“No, it’s fine,” she insisted, still scouring the one-page menu like it might have a secret code hidden in the flowery descriptions of the entrees.
“I’ll give you a few more minutes,” I told them. I was still betting they’d be out the door before I returned for an order.
Something white caught my eye at the bar and my heart raced. I turned, expecting to see Fiona, but it was just an old woman in a pantsuit who could probably use a little more sun. I let out a breath, got myself a glass of soda water, and tried to get it together. Fiona may or may not have been planning to jump me and tear out my throat, but she wasn’t going to do it in the middle of a crowded restaurant.
At least, I sure as hell hoped not.
Table eight did end up ordering about fifteen minutes later—I handed Max ten bucks—though she only ordered a salad and cup of soup and picked at both with obvious displeasure while the guy ate with a guilty expression and probably didn’t enjoy a bite of it. I doubted they’d have a next date, or at the very least, I doubted he’d ever pick the restaurant for them again.
The rest of the night went pretty much the same way: tables full of special orders and picky eaters, some who were more pleasant about it than others.
I wasn’t the only one who had a trying night. When we finally emptied out except for the bar, everyone on staff looked like they were considering a career in data entry.
Max invited me out to drinks with a couple of the other servers, but I declined. I couldn’t relax and drink when Fiona could pop up at any time. Or worse, when she might leave another corpse in my path. I definitely didn’t want to encourage her to make Max that corpse.
Besides, my feet were sore and I was exhausted. My stomach growled to remind me I hadn’t had solid food since I’d run out for a bagel earlier in the day. And my left shoulder ached, probably because I’d used that arm to carry trays of drinks and cocktails to my tables, and my muscles hadn’t totally healed from the chaos earlier this week.
I made my way to my car cautiously, holding my Taser, as if that could keep a murderous vampire from tearing my head right off my neck. No one jumped out of the shadows and attacked me. No one waited by my car. There was no exsanguinated body left in my passenger seat. I even checked the trunk and let out a relieved breath when I found it empty.
Disappointed was not the right word. Anxious, maybe. Irritation was definitely part of the miasma of emotions burning through my veins. It was like knowing a balloon was about to pop in your face and waiting for the inevitable burst. The longer it took, the more unnerving it became. I was tired of waiting. I slammed my trunk and got in my car.
* * *
I parked as close as I could get to my building. I turned the corner on my block and stopped dead. A figure stood outside my apartment in a black hood and jeans. It was the vampire I’d seen outside my apartment over a week ago, the one with the dark hair, high cheekbones, and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. With all the other vampires lurking around me and hiding in the shadows, I’d almost forgotten about him. He wore the same black hoodie and jeans I’d seen him in last time, but tonight the hood wasn’t up around his head. He stood on the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at my apartment and holding a cell phone in his hand.
I ducked around the corner, out of his line of sight, my stomach turning to stone. Who the hell was this guy? Fiona’s lackey? Someone else who’d come to gawk at the Sun Walker? Or maybe someone who wanted to destroy me for what I was. Whatever his reasons, I was furious to find him in between me and a hot bath and a glass of wine.
The more time that ticked by with me pressed against the wall, the more pissed off I got. What right did this asshole have to keep me from my own front door? I was so goddamn tired of being scared and intimidated.
I swallowed and my mouth tasted sour. I took a few deep breaths and then peered around the corner of the building. The vampire was still there, though he’d moved into the street to try and see in through my windows. Not an easy feat at that angle even with vampire vision, and impossible if the blinds were still closed. Cazimir hadn’t been bothering to open them for the night before leaving lately, which had bugged me because it meant coming home to a pitch-black apartment when anything could have been lurking inside.
I pulled the stake out of my purse. My hand wrapped around the cold metal like it was a lifeline on a ship in a storm. I shoved my Taser into my pants pocket for easy access, then secured my purse. I inhaled deeply. I could feel fury bubbling up in my veins, along with all of my frustration.
Then I turned the corner and headed toward the vampire.
I walked casually, hoping the lack of urgency would keep him from turning to check me out. A woman on a bicycle passed by both of us and he didn’t even glance backward.
