Her Vampire Obsession

by Richardson, Lesli

  We’ve just landed at my estate when my phone rings. Garrett Green.

  I answer. “Please give me more good news.”

  “Nothing solid yet, beyond Kylie’s lead, but I’ve got people heading there now. Boots on the ground. I’m going to put you in touch with my cousin, Noah. He’s agreed to help you and work closely with you. He’s not normally a vampire fan, but he said since I vouch for you, he’ll help. Keep in touch with me and let me know when you arrive, and you all can coordinate.”

  I nearly weep with gratitude. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all you and your pack have done for me.”

  “Yeah, well, like I said, she’s pack. And our fucking deal won’t happen until we find her.” He snorts. “I mean, that’s not my main consideration, but I’d be lying if I said it isn’t one.”

  I chuckle. “I apologize for the delay. As soon as my girl is safely in my arms again, we will push that deal through as quickly as possible.”

  “Yeah, well, item number one better be one hell of a spanking. For her,” he clarifies.

  “Oh, believe me, that tops my list.”

  Boy, does it.

  Less than an hour later, my jet is in the air with me on board. I hate last-minute travel. I much prefer to fly at night, but now in the space of two months, I’ve made two last-minute air flights.

  Because of her.

  Yes, she’s damned well worth it. She’s my heart and soul, of this I’m convinced.

  And yes, there is one hell of a spanking in her future.

  29

  Eilidh

  They say your blood thins when you move somewhere warm.

  #irony

  Three-plus years in Tucson made me learn to hate humidity and damp, cold weather.

  In other news, I hate Alaska.

  Fuck my life.

  I’ve been here nearly six weeks, and it’s seven weeks since I fled Tucson.

  I dream about Dexter every night and miss him like fucking crazy.

  In my sleep, my mind takes me back to Club Toxic’s dungeon, where Dexter and I engage in pretty much every kind of kinky fun two people can have together. Last night he wore jeans and a black Henley, and those boots, and he tied me up, flogged me, and fucked my brains out before biting me.

  I awoke alone in my room with my fingers jammed in my cooter, while the echoes of an orgasm faded.

  It’s almost enough to make me want to try to contact him, except I know what will happen. He’ll show up, do his fangy white knight act, wanting to fix my fucking life. Then what am I supposed to do?

  I’m in fucking Alaska. There’s not much farther I can run unless I try to Dukes of Hazzard jump my fricking 4Runner to Russia from the goddamned backyard.

  I am not looking forward to an Alaskan winter. Maybe I’ll make my way to Florida before the days shorten too much.

  Arizona is right out.

  I can’t go back there, even though the thought of never seeing Dexter again makes me want to climb down the switchback path winding along the bluff’s face, plunge my head into the frigid waters of Kachemak Bay just off the beach, and stay there until death takes me.

  What’s the point of life? I mean, seriously? What’s the point of staying alive if I’m going to feel this freaking miserable?

  The only good thing about Alaska right now is that nights are only about four hours long.

  Yeah, that’s right, baby. Land of the Midnight fricking Sun. Which is why, along with the low population densities, vampires as a general rule tend to avoid Alaska.

  Unfortunately, those short nights don’t last forever. Eventually, it changes to months when the days are barely that long.

  Dexter might think he can protect me, but the truth is, he can’t. I think that was made perfectly clear in Tucson. Finally having proof—the FLIR was pretty conclusive—that the dog-thing is real shook my faith in anyone being able to help me.

  The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself, because I’ll not only have the vampires after me, but shifters, as well. I’m…different in a way that doesn’t fit in. If I’m a liability. I’m dead. That’s how it works, and I know that all too well.

  I mean, this thing tracked me to outside Lucius Frangelico’s nightclub. If Lucius doesn’t want humans getting harmed or killed on the premises so it doesn’t draw attention, he damn sure doesn’t want huge phantom dog-thingies sniffing around his staff parking lot for the same reason.

