He knew why. The vampire in him had never before been denied. Over the centuries, he had tried to make love without feeding, but he had never been strong enough to tear himself apart like this, to divide himself between from his hunger.
About halfway through lovemaking, sheer panic had fueled his control. The parts of his brain that governed thought had gone down under a tidal wave of lust. All that had been left was need and appetite. The need to protect Holly had won.
Just.
Now she lay beside him, her breath rushing softly across the landscape of rumpled and torn bedclothes. He was going to have to buy her some new sheets.
Holly was on her back, fast asleep, her face turned toward him. The tangle of her straight dark hair webbed her features from view, spilling like the hatch marks of an illustrator's pen over the white contour of her shoulders. One hand reached up, fingers loosely curled around Alessandro's. She had fallen asleep holding his hand.
His scent was on her, and hers on him. I am hers. She is mine. Shifting slightly, he raised himself on one elbow, letting his lips linger against the warmth of her flesh. Like the spun-sugar sweetness of pears. Or what he thought pears were like. Memories of that kind had faded.
Hunger filled his mouth like acid, throbbing in the bones of his jaw. He parted his teeth slightly, relieving the pressure on fangs aching for the hunt. He needed to hunt.
She is mine to take.
Alessandro was on his feet beside the bed before he could even reject the thought. He had moved so fast, Holly hadn't even stirred. Naked, he watched her breath, hearing her heart beat in the quiet room. Appetite slunk through his body, hardening his flesh, reviving fires he had conscientiously banked. He was full and ready to take her, desperate to take her blood.
No.
And yet he did not move. He did not dare. She was everything—had given him, against all odds, everything—and yet his instinct was to destroy her. One lapse of concentration and he would be back on the bed, plundering life from the heart that had surrendered to him not even an hour ago.
I am worse than I even imagined. Did I really think some better angel would rise from these slavering, venomous hungers? That because I loved I would be anything other than myself?
Disgust gave him the strength to step back, and step back again. He bent and picked up his clothes from the floor, his limbs heavy with grief. He had to get the hell out of there before he made another near-fatal mistake.
The only thing he could give her was his absence.
He went home, cleaned up, and went to Sinsation. His arrival caused a stir, as it always did, among the venom seekers. When it was whispered that Caravelli wanted a companion, the humans flocked to him like plump and foolish birds. Alessandro was beautiful and his venom was strong. The pleasure he gave was legendary.
He switched off what he could of his conscious mind, letting names and images slide by without sticking, slick as rainwater over glass. He didn't want to be aware of what he did. Not so soon after brushing so close to bliss.
The honeycomb of small rooms at the back of Sinsation was neat and utilitarian. Alessandro was shown to a room with a couch and a lamp of cheap stained glass. His meal of the night reclined on the couch, her face slack with the anticipation of ecstasy.
I am a monster.
But even with hunger raging in every cell, with his meal spread languorously before him, he balked. It was too soon. Too intimate. The image of Holly lying beside him was sacred. He would not sully that image with the shadow of another.
I would sooner lie down like a dog on his master's grave and die.
He'd never felt like this before. Never refused to feed. Still, the decision was abrupt and final. He got up and left the room, ignoring his meal's cry of confusion. Sooner or later he would have to give in, but not yet.
Standing at the back of the lounge, he surveyed the tables occupying the space before the door. The patrons were an irrelevant blur, but their energy sharpened his focus. It was a place filled with predators and prey. Even if he was not willing to look for food tonight, he was still on the hunt.
Action was good. His spirit was too sore to dwell on Holly. So don't think about her. Think about what needs to be done. Macmillan. The book. Anything but Holly.
Alessandro eased from the back into the main room, skirting along the shadowy periphery of the tables en route to the door.
"Hey."
He felt a hand on his cuff and looked down, tensing, but it was only Perry Baker, drinking a beer alone in the corner with his laptop for company. Reluctantly he sat down across from the young werewolf. He didn't want to take the time, but the look on Perry's face made him stop.
