Blood and Thunder

by Roquet, Angela

  “Really?” Kai gave me a once-over. “A sweet thing like you?”

  I did my best to ignore his patronizing tone and kept my smile in place. “I was a police officer as a human, and I enjoyed the line of work.”

  He laughed. “Blood Vice is quite a leap.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ll leave you two to it,” Roman said, taking the opportunity to excuse himself. “I need to have a quick word with Nigel.”

  Kai watched him head up the same stairs we’d seen Sara use a few moments before. Once Roman was out of sight, Kai’s focus returned to me.

  “How long have you been seeing Roman?” he asked, ignoring my earlier question.

  “We’re just friends,” I said, wondering if that were even true. “I helped him with a few cases recently.”

  “Ah.” Kai gave me a knowing grin. “So that’s where your interest in Blood Vice stemmed from.” Sure, that would work well enough.

  “What’s the bat cave?”

  He bellowed out a hearty laugh. “It’s what we call the BATC facility in Denver. Blood Authority Training Center,” he added for clarity.

  “How long is the program there?”

  “Three grueling months.”

  I shrugged and folded my hands over the skirt of my dress. “That’s only half as long as the police academy.”

  “Trust me,” Kai said with an arrogant grin, “it will feel ten-times longer.”

  I didn’t blink. “Where do I sign up?”

  He seemed mildly impressed, but I could tell he wasn’t taking me seriously. Still, he offered up a dismissive answer. “Have your sire send a recommendation letter to the Duke of House Lilith, and maybe you’ll get a callback for an interview.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said, remembering Roman’s warning about dodging talk of my sire.

  “Then maybe I’ll see you this fall.” Kai’s attention strayed over my shoulder, and then he gave me a polite smile. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  “Of course.”

  He sidestepped around me, and I turned in time to watch him follow a woman in a teal kimono through a doorway at the opposite end of the room. The beginning of another staircase showed just beyond, and soft music drifted up from below, the slow plucking of strings and a mournful flute.

  I considered following him, but that he hadn’t invited me along told me he wasn’t interested in continuing our conversation. I also felt odd about venturing too far without Roman, though the other guests in the room had all migrated outside or downstairs while I’d been visiting with Kai. Now, I was all alone.

  A waiter with a tray of blood-filled glasses cut through the room and headed outside to the patio. When he returned, he stopped to collect an empty glass off the fireplace mantel. He caught sight of me and crossed the room to offer up the last glass of blood on his tray.

  “Thank you.” I took the glass to be polite, not entirely sure if I’d sample it. The waiter’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice, and he stumbled back a step.

  “You’re the girl from the club,” he hissed. “I lost my job because of you.”

  I sucked in a startled breath and stared at him, suddenly recognizing the bartender from Bleeders. Without the cutoff dress shirt and bowtie, I hadn’t recognized him. Nigel and Sara dressed their staff in more tasteful, traditional attire. The man continued to glare at me, but I certainly wasn’t about to apologize.

  “Better than losing your head,” I quipped.

  “Is there a problem?” Sara asked as she descended the open staircase.

  “No, ma’am.” The waiter bowed and hurried off to the kitchen.

  Sara tsked. “New help. They take a while to break in.”

  I nodded as if I had any idea what she was talking about.

  “What do you think?” she asked, glancing down at my untested glass.

  I swirled the blood a moment and then finally decided to brave a small taste. Sara watched me closely, but I dismissed her the second the blood hit my tongue. Color exploded behind my eyes, a kaleidoscope of crystalline hues that danced in time with the flavors coating my palate. The sweet, fruity tang had an herbal aftertaste, and when the glass ran empty, I almost cried.

  Like a savage, I shook the glass over my open mouth, longing for just one more drop. My eyes refocused on the room, and then on Sara’s appalled expression. I snapped my lips shut as heat ravaged my face and neck. And then that last drop I’d hoped to savor dripped onto the front of my dress.