I waited until I was only a couple of feet away. Then I pounced.
I jumped him, driving the stake into the back of his shoulder blade. The sharp metal sunk through his sweatshirt and into his flesh until it hit bone. The vampire screamed in pain and whirled to grab me. I ducked out of his grasp and fumbled for my Taser. He hit me in the solar plexus. I feel backward and I slammed into the sidewalk. The impact knocked the wind out of me. I tried to breathe but my lungs wouldn’t inflate. I gasped and choked until I managed to inhale. I heard the metallic clank of the stake hitting the concrete as his muscles healed and pushed it out.
A pedestrian rounded the corner. I saw their black lab out in my periphery and looked up, still trying to catch my breath. The man wore slacks and a light jacket and carried one of those little poop bags that no one looked dignified holding. He stared at me in horror and then his turned his glare on the vampire standing over me. He shifted the leash to his other hand and reached inside his jacket, probably for a phone to call 9-1-1.
The vampire’s arm shot toward me and yanked me to my feet. Not gently, either. The too-fast motion made my head swim. My vision blurred and the world spun as I steadied myself.
“She’s drunk,” he told the dog walker.
The man dropped his hand and then shook his head to show his disapproval before headed into his building. I was still trying to get oxygen into my lungs. My fingers closed around my Taser, inching it out of my pocket. As soon as the dog walker’s door shut behind him, I jammed the Taser’s tip against the back of the vampire’s hand and pressed the “on” button.
The Taser crackled with a jolt of electricity. Smoke rose up from the vampire’s hand. He swore and let me go, wrenching his arm away from the Taser before he could catch fire. I caught sight of an angry red-and-black mark, and the smell of burning vampire flesh curled my nostrils. He grabbed me by the shoulders, bared his fangs at me and hissed.
I jammed the Taser toward him again, but he was too fast and got it out of my hand. I kicked him, aiming for the balls and missing.
He whirled me around so he was behind me, holding my arms down. His breath was hot on my neck. It smelled like cigarettes and iron. “Stop,” he said, his voice harsh. I waited for fangs to pierce my neck. The sharp pain didn’t come. “Just stop it.”
“Let me go,” I said, keeping my voice as hard as possible though it came out ragged. “Or I’ll burn you to ash!”
He laughed. “Jesus Christ, no wonder they’re trying to paint you as some terrible Blood Traitor. You don’t fucking quit, do you?”
My chest tightened. Heat rose under my skin. “Where’s Fiona?” I demanded.
He didn’t answer for a moment and then he said, “You’re Henri, yeah?” He had a faint Canadian accent.
“Fuck you,” I said, struggling against him.
He let me go and I dove for the stake on the ground. He beat me to it—damn vampire speed—and held it up. “Dude, calm the fuck down. Cazimir was right, you’re pugnacious as hell.”
That stopped me cold. If he’d been talking to Cazimir about me… My brain was too scrambled to figure out what the hell that could mean. Pain radiated out from my behind and back, where I’d landed on the sidewalk, and my min
d felt thick like yogurt.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
He took a step toward me and I flinched. I hated myself for it. I didn’t want to show fear. I didn’t want to be afraid. I resented my hummingbird heartbeat and the way my pulse raced in terror.
He stopped moving when he saw my reaction, and spoke in a voice that was so calm it bordered on condescending. “I’m Ryuto. Everyone calls me Ry. Cazimir is my maker. And he’s not answering his phone. So how about you take me upstairs to check on him so I don’t have to scale the building and scare the neighbors with my Spider-Man routine, hmm? I’ll even give you your toys back if you promise not to jump me again.” He smiled at me.
I didn’t smile back at him and my muscles didn’t unclench. He didn’t get to be cute with me. “Prove it,” I said. There was no way in hell I was bringing him upstairs until I had a damn good reason to believe he wasn’t just trying to get me somewhere private to tear my throat out.
