Blood and Thunder

by Roquet, Angela

  The dreams also featured more unfamiliar faces than I was used to. A lot of young men and women. Occasionally, I spotted Vin. And Roman. I had a growing sense of unease about what it all meant. I’d never been one to put much stock in decoding dreams, but I’d also never been one to believe in things like vampires and werewolves. It didn’t get more woke than this.

  Tonight I dreamed of Vin, of the two of us attending our ten-year class reunion together—something I absolutely refused to do, no matter how much he pestered me about it. In the dream, when everyone went to lift their drinks for a toast, Vin handed me a blood bag as if it were no big deal, much to my horror—and everyone else present. It was so much worse than the naked-in-front-of-the-whole-department nightmares I’d endured as a human.

  Dr. Vincent Hart, my high school crush and the local morgue doctor, had become my supplier through a half-bogus research project that he’d convinced some local college students to donate blood to. The legitimate half of his research stemmed from the bit of blood I let him draw from me—that I explicitly explained could not be shared with anyone else, for any reason, whatsoever.

  If House Lilith found out I was willingly giving my blood to a human doctor for research, I would be deader than dead. Vin knew this, and he’d promised the results would stay between us. He claimed he was only using the research to feed his curiosity—and mine.

  Roman hadn’t been very forthcoming with the how-to-be-a-vampire questions I’d asked during our tense stakeout. It was more than a little annoying that he was only half-sired and hoarded these vital facts as if I should have to earn them. The prick. So I let Vin take my blood and discover what he could about my mysterious new condition. Which so far, wasn’t much.

  In addition to being my supplier, Vin was also my boyfriend now. Sort of. We went out on dates anyway. Never anywhere for dinner, obviously. But to movies and art galleries. On one of the rare weekend nights I’d had off, he’d taken me to the City Museum. It stayed open until midnight on Saturdays and Sundays. We were even planning to attend a late Cardinals game soon.

  I hadn’t bitten Vin since the first time when he almost passed out on me. The experience had left a bad taste in my mouth—no pun intended—though it hadn’t stopped Vin from offering his throat every chance he got. He seemed desperate to give it another go, and for the life—er, death—of me, I couldn’t figure out why. We hadn’t slept together yet either, which seemed even weirder to me than drinking his blood.

  Vin was less persistent in that regard, though I could tell he wanted me. My reservations had more to do with controlling my bloodlust than not wanting him back. He was a wantable enough guy, in a nerdy, Clark Kent sort of way. He stayed in shape, and he practiced good hygiene. He opened doors and told me I was beautiful. And when he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me goodnight, I melted against him like butter on a biscuit.

  I hadn’t been so sure it would turn out this well, but Vin surprised me more and more every day. It was the sort of relationship any normal girl would swoon over. But therein lay the problem. Normal wasn’t exactly in my repertoire these days.

  * * * * *

  I woke Sunday night to Laura sitting on the edge of my bed, a glass of murky cow blood grasped in her hand. My nose crinkled at the smell of the viscous fluid.

  “You’re out of the bagged stuff,” she said, handing me the drink. I accepted it and took a reluctant swallow, cringing as if it were straight vodka. It burned all the way down.

  “What’s with the room service?” I asked. Laura didn’t usually offer me blood unless she had something to say that she was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear. She’d also curled her hair and was wearing a low-cut blouse with a massive push-up bra, creating the sort of cleavage that refused to be ignored.

  She waited for me to choke down another drink before taking a deep breath. “Shooting for season nine of Henry’s Courtroom begins in two weeks, and I’ve decided to return to the show.”

  I eyeballed her overflowing assets and made a face. “I take it you’ve already sealed the deal via video chat?”

  Laura shimmied her shoulders and gave me a devilish grin. “I got an extra twenty thou per episode.”

  I set the Bloody Betsy down on my night table and buried my face in my pillow with a groan. “Please, just tell me you didn’t take him back.”

