Slayers, he would kill without thinking twice about it, if in the right frame of mind. It was self-defense, really. He hadn’t had one find him in a very long time. In fact, he ran into the last one, and she was in search of another—Cianán, to be precise. Crazy bitch. But, it was better to be safe than sorry, even if he lived in the Valley of the Sun.
The cold wind rushed over his face and whipped her fingers through his sleek black hair. He closed his eyes for a moment; enjoying the soothing sensation it brought him.
His mind drifted back to a time when nothing bothered him. A time when no one chased him, no one feared him, and he was happy with his love. A time that seemed so long ago, and yet, like he was there yesterday. He needed to get back to his homeland, to cleanse his soul, if he still had one. He really didn’t know whether he possessed a soul or not. And he would not leave Kylie until he found out what Cianán was up to—
A loud bang brought him from his thoughts. He scanned the streets below. A man shot another man, robbed him, and ran down a nearby alley.
They make it so easy. Grant shook his head and swooped down after him.
He landed quietly in an alley opposite the one the thief ran down, and he jogged over to the man lying in the street. He knelt beside him. Maybe he could help, maybe he couldn’t. It didn’t matter; he could already smell it. The human’s eyes were open, but there was no life behind them. He’d been shot in the heart. Grant shook his head and wondered if the man had a family. Sorrow swelled in his chest for them. He looked at the man lying in a pool of his own blood, his nice business suit bloodied and dirty from a scuffle. The scent called to him, but he wouldn’t take it. Not here, in the middle of the street. Someone might see him. And it wasn’t right, feeding on the poor man.
Hunger streaked through him, making it difficult to resist the spilled blood.
“At least you can die.” He looked up from the man lying in the street toward the alley where the other had run. He quickly scanned the surrounding area. Not a soul in sight. Grant stood, and noticed the blood on his hand. He stepped over the body licked the blood from his fingers, and headed down the alley.
With the taste of fresh blood on his tongue, his vision changed and his fangs grew. His long black coat flapped in a gust of wind that kicked up around him. The shadows enveloped him. His eyes glowed with a bright blue hue, though all he saw was red—warmth.
He stalked his prey into an abandoned warehouse, and hid within the shadows upstairs. The thief rifled through the wallet he’d stolen, dropping unwanted items to the dusty floorboards. When the man pulled a few bills from the wallet, he yelled.
“Chingada!” His voice echoed and he scanned the area, panic striking his features in the dim light.
Grant felt his desperation, heard his thoughts, May God forgive me.
The thief drew in a deep breath, and looked to the floor at the mess he’d made. He picked up the credit cards and pocketed them. He’d only have a short amount of time to use them. He picked up the license and, along with the wallet, placed them in a crack in the wall. He turned to leave and stepped on something small and insignificant to him.
Grant let out a low whistle.
The thief searched the shadows, but he found nothing. He shook his head, and headed back the way he came in. Grant whistled once more before he could get to the stairs. Grant watched the thief attempt to focus on the darkness. The man’s eyes widened with shock and fear. The thief quickly drew on Grant and pointed the shaking gun barrel at him.
“Do you always kill for a mere few dollars?” Grant nodded toward the multi-paned broken windows littering the wall near the thief. He stepped forward.
“Stop!”
He stopped and tilted his head to the side. “I’m just curious as to why?”
“Cause I fuckin’ felt like it, puto.”
“Interesting lie.” Grant smiled. “Didn’t find what you were looking for? You seem to be upset.”
“Maybe you have what I’m looking for, eh?” He slowly walked toward him, gun pointing at Grant’s head. “That’s an expensive coat you’re wearing.”
“And perhaps you have what I’m looking for.”
The thief stopped. His hand shook again. “What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?”
“The better to see you with,” he said. “Be frightened. It only makes it better for me.”
“Makes what better?” The thief’s voice wavered.
“Dinner.” Before the thief could get a shot off, Grant dashed across the room and stripped the gun from his hand. Its magazine dropped to the floor. The gun flew across the room. He looked at the man, paralyzed with fear, and curled his lip. In a flash, Grant grabbed his head and snapped it around.
Not even a challenge. Grant leaned in and bit into his neck. He drank slowly. His eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttered. He shuddered from the sensation.
Must only take enough. His hunger was too powerful. He had a feeling he’d need his strength; he certainly didn’t want to hurt Kylie.
Siren’s blared on the street below. He dropped the thief’s dead body before he finished. He slapped his hands over his ears and grimaced. His hearing heightened during a feeding in case of a predator attack, such as a slayer or another vampyre, but all of the senses went out the window during the death rush. Grant could never understand it, but considering the few ways there were to kill a vampyre, he supposed it gave the predator an advantage, which was why they used to hunt in a flock. He should’ve been prepared for the sound, knowing the thief killed the man in the street. The police wouldn’t take too long in getting there. Contrary to what was in the thief’s mind, someone saw it and called it in.