"What's up?" asked Alessandro. "You look ragged."
"Everything." It came out almost like a grunt. "I hate my life."
The complaint was oddly comforting, as if Perry's misery put his own in perspective. "At least you have life," Alessandro countered. "Try being Undead for six centuries."
"You don't get fleas and you don't teach three sections of first-year Comp Sci geeks who can't wait for you to turn into Fido and pee on the mainframe." Perry gave the hem of his oversized T-shirt an irritated tug.
Alessandro sat back in his chair. "No, I managed to dodge those particular bullets."
One of the waiters dropped off another beer and a glass of Alessandro's usual red wine. There were things to be said for being a regular, even if he didn't really feel like drinking.
The waiter paused. "Was there something amiss with your meal, sir?" He was addressing Alessandro. Perry's eyebrows rose with interest.
"The meal was fine. I simply found I didn't have an appetite after all."
"Very good, sir. Let us know if there is anything else we can provide." The waiter left.
Perry's face was full of questions, but Alessandro quashed them with a look.
"So." The werewolf snapped the lid of the laptop shut. "Um, Dad said the queen called him. Something about portals to the hell dimensions?"
"You think I know something."
"You have on an apocalypse kind of face. Plus, we found that changeling in the Laundromat. There's something up."
Alessandro drained half his glass in one slug. Maybe he did want the wine after all. "There's no point in spreading panic quite yet. The queen is calling the leaders of the supernatural community, giving them time to talk to their councils. They need to be on the lookout for trouble, because it could come anytime."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Demon."
"No wonder you look tense."
"It's been a bad week."
"More than just a demon? My wolfy senses are tingling."
Oddly, Alessandro didn't mind Perry's prying all that much. Perhaps it was because his interest was genuine. Wolves were your friends or they weren't. For some reason Perry had taken to Alessandro.
"I had one of those nights when I understand what I am. We look human. We do many of the things humans do. Sometimes I forget that I am a monster."
Perry signaled for more alcohol. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
"You? You're the poster child for integration. Young, good-looking, brilliant. If you can't fit in, none of us has a prayer."
Perry looked into his beer. "Ah. Well, for what it's worth, I went on a date after class. Nothing much, just a movie."
"And?"
"The girl turned out to be more than just a drop-dead gorgeous roller-derby babe. I hate those vigilante freaks."
"Roller girls?"
"No, effing self-proclaimed hunters. She tried to behead me. Had this bloody great katana in the car. Now, that's a buzz kill. Like, I mean, what did she think I was going to do? Shed on her upholstery? The chick was way over the top."
It wasn't really funny, but Alessandro couldn't help a smile. "Isn't that what you get for finding fun outside the pack?"
Perry hitched a shoulder. "I fell to the lure of the exotic, I guess. It's not like I'd ever marry a human. I mean, I want a family someday.
Our genes won't mix."
Werewolves were all about their cubs. Family was something Alessandro would never have. But Holly might. Holly should. There was so much he couldn't give her.
But she gave me one shining gift: She wanted me. At least I know what it is to be loved—neither because nor in spite of being a vampire. Just for me.
Perry, who had experienced no such epiphany, emptied his beer. "I don't get it, though. What's with human women? Why try to lure me to my death? Why not just tell me to go away and date someone else? I didn't deserve that. It makes me feel… like a B-movie hairy guy eating virgins. Y'know, a cliché. Life sucks."
"I prefer: Suck life. The best antidote for depression is a bad attitude."
Perry chuckled. "I can see how hanging around with you is going to help me grow as a person." He leaned forward, curling one hand around his beer. "Speaking of monsters, don't look now, but the boy wonder just walked in."
Alessandro looked around, not sure who Perry meant. His mouth dropped open. Ben Elliot stood in the bar full of vampires and werebeasts, looking around like a tourist fresh off the cruise ship. He watched with morbid fascination as Ben wandered up to the bar and ordered a drink.
"What's he doing here?" Alessandro marveled.
"And look who's coming to join him. Son of a bitch."
