Blood Emerald

by Amber Anthony

  “No. I don’t do drugs.” She sniffed at her coat defensively. “I was at a party…”

  “And the ‘party’ so filled you with paranoia that you came running over here? Are you sure you didn’t inhale? Get a little contact high?”

  “I don’t like you.” Anna’s words stunned him. Rick blinked hard. No, this slip of a girl really said she didn’t like him. That she had the moxie to declare it so emphatically in such close quarters to a vampire was unprecedented. In his gob-smacked silence, she barreled on.

  “I think you’re pretty much an ass, and I’m not sure you deserve to know what I know.” She said it evenly, acerbically, but without a huge amount of heat. Rick inhaled deeply, scented her honesty, and believed her. That pissed him off.

  “Unlike Saint Matt?” In a split second, his fangs dropped, and he was on her with the stench of the undead. “You do not sit in judgment of me, Cupcake. You aren’t even in the food chain anymore.”

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” She spit back. “Listen to me! I know Matt worked very hard to keep vampires invisible, and I know that’s what this place,” she made a sweeping gesture, “is all about. I think something horrible is about to happen.”

  Rick growled forewarning. “I think you’re right.” He used his preternatural strength to subdue her, clenching her against him. He was immediately stunned by his body’s response to her lithe, flushed form pressed against his cool, hard length. It pissed him off even more that his anatomy over-rode his gut instinct. In a split second, he regained his vampire senses, baring ivory fangs, grazing the elegant column of her neck, savoring the flavor of fear her few crimson drops deposited on his tongue. He enjoyed the spirit of her resistance, the way it pumped her blood frantically around her beautiful body and dilated the pupils of those huge green eyes. He fancied she’d look much the same in passion, and his cock swelled further at the thought.

  Anna cringed, fighting fiercely against him. Rick traded the taste of blood for hot tears, and in their resulting tussle, two words caught his attention. “Vampire slayer.”

  Grating laughter erupted from his chest at the words. He released her and retreated back across the console, now the concerned thirty-year-old club owner with a fading stiffy. “Seriously? You think you met a vampire slayer?” He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s your big emergency? You’re adorable.”

  So adorable I could just eat you up! Rick ran his tongue over his canines. But I need to dial back my stiffy, thrall you, and move you out.

  Anna’s intense jade eyes grew frigid. “You’re wasting my time, Mr. Hiatt. I gave you the warning; the consequences are on your head.”

  Rick didn’t try to stop her as Anna fumbled with the unfamiliar door handle and stumbled from the car with as much dignity as possible. He watched her back, ramrod straight, as she made her way down the winding vehicle ramp. Sitting amidst the scents she’d left behind, still oddly stirred by her, Rick pulled the rear-view mirror toward him and corrected his ruffled appearance. This day just gets better and better.

  * * * *

  Anna’s tiny sub-compact didn’t take up much room in the on-street parking space she’d found not far from the Consort Building. It was late, she was shattered, and Matt was married. Married! That asshole Hiatt just couldn’t wait to tell me, could he? She leaned against the car door as she fished in her pocket for the keys, her eyes filling with tears she’d desperately fought in his presence. A slow, low wail escaped her before she clamped her teeth together to shut it off and dropped into her seat. She brushed furiously at her waterworks and gunned the engine to get herself the hell out of there.

  Rick Hiatt and everyone associated with him could be obliterated by Carl Sterling for all she cared. Knowing Rick and the other Vampire-Doms at the club, they’d cut through Carl’s bravado like a knife through, well, blood. Unless Carl was lucky enough to get the drop on one of them, he was more likely to be the dead one. Anna intended to wash her hands of the whole lot of them. I have one more week at the playhouse, and then I’m out of anything to do with vampires forever, she resolved, hoping she followed through on that pledge. Vampires are undeniably seductive.