  Sara cleared her throat and pointed a finger above her own breast. “You got a little… There’s some hydrogen peroxide and salt water spray under the sink in the guest bath,” she said, then nodded toward a small door tucked under the staircase.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely able to rise above my sinking dignity.

  I hurried past her and ducked into the bathroom. There was just enough room for me to stand between the toilet and the sink vanity. Maybe if I prayed hard enough, the door would vanish, and I could die in here.

  The geisha blood felt heavy on the back of my tongue. First, I’d wanted more. Now, I never wanted it again. I was so stupid. How could I have let this happen? What was Roman thinking, bringing me to this party? I was an embarrassment to vampires everywhere. He should have done the right thing and put me out of my misery months ago.

  As tears filled my eyes, I tried to blink them away so I could see to fix the stain setting into my dress. I found the bottle of peroxide under the sink and tore the hand towel off the hook to dab at the ugly spot.

  My anger shifted to Mandy next, for picking out the dress in the first place, and then to my sister for leaving me no other choice but to infiltrate this strange new world of failure and humiliation. A sob slipped from me as I worked the stain with little result. Then a soft knock at the door made me jump.

  “Jenna?” Roman whispered. “It’s just me.” I reached for the lock, but he twisted the knob before I could latch it and slipped inside the tiny room with me. I pressed my back against the floral wallpaper, but that still only left a few inches between us. In the mirror above the sink, we looked cozy enough to be a wedding cake topper.

  “What happened?” Roman asked.

  “I’m an idiot.” I covered my face and took a shuddering sob. “I tried the fancy fucking blood and made a complete ass out of myself—and I ruined my dress in the process.”

  “Let me see.” Roman’s warm fingers coiled around my wrists, and he gently pried my hands away from my face and chest, revealing the dime-sized splotch to the left side of my chest, just a few inches below my collarbone. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Then why am I a train wreck right now?” I asked.

  “Because geisha blood amplifies everything you’re feeling.” He gave me a pointed look. “So I’m guessing you were a bundle of nerves. Understandable. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “You should have seen Sara’s face,” I whispered.

  Fresh mortification tore through me, but Roman fended it off by tugging the towel out of my hand. He picked up the peroxide from the counter and splashed it directly onto my dress, giving it only a split second to bubble before he dabbed me with the towel. His brows knit together as he focused on my chest, leaning in to get a closer look at the fabric, and then a different brand of humiliation overpowered me.

  “There,” he finally said, leaning back so I could take a look. All that remained was a wet spot. “All better.”

  “No, it’s not.” I looked up at him through my lashes. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to be a vampire.”

  Roman sighed and reached out to tuck my hair behind one ear. His fingers trailed down the side of my neck and came to rest on my shoulder. We were so close, I could see my pitiful reflection in his blue eyes.

  “It will get easier. It takes time.” He gave me a sad smile. “And in this world, time is all we have.”

  The worst of the geisha blood was starting to wear off, but my foolish shame lingered. “I know
you need to stay for this party, but I just can’t. I’m going to call a cab.”

  Roman shook his head. “I’ll drive you home. Vanessa will understand.”

  “Or she’ll hate me even more than she already does,” I grumbled.

  “She doesn’t hate you. The club assignment is ancient history.”

  I snorted. “Your girlfriend doesn’t seem like the forgiving kind.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.” Roman’s eyes fell away from mine, and he reached up to tuck my hair back again. When his fingers began to slip away from my face, I cupped my hand around his and pressed my cheek into his palm. “Jenna, I—”

  The bathroom door whipped open, smacking against the exterior wall. Roman ripped away from me to turn around. Over his shoulder, I spied the bartender from the club. The man’s face was blank, no trace of the irritation I’d seen when he offered me the glass of blood. A long, slender knife was gripped in one hand, and he thrust it into the room.