  “I didn’t, but I am going to stay in our—his—beach condo until I find a new place.” Her eyes slid sideways, giving her intentions away. She expected him to woo her and talk her out of buying her own house. I could see it all over her face, but I bit my tongue. I couldn’t figure out how to live my own life. What business did I have telling her how to live hers?

  “Two weeks, huh?” I lifted my head and squinted at her. “Guess I’d better get some applications in so you can tackle any daytime interviews I might get stuck with.”

  Laura gave me a patronizing look. “Or you could take the one job you’re actually qualified for, which would totally work around your little daylight handicap.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, but she held my gaze. Laura had used my career in law enforcement as a reason to run off to California ten years ago. She’d insisted I was going to get myself killed just like our mother had, and she’d be damned if she would stick around to watch it happen. Now, she was encouraging me to take an even more dangerous law enforcement job with the same goal. The irony seemed lost on her, but maybe the fact that I was already dead took the edge off her fear.

  I had to wonder if she wasn’t also pushing me toward Blood Vice out of guilt. It was a bad idea—but no worse than her going back to the creep who had pigeonholed her career. If she could convince me to do this, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so duped or guilty for her own decision.

  Laura blinked, ending our staring match, and grabbed my hand off the bedspread. “You’re going to have to start taking better care of your nails. I’m growing mine out for the show.” On that note, she stood and left my bedroom so I could sulk in peace.

  Our conversation from the previous night came back to me, and I thought of Mandy and her plan to move to Spero Heights. My stomach cramped. I wanted to blame it on the cow blood, but who was I kidding? I was going to miss the girl. A lot.

  There was another option—one I’d only briefly considered. I could follow her and see if the little town of horrors had any job openings. But I couldn’t bear the thought of selling my mother’s house, and I didn’t like the idea of moving into a new community when I was so attached to this one. It was too much, too soon. And then there was Vin to consider—and the steady supply of free blood.

  Laura’s head popped back inside my bedroom. “I’m taking Mandy out for dinner so you can have some privacy with Dr. Love. We’ll be back in an hour or two.” She rolled her eyes before disappearing again.

  I glanced up at the clock on my night table. The glowing red numbers reflected off the glass of blood. 8:00 P.M. Vin would be here soon to restock my refrigerator.

  I threw the covers back and headed for the shower. Maybe a little necking—above the skin only—would help take my mind off things. I tended to do my best thinking when I wasn’t thinking at all. Of course, that’s when I tended to screw things up beyond repair. Like getting myself killed. Like getting my partner killed—

  “He was a grown man who made his own choices. Just like your mother was a grown woman who made hers.” That’s what Dr. Townsend, the department shrink, had told Laura when she went to my last therapy session. “They knew that was the price of their service. Something they might one day have to pay. Your service could one day cost you this, too.”

  No kidding. It was a little late for that particular speech. Though, I think it gave Laura a new measure of respect for the badge. Just in time for me to give it up.

  I ran the latest version of my resignation speech through my head as I washed my hair and shaved my legs. I had quite the collection of scenarios that I’d dreamt up in between my nineteenth-century London fantasies. There was the on
e where I clocked Langford for making one too many sexist jokes at my expense. The one where I seduced him and lured him into the break room before bleeding him dry. The one where I quit in front of Mathis, my former captain, just so I could watch Langford chew off his own tongue trying to keep from saying anything off color—or, even better, the one where he didn’t hold his tongue, and Mathis clocked him for me.

  I smirked as I fingered the shampoo out of my eyes. While all of those scenes sounded like fun, they were more likely to go down in one of Laura’s soap operas. The reality would probably be far less theatrical. I’d make up some mundane, human excuse for my departure, and that would be that.

  Langford would probably make one last jab at me, and I’d fake laugh along because that seemed to shut him up the fastest. A passerby was more likely to ask what was so funny than what I was so upset about, and Langford couldn’t have anyone else hearing what a brazen asshat he was.