  * * * *

  Rick dropped into oblivion as soon as he hit the slab. His last conscious thought was of the lovely Anna, her wide emerald eyes blinking back tears. He felt a little guilty about that. Then, blessed nothingness until the insistent Responder Sergeant McGrath flipped on every light in Rick’s peaceful mausoleum and shook him.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hiatt, I told him you’d be exhausted from traveling, but…” his assistant began, until the burly vampire cop fixed her with a disapproving glare that sent her right back out the door.

  “Always happy to help the responders.” Rick arched a brow and gave the man a lethargic smile. “What’s up?”

  “I have an urgent matter for you, Sir. It involves one of your security staff, Brett Olson.”

  “The nervous kid in the lobby?” Rick stood, grabbed the silk robe off the hook on the wall, and drew it on.

  “Some night clubbers found him staked and left for dead in the alley. We were monitoring the police scanner when they called it in. Luckily, we got there first.”

  “Is the kid okay?”

  “It could have been bad if that couple hadn’t stumbled in around four in the morning to hump in the alley. But drunks being drunks, what can I say? They called it in before the sun came up, so we were able to get him out of there. He’s downstairs in one of your suites. I thought you might want to sit in on the interview. We haven’t had a staking in thirty years.”

  * * * *

  Brett Olson was not the quintessential picture of a vampire—a little doughy, baby-faced, and pretty high strung. Rick liked the kid all right, but right now, he felt like he was talking him off a ledge.

  “Brett, sport, wild man, what happened?”

  Brett winced and sucked deeply on a blood bag, huddled in the depths of a leather easy chair.

  “No, Brett, really, I’m not kidding you, this is mid-century shit. We need to know whatever you can tell us.”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Hiatt. He just took me down.” Brett mumbled.

  McGrath was on it immediately. “He took you down or he staked you? Did he get you down before he staked you? What did he look like?”

  “He hit me from behind. I didn’t see his face.”

  “Tall? Short? Muscular? Old? Young?” The vampire cop persisted.

  Bret shrugged and gestured at his girth. “Big enough to take me down.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Brett was silent for a moment, teasing the memory back to life. “He said, ‘This is for ramseyblack.’ What’s a ramseyblack?”

  Rick and the responder exchanged meaningful glances over his head.

  “Ramsey Black? You’re sure about that?” Rick enunciated the two words.

  “Ramseyblack. Is that a name?”

  “Okay,” Rick stood to leave. “Good information, kid. Finish that blood and catch some slab time. Anything I can do for you?”

  “No, Sir. I guess I’m okay.”

  “That’s good. Take some time off.” He swung out the door, McGrath close behind. They paused in the dimly lit hallway.

  “Ramsey Black?” The responder repeated. “I thought that S.O.B. died years ago. Hell, he’d be a hundred years old now.”

  “No, the guy said, ‘this is for Ramsey Black, not this is Ramsey Black. Who the fuck is this vamp slayer wannabe? How does he know about Black? Hell, how does he know about vampires?”

  * * * *

  In his penthouse, looking out over the breaking dawn of the city, the day’s discoveries sent five-hundred-year-old memories crashing through Rick’s mind. Vampire slayers were ancient, and he was more ancient still, sired in a time when vampires were thought of as witches or demons, not as the undead. It had been centuries since he had to worry about being hunted by a vampire slayer. Logic would suggest a few remained. If Veronique’s activities broug
ht vampires increasingly out of the realm of fantasy and into actuality in mortal minds, there would be many more slayers joining the ranks. He would be thrust back into the perils of the sixteenth century.

  Present day Los Angeles faded as Rick recalled his ancestral home in Ireland. He’d heard the story of his birth repeated so often, he felt as if he was an unseen observer instead of the struggling bairn in his mother’s womb.

  * * * *

  Ireland, 1513

  Mary’s Ladies in Waiting had often told him of their fervent prayers for his mother’s deliverance. She had suffered enough, hearing her husband, Sean Fitzjarrald, was mortally wounded. Conveyed back to Erne Castle over the saddle of his horse, he died in the wee hours of 3 September 1513. The sight of her fine-looking husband lifeless and cold threw Mary into a damning delirium.

