“You need to cut back on your caffeine.”
“You got a better idea?”
Mike glanced around at the ruin of Droege Shipping, then down at the body bag and sighed. “No.”
Over the last few years, he’d become a very good liar.
* * *
One moment she was dead to the world, the next Vicki was awake. She drew in a deep breath redolent with sex and blood and remembered.
The freedom of not holding back.
Of strength and speed and letting the Hunter run . . .
The sound of blood surging below the surface. The taste of salt licked from firm flesh. The feel of terror turning to desire.
She remembered seeing the security guard come through the door . . .
* * *
He hadn’t seen her yet; she wore the darkness like a cloak and she moved too fast for him to find, easily eluding the searching flashlight beam. Stepping out into the room, he tripped over a piece of the wreckage and swore, his voice a low rumble that rubbed against her like crushed velvet. As he reached for his radio, Vicki slid between him and escape, lightly running her fingers over the muscles of his broad back.
She ducked, his swinging fist passing over her head, and when they were face to face, she smiled, caught his gaze with hers, and had the darkness hold it.
His heartbeat quickened. His pulse throbbed at wrist and throat and temple and at the meeting of his thighs. She didn’t want terror, although terror had a flavor uniquely its own and it would take little effort to push his response toward it. She wanted the less primal, more personal response to her presence. She wanted to finish what she’d started in the club.
His name would make it faster to evoke a specific response but she didn’t want to know.
She wanted the heat and anonymity she’d left behind.
He was taller than the first young man. Built. With beautiful dark skin and eyes. And the seams of his cheap uniform parted so easily.
She pressed her face against the warm planes of his chest and breathed deeply. Taunting herself with his scent. Keeping the Hunger reigned in until she got everything else she wanted. When she looked up, he wrapped a hand around her cheek, his skin warm against hers. She caught his gaze again, her eyes silvered, and she let her desire draw up his.
“Say yes.”
He swallowed. She touched his throat, following the movement, then licked the sweat from the tips of her fingers. He exhaled, shakily, his breath smelling of mint and coffee.
“Say yes.”
“Yes.”
She slipped a hand behind his head as she took him to the floor, careful of her strength, careful not to damage him. His belt buckle jammed so she ripped the leather apart and threw it hard enough to sink it into the drywall.
When he bucked up under her, his rhythm gone, his fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips, she let the Hunger go. Curved her body over him, hands gripping his arms, and sank her teeth into his throat. Hot blood gushed into her mouth as he slammed up into her one final time. She drank without caring, drank her fill, drank until . . .
“What the hell is going on here?”
It was the Hunter who twisted in place to face him, lips drawn back off bloody teeth.
The second guard gasped, staggered, and fell, right hand clutching his left arm.
* * *
Vicki felt her hands curl into fists. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
Rage sizzled under her skin. Rage at the singer who’d used her. Rage at herself for being used. The wooden end of the packing crate splintered against the cinder block wall as she shoved it aside. Vicki had never been the icy cold anger type. Her anger burned and she only barely managed to keep it under control as she slid through the false wall and into Mike’s crawlspace.
Sunset came late enough this time of the year that he was home. Above her. In the kitchen.
She used his heartbeat—slow and steady, more familiar to her than her own—to find calm. Enough calm, at least, to allow her to get a handle on her emotions. By the time she’d showered in the basement bathroom and shrugged into the robe hanging on the back of the door, she’d managed to use the same techniques that hid the Hunter to bury the events of the night before. Bury them deeply enough that even Detective Sergeant Mike Celluci wouldn’t be able to find them.
Mike worked violent crimes; if this wasn’t his case, he’d have heard about it.
He’d know where the evidence pointed and at what.
Not who.
And Vicki intended to keep it that way.
He could know what vampires were capable of, he just couldn’t believe it of her.
Her clothing was in the master bedroom closet with his—because that’s what normal couples did and they fought to keep the line as close to normal as possible—but she could avoid the kitchen on her way through and delay facing him until she was dressed and ready.
To lie.
Hide the rage at being used. Hide the other emotions roiling about below that.
Show time.
“Any chance there’s another vampire in town?”
Vicki stopped and stared across the kitchen at Mike who watched her over the edge of his laptop, his expression completely police neutral. The question was a little more direct than she’d been expecting but infinitely preferable to what were you doing between midnight and four a.m. “Say what?”
“The offices of Droege Shipping were destroyed last night . . .”
“Destroyed as in blown up?”
He turned the computer around.
Vicki moved closer, frowned down at the pictures, and remembered strength and speed unchecked. “Messy. Explosives aren’t out of the question. Anyone hurt?” The logical question to ask. Cop question.
“One security guard dead. One”—Mike reached around and changed the screen—“used.”
She remembered the heat of his flesh under her mouth. Remembered the cry he’d given, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. She hadn’t been careful. If not for the coagulant in her saliva, he’d have bled out when she pulled away.
“Vicki?”
She forced her lips down off her teeth and made sure she had her anger under control before she looked up. “I can see why you asked.”
“And?”
“I’ll look into it.”
