Michael said nothing. He was not surprised.
“Michael,” Jenkins said slowly, watching his face. “What do you know?”
Too much. He wanted to tell Jenkins everything, but the man had a family and a career. And Jenkins was a good man; if he knew the truth, he would make a stink. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he got upset.
Michael clapped a hand over the man’s shoulder. “Nothing,” he lied. “But thank you for telling me what you have.”
Jenkins wasn’t buying, but he nodded. A faint smile eased the hard lines of his face. “What’s with the robes? You look like it’s Halloween.”
“Formal occasion,” he replied. “Thank you again, Jenkins. For that other thing. I … owe you.”
Jenkins muttered something under his breath, too quiet for even Michael to make out. He raised his hand in farewell.
As Michael flew from the alley, he glanced down. Keeli was in handcuffs, being led to the police van. The rapist was also in handcuffs, but still on the ground.
Michael hovered, studying Keeli. Perhaps she felt him, perhaps he wanted her to, but she looked up at just that instant and their gazes met.
A dislocating moment—thrills in his gut, weakness. It was like being human again, racing with the wild horses on the steppes with nothing but wind against his skin, grass hot and dry beneath his bare feet. Racing for life, desire, for the pure joy of speed.
Too much—the memories were too much. Shaken, Michael tore his gaze away and shot into the sky, running, still running. But for a different reason this time.
That was bizarre. Keeli watched the vampire disappear for a second time. The memory of his eyes lingered, and she shuddered.
“Hey now,” said the beefy man holding her arm. “Hold still.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, refraining from adding a more colorful description to her apology. She glanced at Jim, who stood on the sidelines with an expression of helpless fury on his weathered face. They hadn’t said much to each other before the police arrived, only enough to reassure Keeli that Jim knew why she had attacked those men. He’d been taking up for her with the police ever since.
“S’okay,” she said to him, as she was pushed into the van. She looked one last time at the woman whose life she’d saved, took in the gratitude, the lingering aftershocks of fear.
One good deed, she thought. One good deed and off to jail. Lovely. Her life was officially ruined. She wondered how she would survive, and whether the circumstances of her attack would make a judge more lenient. She doubted it. Strangely enough, she couldn’t muster much emotion about her situation—not even fear. Just a numb, hollow acceptance. Because this was what people had expected, wasn’t it? All those bastards had been right, after all.
Keeli sat on a hard, narrow seat bolted to the wall. The van was cold; it smelled like sweat, gunpowder, and exposed steel. Captivity, on wheels. Fear finally threaded through her chest. She quickly suppressed it. She would handle this, no matter what. She would.
The officer cuffed her feet to the floor. Silver, she’d bet, though her boots kept the metal from her skin. Her wrists burned. There would be marks—scars, even. It might take an entire week to heal properly. The sign of the Man carved into her body. A bad omen, for a wolf.
Yet deep down, Keeli thought she deserved it. She would have bitten—perhaps killed—that human. She certainly hadn’t hesitated when the vampire grabbed her. And that was the worst part. She had sunk her teeth into him, thinking he was human. Not caring if he were human.
That temper of hers is dangerous. You know what she’s like as a wolf. Her father was the same way. Berserker. Feral. All instinct and nothing else. It’s the Maddox blood. You know where that name’s from, right? Mad dog. The whole lot of them, mad.
A blond man entered the van—the same one who had taken off when his pager beeped. Keeli inhaled deep. Some scent clung to him, familiar.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said.
The first officer followed the implicit order without comment, though Keeli noted his hesitation. The doors shut behind him and Keeli was left alone with something even worse than the Man. A true-blue C.C.P.D. accredited Officer of the Law.
“You going to strip-search me?” she drawled, when the engine started and still the blond man seated across from her had not stopped staring. The sewn-on strip above his heart said jenkins. He looked like a professional, which was not all that reassuring.
The man snorted. “Just wondering what makes you special.”