Ryuto considered for a moment and then held out the stake and Taser to me. I hesitated and then snatched them, holding the Taser out, ready to use. But instead of watching what I did with the weapons, he glanced back up at my apartment. I followed his gaze, but all I could make out were the blinds. They looked like wood from the outside but were actually made from a heat-resistant lightproof metal-like substance invented by a fellow vampire. I’d installed them when I was still a vampire and needed protection from daylight. In the dark, they made the windows look black.
“I haven’t heard from Cazimir in a couple days,” he said finally, turning back to me. “I’m just here to check on him. You’re the one who attacked me.”
I shoved the stake in my purse but kept the Taser out, clutching it so hard my knuckles went white. “If you’re his fledgling, why haven’t I seen you before?” It wasn’t a fair question. I didn’t think I’d ever met one of Cazimir’s fledglings, and he’d been careful not to tell me Ryuto’s name or give me any details about him. Hell, Cazimir had flat out denied knowing who I was talking about when I’d described Ry to him last week. Goddamn that idiot for being so fucking secretive. If he’d given me a single shred of information, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to trust this guy.
Ry ran a hand through his dark hair. “Why do you think? Cazimir doesn’t let people know his shit if he doesn’t want them to know it. He likes his secrets.” Ryuto was good-looking and tall. If I used Aidan as a measuring stick, Ry was definitely Cazimir’s type. Same narrow frame, same confidence, and both were handsome men. I didn’t pretend to know why Cazimir had turned those few he’d made into vampires, but I got the impression it was usually done out of love, and this guy seemed like someone Caz could love. Not just his good looks, but his cocky attitude and straightforward way of speaking.
He licked his lips and turned his cold blue eyes on me. “Look, Henri, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. I don’t fuck around.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could come up with a witty retort, he came at me. He was a blur and I braced myself for impact. It didn’t come, but something yanked on my purse. And then I realized Ry was beside me and rifling through my bag. I tugged my purse away from him, but I was too late. He held my keys up on his finger and grinned wickedly. “Come with me or don’t. Up to you.”
He marched up the stairs and unlocked my door.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled, mostly to myself. And then I was right on his heels. Hell if I was going to let him into my apartment without supervision.
Chapter 19
I raced up the stairs and into the hall. My apartment door was hanging open. The vampire stood over my sofa, his head bent, but when he heard the door shut behind me, he looked up.
There was so much pain in his eyes that it almost hurt to look at him. My heart dropped into my stomach. I inched around the sofa to see for myself despite knowing I wasn’t going to like whatever I found.
Cazimir lay on his back. He’d gotten up at some point and folded the blankets that he used for bedding, but they’d been kicked off the couch and were now slumped next to the coffee table. He wasn’t awake. His mouth hung open. He looked like a screaming corpse. His skin clung to his cheekbones like rice paper. Even as a vampire, I’d never seen him look less alive.
A pile of vomit sat on the rug, slowing sinking into the fibers. There was a fetid, acrid smell rising up from this part of the room.
“Is he…?”
“His heartbeat is faint. He’s not dead, but…” Ry trailed off, the implication clear. He wasn’t far from it, either. I picked up a wine bottle that had fallen beside the couch. Droplets of crimson wine had splattered out and onto the ugly blue-and-orange rug I kept beneath the sofa to catch such spills and protect my deposit.
“He’s been drinking,” I said, but a whiff of the bottle made it clear it was not Pinot Noir. It smelled of copper, iron, and formaldehyde. I wrinkled my nose and then looked at the label.
It was a narrow mailing label, the kind you bought in sheets at office supply stores. A small rectangle of bleached white matte paper. On it, handwritten in Sharpie, were the letters “V.B.” and a date, sometime last month. Presumably the date it had been bottled, or worse, an expiration date long past.
Ry was giving me a questioning look, so I turned the label so he could read it and then waved the bottle under his nose. He coughed and snarled at the vile stench.
“He wasn’t drinking that,” Ry said, but his tone suggested he wasn’t sure. He looked at his sire, now a dying mortal, in horror. I couldn’t imagine seeing Sean this way, weak and powerless and so close to death when he was meant to be beyond such things. That was the real horror of it all. How many centuries had Cazimir been beyond death, only to now stand on its doorstep? It wasn’t fucking fair.
