Bite Me

by Parker Blue

  “Oh, but they’re paying me now. Besides, one of the lawyers here is helping me file for emancipation. Don’t worry about me.”

  But I knew how complicated being on your own could be—I was still trying to figure it all out myself. “I’m your sister. Of course I’m going to worry. Maybe you can stay with me.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Alejandro has a place for his people—I’m staying there.”

  “You have got to be kidding me. You can’t—”

  But I broke off when Jen’s pleasant expression turned annoyed and suspicious. If I wanted to find out more about what was happening with my sister, I needed to stay on her good side, not piss her off. I changed the subject. “I thought Alejandro was supposed to fire you.”

  Jen’s eyes narrowed at me. “Was that your doing? Well, they tried, but I refused to quit and they hired me full-time. They really value me.”

  Wondering how to beat some sense into the girl’s head, I said gently, “It’s not healthy for you to work there, Jen. Vampires are unnatural creatures with a craving for human blood.”

  “I know that, and I think it’s cool that they’re trying to find a way to make it work without hurting humans.”

  This wasn’t working, so I took another tack. “At least you’re working during the daylight hours. I hope that continues.”

  It was more of a question than a statement, but Jennifer didn’t respond. She wasn’t promising anything. I sighed. Was it possible she was in thrall to someone in the Movement? If so, and I could just figure out which one, I could force the creature to release my little sister. Carefully, I said, “It sounds like you’ve made friends with one of them.”

  “Not just one—at least half a dozen. They’re not as bad as you think.”

  “Do you have any particular friends in the Movement?” I persisted.

  Jen frowned. “No.” Then, more suspiciously, she asked, “Why?”

  “No reason,” I lied, then looked for a way to distract her. I led her over to my motorcycle. “Here, I don’t think you got a chance to meet my dog the other day. His name’s Fang.”

  Fang was still sitting by the Valkyrie. Get a good whiff of her, I told him mentally.

  “Oh, how cute,” Jen exclaimed.

  She rushed to pet the part-hellhound dog who acted like a frisky puppy with her attention. I noticed he got a lot of sniffing in, though.

  “I’m so happy you have new friends,” Jen said when she was through petting the dog. “Just like me.”

  Not exactly . . . .

  With one last caress on Fang’s head, Jen said, “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for ignoring Mom and Dad’s orders and coming by to see me.”

  She made me feel kind of guilty for having ulterior motives for seeing her. I gave Jen another hug. “It was nice to see you.”

  I wanted to haul her butt back home, but Jen had already proved she wouldn’t stay there, especially if she was looking at emancipation. Better to stay on her good side so she’d come to me for help when she needed it. Now I was glad she’d used my reputation to protect herself. Alejandro’s people would certainly think twice before they messed with the Slayer’s sister.

  But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t worry. “But if you need anything, call me right away, you hear? Any time, day or night. You still have the numbers where you can reach me?”

  “Yes, I still have them,” Jen said cheerfully.

  As she left, I asked Fang, “Smell any vamps on Jen?”

  WELL, DUH. SHE WORKS AT ONE OF THEIR BLOOD BANKS.

  “Yeah, but I mean did you recognize any of the scents?”

  NO, BUT SHE HAS AT LEAST FOUR DIFFERENT SCENTS ON HER.

  “Will you recognize them again if you smell them?”

  PROBABLY, THOUGH MOST SMELL PRETTY MUCH ALIKE. BESIDES, A BLOODSUCKER DOESN’T HAVE TO ACTUALLY BE IN CONTACT WITH HER TO ENSLAVE HER MIND, YOU KNOW.

  I know. Crap. I’d hoped it would be obvious if she was enthralled and if so, by who. No such luck. I’d just have to find out another way.

  I drove home and Dan was still there. I told him what had happened.

  He frowned. “If she’d been my kid sister, I would have gone all Rambo on her ass and had her locked in her room for a year.”

  I shrugged. That’s what I would like to do, but . . . “My parents tried that. It didn’t work.” Biting my lip, I explained, “I know Jen. If I try to force her, she’ll dig her heels in and turn even more stubborn. It’s better to help her find a way to change her own mind, by showing her the truth about the vampires she’s now idolizing.”