He walked to the window, still covering his ears, and peered down to the street below to find a police car parked next to the body. The siren disengaged. The officer climbed out of his car, drew his weapon and scanned the area. Another police cruiser pulled up in front of him. When the officer looked up to the warehouse window, Grant stepped back, slipping into the shadows.
Remembering the thief had left something on the floor, Grant looked down at his left foot and saw the corner of a photograph. He knelt to retrieve it and saw where the thief hid the wallet. He hadn’t pushed it in far enough for it to fall behind the wall. Grant pulled it out and opened it. The driver’s license fell from between the folds. He picked it up and stared at it. The information imprinted on his mind.
He strolled to the dead body and knelt beside him. Dropping the wallet on the thief’s chest, he pocketed the photo, and placed his hand over the tiny pinprick wounds on the thief’s neck. The small space under his palm glowed momentarily, leaving no marks behind for anyone to question, like they had with Robert.
Grant left the warehouse and vanished into the cloak of night.
* * * * *
Grant arrived at Kylie’s house for dinner, sated with the strength his meal provided. He climbed out of his car and drew in the clean, crisp air, catching a familiar scent on the breeze. Cianán was nearby, and once again, Grant wondered what the hell he wanted with Kylie. Of course, to a vampyre, ‘nearby’ meant upwards of fifty miles away. When the wind picked up, the faint scent became stronger. He looked around and walked up to the door, expecting the Master to jump out of the brush before he rang the bell.
Kylie opened the door with a smile. “Hi.”
Damn, she was beautiful. “Hi” —he looked at her wolf— “and who’s this?”
“This is my baby, Tobak. Come on in.”
He stepped forward and offered his hand to the wolf. Tobak sniffed and gave the back of his hand a quick lick.
“Hi, Tobak.” He ruffled the fur on the top of her large head. “You must have socialized her a lot. She’s not timid at all.”
“I did, yes. I also had two other dogs at one time, so that helped quite a bit.” Kylie closed the door behind him.
“Well, you know, three makes a pack.”
She laughed. “I know.”
“I have something for you.” He b
rought his other hand around from behind his back.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“It’s called a passion flower.” He placed it in her hand. “There’s a long, boring, religious-type story behind it, but the flower also has a great deal of healing power.”
“I don’t really understand all that herbal . . . twaddle,” she said with a smirk.
He laughed. “It’s all right because I do.” He looked around her spacious house. “What a great home. Are you going to show me around?”
“Of course.” She turned to the kitchen. “But first, a glass of wine.”
Once they both had a glass in hand, she led him through the house.
It was a nice home, somewhat southwestern with its adobe style front and the beams tracing the ceiling in the living room. It was beautifully decorated; fairly archaic in earth tones, Spanish neutrals, and with a hint of Greek and Celtic culture added to it. He spotted a few familiar items hanging on the wall and wondered about the fencing foils’ presence, although they went well with the furniture she had. One foil crossed over the other on the wall above a rustic Spanish sideboard. An ancient Celtic warrior’s sword was displayed on each side. He didn’t think the cultures would go together, along with some of the other miscellaneous items, but she somehow made it work. She carried the theme throughout most of the house, or would be doing so soon.
“Are you still moving in? There isn’t much furniture.” Some rooms were empty. It reminded him of his own house. He also noticed the large bulky old trunk sitting in the center of the living room, oddly out of place. His heart lodged in his throat. It was very recognizable and had a familiar scent. The locket she wore around her neck had been stored in that trunk.
“Yes. I’ve only been here a few weeks and I haven’t had time to finish shopping . . . or unpacking.”
“Well, I like it. It suits you.”
She turned to give him a smile.
“And I know the feeling. I’m still in the unpacking stage too.”
“You’ve moved recently?”
“Only been in the valley for a few weeks,” he replied.
“Where from?”
“Cannes.”
“Wow. Why move here?”
He shrugged. “Felt right.”
Felt right. Too many things felt right about him.
“You have to see this view.” She pulled him through the master bedroom, whizzing by the wrought iron canopy bed with its sheer fabric running down the sides. They stopped in front of the French doors and she opened them.
“It’s better during the day or when the sun is settling into the sandy ocean.” She looked back at him, beckoning him to follow her onto the patio. “You might have to come back.”
“I could, but I think it’s beautiful now.” He stepped up behind her, leaned over, and whispered into her ear. “Much like you.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed her heart, trying desperately to clear her mind of the image of their bodies intertwined. What would he think of her if he knew the thoughts going through her mind? She drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled, found the strength to speak again, and opened her eyes.
“But you can’t really see that much, it’s so dark.”
“On the contrary, you can see everything. Here, I’ll show you.” He walked her to the edge of the yard and looked down the mountainside and across the desert. “Look over there. The coyote . . . do you see it?”
She followed his pointing finger. “I see it. It’s so far away—”
“Watch her; she’s hunting.”