It was Pierce. Alessandro hadn't noticed him sitting with a handful of other Clan Albion vamps. Pierce was wearing a soft linen suit, more appropriate to Miami than the rainy Fairview autumn. With slight stubble and a turquoise silk shirt, he looked every inch the rent-a-rake.
Alessandro narrowed his eyes. Pierce was leaning on the bar, perching one tailored butt cheek on the bar stool adjacent to Ben's. He ordered a drink, casual and unhurried, and turned to give Ben an incandescent smile.
Ben's answering nod was less casual, more businesslike, as if he had been expecting to see him. Do they know each other?
"So, does Elliot swing both ways?" the werewolf asked speculatively. "I wouldn't have thought so, but from that eye contact, it looks like a pickup."
Ben handed something to Pierce. The gesture was too fast, too sneaky for Alessandro to see what it was. Pierce slipped it into his pants pocket.
Alessandro and Perry exchanged astonished glances. What business would a prohuman economics professor have with a vampire gigolo?
"Excuse me." Alessandro stood. Evidently he had one more task before he could leave.
"What're you going to do?"
"Either rescue a kitten or eat it. I'm not sure which." Alessandro strode across the wooden floor, feeling the weight of his long leather coat swinging as he moved.
Pierce saw him coming and slipped from the bar before Alessandro reached them. That left the stool next to Holly's ex-lover vacant. Alessandro took it. Ben gave him a look of all-purpose dislike. Apparently he'd forgotten Alessandro's part in his rescue at the Flanders house.
"What are you doing here?" Alessandro asked, not bothering to hide his distaste.
"What's it to you?"
"Curiosity." Perhaps you'll give me an excuse to snap your neck.
Ben took a sip of what smelled like rum and Coke, putting it carefully back on its coaster. From the glazed look in his eyes, he'd started drinking long before he got there. "I wanted to see the wild side in its natural environment. Thought maybe I'd figure out why Holly picked this over me."
"So, have you found an answer?"
"No. There's nothing special." Ben glared around him. "I don't get it."
You wouldn't. "What do you want with Pierce?"
Ben's head jerked down as he averted his gaze. "He says he'll show me the sights."
A feeling of sick, impatient pity washed through Alessandro. "You think a tour of our cozy slice of hell will make you understand why Holly chose to be herself instead of turning into a female clone of you? Did you think perhaps you should love her for who she is?"
Ben didn't reply, but took another pull at his drink.
"Go home, Elliot. You won't like what Pierce has to show you, and I don't want Holly reading your obituary. In fact, I'd rather she never thought about you again."
He peeled the rum and Coke out of Ben's hand and hauled him off the bar stool. He could afford to be generous with Ben Elliot. Ben was of no account.
With Perry's help, he got the professor into a cab. The young werewolf left at the same time, catching the last bus in a drizzling rain.
Alessandro stood outside Sinsation, searching for the threads of his thoughts. It was two in the morning. About an hour ago he had been planning to go in search of Mac. There was still time to get something done.
"Where did Elliot go?"
Alessandro recognized Pierce's voice. Irritated, he turned. "He was drunk and obviously didn't know what he was doing. But then, you were quite aware of that."
"You think I was going to show him a good time?"
"That's what he thought."
"Huh. Okay."
"Am I wrong?"
"What else would I be doing?"
Good question. But maybe he was reading too much into the remark. Pierce is drunk, too. Alessandro was faintly impressed. It took a helluva lot of alcohol to get a vampire intoxicated. Pierce's condition showed years of dedication and practice.
"I didn't offer the professor a refund," Alessandro said, guessing it was cash he had seen change hands.
"His money's already spent." Pierce gave an acid smile. "Texas Hold 'Em can be damned slippery. There were some arrears."
"Elliot deserves a fine for his stupidity." And so did Pierce, who was well-known for his gaming debts.
"Why do you care what happens to the professor? He's an ass."
True. Alessandro lit a cigarette. "Why do you care so little?"
