“I’ll let her know you’ve arrived. Please follow me.”
“So vampires have integrated unnoticed with humans?” Kristin asked.
“Have for centuries. We blend in.”
“Whoa.” She shook her head. “Okay, getting back to the undead thing, how’s that even possible?” she whispered as they followed the receptionist down the hall.
“Whatever age we are when we are changed, the biological aging process is arrested. We cease to die.” Dmitri’s eyes glittered with amusement. “And we have excellent hearing, so you don’t need to whisper.”
A raven-haired woman with dark expressive eyes and a complexion the color of caffe latte approached them with a smile that made her exotic looks even more pronounced, as if she held the key to some Middle Eastern secret of the ages. “My lord, how kind of you to favor us with a visit.” She dipped in a curtsy.
Dmitri nodded, taking her hand and kissing the back of it lightly. “Dr. Zarah Al Kashir, I’d like to introduce you to Kristin Reed, a reporter for the Pacific News Tribune.”
Zarah turned her gaze on Kristin and she suddenly felt awash in a sea of cloves and patchouli, with the distinct feeling of warm sand between her toes.
“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”
Zarah nodded. “Trejan Dionotte has asked me to give you a tour. And, please, call me Zarah.”
“What is this place?”
“A vampire holistic medical center.”
“You mean like a fat camp or cleanup clinic?”
“Of sorts. Here, mortals who wish to be converted into vampires may do so in a clean and sterile process, or vampires needing specialized medical attention may find it.”
They rounded the corner and came to a bank of frosted-glass walls. The doctor placed her fingertips to the glass and it became clear, with a view to the treatment room on the other side.
A woman in a hospital gown lay on a comfortable bed, a large quart of blackish-red liquid being fed into her, drip by drip, through an IV. Attending her was a person in scrubs with a metal nametag.
Kristin stared. “Wait, you mean you have humans who come here to become vampires?”
Zarah smiled warmly. “Of course.” She touched the glass and once more it turned translucent. She turned and kept walking.
“Why?” Kristin pressed.
“Some do so voluntarily because they want to change their lifestyle. Others do so for medical reasons.”
“Like …”
“Terminal illness, unsolvable medical injuries,” Dmitri said.
They stopped in front of another plate of glass; this time a male patient was on the other side. He looked terribly frail, like a skeleton draped in papery skin.
“How does it work?” Kristin asked.
“Vampire ichor diluted with human blood heals their bodies to a whole and complete state more rapidly than anything current medical science can offer,” Zarah explained. “Taken straight, and in significant quantities, the ichor can produce vampirism under the right conditions.”
Kristin was catching on. “They’re stopping the aging, or in this case, the dying process.”
“Exactly.” Dmitri eyed her with pride.
“What about their bodies? I mean, if they are wasted away to nothing when they change, is that the kind of body they’re stuck with?”
Zarah touched the glass, cutting off Kristin’s view to the man inside the room.
“No. The regeneration process allows them to build it to their desired state before the conversion is complete. Only after total conversion is the process arrested. This way, please.”
They went through a set of double doors and entered a high-ceilinged room. It was airy, like a beautiful patio garden at twilight on a summer’s evening. Even the ceiling looked like a star-filled night sky on one side and a setting sun on the other—like the changing overhead display at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. But this looked even more realistic.
Various patients mingled about. Some lifting weights, others getting a massage or talking over drinks or while getting manicures or pedicures. Kristin thought she even saw a few noted Seattle socialites, but couldn’t get close enough to be sure.
“I can see the appeal. Stay young and have a firm, tight body forever. Look great. Have killer skills. No diet. No exercise.”
Dmitri cleared his throat. “Well, there is a diet to consider. A rather strict one at that.”
Kristin glanced at him. “Oh, yeah. I suppose so. When was the last time you had real food?”
“Last week. And it wasn’t anything I’d go back for.”
“Vampires can eat food?”
“If we want to. We just don’t need to.”