“If I were so special,” Keeli said, annoyed and curious, “I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Jenkins smiled. “You don’t know. Great, I love this.”
Keeli pressed her lips together and the human shook his head. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. He removed a key from his belt, and looked her hard in the eyes. Cool, assessing.
“I’m doing this because someone went to a lot of trouble for you tonight. You understand? Don’t make him out to be a liar.”
Keeli stared, mystified. It wasn’t until Jenkins bent and unlocked her feet, and then her hands, that she understood part of what he was getting at. She rubbed her burning wrists.
“But the law …”
“Is being bent for you just this once.” Jenkins tucked the cuffs into a deep pocket in his cargo pants. “No real jail time. Just a holding cell for the night. You go free in the morning, with a fine.” He pulled a med kit from the compartment beneath his seat and removed a white tube. “Burn gel. Specially made for silver poisoning.”
Keeli did not take the medicine. “What’s the price?”
Because even though she was a werewolf, she was also a woman—and some men got their digs that way. Jenkins scowled. He tossed her the tube and then leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest.
“No price, as far as I’m concerned. That’s between you and Michael.”
“Michael?” Keeli echoed. A flurry of images tunneled through her brain: dark eyes, strong hands in her hair, the urgency of his voice. A touch, on her lips. The sight of him hovering in the night sky, staring so hard at her. And his taste, that hard swallow of his blood that had gone down hot into her belly. …
She recognized the scent, then—the one she had noticed on Jenkins’s clothing.
“Why?” she asked, because it was the only word her voice would form.
“Don’t know,” he said, and Keeli sensed that he, too, was perplexed. “I’ve worked with Michael for a long time, and he’s never pulled a stunt like this. Had plenty of opportunities, too. You’re the first.”
A long time with the C.C.P.D? Michael was a liaison, then. A long-term backstabber to his own kind.
Must be real popular with other vampires.
Some werewolves served the same function, running part-time with the C.C.P.D., but they never lasted long. There was too much conflict and animosity. Clan comes first, was the old saying. You run apart, you stay apart.
It had to be the same with the vampires. The fangs were even more socially unforgiving than the wolves. But what would make a vampire set himself apart like that? And why would he help her?
“This doesn’t make sense,” Keeli said. “I don’t know this Michael. I don’t want to know him. He’s a vampire.”
Jenkins shrugged, though Keeli did not miss the hard glint in his eyes. “That’s your choice. I’d show a little more gratitude, though. He saved you five years hard time tonight.”
More than that, Keeli thought, still stunned. If she had bitten that rapist and infected him, it would have been life in prison. If she’d snapped his neck like she wanted to? Death penalty for sure.
Jenkins peered into her face. “Isn’t often people do nice things for each other.”
“Vampires aren’t people.” She spoke without thinking, the response automatic.
He blew out his breath, annoyed. “I was talking about you. Shit. I don’t know why Michael bothered, except you did something good tonight.”
“
Is she all right?” Keeli asked, quieter. She tried not to feel embarrassed.
“Yeah.” Jenkins rubbed a hand over his face. “Scared shitless, but okay. She was lucky you were around.” He smiled, but it was without humor. Cold, even. “You want a job?”
“No,” she said instantly. “Hell, no.”
His smile widened. “Thought so.”
“An absolute disaster,” Celestine seethed, not waiting until she was clear of the Maddox tunnel, out of earshot of the werewolves, before speaking in loud strident tones a deaf man could have heard vibrating in his chest. Frederick gave her a hard look, but did not admonish her as Michael would have.
The werewolves, a handful who had gathered to escort the envoys from the tunnels, snarled. Michael thought they showed considerable restraint. Had Keeli heard such a statement from Celestine, he had no doubt she would have leapt on the vampire with her claws out, teeth bared.
And won.