They watched the coyote stalk its prey. Kylie rarely witnessed such a treat. She stood in her backyard all the time, but of course, she was usually looking up at the stars. Before long, the cacophony of yips and barks marked the kill for the pack. Coyotes generally sounded like a pack of hyenas. Not a pleasant sound at all. In fact, it was downright creepy as hell every time she heard it. The kill sound was so different from the lullaby of howls that put her to sleep.
She turned to Grant. “You never told me what you do.”
“You never asked.” He smiled and sat on the short stucco wall surrounding her yard, setting his glass down as well.
She placed one hand on her hip. “I’m asking.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a collector.”
“A collector? How is that supposed to be obvious? What kind of collector, a bank collector, an art collector—?”
He laughed. “Aye, art. Why does it sound so simple a job coming from your lips? Should there be more to it?”
“I’d think so. What do you do, just collect paintings?”
“No, I collect other items as well,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Rare pieces, centuries old. Maybe I can show them to you someday.”
“I’d like that. I take it they’re all in Ireland?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is that all you do, buy them? How do you make a living?”
“I sell them as well, but my favorites, I keep. I negotiate pieces for others too. I guess I’m more of an art dealer, or antique dealer, if you will. Speaking of antiquities, your necklace is very old and rare.”
“Do you know anything about it?” She looked down at it and took it in hand.
“Quite a bit, actually. I’ve been studying it since I first saw it on you, so please forgive me if I seemed to stare. The symbol alone is more than twenty-five thousand years old.”
“What does it mean? My friend didn’t know.”
“It’s known in many countries and is called the Talisman of the Sacred Three. It stands for the three Goddesses: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. Each represents a season and aspect of life. The Sacred Three have also been known as Creation, Preservation, and Destruction, or Birth, Life, and Death. What it all boils down to is ‘all things are one’.”
“What about the garnet? Do you know why that would be there?”
He gave a sad smile and said, “That, I’m afraid, I can’t tell you.”
“Oh,” she replied, disappointed she couldn’t find out more, but was certainly pleased with what he’d told her.
“I wish I could tell you more.”
“It’s okay. Of course I couldn’t find out everything about it in one evening, as one would hope. Your information is much appreciated. I’ve been wondering about the symbol for a long time; most of my life, actually. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure to inform you, my lady.” He heard something in the distance and looked its way. “Would you look at that?” He pointed to his right.
She followed his arm with her eyes until she saw it, and she gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A mountain lion? Aye.”
“You have incredible eyes.” She watched the lion, squinting to see the damn beast.
Grant took her wine glass and set it on the wall next to his. He placed his hand gently under her chin and turned her head to face him.
“No, you have incredible eyes.” He pulled her forward and kissed her.
The moment his lips touched hers, he knew he had to protect her and keep her from Cianán. Her sweet lips took control of his, and he didn’t care where the feeling came from. He thought, perhaps, he might be falling in love with her. If it could happen so soon. It’d happened to him once before, centuries ago.
The energy between him and Kylie was extraordinary. Every time he touched her, he experienced a sensation throughout his body, not all that dissimilar from when he fed his hunger. It was damn near electrical.
He pondered a question in his mind . . . Do you believe in vampyres? He didn’t know how to begin the crazy conversation. Because that’s exactly what she’d think after a question like that—he’s batshit crazy.
She pulled away from him, slowly, and distracted his thoughts.
“What’s wrong?” He looked into her eyes.
“Mmm . . . I just have this feeling you want to tell me something.”
He smiled and ran
his finger over her soft lips. His other hand massaged the back of her neck. “You’re captivating.”
She closed her eyes and smiled.
He kissed her again. He knew what she wanted because he could sense it. He heard the thoughts racing through her mind, along with the beating of her heart as it tried desperately to compete with her breathing. The wall blocking her thoughts from outside temptations wasn’t there right now. He was happy she couldn’t read his. It wouldn’t be a good thing, to read a vampyre’s mind. If he were to act on his thoughts, he’d no longer be a gentleman, though he hadn’t always been one. Unpleasant things resided in his history. Things he didn’t care to bring to light anytime soon.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Confusion crept though her mind. “I thought we’d order out.”
“Do you have anything here?”
“I have some things, but it’s probably not enough to make a meal.”
“Let’s see what you have. I bet there’s something I can use.”
“You can use? Are you cooking?”
“Aye . . . and I stopped because I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He took her hand and led her down the hall toward the kitchen.
“How did you know I was thinking that?”
“I’m psychic.” He turned his head, grinning from ear to ear. His brow jumped up and down.
“No, really, how?”
“Your eyes told me.” He walked over to the pantry and stuck his head inside.
Seeing a body standing at her pantry door without a head was pretty damn amusing, but she admired the view all the same. He was in great shape and she wondered how often he worked out.
He backed out of the pantry with a few things in his hands and placed them on the counter. He turned around again and did the same with the refrigerator.
She tried to hold back her laughter when he started throwing things together in a pan. It was too cute. She’d never had a man cook for her. He’s definitely unique.
“Well, aren’t we the master chef? I had no idea. What else can you do?”
The Dracove (The Prophecy series) Page 9