Kristin realized she was dead tired. A glance at her phone confirmed it was 3:00 a.m. “I know you probably pull all-nighters every night, but I’ve really got to get some sleep. Doctor, if I have more questions may I contact you?”
“Of course.” Kristin noticed a glance pass between Zarah and Dmitri, almost as if they had an exchange without saying a word out loud.
That was the last thing she remembered.
Back in his rooms, Dmitri settled her on the couch, materializing first the Mariners T-shirt she favored, then a soft burgundy-colored chenille blanket to cover her. She mumbled something in her sleep as he mentally tucked the blanket around her. He leaned closer, watching her full mouth, his gaze skimming to the slow, steady bump of her pulse against her smooth skin at the base of her throat.
The next moment he was staring at the fine swirls in the burled-wood grain of Roman’s desk.
“She isn’t going to be a problem for you, is she?” Roman peered at him from the other side of the desk, his fingers steepled, his eyes sharp.
Dmitri straightened, standing up and looking at the laird of their clan who had transported him. A second later, Achilles materialized beside Dmitri in Roman’s office.
“What was your observation, Achilles?” Roman asked smoothly.
“I think she’s a wise choice. Observant, but guided easily enough.”
“Then as long as she reports only the things we wish her to, she poses no threat, and she may stay alive.” Roman flicked his gaze back to Dmitri. “I want there to be nothing about the reivers mentioned. If we are revealing ourselves to mortals, it must be done flawlessly, with every assurance they are not in danger. One whiff of the reivers being connected to these local murders and we might as well stay in hiding another hundred years. Are we clear?”
Dmitri nodded his head. “Absolutely clear, my laird. However we will not be able to keep the truth about those behind the Bloodless Murders secret for much longer. Once our existence is revealed, the authorities are certain to implicate our kind.”
Roman tapped the desk. “Achilles, have your men finished their interrogation of the reiver?”
“Yes, my laird. They are a group that has been moving up the coast from Santa Carla, California. But we have not yet found where they’ve been nesting locally.”
“Find them. I would negotiate with their leader. If we cannot convince them to conform or leave, then we will take care of them.”
Dmitri disliked killing his own kind as much as he disliked killing mortals. The clan rivalries, honor and vengeance ingrained into vampire society were common enough. But the idea of wiping out another clan or nest smacked too much of the burning times when thousands upon thousands died needlessly to satisfy a few in power. Deep down it rubbed against his earliest precepts like sandpaper, scrubbing away what little humanity he had left. But Roman’s decree was more than ideology at work. It was survival. This was protecting their right to live.
He drew in a breath, not for the oxygen, but to steady his thoughts. God. Over six hundred years without really drawing a true breath, and yet the need was instinctive, the uncomfortable tightness in his chest real. “And what of the reporter?”
“See that she is kept under constant watch. What she knows could unravel everything we’ve spent centuries building in this c
ountry. Our efforts to create a democracy where all people could be equal, our first chance at true freedom, could be over before it begins.”
Chapter 7
The one thing she couldn’t get past was the blood. Great scarlet rivers of it flowed all around her. The viscous fluid filled her mouth and nose and stung her eyes. Her struggling lungs filled with its liquid warmth and her mind went blind with terror. She fought to keep her head above the suffocating tide. From the surrounding darkness red eyes glowed.
Sweating, gasping for a last sip of air, she woke from the nightmare, startled to be in the pitch dark. Not home. It didn’t smell of her vanilla-scented candles or freshly washed cotton sheets, but of darker scents underscored with clean male.
Sitting up, she fumbled for a lamp. She almost sobbed with relief when her fingers bumped what felt like a lamp base. She flipped on the light and recognized Dmitri’s windowless apartment. But there was no sign of Dmitri. Or her clothes.
She fingered the wash-softened fabric of her Mariners T-shirt. What had happened last night? And how had she ended up here in her sleep shirt?