Something similar might have already happened tonight, Michael thought, remembering what Jenkins had told him. He thought of Keeli again, the look of his blood on her lips. He wondered if anything happened when werewolves drank vampire blood.
“Is there something wrong with your mouth?” Celestine snapped at Michael as she passed him. Michael raised an eyebrow, noting the shocked expressions of the other vampires. No one, not even Celestine, ever spoke to Michael in public, and certainly not like that.
“My mouth is the same as it has always been,” he said, curious.
Celestine squinted. “You looked like you were smiling. It was disturbing.”
“My goal, my pleasure,” Michael said, and this time he did smile. Celestine looked away.
Frederick did not bid the wolves good-bye as he passed; he did not acknowledge them in any way. He did not greet Michael, either. The other envoys followed as Frederick stepped into the air, climbing stairs made of wind, a slender figure walking on shadows.
Michael did not follow. He remained by the Maddox tunnel, hands hanging loose against his thighs. He watched the werewolves. He did not know if they were negotiators, guards, or curious residents of the underground; it did not matter, either way. He was here because this was the closest clan within a fifty-block radius, and he assumed someone would know Keeli.
The sewer grate was still open; Michael sensed movement down below, the quiet hush of breathing. Jas appeared through the entrance, this time clothed in jeans and an unbuttoned denim shirt. He remained silent, as did the other werewolves. Michael raised an eyebrow. A staring contest ensued between the two men, but the vampire had eternity on his side. Jas blinked first. A low growl rumbled from his throat.
“What do you want, fang?”
Many things, Michael thought, but said, “I believe one of your wolves was taken in by the police. I made an arrangement with their chief officer. She’ll be released in the morning, but there will be a large fine attached to her arrest.”
Murmuring, feet shifting. Everyone looked unhappy, Jas most of all. He lowered his head, canines descending from an elongated face, inhuman muscles moving beneath his forearms. He stepped close, sniffing the air.
“Your scent,” he said, rough, gritty, and strangled. “Who was the wolf?”
Something is his voice made Michael think that Jas already had a good idea whom he was going to name. Jas just needed to hear it to have his excuse. So when Michael said, “Keeli,” and Jas lunged forward to grab him by the front of his robes, he was not terribly surprised. He felt the brush of claws against his chest as they pierced his clothing, heard wet cracking sounds as the other werewolves changed shape, dropping to all fours with hackles raised, heads ducked low with teeth bared. Michael did not struggle, but he did not lower his eyes, either. He was subservient to no one, especially a wolf.
Looked like his heart was ripped out. Along with his guts.
“Why did the police take her in? You have something to do with it?” Jas pressed close. His breath smelled like raw meat. His urgency took Michael aback—it was not just simple anger or hunger for a fight. This wolf was keenly afraid for Keeli.
Who is she to them?
“Enough.” A familiar voice, dry with age. The same voice that had greeted the vampire envoy. All the wolves but Jas stilled, quieted. Michael tilted his head enough to see fingers emerge from the darkness of the underground. The nearest werewolves resumed human form and with great care pulled on that frail hand.
An old woman rose up from the shadows. She needed no name; Michael knew who she was, simply by the strength of her presence. Silver hair hung in loose waves around a weathered face, delicate and translucent. Bright blue eyes, keen. A stubborn mouth.
This will be Keeli. In time, this will be her. Because, despite the difference in age, it was like gazing at a mirror image. The reactions of the werewolves suddenly made more sense.
And this old woman is their leader, no less. Maddox is more unusual than I imagined.
He remembered his manners, then, and bowed his head. “Grand Dame Alpha,” he murmured. “It is an honor.”
“Is it now?” she said lightly. “Then you would be the first of your kind to say so.” She glided forward, remarkably graceful for a woman her age.
“He smells like Keeli,” Jas said. “And he’s been wounded.”
“I can see that,” she said, looking at his arm. Michael had not wrapped his wound. The Grand Dame Alpha drew near. Her face was calm, but he sensed the urgency underlying her voice when she said, “Keeli. What trouble is she in?
