Inside the market, people were lined up at the counter picking out chickens from cages. The market echoed with the squawks of the terrified birds.
In full view of the patrons, the birds were slaughtered by a heavyset man with bushy eyebrows and graying stubble on his face and chin. He wore a black plastic apron and long plastic black gloves. Some chickens were decapitated swiftly, while the necks of others were sliced with a knife and the blood flowed freely into a sink. Jonas’s mouth watered as he witnessed blood spurting from the carotid arteries of one bird after another. Trying to control his impulses, he clenched his fists as he impatiently waited his turn.
Unspent money for his trip to Florida lined his pocket. He could purchase several crates filled with chickens to satisfy his hunger, but self-restraint was essential. He’d look extremely odd carrying crates of live chickens back to the hotel.
At the front of the line, finally, Jonas wasn’t picky. He chose four random chickens. “I’ll take them live, please,” Jonas added.
The man wearing the black apron didn’t bat an eye. He was apparently accustomed to the occasional customer that preferred to do his own kill.
“Here you go,” the man behind the counter said, handing Jonas his purchases.
“Bonjour,” Jonas said, slipping into his native tongue.
Casting a furtive glance, he noticed that some of the remaining customers were giving him dirty looks. With his superior olfactory skills, he heard a woman suck her teeth in disgust and then whisper to the woman behind her, “I heard about his kind. That boy’s gonna sacrifice those poor chickens in one of those ritual killings.”
The chickens were stuffed into paper bags and doubled with plastic. Protesting their captivity, the birds squawked and squealed, making a terrible racket.
Holding the ends of the bags tightly, Jonas took swift steps out of the live poultry market.
Jonas had done his best to clean up the mess he’d made in the bathroom of the suite. Chicken feathers were bundled inside trash liners and all the bath towels were covered with the blood and gook he’d wiped off the granite counter.
But with stray feathers here and there, and tiny blood spatters on the walls, the mirror, and other surfaces, the place could use a little extra cleaning.
While Zac was still asleep, it was an opportune time to get the rooms spiffed up and vacuumed. Jonas would make sure that the maid didn’t open the closet.
He called the front desk, asking for someone from the housekeeping department to clean the rooms.
“Sorry, housekeeping is gone for the day,” said the crisp, professional voice on the other end of the phone.
“Is it possible to get a few cleaning supplies?”
“We certainly can accommodate you, sir. What items do you need?”
Jonas requested plastic liners, cleaning spray, and extra bath towels.
“I’ll make sure those items are delivered to room 416. Have a good day, sir,” the desk clerk said politely.
His hunger sated and his strength revitalized, Jonas waited for the supplies. It would be at least another hour until Zac rose at sunset. Jonas fantasized about ending Zac’s miserable life right now. The simple act of pulling the drapes open and letting sunshine brighten the room would turn the vampire into a heap of ashes.
But Jonas couldn’t do that . . . not as long as there were burning questions that plagued his mind. He needed to know how many other vampires were in the area. And where were their resting places? Zac was the keeper of this vital information, and Jonas intended to get some answers.
While waiting for the supplies to be delivered, Jonas dozed off to sleep with the remote in his hand. Sharp raps on the door jolted him awake. Having no idea how much time had passed, he jumped up and rushed to the door.
He’d opened the door to a mere crack when he heard the closet door sliding open. Jerking around, he saw Zac easing out of his cramped sleeping quarter.
Awakening with a ferocious hunger, it took only milliseconds for Zac to move with lightning speed from the closet to the door. In a swift motion, he yanked the female employee inside the room and locked the door. She made a sound of shock, and the stack of towels and plastic liners fell from her arms.
“Zac, no!” Jonas cried out. Jonas was taken aback by Zac’s complexion, which was hauntingly pale from hunger.
Zac placed a white hand around the woman’s throat, holding her against the wall. The woman was a petite redhead wearing a hotel-issued uniform: a black skirt and a button down, gray-striped, long-sleeved blouse with the hotel logo imprinted on the left pocket.