  Whereas the household was celebrating their recent move into Erne Castle, the unforeseen events left the family feeling robbed. The funeral thrust them into black crepe and covered mirrors, and within hours of Sean’s internment in his crypt, Mary’s belly clutched in pain.

  Mary’s lamenting howls escaped her lips and rolled down the hallways. It broke the midwife’s heart, and she was sure it filled the anxious family with dread. The Ladies in Waiting would surely speculate about whether Mary’s dead husband could hear his poor wife.

  Sadly, by dawn, Sean’s sweet Mary joined him in the afterlife, surrendering to the angels within minutes of delivering their son. The handmaiden’s mournful wails heralded her fate and drew the family into the bedchamber. Mary was at peace. There was nothing to do now but welcome the newborn into the family.

  With acquiescence and a dampened joy, the infant’s eldest brother, Ian, held the child up for those gathered to see. “He’s quite a scrapper, is he not?”

  His wife, who would become the baby’s adopted mother, lifted the blanket and beheld her new son.

  “He will be known as Richard Fitzjarrald,” his brother whispered.

  * * * *

  Los Angeles, Present Day

  Rick dressed for the night, giving up on any rest. A quick pint from whatever donor lingered at the club would sustain him. He had safety decisions to make about this damn vamp hunter that could impact the entire Los Angeles vampire Family. He only hoped he hadn’t burned bridges that might be crucial to them now.

  There were times when he could be too much of a smartass prick for his own good, Rick mused. It was born of being several hundred years old and perched at the top of the food chain. It didn’t hurt that he was also handsome, physically fit and with vamp appeal, able to bed anyone who struck his fancy. Being called out on it? That pretty much went down like acid. Hadn’t little Anna Cupcake tried to warn him less than six hours ago? And he had not listened.

  Still, he wasn’t entirely ready to give her a pass. Oh, yeah, she seemed all soft sweetness and light, but was that the truth? Where was his highly tuned vamp sense when he needed it? Probably floundering somewhere between his legs. What did she really want? Was she truly trying to warn him—or at least warn Matt—or was she in on it? That question burned the brightest. Was this some kind of payback? If so, Karma could be a bitch.

  He walked purposefully into the membership office of the Gaoler. “Get me the personal info on that Anna girl who was Matt’s groupie.”

  Helen, the matronly woman in charge of mortal donors, tapped a few strokes then looked up from her computer. “Anna Curley? That cute little thing that looks like a bonbon? I swear if I were her mother, she’d never have come through our door.”

  Rick raised a slightly aggrieved brow. In his experience, no one was that pure, and she was more cupcake than bonbon.

  “She lives in Pasadena, or, at least, she did last year.” Helen withdrew her readers and leaned in conspiratorially. “Gossip is, she works at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. The one across the street—an art historian or something. Probably a tour guide.” She peered at Rick. “What brings her up? I was real glad when Matt cancelled her card.”

  “Get her on the phone. I wanna talk to her.”

  “You’re not gonna let her back in, are you?”

  “I didn’t know you were in charge now, Helen.” He snapped in a way he was sure betrayed his interest in the girl. “Just get me in touch with her.”

  Helen drew back, clearly affronted. “Yes, Sir. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  Rick sighed. Lately he was batting three hundred in the asshole competition.

  Chapter 2

  Rick’s callback waited on voice mail a few hours later. “Anna will be at the Hawking Theatre tonight, boss,” Helen informed him. “It’s in Burbank. They’re doing a live-action vampire role-play.”

  Rick clicked off the message. “People do that?” he wondered aloud.

  * * * *

  Brett pulled himself together to accompany Rick as they drove into the parking lot behind the theatre. It was a 1950s retro place, with a loud print carpet in the lobby and faded seats with leaning springs in the audience. The role-play started before they arrived. Rick wasn’t concerned about the action; he was much more interested in what Brett could discern from the actor’s voices and scents.

