First Blood

by Susan Sizemore

  Jack’s head whipped around as the door swung open. “You would have called me?”

  “Probably just showed up at your—” Her heart stopped. The scent from inside the house was faint, but unmistakable.

  Buttery. Syrupy.

  Annie drew her sword.

  TRYING to provide backup for a woman who could search an entire apartment before he got past the foyer was a fucking joke—and Jack wasn’t laughing.

  But he was surprised out of his anger when Annie returned to the stifling living room, her sword at her side, her jaw set. Before he could say a word, she lashed out with her boot. An armchair flew across the room, smashed into a sofa.

  Jesus, she was incredible. Awed, he glanced from the splintered chair to her face. A warrior woman—a dark, avenging angel.

  But it was a damn inconvenient time to become aroused. Jack reined it in and holstered his pistol. “What’d he get?”

  “Her computer, her cell phone, and a picture,” she bit out. “His stink is all over the place.”

  “Eau de Demon Eggo,” he offered.

  Annie choked on a laugh.

  His tone mild, he added, “If you ever go through a door like that again, Annie, I’ll shoot you myself and save anyone inside the trouble.”

  She startled, then bared her fangs in an overly pleasant smile. “Whatever.”

  He’d insulted her, but it wasn’t personal. “I’d have shot Gallagher, too. If we’re going to do this together, we’ll do this together. Don’t leave me hanging with my dick out, jerking off and wondering where the fuck you are.”

  “Did you jerk off with my brother, too?”

  Christ, how he loved her. “Annie.”

  She turned her face to the side, hooking her hair behind her ear. “All right. You’re right. I’m just used to doing this alone.”

  “Then get used to a partner. You know how it works.”

  Even as she nodded, something passed over her expression— hope, yearning. But when she looked at him again, her features were blank, her gaze level.

  “Let’s do a walk-through then, partner; maybe you’ll see something I missed.”

  He suspected that her sharp eyes hadn’t missed anything— but Jack was seeing something new. He tried not to stare as Annie stepped to the side, and she observed the room with the detachment of a stranger.

  That was familiar—but not because he’d witnessed it in Annie before. In the ER, she’d worn her heart on her face each time she’d fought for a life.

  No, he’d seen it on her father and brother, on the faces of federal agents out in the field. And it probably mirrored his as he took in the living room, the worn, comfortable furniture, the little personal touches that declared it a home.

  She was still fighting, he thought—but now, it was to prevent the harm being done, rather than repairing it . . . and exacting retribution from those she couldn’t stop.

  Annie had become a cop, after all. She had different rules to follow, but the heart of it was the same.

  Vampire cop.

  It took effort to check his grin.

  Annie sent him an odd glance as they walked to the master bedroom. “What?”

  Jack shook his head, focused. An array of pictures sat on the bureau, the pattern broken by the missing frame. Cricket, he recognized. The female half of the smiling, fanged couple in wedding clothes must have been her sister, Christine. A candid shot of a very young Cricket and a middle-aged woman faced the bed.

  The giant bed—and no curtains, because there were no windows in the room.

  His brows rose. “If you’re married, why sleep with half an acre between you?” He’d buy a twin bed to share with Annie.

  “Some partners sleep apart or in different rooms— especially if they’re just together to feed.” Annie hung back by the door, her hands in her pockets. “Stephen and Christine didn’t. They snuggled.”

  There was a catch in her voice, and though her expression didn’t change, she averted her face.

  Jack glanced at the wide expanse of the mattress. Not just a bed, but a dinner table.

  After Dante died, where had Annie eaten? “I opened a file on twenty-seven missing people,” he said slowly, “and all of them lived with at least one other person. Not one was single, in twenty-seven. But you were.”

  She looked at him, then at the bed. Her chin lifted, gesturing toward the near side. “That was my spot. I didn’t sleep here. I just came over every night, fed. Then they snuggled, and I either hung out with Cricket until they got up, or left for a job.”