Her purse was propped against the lamp. Grabbing it like a lifeline, she dug around for her cell phone amid shopping lists, receipts, yellow sticky notes, random pens and her small flip notepad. Her mobile file cabinet needed organizing. Finally she found the phone in a side pocket.
Flipping it open, she checked the time: 8:00 a.m. Hell. Hollander was going to be pissed. She’d already missed her deadline. Still, for this story, it would be worth the risk. When he knew what this piece was about he’d hold the presses and be willing to wait. At least she hoped he would.
She got up, and managed to find a computer in Dmitri’s apartment where she logged in to check her email at work. Thank God vampires had internet and showers. She cleaned up, shoved her hair into a sloppy bun held together with a pencil, then began transcribing her notes from the recording.
“Working already?” Dmitri’s voice slid thick and hot over her like melted chocolate.
She hadn’t heard him enter, but twisted in her chair and smiled at him. The open collar of his black button-down shirt with thin blue pinstripes accented the deep caramel color of his skin. A pair of crisp black slacks fitted his lean hips to perfection, and she knew, probably fitted his perfect ass just as well. All in all he looked far too put together for a vampire up in the middle of the day.
Kristin clamped her knees together tighter, suddenly aware that she was wearing only a thin oversize T-shirt and a pair of underwear. Hell, next to him, she was practically naked. Her breasts became sensitive and tight and she crossed her arms to cover her nipples, outlined all too well by the thin cotton. “I hope you don’t mind me using your computer to get my work done. Girl’s gotta eat, you know.”
“That’s what I thought.” He held up a white bakery bag and her nose automatically sniffed out the yeasty sweetness of fresh doughnuts. Her gaze flicked to the cup in his hand. Modesty be damned. The man had coffee.
“You brought coffee too?” She walked over to him, taking the cup and inhaling deeply of the fresh-brewed aroma. She let out a groan after the first sip, sweet with sugar and heavy cream. “God love you.” Which was probably not something she should say to a vampire, Kristin thought as the caffeine raced through her system.
“I realized this probably runs in your veins.”
“Coffee and printer’s ink.” The coffee was exactly the way she liked it. Exactly. “But how did you know how I like it?”
His mouth tipped up at the edge. “That’s still my little secret.” He handed her the bakery bag. Inside was a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles and a chocolate éclair.
“How did you know I like chocolate?” His mouth tipped up in the corners in a sexy smile that made her lips tingle. Suddenly the chocolate had lost its appeal. As he leaned one shoulder against the wall, the buttons on his shirt pulled in protest to the shifting of muscle underneath. Kristin could barely swallow.
“Don’t all women enjoy chocolate?” Of course, it was more than that. Dmitri had been picking up on her thoughts all through the night as he listened in on her dreams from his bed. Even though she was safe here in his apartment, he couldn’t escape the nagging itch at the back of his neck telling him the reivers weren’t just chasing her down about the Bloodless Murders, but about the plans to out the vampire world to mortals.
Her thoughts and dreams had shown him just how driven she was. And while Dmitri admired anyone who went after what they wanted, Kirsten’s determination and curiosity were a heady, dangerous mix. Her dreams had shown him she was worried about her job; she was convinced it hinged on her article about the vampires. He had bigger concerns, like keeping her alive.
Her dreams, or drive, could very well be the death of her.
Roman had understated the fineness of the line she walked. Revealing their existence was one thing; exposing all their secrets was quite another.
He’d had Roman question his concern for mortals before.
Saving people from themselves seemed to be something of a specialty for him. As clan trejan, it was his duty to protect the laird and all those within the clan. But that was before Kristin. Right now, if he’d had a soul, he would have gladly surrendered it to feel her beneath him. She had the uncanny ability to turn his well-ordered world upside down, tempting him to toss out every tenet he held scared. Including his oath to protect his clan before all others, and his kind before mortals.
Heaviness pressed in upon him like a physical weight, but it wasn’t just the unspoken burden of conscience and duty he carried. He could feel that daylight was out in full force aboveground, sapping his strength, making him ache to rest. She’d want to leave soon and go to work.