Jas tightened his grip. This time, his claws drew blood.
Michael brought up his hands and in one smooth movement broke the werewolf’s hold. An easy thing to do—perhaps, even, humiliatingly so. Jas snarled, the scar on his cheek prominent and pale against his flushed face.
“Jas.” The Grand Dame was quiet, but even Michael heard the command. For a moment, he thought Jas would disobey, but the other wolves stared and he calmed. Sullen, angry, but obedient.
A fissure, Michael noted, as he turned to the Grand Dame Alpha with his hands loose and open. She will need to watch this one.
“Keeli saved a woman’s life,” he said.
“Saving a life is not usually grounds for arrest.”
Michael hesitated. “She was not herself at the time.”
The Grand Dame glanced down at his wounded arm. “Show me.”
Michael held out his arm. The Grand Dame leaned close, unafraid. She sniffed his wound; her body went very still.
“Did she kill anyone?” asked the old woman quietly. “Is she hurt?”
“No,” he said. He did not know what else to say. He remembered the horror on Keeli’s face, and could not bring himself to betray her struggle and shame with cheap words.
The Grand Dame studied his face. Michael wondered what she saw, the story he had left untold. Her gaze was strong, sharp. He felt her take in the golden tattoo on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she said. “You made an arrangement with the police?”
“They know me,” he said.
“Turncoat,” someone whispered.
The Grand Dame glanced sharply in the direction of that voice. A hush descended. Squaring her slim shoulders, she looked back at Michael. “We will remember your help.”
“There is no debt,” Michael said, turning away the precious gift of those words.
“There’s always something,” Jas said, and the Grand Dame Alpha did not quiet him.
“Not this time.” Michael turned around and left the wolves. Glass crunched beneath his boots, a distinct cutting sound, razing the stillness of the alley. He felt the werewolves watch him, their gazes curling around his body like smoke.
He did not take to the air until he was a respectable distance away. No one liked a show-off. Especially Michael.
Chapter Four
Jail sucked. It would have sucked less if Keeli had been alone in her cell, but unfortunately, she was stuck with a persistent memory that might as well have been company, the way i
t consumed her thoughts.
Keeli smelled like vampire. Michael, his hand buried in her hair, his nose brushing her own—so close, so close—his scent had rubbed off on her. She hadn’t even noticed until she’d finally slumped against a wall and buried her head in her arms. The scent tickled her nose—again, a reminder of dark eyes—and she knew. She knew.
The cell was a fifteen-by-fifteen square, with nailed-down benches against three walls and silver bars for a door. Cement, everywhere, with a public toilet and sink in the far corner. Keeli was going to have to get pretty desperate before she used that thing. It reeked of strangers and filth.
Just beyond the silver bars was the rest of the police station, lit up bright as day by fluorescent tubes. For a while, Keeli watched Jenkins at his desk, shoulders hunched over a computer keyboard. She watched officers drink coffee and talk on the phone; listened while a couple of strange werewolves were brought in for questioning, and then released. None of the wolves paid attention to her. She sat in the far corner of her cell and tried to be inconspicuous. It would be embarrassing for her grandmother and clan if word got out in the werewolf community about her arrest. Which was inevitable—she just didn’t want to advertise it.
It was her first time in jail, and while she’d expected it to be frightening, after several hours her fear and curiosity waned. There was only so much energy a person could devote to analyzing uniforms and wall certificates and typing speeds. She tried very hard, though, because when she stopped for even an instant, she began thinking about Michael.
A vampire had saved her life. He had touched her and she had bitten him, and still, he had helped her. With calm strength and a low voice he had talked the rage out of the wolf, and sent the animal to sleep. Keeli did not know how or why he had done it. His bargain with Jenkins was even more baffling. What did he want from her? Or was it possible he didn’t want anything?
A Taste of Crimson Page 3