  Roman’s elbow connected with my sternum as he deflected the first blow. The blade gouged the wall beside me with a dull thud. When it withdrew, Roman hissed. The sleeve of his gray suit darkened with blood. He reached inside the fold of his jacket, likely for his gun, but the bartender’s blade was too fast. It sliced through Roman’s arm and into his chest, skewering his limb in place. The tip of the knife poked through his back between his shoulder blades, tenting the material of his jacket before slicing clean through.

  I screamed.

  And then I filled the bartender’s face full of Silver Wolfsbane. I didn’t remember pulling the gun out of my thigh holster, and it didn’t register that it was in my hand until the magazine clicked empty. The man staggered backward, extracting the knife from Roman as he fell dead to the floor. His face was no longer recognizable, just a shredded puddle of meat.

  Roman wasn’t much better off. He gurgled and dropped to his knees, blocking the doorway of the bathroom. I stumbled over his legs and knelt down beside him, grasping his shoulders as he toppled over onto his back.

  “No, no, no.” I ripped open Roman’s dress shirt and pressed my hands over the hole in his chest, but I couldn’t apply enough pressure to stop the river of blood leaking out of him. It oozed up between my fingers and spread in a puddle across the hardwood, soaking into the hem of my dress and the white hair at the nape of Roman’s neck. More bubbled up from his gaping mouth as his panicked eyes sought mine.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed. “Oh God, what do I do?”

  I couldn’t think straight. There was too much blood everywhere, and nothing made sense. Something instinctual triggered in my brain, and the next thing I knew, I was biting down on my own wrist, tearing at the flesh with my fangs.

  Dark blood swelled up from beneath my skin, and I held it over Roman’s mouth, flexing my fingers to encourage more to come. This had to work. It had worked for me.

  My blood trickled into Roman’s mouth, mixing with his. His throat bobbed, swallowing reflexively. He closed his eyes and groaned something unintelligible against my wrist before latching on and sucking hard.

  Under the wave of relief, a bittersweet tinge of arousal stirred. It floated in the background, subdued by the immediate danger Roman was in—and suppressed even further by the guests who had finally located us, thanks to the shots I’d fired.

  “The hell was that?” The growing crowd parted, and Kai emerged with a hulking pistol gripped in one hand. Sara wasn’t far behind him.

  “What have you done?” she shrieked at me.

  Roman still drank from my wrist, and my breath had grown too shallow to muster up a reply. I glanced across the room to where the bartender’s dead body lay beside the bloody knife. My hand over Roman’s chest painted the rest of the story.

  A few minutes later, he exhaled a breath that didn’t produce more blood and was able to sit up and confirm what had happened. Between the blade and the club connection, it was quickly assessed that we’d found our serial killer. Bartending at Bleeders had clearly helped facilitate the murders. By getting the creep fired, I’d dubbed myself his next target. I played bait far better than I realized.

  I should have been happy. I wanted to be happy. But the way Roman refused to look at me told me something wasn’t quite right, and I felt too drained, literally and emotionally, to celebrate.

  Kai praised my fast thinking and offered to put in a good word with the duke. And Sara apologized for her accusing outburst, though, I declined when she offered me more geisha blood. I’d had enough mood swings for one night to last a lifetime.

  No one bothered to ask Roman what we were doing in the bathroom together. So I didn’t either.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The ride home was chilly. Mostly because Roman had the air conditioner cranked up to an artic setting I assumed was another fancy upgrade included in the SUV’s police package. The tank top and shorts Sara had loaned me didn’t help.

  Roman was in a pair of jogging shorts and a tee shirt borrowed from Nigel. We’d both showered at the manor before leaving, and our ruined party clothes had been tossed. Peroxide wasn’t going to cut it this time.

  When we pulled into my driveway, Roman didn’t kill the SUV’s engine. He was still avoiding looking at me, too. I hadn’t asked why, but I had a feeling he was getting ready to let me know. The anticipation coiled my guts up like a jack-in-the-box.

  Roman’s hands gripped the leather steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Then he cleared his throat.