“I’ll see you to work when you’re ready.”
“That’s not necessary as long as I can call in to my editor and use your computer. And find my clothes, of course.”
Good. “It would be safest for you to stay here.
You may use whatever you need. Your clothes are folded on the counter in the kitchen.”
“How did they get there?”
“I phased them. And your nightshirt at the same time. I thought you’d be more comfortable sleeping in something familiar.” She’d looked beautiful in repose, her golden hair a halo around her lovely face, her lips the pale pink of a newly opened rosebud. Too angelic to be with a vampire. When she discovered the brutal truth of how they survived, she’d see him as little better than a glorified parasite. The sweet softness that cloaked her features in sleep was long gone, her intelligent eyes far too penetrating and too wide-eyed innocent for his comfort.
Saints, he needed a drink. She recrossed her legs, exposing a brief flash of the creamy skin of her thigh, and his throat tightened even further. She tugged the hem of faded dark blue T-shirt lower, her fingers fidgeting.
Kristin fingered the pencil point in her bun. Apparently thinking about him stripping her of her clothing made her distinctly uncomfortable. There’d been a split second between phasing away her sweater and jeans and phasing the worn T-shirt onto her when he’d glimpsed her in nothing but her white lacy underwear. But that single glimpse was seared into his brain like a brand.
Touching the pale satin of her skin, tracing the flair of her hip, had been his first impulse, but it had been ruthlessly suppressed. No less tempting had been the subtle beat of her pulse in the femoral artery running under that smooth thigh. He’d held his fangs in place by sheer force of will.
But standing so close to her now wasn’t helping. He needed to get away from her before he did something else he regretted as much as using her to control their unveiling to the mortal community.
“How do I get a hold of Zarah if I need to ask some more questions?”
He materialized a cordless phone and handed it to her. “Dial nine to make outside calls. Dial zero to reach our operator. She can put you in touch with the doctor or me.”
“Perfect. What about the pizza-delivery guy?” She
grinned. “Or are they afraid to make deliveries down here in the Underground?”
How could she think of food, when he suppressed the desire to feast on every inch of her?
Her spicy scent wrapped around him and he resisted the urge to inhale deeply, to let her essence fill him. He needed to feed and soon. “Call the operator and she’ll connect you with food services at the clinic. They make an excellent chicken-and-artichoke-heart pizza with sundried tomatoes and a basil sauce you’d probably enjoy.”
“What, I don’t look spicy enough to be the pepperoni type?”
The way that T-shirt outlined the swell of her breasts and skimmed around the top of her thighs made it difficult for him to keep his concentration. “You don’t want to know what you look like to me.”
“Tell me.”
“Temptation.”
A man, mortal or vampire, could only bear so much before he broke. He turned on his heel and strode to the bedroom door, cursing himself with every step. He had his duty. His involvement with her would have to end as soon as expedient. Probably the sooner the better for both their sakes. “I’m going to sleep. See you in about twelve hours. If you need anything call the operator and she’ll find someone to help you.”
“Thanks, Dmitri, for everything.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to say more. It had been too long since he’d fed and the thirst was too deep and too strong to be assuaged by bottled blood alone. The sooner they found the reivers and he got Kristin out of his home, the saner he’d be.
As the door closed behind him, Kristin shivered. She’d seen guys stare at her with interest, even lust, but what she’d glimpsed in his eyes had been rawer, more primitive, more ancient than that. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. God, he was too hot for his own good. She pulled the pencil from her sloppy bun and chewed on it. Too bad he wasn’t as into her as she could easily get into him.
Kristin turned back to her keyboard and sank into the article once more, letting the words flow and meld as she tried to capture the sights and sounds of the club, of the vampire clinic and of Dmitri. The next time she checked the clock on her phone, two hours had passed. She bit her lip and called Hollander.
The Truth about Vampires Page 8