“Why would he buy black market vampire blood?” I said, a bit too loudly, but I wanted to shake Cazimir awake and slap the stupid out of him. “I thought he was drinking yours.”
Ry shook his head. “After what happened the other night, when he puked his guts out, I refused to let him.”
“He told you about that?” I sounded incredulous, but I hadn’t expected Cazimir to admit he’d gotten so sick. He didn’t strike me as the sort of person to admit to ever having any weaknesses, no matter how mundane.
“No. I saw it in his blood, and I stopped drinking. When I refused to give him mine, he stormed out and said he’d find another way. I thought he meant another vampire. I didn’t think…” He trailed off.
“You wouldn’t have. Cazimir can be an asshole.” I said it loudly and watched Caz for signs of reaction, but he lay completely still except the slow rise and fall of his chest. “But I didn’t peg him as suicidal.”
Ry shook Cazimir and lightly slapped his cheek. Cazimir’s eyes rolled open, but they looked hazy. He finally focused on Ryuto’s face and then he frowned.
“Caz,” Ry said sternly. “Wake up.”
Cazimir muttered something incomprehensible and his eyes closed again. Ry swore. “How much of that shit did he drink?” he asked me.
“Don’t know. Too much.” I looked around. There was another bottle, empty and with no label, next to puddle of puke. An empty bottle of cheap Syrah lay near it, like he’d been chasing it with real wine. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Nothing in there. I looked in the trash. Empty. In the recycling bin, I found one bottle beneath the one I’d shoved in there last night.
I couldn’t see Caz on the sofa, but Ry bent over him, his face an ivory mask of grief and concern.
I jammed my finger into the fresh bottle that still had its label and turned it over so the dregs of blood at the bottom coated my skin. I set the bottle on the counter and shoved my finger into my mouth.
There was no vision, only the acrid taste of poison.
It tasted like paint thinner, or cheap bathtub swill, caustic and sour. There was a hint of coppery flavor and salt. If there was vampire blood in this mix, it was a very small amount. I’d guess it was pig’s blood from a local b
utcher shop, mixed with a lot of preservatives and the kind of cheap vodka sold in plastic bottles.
Ryuto swore again. I darted back to the sofa.
“He won’t wake up. I can’t ask him.” The vampire gave me a meaningful look. He meant that he couldn’t ask Caz if he should try to turn him.
“Is the hospital an option? He needs his stomach pumped,” I said.
Ry considered, studying Cazimir’s prone body. Vampires could sense things mortals couldn’t: disease, illness, organ failure. A few wine bottles full of shitty black market vampire blood mixed with God only knew what could probably kill a healthy person. A person who’d been refusing to eat or drink water? Who only knew the kind of havoc the poisonous cocktail could wreak?
“If I were going to bet, I wouldn’t put my chips on the hospital,” he finally said. “What about you? Where would you put your chips, Henri Dunn?” He met my eyes with a sincere question. He honestly wanted to know. That was… new. Most of the time, vampires don’t care what mortals think, former vampire or not.
Cazimir’s skin was a yellowish-gray and his breath was ragged. He didn’t want to go to the hospital and be forced to endure modern mortal medicine.
“We both know what he wants,” I said. Cazimir wanted to be immortal. I hadn’t thought it was possible for anyone to want it more than I did, but Cazimir had been so goddamn desperate, he’d drunk poison in hopes of finding a way there. He had to have realized the stuff in the bottles wasn’t going to work. Maybe he’d merely hoped it had enough vampire blood in it to burn out whatever crap Neha’s Cure had left in his veins.
Or maybe dropping himself on death’s door and hoping his fledgling showed up in time was his plan. It was a shitty plan for someone as calculating as Cazimir, but clearly I’d misjudged the depths of his desperation. He’d all but told me, but I, like a gigantic moron, had assumed he felt closer to the way I did: willing to do a lot of things to get my fangs back but able to accept a year or two of human existence first if that was what it took.
Bloodless (Henri Dunn Book 2) Page 13