  The vampires and shifters can’t risk humans finding out about them. They also can’t risk attracting government attention. The shifters have already shut down several Data-X labs, but it’s possible there might be more, or other secret programs out there, trying to snatch shifters and vampires and breed super-beings for war. Selene’s hybrid status makes her a particularly high-value target, should the wrong people learn about her existence.

  No, best I completely disappear before I make the bad kind of name for myself with any of them.

  I’m lucky my very first vampire boss, Neimus, the one in Toronto, likes me and gave me this job lead. Chaldis Bianchi is a very old vampire—nearly as old as Lucius and Dexter—who was in need of some help for a little while. His long-time human helper had family business to take care of in the Lower 48.

  There’s not a lot I have to do. Chaldis doesn’t feed on live humans very often, which is a damned good thing, because there aren’t a lot of humans per capita in this part of Alaska from which to choose.

  He also orders a lot of bagged blood. For hunting, he mostly feeds on cattle and wildlife. He runs a cattle ranch, so he’s never lacking in choices. If he happens upon fishermen or hunters or tourists who are out and about at night, he sometimes chats them up and grabs a nip from them. There’s a higher-than-usual number of tourists around here because they film some homesteader “unscripted documentary” TV show nearby.

  The people who work at the ranch think Chaldis is an elderly recluse in poor health. Normally, everything is handled through Corbin, his human helper. But Corbin’s older brother is battling cancer, and it’s looking grim. The timing worked out perfectly that Chaldis had just contacted Neimus the day before, looking for possible references.

  This is where I come in. I’m Chaldis’ “niece.” Or so everyone has been told. I don’t have to deal with the day-to-day ranch operations. I’m simply a go-between and errand-runner.

  Meaning I keep an eye on the time and, on the nights Chaldis wants to hunt, I prepare a special four-wheel-drive RV kept parked in the enclosed garage, so it’s ready to go at safe twilight. I drive him out to his favorite hunting area and then literally wait with the motor running to drive him home again. There’s a portable, light-proof crypt inside the RV, just in case we get stuck or don’t make it home before dawn. I also run to the store for him when he needs anything, and I help with chores around the house.

  It is a rather nice house, large, even though on the outside it doesn’t look like much, doesn’t draw any attention to itself. Inside, it has every modern amenity. All the bedrooms are made securely light-proof with roll-down shades inside, and louvered shutters on the outside to keep sunlight from directly entering. The rest of the house has louvered shutters on the outside, and roll-down shades on the inside that are triggered by light sensors. The front and back door entry rooms are set up not to allow light into the main house, so there’s no danger to Chaldis. In addition to all this, he has heavy-duty storm shutters that can be rolled down, and can withstand hurricane-force winds.

  He’s 1,727 years old. While the morning hits him hard and drops him into the daily stupor, he rarely sleeps more than four hours. Sometimes, not even that long. Apparently, the wild fluctuations in Alaska’s days and nights have altered his vampiric circadian rhythm over the years.

  Once he wakes up, he’ll talk with me while he helps me take care of chores around the house.

  I was a little creeped out by that, at first, worried he might try to feed on me. But then I realized it’s just that he’s…

 
Well, he’s lonely. Fortunately, he’s not creeped out by his inability to thrall me, so I guess we’re even there.

  He had a vampire mate, but she was killed in World War II while they were trying to escape from Europe. After losing his mate, Chaldis made his way east across Russia to Alaska, where he lived feral in the wilderness for several years before pulling himself out of his depression and building a life here. Like Dexter, he’s very ethical in that he doesn’t wish to harm innocent humans, and he hasn’t killed any humans in over a decade.

  It won’t be much longer before he’ll have to move on. The locals think he’s in his seventies, and through his thrall he hasn’t let anyone recognize him in over thirty years. He looks like he’s in his late thirties or maybe in his forties, barely. Handsome guy, with dark brown eyes and brown hair, six-two and slender in build. Bet he looks good in a suit, even though I’ve never seen him in one.

  Nothing like my not-Ianto, though.