  “Aren’t you worried about her? Worried that she might be enthralled?”

  “Of course, but if she is, the vamp can enslave her mind so she thinks only what he wants her to think. The only way to break the spell is to convince her master to let her go . . . or kill him.”

  “So our challenge is to find out if she’s enthralled and if so, which one has her under control.”

  Our challenge? Then he really did think of us as a team. It gave me a warm feeling. Not as great as having a family, but it was nice. Really nice. I smiled. “Right.”

  “It’s probably Alejandro.”

  COULD BE, Fang said. SHE SMELLED A LITTLE OF HIM.

  “Maybe. But it’s probably someone subordinate to him. The way she spoke of him was more as a distant boss.”

  “Legally, she should be at home.”

  “Yeah, I know. But the best way to get her there is to play it my way. Besides, she’s filed for emancipation from my parents.”

  He thought for a moment. “Okay. she’s your kid sister. Your family. Your call.”

  Grateful that he was being reasonable, I smiled at him.

  Dan snapped his fingers. “Speaking of family, that reminds me. I did some research on the net on Lucas Blackburn.”

  “You did?” I asked eagerly. “Did you find him?”

  “Yes, sort of. I’m sorry, but the only Lucas Blackburn I could find died a couple of years ago.”

  I frowned, trying to hide my disappointment.

  “But he had a son—a Micah Blackburn, who is still in San Antonio. If it’s the same man.”

  It had to be. And if Micah was Lucas Blackburn’s son, maybe he shared the same demon, too. It was worth talking to him, anyway. “Where does he live?”

  “I’m not sure, but he owns a club on the River Walk called Purgatory.”

  I felt excited yet apprehensive at the same time. “You think we can find him there?”

  “I assume so. He not only owns it, he . . . performs there.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Most nights, I think.”

  “Then I have to go tonight,” I declared. I had to see him, know if he was like me.

  “Are you sure you want to?” He had an odd expression on his face, as if there was something he wasn’t saying.

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I?” Because I’m scared to death he’ll reject me, too? I shook my head. If I didn’t go, I’d never know . . . and that would be worse than any rejection.

  “Okay,” Dan said doubtfully. “You, uh, want me to go with you?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then yes, I’d appreciate it.” Just in case Micah turned out to be a real jerk.

  But I had a feeling—a really good feeling—that he was nothing of the kind.

  Later that night, I surveyed my closet and dithered over the choices. I felt a little nervous about meeting Micah, and going to a club. I’d never been to one before and didn’t want to wear the wrong thing.

  Faded jeans and T-shirts made up the bulk of my meager wardrobe, but it didn’t seem right to wear my working clothes to a club. I pulled out a pair of nice jeans along with a black turtleneck and a dark red v-necked sweater Mom had given me and showed them to Fang. “Which sweater do you think is most appropriate for a club?”

  I was kidding, but Fang took my question seriously and regarded the clothing with a critical eye. />
  NEITHER. He nosed through my closet and poked a long-sleeved white blouse with his nose. WEAR THIS WITH THE FLORAL VEST. IT’LL HIDE THE STAKES.

  Good point—after being surprised by vamps last night, I didn’t want to go anywhere unarmed. I put the outfit on that Fang had chosen, amused by the thought of taking fashion advice from a hellhound. Then again, it had to be better than my nonexistent style sense.

  GWEN CAN HELP YOU WITH THE FACE PAINT. SHE’S GOOD AT THE GIRLIE STUFF.

  True. And Gwen was more than happy to oblige. She helped me put on a little make-up and loaned me a cute pair of dangly earrings.

  She stood back and looked at me approvingly. “There. You look more feminine . . . softer.”

  “You really think so?” I had no experience with these sorts of things, but I kind of liked this softer side of Val.

  TOTALLY ROCKIN’, BABE.

  “Oh, yeah,” Gwen said. “Trust me, you look hot.”

  No, no. That wasn’t what I was going for.

  BUT NOT TOO HOT, Fang amended. JUST RIGHT FOR A CLUB.