"Because I'm despicable. It keeps things simple."
"And you like to degrade yourself."
"It's my business. Not yours. Not the queen's. I'm just selling what she doesn't want. Who knew it had cash value?"
"It hurts her to watch, you know."
"That's the point."
Alessandro laughed.
"Is that funny?"
"I was really depressed tonight. Then I started talking to other people."
"Whatever. I need a drink." Pierce wandered back inside, his stride unsteady.
Alessandro looked out at the night, marveling. Everything looks impossible between Holly and me, but maybe there's hope yet. At least we're not insane. That's got to count for something.
Finally left to get on with his night, Alessandro pulled out his cell and turned it on. He'd switched it off before going into St. Andrew's cemetery.
His stomach turned cold.
He had five messages from Omara, all thirty minutes apart.
What now?
Chapter 22
On Tuesdays Holly had two midmorning classes: Marketing and Financial Accounting. She went because she had no idea what else to do, but it was a waste of time. Lectures on income statements and product distribution faded to a drone of white noise. She squirmed in the hard wooden seat, uncomfortable and overheated.
Memories of the night before crashed like a surf, over and over, filling her mind's eye and heating her blood. Images of Alessandro touching her—she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her flesh—were infinitely more stirring than any fantasy. He was right: She would not forget her night with him. Ever.
And that was without his biting her. How is it possible that he didn't? Holy Goddess, what would it be like if he had?
Holly drifted from one building to the next, climbing stairs and fumbling textbooks, wrapped in her private drama. The faces of the other students bobbed by, irrelevant as pigeons. I'm useless. Maybe he skipped the blood and took my brain instead.
Holly gave herself a mental head slap. She needed to take control, focus on things that needed her energy. For one thing, the attack by changelings meant they hadn't raised so much as a wisp of a ghost. As a result, they knew nothing more about the demon or the
stolen book.
Just before they went into the Flanders house, Alessandro had asked her to use a tracking spell to find out who was casting summoning spells in his client's warehouse. That gave her an idea.
After classes she took a walk to St. Andrew's cemetery. Although it had been crawling with ghouls and changelings the night before, at midday they would be tucked up in their beds. Even demons slowed down a bit in daytime, so she gambled that a solo trip would be safe in sunlit hours.
Not that there was much sun to speak of. That afternoon it poured in fine Pacific Northwest fashion, an uninhibited downpour that brought arks and pairs of animals to mind.
Her aim was to find the area where they were supposed to meet Macmillan, in the oldest part of the graveyard. She was betting the location was significant. Doggedly she trudged up to the iron fence and away from the path, gum boots miring in the soft earth as she worked her way between the graves. The sunken plots were filled with a skim of rainwater, just enough to splash as more drops came down. Holly read the headstones, thinking how cold and dank the earth would feel around her bones. She sneezed, inhaling rain.
Time to get busy before she caught pneumonia. Holly turned in a semicircle, her senses open to energetic disturbances—restless ghosts or the cosmic thumbprint of a possible portal. Holly's boots, long coat, and umbrella made the movement clumsy, their bulk forcing her to move as one unbendable unit. Sinking into the waterlogged turf, her feet moved with a sound like the Swamp Thing taking an ooze bath. Good thing psychic investigation didn't demand fashion points.
Then she stopped thinking about anything but the coppery taste of fear.
The demon was here.
She could feel the echo of its presence, but diffused, the same way one could tell a smoker had passed through a room. What she was looking for was more specific—the actual cigarette. That was harder. There was a spell fogging the energy, much the same as the cloaking spell that had hidden the ghouls and changelings from psychic view.
The energy seemed to settle on a grave to her left—old, unkempt, and spacious. The headstone had been smashed, probably by kids. With umbrella in one hand, she held the other above the grave, feeling for any unusual energy signatures. The technique involved just scanning the surface, looking for the memory of who and what had passed that way. It was easy, painless work that took more subtlety than force, but the slow process worked better without spectators. Alone, Holly could take all the time required to do a good job.
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