  I hissed as I nicked my knee with the razor and then turned into the spray of the showerhead to wash the shaving cream out of the way so I could inspect the damage. The cut hardly bled at all, sealing itself shut and vanishing before my eyes. Being a vampire wasn’t all bad. I still sported a burn on my shoulder from a little daylight mishap shortly after my resurrection, but the three lines had faded to a dull, pinkish brown. I could live with that.

  Immortality seemed like it should have been a nice perk, too. I couldn’t deny that the thought of Laura discovering a gray hair before I did brought a smile to my lips, but it didn’t last long when I realized that also meant she would eventually grow old and die. While I stayed exactly the same. Which brought up another issue. Eventually, I would have to leave St. Louis. If for nothing more than to keep the fact that I didn’t age hidden. I planned on holding off as long as possible.

  I finished my shower and slipped into a pair of jean shorts and a tank top before towel drying my hair. Then I brushed my teeth. With foamy paste dripping from my chin, I made a face in the mirror, snapping my fangs out to give them a quick brush, too.

  My mutated eye teeth were becoming easier to control. It was awkward at first, trying to make use of muscles that I hadn’t known existed—or that maybe hadn’t existed in my human body. But now that I knew about them, it felt wrong not to build them up like any other muscle group. I sucked my fangs in and popped them out a few more times in a series of warmup exercises I’d invented for myself. If I ever did integrate into the vamp community, maybe this would prove useful. Jenna Skye: Fang Coach of the Damned.

  The doorbell rang as I rinsed my mouth. I spat in the sink and hurried out of the bathroom. The Bloody Betsy Laura had made for me sat forgotten on my night table. I couldn’t bring myself to finish it, not with Vin waiting on my porch with a cooler full of co-ed nectar.

  “Special delivery,” he called out as I opened the door. I tried to swallow my need long enough to give him an appreciative smile. We didn’t have big plans to go anywhere tonight, but he looked good enough to eat, nonetheless.

  Under the glow of the porch light, I took in his tan legs, stretching out from beneath khaki shorts. The sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows, and the top few buttons had been left undone, exposing a delicious triangle of his smooth chest. Natural, tawny highlights streaked through his dark hair, and a touch of pink lit his cheeks and nose as if he’d stayed out in the sun just a little too long. I could smell it on his skin, and it made me weak in the knees.

  I slipped a finger in between the buttons of his shirt and tugged him toward me. “Come here,” I said, the hoarse edge of my voice painting a grin on his lips.

  Vin pushed the cooler under one arm and wrapped his other around my waist, connecting our hips as our mouths met. He moaned softly as our kiss deepened, and I echoed him. It was a blissful song that grew more desperate each time we did this. His tongue flicked out and skirted my top lip before venturing in further, searching for the tips of my fangs. It took all my effort to keep them tucked in.

  When I broke away to catch my breath, I dipped my face under his chin and lay a quick kiss to the throbbing pulse point in his throat, enjoying the way he shuddered against my mouth. Vin moaned again, more in surprise, and then pressed a kiss to my temple.

  “I was going to ask if you missed me,” he said, leaning back to flash me a cocky grin. “But I think you’ve already answered that question.”

  I lifted an eyebrow as I wedged the cooler out from under his arm and headed for the kitchen. “I think the real question is whether or not you missed me,” I said. “Especially with all the sun-kissed babes I’m sure you’ve encountered this summer.” I gave his bronze skin a once-over.

  “Compared to my queen of the night?” He lifted his chin and shook his head in a comically haughty gesture as he followed me. “Mortal peasants.”

  “Yeah.” I huffed. “Mortal peasants who don’t have to fear killing their boyfriends if they get too amorous.”

  “If you’d just let me tie you up—”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “That’s exactly how I picture our first time. So romantic.”

  Vin sighed and propped an elbow on the kitchen counter. We’d had this conversation more than once. It was a dead horse I couldn’t seem to stop beating. Remorse tangled up my insides as I looked away from him and squatted down in front of the refrigerator.