  I relaxed a little. Good—I wasn’t going there to find a boyfriend or anything . . . just Micah Blackburn.

  So why was my stomach churning like a blender set on puree?

  I knew my expectations were way too high. No one could be the combination of family, mentor, and best friend that I longed for. Realistically, I’d be lucky if he would at least agree to meet with me. But I had to try.

  “Thanks—I appreciate your help.” I said to both of them.

  “No problem,” Gwen said. “Have fun.”

  I sent a question to Fang, asking if he was okay sitting home.

  YEAH. CLUBS ARE NOISY AND THE PEOPLE THERE JUST ACT STUPID.

  Okay, I’ll come by and get you if we go hunting.

  Fang settled in happily with Gwen, so I went to Dan’s townhouse and knocked. He answered, looking really good in jeans and a soft navy blue sweater.

  Dan took in my appearance. “Very nice. I’ve never seen you look so . . . feminine.”

  My face heated and I felt suddenly awkward. I wasn’t real used to compliments and didn’t know how to react. My eyes locked with his and I couldn’t help but sway toward him, like he was a magnet and I was a hapless pile of filings.

  Wow—he smelled great, with a musky, compelling, primal scent. Lola agreed, sending a warm tingling through my body, urging me to combine my yin with his yang.

  No way. If his yang got anywhere near my yin, we’d both be in big trouble.

  I backed up a step or two and took a deep breath, forcing my demon into submission. “Thank you,” I said briefly. At least I assumed it was a compliment. I resisted the urge to tell him how great he looked in return. “Ready to roll?”

  “Sure.”

  He insisted on driving again, saying his shoulder felt much better, and I didn’t argue. Having him behind me on the motorcycle would be a very bad idea. Instead, we rode in near silence to Purgatory, both of us lost in our own thoughts, lost somehow in our own private purgatories. I knew mine had a demon in residence. I wasn’t sure what populated Dan’s private hell. Maybe doubt, questions about how a vampire life was better than a life with him.

  The nightclub was in a large two-story building on the River Walk that was jammed with people, even on a Monday night. Apparently, Micah was doing a thriving business. We entered, and were immediately engulfed in the world of Purgatory . . . dark, seductively lit with red lights, and throbbing with a heavy bass beat that I felt more than heard. It made the walls tremble.

  Here, in the darkened foyer, the noise of merriment was muffled, and the dim light illuminated our options. The club was divided into four main areas—one each for jazz, rock, hip hop and rap, and ladies only. The club must be well sound-proofed, for I could barely hear the music from each one.

  A man suddenly appeared from out of the darkness, looking like a clone of Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula, complete with white pancake make-up and fake fangs. “Have you been to Purgatory before?” he asked in a dramatic fake Transylvanian accent.

  I suppressed a smile, wondering what the guy would do if ever confronted with a real vampire. “No, but we’re looking for someone,” I said. “His name is Micah.”

  The fake vamp laughed softly. “Yes, all the women look for Micah.” He slanted a sly glance at Dan. “But the men would just as soon he not be found.”

  So Micah was a real ladies’ man, huh? “This is different,” I explained. “I want to talk to him about his father.” When the vamp looked skeptical, I remembered what I’d told Dan and added, “I think we might be related.” If lust demon blood ran through both our veins, we had to be related somehow, right?

  The vamp shook his head and dropped the fake accent to sound pure Texan. “Nice try, but I’ve seen far more original attempts to meet Micah, and trust me, none of them work.”

  Exasperated, I said, “Look, Lucas Blackburn helped me out when I was a kid and I just want to talk to his son.” When the man didn’t look convinced, I said, “Just tell him, okay? He can decide if he wants to see me or not. My name is Val Shapiro.”

  The vamp shrugged. “Okay, I’ll ask him after his set, but don’t blame me if he refuses.”

  I didn’t want to think about that possibility. “So he is here tonight?”

  Smirking, the Bela Lugosi look-alike resumed his fake accent. “Why, of course. You can always find him entertaining in the Ladies Lounge . . . .” And so saying, he backed into a dark corner and disappeared. Nice trick—must be a curtain or something there.