  Chaldis is giving serious thought to moving to Tucson, and that’s one of our frequent topics of conversation, even though it makes me miss Dexter like freaking crazy.

  I told Chaldis I’d contact Lucius for him, if he wants, and make the introduction. Hell, I’d even vouch for him.

  Look at me, vouching for another vampire.

  I’m sure Garrett would be shaking his head at me right now.

  Meanwhile, Corbin’s brother will likely pass away soon, but Chaldis has offered to let me stay on, if I want, even after Corbin returns.

  As much as I’d hate the winters…I’m thinking about it. I’m secure here. The pay’s decent, especially since he provides room and board. The guy’s loaded, and he’s not at all a criminal. He’s slipped his fingers into a lot of very legal and lucrative pies over the years, since he’s been in Alaska for so long.

  The problem is, when you get into winter in Alaska, besides the fact that it’s fricking cold as hell, you get days that are barely six hours long.

  To a vampire who isn’t susceptible to cold?

  That’s fucking awesome. It’s a goddamned Garden of Eden.

  To a human like me? Who has legit reasons to not want to face nights that long?

  Not so much.

  Especially when I’m alone.

  Yes, I tearfully confessed to Chaldis what drove me from Tucson. I wanted him to know about the stupid whatever the dog-thing is, the gwiggle, or weewee, or whatever the fuck Lucius and Dex called it. I showed him the pictures I took of the security camera video screen. Since we don’t get cellphone reception at the house, unless I tap into our Wi-Fi and activate that setting on my phone, I was able to turn on my old phone and download the pictures to my computer without worrying about it pinging and giving away my location.

  I’m pretty sure Dex was right about one thing—I’m now convinced the ring is some sort of key. When I look back, several times when I’ve put it on my finger, within a couple of days—usually sooner—is when I’ve had a problem and needed to move.

  Dex puts it on his finger, and the creature shows up only a few hours later?

  And the night Mom died, it was on her finger.

  Well, that’s pretty damned conclusive. So, if I can keep ahead of the damned thing and just never, ever wear the ring again, or let anyone else wear it…

  Maybe that’ll keep me safe, and keep those around me safe.

  One day, maybe, I’ll work up the courage to destroy the ring.

  Right now, I’m sitting on the deck outside the house and staring at the damn ring, where it’s threaded through its chain.

  Maybe I should toss it into Kachemak Bay. The currents would carry it away, never to be seen again.

  But something deep inside me rebels at that. Despite the trouble it’s possibly brought to my life…it’s literally the only thing I have of my father.

  I don’t even know his real name.

  No pictures of him.

  Again, I think what if Dex is right? If maybe the things that have hunted me all my life are being sent by him through the ring? What if Amber’s right that he’s alive, but she’s wrong that he misses and loves me?

  Maybe Mom wanted to spare me the truth. Maybe I wasn’t wanted.

  Maybe my presence is a threat to some family fortune or something.

  But would Mom have cried over him as much as she did? I know all the nights I awakened to find her sobbing and trying not to wake me up gouged deep ravines into my soul. I think that’s why I reacted to Dexter’s story so hard. I can believe he still mourns.

  Dad was the love of Mom’s life. She never so much as had coffee with anyone else, unless it was a group of friends. But as far as I know, she never put on the ring, until that night she was killed.

  And every time we had to move when I was a kid…

  I groan. It was after I had usually stuck a finger in the ring, where it hung from the chain, while she was in the shower, or asleep, and I was fascinated by it and played with it because I missed Dad so much.

  Dammit.

  From sitting on the bluff where the property is located, I stare out at the bay. Today it’s breezy and choppy, and the waters look dark, nearly black.

  Unlike my stupid hair, which turned golden blonde my third day on the run and hasn’t changed since.

  Amber’s words come to mind—that my father’s not dead. That Mom thought he was dead since he didn’t return, but she didn’t actually see him…die.

  What if it really is a kind of homing beacon? It’d make sense Dad would give it to Mom if that was the case, right?

  But then what are the phantoms?