He had a small scar on his inner thigh where she’d gotten a bit enthusiastic and a puckered ridge across one shoulder where she’d shot him, accidentally, in another life. He met her gaze, not fearlessly because Mike Celluci was no fool, but in the full and certain knowledge that he was in no personal danger. “A man died, Vicki, I’ll be looking into it too. You share what you find.”
Oh, she knew what she was going to find and she knew where to find it.
Mike sighed as the edge of the table cracked under her grip. He lifted his arm, then let it fall back, clearly reconsidering reaching out for her. “Vicki?”
“When I know something . . .” He wouldn’t believe a smile so she didn’t try one. “. . . you’ll know something.”
* * *
Mike sat at the kitchen table listening to Vicki’s car pull out of the driveway, his hands curled into fists. She’d always been a terrible liar. She was better now than she used to be, but then her condition gave her plenty of opportunity to practice.
Sometimes she forgot that while he couldn’t hear blood moving under the delicate skin of her wrist, he wasn’t deaf. He’d heard the crash when she opened the packing case. Heard the way she moved as she showered and dressed. She’d been furious from the moment the sunset had wakened her. Furious and trying to hide it from him.
Why?
She’d have told him if she’d known there was another vampire hunting in her territory.
What else could have gotten her so angry?
Vicki could have . . . was capable of . . .
He forced his hands flat on the kitchen table.
. . . was physically capable of doing the damage, all the damage, Droege Shipping
and its employees had suffered last night.
* * *
Millennium Ten opened at nine. At eight-forty, Vicki ripped the lock off the back door, snarled, “Forget you saw me,” at the young man stacking cases of empties at the bottom of the stairs in the back hall, and made her way down the corridor to Lorelei’s dressing room. She could hear a familiar heartbeat, smell the sea, and had reached nearly full speed when she charged through the open door.
Only to be stopped by a single note that hung in the air like an invisible wall.
“Why so angry, Nightwalker? Didn’t you enjoy yourself?” Lorelei sat in the chair combing her hair. Same position she’d been sitting in the night before. Same comb. Same languid movements. The cuffs of her jeans were wet, the denim dark against the pale skin of her feet.
Vicki threw herself against the barrier. The seawater smell was stronger up against it. “A man died!”
“And you’re surprised?” Her brows rose. “Oh, don’t tell me; you’re one of those good vampires. Tortured. Tormented. Misunderstood. Sparkly. You’d have given that young man in the club last night a choice.”
“He’d made his choice,” Vicki growled, her eyes silvering.
“Did he know what he was choosing?” She laughed, unaffected by the Hunger as Vicki struggled to get closer. “You killed because that’s what you are. All I sent you to do was destroy the office.”
“Of Droege Shipping.”
“Yes.”
“What’s your connection to a shipping company?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
She paused the constant motion of the comb. “I suppose you do. Well, all right then. A long, long time ago . . .”
“How long?” Vicki demanded. She knew she should just let the woman talk but anger made it hard to keep silent.
Lorelei met Vicki’s gaze and Vicki found herself sinking into blue-green depths. Deeper. Deeper. This sea was confined but no less deadly for all of that. Anyone else would have drowned, but Vicki had the Hunger to pull her back to the surface.
“That long?”
“That long.” Lorelei’s grip tightened on the comb, her knuckles white. “Year after year after interminable year.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I had a lover once. He betrayed me. Heartbroken, I gave myself to the river and the river changed me, tied me to it with the curse of lost love. Still grieving, I sang.”
Vicki rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, singing. Very proactive. You should’ve kicked his ass.”
Lorelei blinked, frowned, and said, “Times change.”
“Assholes are eternal.”
She blinked again, then nodded. “True. The sailors who heard my song tried to get to me but the river protected me and took their ships. Took their lives.”
“I know this story . . .”
“I can stop if you’re bored.”
The barrier between them continued to hold against her assault. “Go on.”
“If you’re sure.” When Vicki growled, Lorelei nodded and continued. “One day, a handsome young man named Fredrick Droege braved the river for my song, for me. He told me he loved me. Why wouldn’t I believe him? He’d risked drowning, risked death to hold me. He owned a shipping company and he convinced me to sing only for him.”
“To sink the ships of his competition.”
“So you have heard this story.”
“Not that unusual,” Vicki snorted. She’d have been a lot more sympathetic had she not been used the night before, had Chris Adams not died. “Let me guess. Fredrick Droege lied about loving you.”
“He did. And when I tried to leave him, the curse of love betrayed, that had bound me to the river, bound me as firmly to him. When he died, I became just another asset of the company, controlled by his son and then his grandson and now his great-grandson, Albert Droege. I have given them power and power has corrupted them.”
“Yadda yadda. Same old. But if there’s no company there’s nothing for the curse to tie you to. That’s why you had me destroy the offices.”
“But it wasn’t enough.” A graceful gesture indicated both the dressing room and the club beyond. “They give me this, an audience for the songs I choose to sing to keep me happy.”
“Bird in a gilded cage.”
“It’s concrete.”
“It’s a metaphor.”