Hyperventilating, she took panting breaths. Her eyes bulged wide with shock and fear. Shaking her head, she made an incoherent, feeble protest.
“Shh!” Zac cautioned, staring into the woman’s eyes. “Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. Shh! Everything’s fine and dandy. Do you understand?” He didn’t break his intense gaze as he spoke in a low, hypnotizing way.
The woman stood transfixed, nodding her head in a robotic manner.
Zac removed his hand from her neck. “What’s your name?”
“Megan,” she said in trance-like whisper.
In a gentlemanly fashion, Zac lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “Nice to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” the woman named Megan replied.
Jonas grabbed Zac by the shoulder, and quickly let go. Zac’s shoulder was as cold as a block of ice. “You can’t do this, man. Feeding on hotel staff is not an option!” Jonas whisper-shouted.
Zac snarled like a vicious animal and bared fangs that glistened with saliva. Clearly ravenous, Zac’s eyes were wild and dangerous.
Jonas was at his wit’s end with Zac. Zac’s recklessness would bring the police to the door, their guns drawn and eager to open fire on the pair of despicable outlaws. This would be the last day that Jonas spent in the hotel with Zac. Jonas would find his way back to the sugar mill. He’d take refuge there until he made his way to Florida.
“Pull your sleeve up for me, Megan,” Zac murmured as seductively as if he were asking her to remove her panties.
Obediently, Megan rolled up her sleeve. With his fingertips, Zac fondled the veined flesh on the inside of her elbow. He bent his head and almost worshipfully, he gently kissed the crook of her arm. Megan let out a soft moan as Zac sank his teeth in the bend of her arm.
Zac withdrew his fangs. Blood flowed freely from the two wounds, running down Megan’s arm, and pooling into her slightly cupped hand.
A lingering glance at Megan’s bleeding arm caused Jonas’s heart to thump with yearning. Unconsciously, he gnashed his teeth and growled deep in his throat. Like a voyeur, Jonas watched with desperate yearning as Zac began leisurely licking the blood that zigzagged down the length of Megan’s arm. Megan shivered and moaned as if in ecstasy.
Zac raised her crimson-stained hand to his lips and sipped from the middle of her palm. When the blood stopped flowing, Zac placed blood-rouged lips upon the twin piercings, sucking until Megan’s lower lip began to quiver. Her knees buckled as she lost consciousness.
Looking startled, Jonas observed Megan stretched out on the floor with her bottom lip quivering. He mopped nervous perspiration from his forehead. “Is she going to make it?”
Zac lifted Megan effortlessly from the floor and positioned her on the couch. Her limp body slumped to one side. “She’ll be fine. A little rest will rejuvenate her.”
“But the other hotel staff is going to get suspicious if she stays up here too long. What’ll we do if someone comes up here looking for her?”
“We’ll tell him that she left.”
Jonas wasn’t comfortable with the idea. “How long is she going to be unconscious?”
Zac searched the ceiling looking for an answer. “About fifteen minutes or so.” Zac bent down and picked up one of the towels that had fallen to the floor. “She’ll be a little dizzy at first—staggering somewhat.” Zac chuckled and gave a disinterested shrug. He dabbed specks o
f blood from his lips and then ripped off a piece of the fabric and wrapped it around the woman’s injured arm. He carefully pulled her shirtsleeve down over the homemade tourniquet. “Those bites are well hidden. No telltale signs like those others.”
“How many humans have you killed, and how many are you keeping alive to feed on?” Jonas inquired.
“I don’t keep count.”
“Are they all going to turn into vampires . . . you know, eventually?”
“Only if I decide to turn ’em.”
“What’s the process for turning someone into a vampire?”
Zac grimaced. “I don’t turn people into vampires. There’re far too many vampires roaming Frombleton, Georgia, as it is.”
“Approximately, how many vampires are in the area?” Jonas prompted.
“Stop prying into matters that don’t concern you,” Zac snapped.
“I don’t understand why you’re hanging with me instead of banding together with your own kind.”