  Stunned, Jack only stared. Annie, a man, and another woman. He should have been turned on, but what she described didn’t sound sexy. Just lonely.

  He finally found his voice. “Why?”

  “They were my friends,” she said quietly. “And I saved Cricket. When Dante was killed, and The Five thought it’d be best to rotate me through the community, Stephen and Christine opened their bed, instead. And they loved each other, wanted only each other, so I was like having seconds. But at least that meant the bloodlust, it didn’t always—” She shifted on her feet. “Most of the time, it was just feeding.”

  He fisted his hands, turned away. Seconds. What kind of world was it when a woman like Annie was made seconds? “More and more, it sounds to me as if you should have taken your sword to these Five.”

  Her light laugh rolled through the room. “Oh, I would have, Jack—if there hadn’t been five of them, and they hadn’t always been together. Even at my best, I’d probably have only taken out three before the last two got me.”

  He nodded, then strode to the door and captured her face in his hands. “Dark and sexy rating of ten? I missed the mark. You’re off the charts, Annie.”

  She grinned. “Well, there would have been six, but I took off his head . . . right there.” She pointed down the hall.

  He kissed her, hard and fast, then moved on to the next bedroom. Immediately, he noted the empty desktop—but it was the walls that had him blinking. “This is a twelve-year-old’s room?”

  Annie pursed her lips, nodding as her gaze traveled across movie posters. There were a few elves and pirates, but most were filled with fangs and blood. “She skipped the Disney phase. We tried, but she has a thing for Dracula. Luckily, she hasn’t shown any interest in hardcore gore.” A shadow passed over her face. “Probably because she’s seen some of it.”

  “Right there?” He looked toward the hall.

  “Yes. And God knows what she saw when the nephilim came in. There was a lot of blood before it ashed.”

  He frowned. “I thought you said there were only a few drops.”

  “There were. The sunlight destroyed most of it through the windows in the living room.” She hesitated. “If we’re living, the sun sets us on fire within seconds, kills us. A dead vampire or blood disintegrates into ash.”

  He’d already guessed that much. Jack nodded, idly glancing through a few brochures pinned to a corkboard. Haunted houses, theme parks, Eastern State Penitentiary’s tours.

  Cricket and Annie had planned to attend the Bastille Day celebration; would the girl still go?

  Nothing, he thought, would be lost if he went during the day, looked for her. Annie could join him after sundown.

  His brows drew together, and he turned to her with a half-smile. “If the sun kills you, Annie—does that mean a sunshine boy is a bad thing or a good thing?”

  To his surprise, she didn’t return his smile. Uncertainty trembled around her mouth until she firmed it, said, “Cricket wants to become a vampire as soon as she turns eighteen. I’ve convinced her to wait longer, because when you turn, there’s no going back. And as much as you gain, you have to sacrifice, too.”

  “Like the sun,” he realized softly.

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, tore at his heart. “Most people choose to transform; they aren’t forced into it like I was, and they have time to get ready. So I told her there’s no need to rush—especially if she finds something she’d miss more
than sunshine.”

  In two quick steps he went to her, held her tight. “Like a boy,” he whispered into her hair.

  She nodded against his shoulder, echoed, “Like a boy.”

  TEN

  “DID YOU EVER KISS MY BROTHER IN A LITTLE girl’s bedroom?” Annie wondered. In the visor mirror, she saw the lounging teenagers watch them drive away. She’d shown them Cricket’s picture, and struck out.

  “No. He never fixed his lipstick after I kissed him, either.”

  “What a strange partnership this must be.” Though she kept her voice light, her heart pounded. She’d never been frightened like this. Even that night at the morgue—everything had happened too quickly. Now terror, hope, dread, and love twisted inside her, tightening, tightening.

  “An unequal partnership,” Jack said. “I have more questions now than when we went in. So tell me: the elders, The Five, the demon, Dante, and headless number six.”

  She nodded. How long would it be before it clicked for him? Not as long as it had taken her last night, she thought—but the elders’ deaths had been the last thing on her mind when Jack said he’d resigned.