  Dan frowned. “I was afraid of that. It’s ladies only. They won’t let me in.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but it wasn’t exactly true. Now that meeting Micah was imminent, I realized Dan’s ignorance of my true nature might be a problem when I met another potential lust demon. “Would you mind waiting for me?”

  He paused. “Are you sure you really want to do this? Maybe it would be better to call him during the day.”

  Why did he look so concerned? “No, I’m here now. I’d rather get it over with before I lose my nerve.”

  Dan sighed. “Okay. I’ll just have a drink in the rock area.”

  “Thanks.”

  Because I was under twenty-one, the guy at the desk stamped my hand with an X and put a red bracelet on me. At least they carded Dan as well. He got a green bracelet.

  As Dan headed off to the rock lounge, I opened the door and went up the stairs to the Ladies Lounge, where a heavy beat and screams of feminine laughter filled the air. I was surprised to see three half-naked men on stage, bare chests glistening as they thrust their hips to the music. I’d heard of Chippendales, but . . . geez!

  As I watched, one of the dancers ripped off his jeans to reveal a zebra-striped thong that barely covered his, er . . . package. A cheer went up in the room and a couple of women reached for him. He backed away as he continued bumping and grinding to the music. The other two men followed suit and the crowd went crazy.

  Weirdly, Lola didn’t react at all. Maybe generic commercial lust didn’t do it for her. Or maybe I was just too embarrassed. I tried to look away, but was oddly fascinated by the men’s hard bodies and the women who were all over them. Whoa. Guess my life was more sheltered than I thought.

  My face grow hot. Yeah, I knew how odd it was for me of all people to feel uncomfortable around this, but I was still seven-eighths human. Heck, I’d just barely been kissed. This was totally out of my experience.

  Another shout went up as a woman tucked some money into a dancer’s thong. Ohmigod—I would never have the nerve to do that. Now I understood why Dan had seemed so uneasy. He must have realized what kind of place this was.

  Was Micah one of those guys up on stage? I cringed at the thought. I hope not.

  I made my way to the other side of the room where hunky bare-chested bartenders were dressed like comic book demons and other denizens of the underworld. Did everyone who worked here dress like something out of the Encyclopedia
Magicka?

  Shouting over the music, I asked one blond devil, “Is Micah on stage?”

  “He’ll be on later,” the man yelled back. “What do you want to drink?”

  I ordered a Coke with a twist of lime and sat down in the back to wait for Micah’s appearance. Was he a stripper too? Please, no. But the odds were he probably was.

  After a dancer dressed as a fireman lit more fires than he extinguished and a construction worker demonstrated the proper way to use his tools, the lights went out, then spotlights swept the stage.

  A drum roll sounded, then a deep, amplified male voice came over the loudspeaker. “And now, Purgatory is happy to present the one, the only . . . Micah!”

  Finally. I sat up straighter, making sure I had a good view of the stage. The sudden ear-splitting screams of the women in front told me they knew exactly who Micah was . . . and were very happy to see him.

  Uneasily, I wondered what his act would be like . . . and if I really wanted to see it.

  Abruptly, all the lights went out and the screaming stopped, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. A haunting piped melody filled the room, and a lone spotlight picked out the figure of a man on stage. He was costumed like a satyr, with horns, cloven hooves, a chest sprinkled with dark hair, and shaggy pants that made it appear as if he had fur from his waist to his feet. The crowd watched in fascination as he concentrated on playing the panpipes in his hands.

  But none were as absorbed as me. I drank in his features, looking for any confirmation that he hosted a lust demon. He was tall, with a body that was leaner than the guys who had entertained earlier, more dancer than body-builder. With his dark wavy hair curling around his ears, full lips and firm chin, he looked very masculine and very seductive.

  I could see his appeal to the other women, though he didn’t do it for me personally. I squirmed a little, remembering the acts I’d just witnessed. Was I about to see a lot more of Micah than I wanted?

  The haunting melody came to a lingering close, then with a wicked glance at the audience, Micah launched into a wild Celtic tune. An invisible orchestra picked up the melody and Micah abandoned the pipes to leap around the stage to the music, graceful as Baryshnikov, yet masculine as Schwarzenegger.