“Fair enough. The point is, I’m still not free. I need you to deal with the people who run the company. Begin with Albert Droege, work your way through the board of directors, and finish in the mail room if that’s what it takes.”
“Deal with?” Vicki snorted and folded her arms. “Nice euphemism. I don’t care how corrupt they are, you can’t make me kill for you.”
“Actually, I can.” She drew the comb through her hair, her smile cruel. “Who was he, Nightwalker? Who did you betray?”
* * *
Vicki watched in amazement as Henry exploded out into the light, face and hair a pale blur above the moving shadow of his body. The gunman on the nearest rack got a shot off just as she knocked him into the air. Henry’s howl of pain drowned out the ripe melon sound of the gunman’s head making contact with the concrete floor nine meters down.
The smell of Henry’s blood rose to obliterate the singed sulfur smell of the gunpowder, the hot metal smell of the spent casings, and the warm meaty smell of the men below. Henry’s blood. The blood that had made her.
The Hunger ripped aside all controls.
When they were all dead, when the screaming and the running was over, when she stood with Henry in the midst of broken bodies, she drew in a deep breath of the rich, meaty, blood-scented air and laid her palm flat against his chest. Leaning forward, she licked a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Henry caught her tongue between his teeth, carefully so as not to break the skin.
She moaned against his mouth, pushed a body aside with the edge of her foot, and dragged him to the ground. They managed to get most of their clothing out of the way without destroying it and then it was flesh against flesh and a strength that could answer hers. No need to hold back. No need to be careful.
So Vicki let the Hunger have its head again.
She dragged his mouth back down to hers as she slammed up to meet his thrusts. Tasted the mix of lives on his lips as he could taste them on hers. Challenged his darkness. Matched it.
Streaked with blood, his skin was slick under her hands.
Her back arced up. His teeth found her breast as hers found his shoulder.
The world went red.
* * *
When she got back to the condo, Vicki stood just inside the master bedroom and watched Mike sleep. Watched the rise and fall of his chest. Traced the curve of the arm he’d flung over his head. Listened to his heart beat.
He shifted and a curl of hair fell down onto his face.
She stepped forward, hand outstretched to brush it back but stopped as the movement pulled the saturated cuff of her sweater across her wrist, drawing a dark smear over bruises rising in the shape of Henry’s fingers . . .
* * *
The only other property Droege Shipping owned in Toronto was a trendy dance club called Millennium Ten. Technically, Mike was off the clock but if this case involved—God help them all—a second vampire, he wanted it solved as quickly as possible. Nine-twenty found him pulling up outside the club, using his lights to grab one of the rare Queen Street parking spots. He was still standing by the driver’s door, ignoring the traffic passing two inches from his ass when he noticed Vicki’s car half a block east.
No real surprise that she’d found the same information and headed here as well.
In an effort to delay exposure to the music he could hear being pumped out the front door, Mike headed down the alley leading to the back of the club. The people he wanted to talk to wouldn’t be out on the dance floor.
Rounding the ubiquitous dumpster, he paused as the rear door opened and Vicki stepped into th
e alley, lips pulled back off her teeth, her eyes gleaming silver. The terror was instinctive, his hindbrain momentarily taking over. A little harder to place blame for the surge of arousal but given the twisted strands of their relationship, it certainly didn’t surprise him.
He fought to control both reactions, knowing that with the Hunger released Vicki would sense them. If he wanted to maintain any kind of equality in the conversation they were about to have, he couldn’t . . .
Between one heartbeat and the next, Vicki was on the roof. And then she was gone, the not-quite-visible flicker of a vampire moving at full speed heading south toward the lake.
Forcing himself to unclench his jaw—they were definitely going to have a talk before the sun came up—he took a step toward the club and paused. Why would she be heading south? Relatively speaking, there wasn’t a lot of city between Queen Street and the lake.
Vicki had emerged from the club fully vamped out.
Something or someone in a club owned by Droege Shipping, the same Droege Shipping that had been destroyed by a supernatural creature the night before, had set Vicki on the Hunt.
To the south.
Albert Droege, the man with controlling interest in Droege Shipping, was currently staying in a company-owned penthouse at Queens Quay. Mike had spoken with him briefly that afternoon and had been ripped a new one for not having already found the vandals who’d destroyed the office. Were he a betting man, Mike would have bet big bucks that the elderly CEO’s temper tantrum hid something significant.
His gut told him that Vicki had gone south to find out exactly what that was and, given the mood she was in, she wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about following even the spirit of the law.
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
He hit the siren and forced his car out into bumper-to-bumper traffic. South on Niagara to Bathurst. South on Bathurst slowed by the fucking streetcar and an SUV driven by a fucker who wouldn’t yield. Left turn onto Queens Quay West. East to Droege’s condominium. He wouldn’t beat her there, but God willing he wouldn’t be far behind.
The concierge met him at the door, mouth open to complain about his car, not so much parked as abandoned up on the wide sidewalk. Mike flashed his badge as he pushed by, heading for the elevators. Security had just been improved, replacing decades-old locks with electronic keypads. “Can you unlock the condos from here?”
The Wild Side: Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge Page 2