  “The elders used to collect a tithe from the community,” she began. “Money, in exchange for protection, and for contracting services from other communities and from humans: like providing identification for new vampires, or those vampires old enough to need new IDs.”

  Realization whipped through Jack’s psychic scent. “Jesus fuck me.”

  No time at all, apparently. “One night, they called the community together. And halfway through the meeting, in walks the demon who’d transformed me. She announced that the elders had brought the community to the attention of the human authorities.” Annie glanced over at Jack. “She didn’t say anything about the human forger who’d been murdered, but thinking about it now, the method was similar to how one of the elders had killed the elder before him, and took his position.”

  “A vampire killed him.” Jack shook his head in disbelief. “And then?”

  “The demon changed. One second, she appears human; the next, she’s got red skin and wings, horns, and two swords. Dante moved in on her, and—” Annie snapped her fingers. “Like that. I’ve never seen anything so fast . . . until the old man the other night. So then the elders looked to me.”

  Jack’s pulse was racing. “And?”

  “And she laughed and shot me.” Annie shivered, touched her brow. “When I got up, the place was like a slaughterhouse. All of the elders slain, and a few others who provided services. Christine told me later it had taken her less than fifteen seconds, and that she’d left them with a warning not to risk exposing themselves to humans again.”

  “And when The Five took control, they took that to heart,” he guessed.

  “Yes. Six, at first. But they went too far. If they knew of any vampire who still lived with a human, or had close relations with one . . . the Six decided that no human who could expose us should live.”

  Jack’s face was grim. “Like Cricket and her mother.”

  “Yes.” Her breath hissed out between her teeth. “I went to their house with him. I had no fucking idea what he’d planned, and I couldn’t stop him in time. But when he went after Cricket, I got him. Then took his head back to The Five, and we struck a deal: I continue as their enforcer, stop any vampire who might bring the demon back, and they don’t touch any humans. The damage had been done, anyway—the community quieted down, closed up. Those who had human family mostly moved away.”

  “You were in New York.”

  “Yeah, well—” Annie smiled, huffed out a breath. “The Five stopped tithing, and there weren’t that many vampires who needed to be hunted down in Philly. So The Five hired me out to other communities, and kept a percentage.”

  “And instead of showing up at my door, you worked.”

  “I couldn’t risk you.”

  He looked over. “And now that they’re dead?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “There are still the nephilim, still demons.”

  “Yes, there are still demons.” A frown creased his brow, and he tugged at his ear. “What did she look like, Annie? The one who transformed you.”

  Annie sat up straight. “You’re thinking that it was Agent Milton.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Obviously you are, too.”

  “Five ten, one-forty, black hair to her waist. Gorgeous enough to make a dead gay man sit up and beg.”

  “For a riding crop on his ass.”

  “Yes.” Annie stared at him, felt his rising dread. “What’s in your head?”

  “It’s ‘Oh, shit.’ We need to call Gallagher.”

  “Why? What has he—” She gasped, turned in her seat to look behind them. “Oh, fuck fuck, the fucker! Stop the car. I’ll be right back.”

  Jack pulled over, grabbed her wrist before she could open her door. “Annie.”

  She glanced back. “It’s not dangerous. Two seconds.”

  He nodded. Two seconds later, he ripped his hands through his hair, yelled, “You call sprinting between speeding cars ‘not dangerous’? ”

  “Yeah.” She shoved a sheet of bright pink paper in his face. “The demon bastard taped this to the bus stop. ‘Found: Annie’s Sunshine Boy,’ ” she read. “ ‘Looking for a Cricket Girl to Call Home.’ And it gives . . .” She trailed off with a frown. “My cell number.”

  “Your mother was busy,” Jack said, his voice even now, though his heart was still thudding. He put the vehicle back into gear. “Can’t cook worth a damn, but she’s a whiz with a copy machine.”