Zac gestured agitatedly. “They’re a new breed of vampires. They prefer hiding in the shadows, keeping up the misconception that vampires are only a myth. During my time, we vampires ruled this town. And I intend to bring back the old ways.”
“What do you think happened to the older vampires?”
“They’ve either died off or left Frombleton.”
“Do you think some of the older vampires might be buried . . . you know . . . like you were?” Jonas asked, persistently digging for information.
Zac looked at Jonas sneeringly. “Your mind is awfully cluttered with questions about me. Shouldn’t you be in Miami by now?”
Moaning miserably, Megan began showing signs of life. Zac and Jonas looked in her direction. “What happened?” she asked groggily. With a befuddled expression, she rubbed her bandaged arm.
“You were partying with me and my friend, over here . . .” Zac nudged his head toward Jonas.
“Why would I do that?” Megan asked confusedly. She attempted to swing her legs off of the bed, but slumped back, resting her shoulders against the headboard. “Oh, God, what’s wrong with me—I feel lightheaded.”
Zac laughed. “You had a little too much to drink. But don’t worry. What happens in this room stays in this room. We won’t speak a word of this to your boss.” He winked at Megan.
Jonas shook his head. Zac was a scoundrel of the lowest sort.
Megan pulled her sleeve up and scowled at the makeshift bandage. “Why’s my arm bandaged?” Megan looked from Zac’s face to Jonas’s, waiting for a plausible explanation.
“You had an accident,” Zac said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Nothing serious?”
She undid the tourniquet and squinted at the two puncture wounds. “I don’t understand how this happened.”
“Keep it covered; it shouldn’t take long to heal,” Zac advised.
Unable to look Megan in the eye, Jonas guiltily shifted his eyes away.
“B-but, how did I get hurt?”
“With one of those little two-pronged forks. You know—the kind used for spearing olives?”
“That makes no sense!” Determinedly, Megan got to her feet. “I’m calling security.”
“You’re not calling anybody! Now hush up, and stop giving me so much lip!” Zac gripped Megan by her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. Megan’s eyelashes fluttered briefly and then her eyes became wide and unblinking.
“You belong to me now, little missy,” Zac said contemptuously. “Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Megan spoke in a haunted whisper, as if some part of her consciousness objected to Zac’s command, but she was without the strength to defy him.
“What time will you finish up with your hotel duties?”
“Eleven o’clock,” Megan said in the same whispery voice.
“Okay, then. Go on back to your hotel duties, but when you finish, come on back up here, so I can feed without any distractions.”
“I understand. I’ll be back.”
Robotically, Megan turned around.
“Megan!” Zac barked her name, his harsh tone snapping her out of the trance. “It was mighty nice of you to bring those supplies to our room.”
“No problem, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Megan responded in a crisp, professional tone.
“That’ll be all for now.” Zac ushered Megan to the door.
“Megan will be my eleven o’clock cocktail—a tasty replacement for Phoebe Manning,” Zac said, sounding self-satisfied.
“You can hunt anywhere you please. Why risk discovery by feeding on a hotel employee?”
“Because I’m a risk taker. I do as I damn well please. What do you want from me? You asked me to give up your sweetheart’s mother, and I’m trying to honor your wishes, but if you keep pushing me, I don’t know . . .” His voice trailed off. “I may end up drinking a double cocktail—your little darling and her dear mother!”
CHAPTER 28
With the shocking revelation that there were vampires living in Frombleton, Holland found herself jumping at shadows as soon as the sun went down. Concerned about Holland’s mental well-being, her mother kept knocking on her bedroom door, checking to make sure that she was all right.
It was obvious that her mother had only agreed to disinvite Zac in order to appease Holland’s paranoia.
Halfheartedly watching TV while anxiously waiting for Jonas to call, Holland’s mind wandered to the people she considered suspect. Zac was a vampire for sure. And Phoebe’s client, Rebecca Pullman, had exhibited vampire-ish tendencies. Jarrett, too, now that he was hiding bite marks beneath a Band-Aid. On second thought, Jarrett probably wasn’t a full-fledged vampire; he was merely a victim—like her mother.