  “Do you remember what I told you would happen to anyone you sired?” he said.

  I hugged myself and shivered. “That they would die with me if the truth about my sire was ever discovered.”

  “Yes. That.” Roman nodded stiffly. “If I had died tonight, you would have been considered my sire, because your blood would have been freshest in my system. Do you understand that?”

  My lungs grew heavy as I blinked at him. “What are you saying? That I should have let you die?”

  “That is exactly what I am saying.” Roman’s jaw flexed, and he finally looked at me. Anger glazed his eyes. “I would have risen as Vanessa’s scion, and I would have been pardoned the remaining fifty years of my contract for dying in the line of duty.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand. Hot tears spilled over my knuckles. “I’m so sorry, Roman. I didn’t know what else to do. I was afraid, and there was so much blood. I didn’t want you to die because of me.”

  He sighed and turned to gaze out the windshield. “At least you got the killer. That will look good on your rèsumè, won’t it?” His sarcasm stabbed at my heart, and it was a struggle to inhale my next breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out again. “I wasn’t trying to get anyone. I just wanted to save you, the same way you saved me. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I know,” he cut me off. “I know, okay. You were only trying to help.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You can stop apologizing.” Roman looked down at his lap. “I need to find Vanessa before sunrise. If I were to somehow die before she anoints me again…that would not be good. And you need to feed anyway,” he added, dismissing me.

  I climbed out of the SUV and hurried up the front walk without looking back. Roman pulled out of the driveway and was halfway down my block before I reached the front porch. I slipped inside and felt my way through the dark, closing myself inside my bedroom before launching into a complete meltdown.

  I don’t know what I had expected after saving his life, but it wasn’t this. If I hadn’t felt like a hero before, I certainly didn’t feel like one now. I wasn’t even the villain in this story. I was the pathetic catalyst that screwed everything up and expected everyone else to somehow fix it.

  I expected Laura to stay and play my daytime counterpart. I expected Vin to give me blood and not request a serious commitment in return. I expected Roman to help me land a job I didn’t deserve and wasn’t qualified for. There was also the shameful expectation I secretly harbor
ed. I wanted Roman—his heart, body, and blood—despite the fact that he was sworn to someone else, however platonic he made out their relationship to be.

  I was hungry, but my insides ached too much to eat. After geisha blood, the bagged variety was practically dog vomit. And after experiencing Roman’s gentle side, his wrath was a cyclone of razorblades. Why did my whole life feel like one step forward and ten steps back lately?

  It was still a few hours until sunrise, but I curled up in the fetal position on my bed, willing the night to be over. Wretched thoughts burned through my brain. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe I should rip the curtains from my bedroom walls so the sun would burn me alive. Maybe everyone would be better off that way.

  The thought was fleeting. I wasn’t suicidal—just wallowing in self-pity—but as if my dark thoughts had decided to manifest on their own, the plaid curtains over my bedroom window billowed inward. Thin moonlight spilled across the wall, and a silhouette crept through it.

  A silhouette wielding a long blade.

  Chapter Twenty

  My heart stuttered out a nervous rhythm. There was no way that bartender had survived what I’d done to his face. Which could only mean there was more than one killer. Just what I needed tonight.

  My sluggish brain struggled to come up with a plan as my blood vision kicked in, lighting up the room in shades of crimson. I slid off the far side of the bed and soundlessly opened the top drawer of my nightstand, clenching my teeth when I remembered that my service pistol had been reclaimed by Langford. My backup Glock was in the drawer of the china cabinet in the dining room.

  A hiss sliced through the air, and I recoiled as the newcomer’s blade split open the pillows along my headboard. Feathers erupted like confetti, and I stumbled back a step as the killer leapt onto the bed. My blood vision pulsed, and despite the downy rain, I picked out the features of an Elvira lookalike I’d encountered at Bleeders—high cheekbones, arched brows, blunt bangs. She wore a black bodysuit and matching knee high boots. Very ninja goth.