  JACK had never seen Annie so nervous. He should have chosen somewhere else to meet Gallagher—maybe a restaurant in Center City, where he and Annie could have arrived first and she’d have had time to prepare. He’d picked Tony’s Pizza thinking that she’d be most comfortable in familiar surroundings, but he should have realized her fond memories of the place would only increase her anxiety.

  She once regarded it as a symbol of family; now, it might just emphasize how splintered their family had become.

  She took his hand in a death grip as they walked through the entrance.

  Jack knew she spotted Gallagher and her mother the same instant he did, but instead of approaching their table, he spun her around to face him.

  Her features were pinched with tension, and though she met his eyes, he thought her psychic senses were attuned to the table in the corner.

  “Listen, Annie,” he said fiercely. He saw her focus shift, knew her attention fixed on him. “Blood is supposed to be thicker than water—but we both know that’s not always true. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we sit at that table. I only know that what’s between us is thicker than water, thicker than blood, and I swear I will always be here for you. And I will love you until I die. Maybe longer.”

  For the second time in a few hours, her eyes swam with tears—and for the second time, she grabbed his hair and yanked him down to her mouth, kissed him until his brain leaked out his ears.

  And when she drew away, the stubborn tilt to her chin was back, confidence glinted in her eyes. Her fingers threaded through his.

  “You weren’t even drunk,” she said as they wound through the tables. The points of her fangs showed with her smile.

  “I’m high on love, Annie.”

  She snorted, and was still laughing when they reached the corner, as she leaned down to kiss her mother’s cheek. Gallagher stood when she straightened.

  Wariness lurked in the other man’s eyes, and Jack was seconds from punching him when Annie’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re worried that I’m going to reject you?”

  Gallagher appeared baffled for an instant. Then he shrugged. “Not having you around for six years gave me a different perspective. I was an asshole.”

  “Was?” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Her smirk disappeared when Gallagher suddenly pulled her into a hug. Her eyes closed and her hands fisted behind his back.


  Jack took the seat across from Mrs. Gallagher, and didn’t listen to the quick, private words Annie and her brother spoke. He was halfway through a slice and on his second coffee before Annie sat next to him.

  Gallagher folded a slice, popped a circle of pepperoni into his mouth. “You batted a thousand on those prints, Harrington.”

  Jack paused. “Even the one from the balcony door?”

  He nodded, swallowed, and gestured to a folder by his elbow with the point of his pizza. “But get this: He’s listed in military records as MIA, presumed dead . . . since 1968.”

  Jack looked at his greasy fingers. Annie reached, then placed the file between them so they could both see it, flipped to the first sheet. A grainy black-and-white photo depicted a young soldier with a jaunty cap, shaved head.

  “Hawkins, Jacob, SP4. Out of Kansas,” Annie read.

  “A grunt,” Gallagher said. “Went missing in Vietnam. And less than ten minutes after his info came up, I get a call from San Francisco.”

  “Milton,” Jack said. He saw the apprehension on Annie’s face, knew it matched his own.

  “Yeah, but here’s the strange thing: She was nice. Said that she understood I’d recently lost a sister, and gave me her condolences. So I said, Annie’s not dead. Then she was quiet for about a second, before telling me that if I didn’t get Annie the fuck out of Philly right away, she would personally bend my dick around backwards and shove it up my ass.” He sheepishly glanced to his right. “Sorry, Ma.”

  “I can hardly be upset if you curse while repeating someone’s words, Brian.” She delicately patted her lips with her napkin. “I’m more concerned with what she said. Should Annie leave?”

  “Not without Cricket.” Annie’s tone brooked no argument.

  Gallagher didn’t disagree. He simply picked up another slice, continued, “So she tells me these nephilim are killing vampires because of some prophecy saying that vampire blood will be their downfall.”

  Annie leaned forward. “How?”

  “Your blood will weaken one. You get vampire blood on a weapon, it’s like poison to them, slows them down. But not by much—so she said not to try it unless you’ve got no other choice.”