  “Anyone smell familiar here?” Rick pressed in subtones too low for humans to pick up.

  “No.” Brett paused. “There is this one scent, but I think it’s a female…”

  “Yeah, I know who that is. She’s not who we’re looking for. Listen to the voices. Anyone sound like the guy who staked you?”

  Brett looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I don’t know.” He sighed deeply. “I can’t tell.”

  Rick fixed him with a serious gaze. “Okay, buddy, you wait here. I’m gonna go down and see someone at intermission. But let me tell you, we’re starting a vamp self-defense class at the Gaoler next week. You and every other vamp on staff is gonna be there, and next time something happens, you’ll be able to pick a scent and voice out of a crowd at the Staples Center.”

  Brett gave him a wan smile before Rick strode down the stage-left theatre aisle, his scent-sense guiding him directly to Anna. He wound his way between set dressings, curtains, and role-players, eyeing with interest the guy in the tux and red-satin-lined cape. He zeroed in on Anna at the props table.

  Rick pressed up behind her and hissed, “Well, this is interesting. Does art imitate life?”

  Anna whirled around, checking over both shoulders to see if anyone noticed him. Of course they had; several female cast members all but drooled over the tall, good-looking guy in front of her. “I didn’t know there was an art to what you did.”

  “Mind telling me what you’re doing at a vampire role-play?” Rick’s gaze darted up to the rafters and back down. He flinched as the caped man skirted behind the scrim, leaving behind an odor of bravado and surging testosterone. Rick had much too much of that already.

  Anna lowered her voice, “That would be your business because…?”

  “Because I asked you. What are you doing here?” he insisted, his lips a grim line on his handsome face.

  “The better question is, what are you doing here? You made it clear last night you had no interest in what I had to say.” Anna was cool, or at least attempting to be.

  Rick rolled back and forth on the balls of his John Lobb loafers and slid his hands into his pockets. “You were drummed out of the life and look where you ended up.” He glanced around the backstage with disdain, then his gaze landed back on her.

  Anna bit back her anger, “No matter what you may think, my life doesn’t revolve around vampires.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.” Rick gestured smugly at the rack of costumes, the eight-foot table of props, and the prosthetic fangs. He felt all eyes were on them, privy to a lover’s quarrel.

  “Whatever.” Anna turned back to her props and gritted out louder than before, “To retain dramatic authenticity, the audience is not allowed backstage.” She looked at him coldly. “You need to leave.”

  “I can beat you home
tonight,” he snarled.

  “Oh, I’m so scared.”

  Rick inhaled deeply, scenting her. “I know you are. I can smell it on you.”

  Anna’s eyes narrowed darkly. “You still need to leave.”

  He grabbed her elbow, forcing a smile when he knew they were being observed. “We need to revisit last night’s conversation. And Cupcake, you don’t need to like me to obey me.”

  “Fine. Clear my name at the door. I’ll come to you.”

  * * * *

  Sir Richard Hiatt felt every bit the masterful Dom tonight. Even under threats to his Family, he returned to the Gaoler, and to his work. In the public demonstration room, his gaze swept the audience of totally uninspired vamps and donors watching a not-so-stirring demonstration. As Derrick, the Dom on stage, began to lose their attention, Rick swept into the dimly lit chamber. He pressed his palm on Derrick’s shoulder in a silent command to step aside.

  Rick’s reading of the couples waiting to be titillated and motivated to commence feeding told him they needed to be shaken. They came to be surprised, so he’d give the people what they wanted. He removed his suit jacket and rolled back his crisp white shirt cuffs. Rick hefted the weight of an exquisitely crafted red and black suede flogger before he began to speak. He had the room’s full attention now. Running the individual leather thongs lovingly through his fingers, he savored the suede’s suppleness.

  “Somewhere between the lesser barriers of damsels in distress and group sex, through the land of body modification and fetishes, is that seemingly forbidden land of impact play.”