  I hold the ring in my fist and close my eyes. There are murky memories in my brain, no doubt stirred up by Amber’s words. I remember Mom’s beaming smile whenever Dad returned from being away, how I’d run to him and he’d sweep me into his arms.

  Mazbushka. My little Mazbushka.

  How worried Mom would act whenever he’d have to leave for days or even for weeks at a time for “work.”

  Maybe he was a criminal?

  Most of my life’s been spent in fear, on the run. It’s difficult to remember there were large swaths of my childhood where it was the three of us happily spending evenings together, or mornings, depending on Mom’s schedule. Or the four of us, if Dad’s friend, Zuzu, was there.

  Or me and Dad, when he’d take care of me while Mom was at work. How we sometimes spent time on hikes with Zuzu. And, sometimes, Zuzu stayed with me and Mom when Dad was away. Or Dad would take me to Zuzu’s.

  How Dad hated that Mom had to go to work at all, but there were reasons we couldn’t go stay with him when he had to leave for work.

  Their shared looks that, even at that age, I viscerally understood meant a secret I was too young to know. The way one of them would always distract me whenever I asked, to the point I forgot I even asked.

  Not like there aren’t crazier things in the world. Vampires. Shifters. Fae.

  Maybe this ring is an artifact of some kind.

  The colors of the labradorite stone flash in the sun. I stare at the markings on the side and wish I knew what they meant. No matter how much I’ve searched, I cannot find anything else like it. No known runes, or cuneiform, or any kind of markings match them.

  I had some hope when Dexter thought it looked familiar, but even Lucius scratched his head over it.

  If two two-thousand-plus-year-old vampires who each speak a bunch of languages can’t recognize it, then…

  Yeah.

  Down in town, a small plane circles on final approach to Homer Airport. It’s not one of the normally scheduled planes, meaning it’s probably some rich person who chartered a plane for a special trip out here. The place is laid-back and beautiful. Not a bad place to end up, I suppose. The end of the world, in a way.

  I wish Dexter was here to enjoy this with me.

  Yeah, and whose fault is that, girlie?

  Mine. It’s mine, because I got my hopes up, and look what happened? Worse, it’s not just my heart I broke, but probably Dext
er’s, too.

  I hate myself for that.

  When I hear Chaldis call for me, I stand and make my way back inside the house, where I find him puzzling over a cookbook he just received yesterday. “What’s up, boss?” He’s barefoot and wearing soft, faded jeans and a black Henley that already has flour on it because he forgets to wear the Kiss the Cook apron Corbin got for him.

  Chaldis smiles. “Still won’t call me Chaldis, hmm?” He has a slight, sexy Italian accent.

  “No offense, but it’s a me thing, not a you thing, boss.” I sit on the other side of the kitchen island and nod toward the cookbook.

  He turns it around and points to the section giving him trouble. “What does that mean?”

  Cooking is his new hobby, I guess. Corbin warned me about it, that I’d better figure out how to slip in daily workouts, or Chaldis’ cooking would fatten me up in no time. He frequently makes more than enough food to feed the ranch hands, and I take it down to them, or package it in containers for them to take home to their families. The vampire’s toying with the idea of opening a restaurant one day, because it’s something he’s never done before. A new challenge.

  It’s fricking adorable, and who’d a thunk I’d ever say that about a vampire?

  Other than Dexter, that is.

  “You have to separate the egg yolks from the whites,” I tell him. “I’ve never done that.” I reach for the tablet that lives on the kitchen bar and call up YouTube. I find a cooking tutorial, and we watch it several times before he attempts it and gets it perfect on the first try, grinning like a kid at his success.

  He’s annoying like that. I think it’s a vampire thing.

  “Was that a plane I heard earlier?” he asks with his eyebrows arched in a way I’ve already come to know means hopeful eagerness. He’s adorable. He really is. If my heart wasn’t totally shattered—#selfinflicted—I’d be tempted to ask if he was interested.

  Seriously tempted.

  But, no, he’s my boss, and quickly becoming a friend.