  I positioned the cooler between my knees and popped open the lid. Inside, two dozen bags of blood had been lined up in three rows of eight each. It was enough for a full week if I rationed out three to four bags a day, but I could make it last for almost two weeks if I supplemented with cow blood and didn’t mind being irritable as hell the whole time.

  I opened the refrigerator and stuffed the bags inside the shelves that lined the door, all except for one. I bit into it and took a long drink before turning around to face Vin. He watched me with pouty lips. Instead of diving back into our familiar rhetoric, I decided to give him a glimpse of the harder stuff I was dealing with.

  “Laura’s leaving for L.A. in two weeks.”

  Vin’s eyes bulged. He stared at me a moment as if trying to decide whether or not I was joking. Then he cleared his throat and stood up taller, pulling his arm off the counter. “What does that mean for you?”

  I shrugged one shoulder and gave him a pained smile. “I’m not sure yet.”

  His eyebrows knit together, and I knew exactly what he wanted to ask next. What does this mean for us?

  I didn’t have an answer for that either. His eyes slid away from mine, and I took the opportunity to finish off the bag of blood in my hand. The plastic end curled up like an oversized ice pop sleeve. I threw it away in the trashcan under the sink and then led Vin back outside to the front porch.

  “It’s such a beautiful night,” I said at the worried frown he shot me. From his twitchy panic, I could tell he’d thought I was going to dismiss him for the night. The idea stoked the flames of guilt deep in my gut.

  I wasn’t just using Vin for his access to free blood. And I wasn’t keeping him around simply because he was one of the few people who knew my darkest truth. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. When he took my hand, and my heart fluttered, I could almost believe that, too.

  Outside, lazy fireflies floated above the overgrown lawn and crickets chirped. The moon hadn’t risen yet, letting the bright stars have full command of the sky.

  Vin sat down on the edge of the porch, his long legs extending over the few steps that led to the sidewalk. He pulled me down to sit sideways on his lap. He wrapped one arm around the back of my hips, and the other he lay over the tops of my thighs, his fingers curling around my leg and dragging me closer to him.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, kissing my shoulder. “I could write a letter of recommendation. Or proofread your résumé.” He paused to nip at the strap of my tank top. “Or you could just move in with me—”

  “Vin.” I leaned away and scoffed at what I’d assumed was a joke.


  “What?” He gave me an innocent frown. “I make more than enough money for both of us, and we spend all of our free time together anyway…”

  I tried to pull myself out of his lap, but he pinned me in place with his arms. “We are not moving in together. It’s far too soon to even think about that.”

  “Why?” Vin gave me a squeeze and kissed my shoulder again, trying to mollify my anxiety. “We’re both adults. Who’s going to stop us?”

  “Vin, this is a bad idea—”

  He cut me off with a kiss. When he pulled away, his nose grazed mine. “Just think about it,” he whispered, muffling my reply with his lips again.

  I relented and wrapped my arms around his neck. Kissing, I could do. Especially if it kept him from saying anything else that made me want to run screaming down the road.

  Vin’s hand slipped between my legs. His fingers played with the frayed ends of my jean shorts and sent goosebumps over my balmy skin. My pulse hitched. I could hear it thrumming against my temples. After the fresh blood, it almost sounded human, rising and falling in time with the crickets’ song. But the blood hadn’t been enough to placate the ever-present hunger that afflicted me. I feared it might never be enough. This close to Vin’s warm, sun-soaked body, there was no amount of blood that could keep me from wanting to sink my teeth into him.

  I felt my fangs ache with the need for release and tried to push the feeling to the back of my mind, focusing on Vin’s fingertips rubbing soft circles on my back, on the blissful ache building low in my stomach. But every strong emotion seemed to tap into that hunger. I couldn’t separate it or shut it off.

  Vin jerked beneath me suddenly. I gasped and pulled away, one hand instantly going to my mouth where his hot blood spilled over my bottom lip. He snatched my wrist before I could wipe it away.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, shushing me as I tried to apologize. More blood coated his lips. “Baby steps,” he said. “Maybe that’s just what we need.” He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. He stopped a hairbreadth away from my mouth.