supposed to be on my side. After all, I was one. Sort of, anyway.
Rans was pacing now, sharp strides crossing the modest room quickly enough that the exercise didn’t look remotely satisfying. His hands were jammed in his coat pockets, and his expression was dark.
“Try not to take her presumption at the club personally,” he said, no hint of his apparent foul humor reaching his voice, which remained mild. “I’m fairly certain she’s a succubus; she probably didn’t even register the fact that she was blowing past my personal boundaries. Or yours.”
I frowned. “Was that a dig?” I asked.
He stopped and eyed me. “A dig at her, yes.” Then he resumed pacing.
Now that my makeup was off, I could give into the urge to press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and rub at them until I saw stars, so that’s exactly what I did. “What do you think she wants?”
He snorted. “My crystal ball is still in the shop—sorry. Seems unlikely that her showing up in the same place as you was a coincidence, though.
I blinked away red afterimages and looked at him curiously. “So you don’t know her at all? With only six hundred and sixty-six demons, I’d sort of wondered.”
Rans shook his head, still pacing. “Nope. No idea who she is. I may have met any number of demons during the war, but…” He made a poof motion with his fingers next to the side of his head, miming memories flying away.
Then he stopped abruptly.
“What?” I asked.
“Magic,” he said, glancing down at his chest. It was still a wreckage of peeling candle wax and other people’s blood, but the dark smear I’d been fixated on earlier floated away from his skin like dust as he continued, “Looks like we’re about to get some of those answers.”
I watched the fine trail of rusty particles drift toward the motel room door… where the demon from the club now stood as casually as someone who hadn’t just popped into existence inside a locked room.
“Okay, then,” I managed.
“Hello again, dear,” she practically purred, her dark brown eyes sweeping over me from head to toe and back again. “My, my. It looks like everything I’ve heard about you is true. How intriguing.”
FOURTEEN
RANS MAINTAINED A WARY stance midway between the two of us, while I examined the demon with as much thoroughness as she’d examined me. She was no longer dressed for clubbing. Leather and lace had been replaced by a black sleeveless mock-turtleneck and tailored black trousers with practical ankle boots sporting low, chunky heels. Her age was difficult to pinpoint—she could have been anywhere from mid-thirties to late forties… had she been human.
Since she was a demon, she’d probably been around to see the dinosaurs come and go, if Nigellus was to be believed.
“And what have you heard about me, exactly?” I asked, drawing my spine straight and holding her dark eyes. These days, I was bringing new meaning to the term ‘being out of one’s depth,’ but that didn’t mean I was going to show it to this entitled demon bitch who thought she could paw her hands all over my vampire.
The demon tilted her head. I couldn’t help noticing that her chestnut hair had been swept up in an elegant twist—not a strand out of place. The contrast with my oh-god-why rat’s nest could not have been more pronounced.
She continued to regard me with a pleasant little smile. “Talk in Hell is rife with stories of the daughter of a cambion who’s taken up with the last vampire. You, my dear, are an enigma wrapped in an impossibility.”
Terrific. Not only was I an enigma again, but I’d also become grist for the gossip mill in Hell. Every time I thought my life couldn’t get any weirder…
“I prefer to go by Zorah, thanks all the same,” I said sourly. “And who do I have the honor of addressing, pray tell?”
“My name is Myrial,” the demon replied without hesitation. “Please, forgive the familiarity… but may I ask what your mother’s maiden name was?”
“Hawkins,” I replied cautiously. “Why?”
She smiled, revealing white, perfect teeth. “Just idle curiosity, dear.”
“The number of cambions since the end of the war must be quite small,” Rans put in rather pointedly. “Given the treaty provision forbidding demonic interference on Earth.”
“Oh, indeed so,” Myrial said in airy tones. “Vanishingly small, I’m certain.”
I stared at her, trying to get some kind of handle on what might have brought her here. “So, you’re… what? Trying to get a scoop on the story for the demon gossip rags? Does the National Enquirer publish a Hell edition?”
She laughed—a rich, bell-like sound. “No, no. Nothing like that. I came to let you know that the latest Tithe has been delivered from Dhuinne. My understanding was that one of the tithelings is of… particular interest to you, shall we say.”
The words hit me like a Mack truck. Somehow, I couldn’t seem to emotionally keep on top of what was happening here on Earth, with random people popping up to try and kill me, while also keeping on top of what was happening with Dad. One or the other of those things continually reared its head when I wasn’t expecting it and threw me into a fresh tailspin.
“Oh,” I said brilliantly. “Yes.”
“I came to see if you wanted to leave right away,” Myrial continued. “Since I wanted to meet you anyway, I thought the least I could do was to offer you passage into our realm.”
I opened my mouth, but since I hadn’t figured out what answer I wanted to give, nothing came out. If Dad was in Hell, I needed to get to him as fast as I could. But I didn’t know this woman—this demon—at all, and so far my instinctive reaction to her had mostly consisted of wanting to slap her across the face.
A moment later, Rans came to my rescue, since coming to my rescue seemed to be his thing these days.
“It’s kind of you to offer, but we’ll need to make some further arrangements before she leaves,” he said carefully. “Thank you for informing us, though.”
She tipped her head. “Ah. You mean to speak to Nigellus first, no doubt.”
Rans said nothing, and neither did I.
Myrial shrugged, as though it were nothing to her. “As you like, though I’ve already spoken to him on the subject. Zorah, I hope we’ll have a chance to chat more in the future. There are many things I’d like to discuss.”
I shifted restlessly on my aching feet, which were still encased in the ridiculous fetish boots. “Yeah, um… I expect we’ll see each other around. Thanks for letting me know about my f—” I caught myself, p
robably too late. “About… the titheling.”
She was still watching me with a little Mona Lisa smile that was probably supposed to look friendly. “Oh, it was my pleasure, dear.”
Pleasure? Good god—that poor female security guard at the club had died tonight. My heart tripped faster with a combination of anger at her nonchalance, and delayed reaction to the events at the club.
A hard edge crept into Rans’ voice. “If that’s all,” he said, “then we’re obliged to you for the information. However, I fear it’s been a rather long evening. Not to mention a trying one.”
Myrial chuckled. “Well, I suppose I can recognize a dismissal when I hear one, vampire. Good night, then. My offer still stands, once you’ve spoken with Nigellus, Zorah. And my congratulations to you for managing to snare this one.” She tipped her chin toward Rans. “He’s quite a catch for someone with so much human blood. I’m impressed.”
“Uh…” I began, but she was already gone—popping out of existence between one heartbeat and the next.
I sat down rather abruptly on the edge of the bed. After a moment, I realized that it wasn’t the mattress shaking. It was me.
“Shit,” I whispered, feeling tears burning behind my gritty eyes. I pressed them closed.
Cool fingers ghosted across the scab on my shoulder before rising to cup my cheek. Lips brushed the top of my head, and Rans rested his forehead against mine. I squeezed my eyes closed even tighter.
He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Zorah. I was wrong about all of this,” he breathed into our shared air.
I swallowed, not sure what kind of sound would come out if I tried to ask what he was wrong about.
He paused, and his hand slid down to cover the healing wound on my shoulder. “I thought I could protect you. But if that bullet had hit you a few inches further to the right… if I’d been an instant slower to block the ones that followed…”
I stayed quiet. He dragged in another breath and let it out—and it wasn’t because of any need for oxygen on his part.
“You heal faster now that your inner demon is being fed regularly, it’s true,” he went on. “But not fast enough to survive a bullet through the heart. You could have died tonight. You could’ve been gone before I even had a chance to give you my blood and save you.”