Holland wondered who had bitten Jarrett: Zac? Rebecca? Or one of the underground swarm?
Holland’s phone buzzed with a text from Naomi, stating that she was on her way over and that she had some big news to share.
When Naomi rang the bell, Holland clicked on the porch light and opened the door for her friend. “What brings you out tonight?” Holland arched a brow. Naomi’s strict parents didn’t allow her to roam around at night, unsupervised. With the news of the vampire situation in Frombleton, Holland looked over Naomi’s shoulder, actually hoping to see the family car with one of Naomi’s parents waiting behind the wheel.
“Your parents let you walk over here, alone?”
“They don’t know I’m here. Holland, I have big, big news, but you have to swear that you won’t mention this to a soul,” Naomi whispered as she followed Holland to her bedroom.
Holland closed her bedroom door . . . and locked it, in case her mother felt the need to peek in on her again. “You can trust me, Naomi. Besides, who am I going to tell? You’re my only friend?”
I’ve been bursting to tell you,” Naomi said excitedly as she bounced down on Holland’s bed. “I’m in love! Head over heels . . . crazy in love!”
“You can’t be serious? How could you keep something like that from me?”
“You were an emotional wreck after your date from hell with Jarrett. The timing didn’t seem right.”
“Well, I’m completely over him now,” Holland pointed out. “So who is this guy, and how’d you meet him?”
Naomi took a deep breath, and began gesturing animatedly. “His name is Ryan Sullivan. We met at my dad’s company picnic. Ryan was there with his parents. His mother is on the board of directors at my dad’s job. You’re not gonna believe this part . . .”
Holland peered at Naomi, waiting for her to continue.
“Our parents have become good friends, and my mom and dad totally approve of Ryan. They gave me permission to go out with him tonight.”
Holland was stunned. “Your dad is breaking his ‘you can’t date until you’re eighteen’ rule?”
“Yes! Ryan and I are going to the movies while our parents attend a high society fundraiser.” Naomi giggled. “My dad had to rent a tux; he said he hasn’t worn one since
before I was born.”
“So, your parents are rubbing elbows with socialites, huh?” Holland teased.
“Yeah, and they’re pretty excited. The Sullivans have this old-fashioned Southern charm, and my folks like them a lot. I’m glad my parents have new, interesting friends that can distract them from hovering over me,” Naomi said, laughing.
“I don’t remember a kid named Ryan Sullivan; does he go to Frombleton High?”
“Not yet; he’ll be enrolling when school starts. He’s a senior,” Naomi said proudly. “The Sullivans are new in town. They live in one of those big houses on the other side of the highway—in fact, he lives in Jarrett’s neighborhood.”
So Ryan and his parents were members of the upper crust. Holland wondered what they had in common with Naomi’s working-class parents.
Stealthily, Naomi took out a large Ziploc bag that was filled with makeup items. “I figured I’d sneak over here and get beautified for my new man,” Naomi said with a wink. She pulled the elastic band from around her ponytail and shook out her curly, light brown hair.
“I told Ryan to pick me up here at your place. I have a half-hour to get my face on.” Naomi began smoothing foundation all over her face and neck. Next, she swiped her cheek areas with a bronzer, applied a trio of earth tone eye shadow, mascara, dark eyeliner, and glossy red lips. With her makeup trickery and techniques, Naomi quickly morphed from drab to diva in a matter of minutes!
“You look amazing,” Holland said. It was on the tip of her tongue to warn Naomi about the swarm of vampires, but Naomi was a science geek girl; she didn’t believe in mythical creatures. She relied on facts.
Do vampires attack couples? Holland wondered. Probably not. They conduct their bloodsucking activities in secrecy. After a dreadful struggle with herself, Holland decided that she’d wait until tomorrow to emphatically warn Naomi about the vampires. It was not likely that Naomi would get attacked in a movie theater filled with people.
Ryan arrived and made his presence known by repeatedly honking his horn.
Phoebe called out from the kitchen, “Someone’s blowing a car horn outside. Are you expecting someone, Holland?”
Midnight Cravings Page 17