“I can take care of myself,” Keeli told him. “Besides, I think it’s you she’s pissed at. What did you do?”
Michael glanced at the door. “I told her the truth.”
“Some truth. What was it? That you’re married? Gay? Got genital warts?”
Michael’s gaze snapped back to her; his lips twitched. “Worse than that.”
Keeli laughed out loud. “Your ass is so fried.”
“Maybe.” This time he did smile. “But the door isn’t that strong. She’s not trying very hard.”
“No real conviction, huh? That’s the problem with vampire chicks. All talk, no action.” Keeli stopped, tapping her chin. “Or it could just be the warts. Are you that contagious?”
“I am not diseased.”
Keeli shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. I’m sure you’re all clean ‘down there.’”
“Maybe you’d like to check for yourself.”
Keeli’s face flushed warm. So much for teasing. She stepped away, putting some distance between herself and the vampire. He was beginning to smell familiar, and that bothered her. She glanced around his apartment, thankful she could see well in poor light. It was a studio, really, with battered wood floors and cracked walls. One window with the blind taped down. An unmade bed was in the corner, and on a table shoved near the bed, an assortment of weapons. She thought she smelled roses, but this placed looked like poison to flowers. The rest of the neighborhood wasn’t much better.
What is a vampire doing in a dump like this? It certainly wasn’t anything she could have imagined. In fact, she’d thought Jenkins was high on crack when he’d given her the address.
The door shuddered; Keeli jumped. She had forgotten about Celestine. Crazy vampire chicks paled in comparison to being up close and personal with Michael’s magnetic presence. She listened hard, and a moment later heard the fading whisper of cloth. Hoped the winos sleeping in the stairwell didn’t get kicked or bitten.
“Keeli,” Michael said, and she squared her shoulders against the sudden tightness in her belly, the slow stir of his voice sinking into her skin. “I’m sorry about this. That you’ve become … involved in this case. I should have argued more.”
Keeli looked at him, surprised. “You couldn’t have stopped me. This is what I want. Besides, no matter what you say, I do owe you.”
Michael shook his head; Keeli held up her hand. “Tell me one thing,” she said quickly, wanting to lay things out before she got too deep. “Tell me why you did it. I want to know why a vampire would stop a werewolf from killing a man. Why you helped me with the police.”
Anger stirred in Michael’s face. For a moment, Keeli thought it was directed at her. A terrible thing—the enraged woman of earlier had nothing on this man in darkness, in sheer suppressed rage—and Keeli felt herself stand on the edge of it. A muscle twitched in Michael’s face, and then it was gone, calm restored. A neutral, empty mask. In a low voice, he said, “You were not yourself. I could see that. No one should be punished for the things they do in madness.”
Keeli fought for her voice. “I was myself, Michael. I knew what I was doing. And I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life, that almost-murder, the taste for the kill. I wanted to kill him.”
“Yes, you did,” he said, surprising her. “And it made you sick afterwards. Horrified you. Don’t pretend it didn’t.”
“How could I?” Keeli whispered, reliving that moment. “How could I live with myself if I forgot?”
“Some do forget,” Michael said, and she sensed a terrible strain on his body. His cheek drew her eye—that golden glitter, duller in shadow. The tattoo looked sinister. “But you’re not the kind with a bad memory. I saw that in you. It’s why I helped. Your heart isn’t that cold.”
“You see a lot for a vampire.” It was difficult to speak. Keeli had to force the words out—anything to fill the silence made heavy with his presence, the energy between them. Gibberish would be enough, though Keeli was happy she wasn’t quite yet to that stage. She was an idiot, yes—standing in a darkened apartment, alone with a vampire, fit the definition quite nicely—but at least she didn’t have to sound like one. She had some pride left, and maybe even enough crazy courage to follow this thing through.
“I see enough,” Michael said, quiet.
She almost touched him. Appalling, crazy. Keeli balled her hands into fists. She did not understand this vampire—why he lived in a shit-hole or fought with other vampires—how he could say these things to her and act like he meant it, when really, really, he was probably just trying to use her, to make her nice and pliant. She didn’t understand him—none of this—and what she didn’t understand in people always made her nervous, and what she didn’t understand in herself …
Why the hell am I here?
Because of promises and honor. Because Jenkins clearly expected her to wig out on him and Michael. Because of what the officer had told her about the crime in question.
The body was found on Fourth and Lexington, near the old bakery. Familiar territory, huh?
Yeah. Maddox territory. Double-oh-crap. Something had to be done, and fast. If Keeli had been given a chance to speak to her grandmother, the old woman might very well have agreed, regardless of the stigma attached to any liaison helping with the investigation.
But partnered with a vampire?
Keeli had no idea what Granny May would say, only that Jas had been waiting at the police station at six a.m. with money for the five-thousand-dollar fine (how Keeli was going to pay that back to the clan, she had no idea), and she had refused to go with him. That had been an hour ago: no doubt her grandmother had heard it all by now.
“I’ve got business to take care of,” she’d said, and Jas—swearing at her—had been unable to keep up. That’s what living in the underground all the time did to a wolf; made him slow. Keeli knew topside, had an unerring sense of direction in Man’s world. Unnatural, maybe—it had taken long years of walking the street, seeking out every scent and nook and cranny—but it was worth it. Most wolves did not care enough—or were too scared—to go deep into the sun and moon and breeze. Not Keeli. This was her city, just as much as it was any human’s or vampire’s, and she meant to stake her claim, even if it were just with the soles of her boots. Until the government started locking up every werewolf behind silver bars, that was a right she was going to exercise.
In the meantime, I’ll just keep digging myself deeper and deeper.
Michael continued to stare. Keeli frowned. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
“You’re too deep for me. Brain cannot compute.”
Michael’s lips twitched; Keeli suspected that was his version of a smile. “Would you like to sit down?”
“This isn’t a social call.”
“We need to talk about the case.”
“We can talk on the road. I promised Jenkins we’d get started on this thing, and the sooner we do, the sooner we can finish and go our separate ways.”
Michael touched his face; his hand came away wet, bloody. “I need to do something about this. It will take a little time.”
“Oh,” she said, her defiance deflating just a little. “Yeah.”
You weren’t raised to be this bitchy. You wouldn’t act like this if he were a human or a wolf. But hello? Vampire?
Still, guilt. Keeli scowled. “Do you have any rags? Paper towels? Antiseptic?”
Michael frowned and she fluttered her hands at his face and chest. “You need someone to look at you. I’ll … help.”
“You’ll help.” He drew the words out slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe her. Keeli’s cheeks flushed.
“Yes,” she snapped, glancing around the small apartment. There was a narrow door off to her right; just beyond, a bathroom. She really had no interest in knowing whether vampires kept their toilets clean, but since she was already in, she might as well go all the way.
Keeli stalked to the bathroom and switched on the
light. Standard, nothing special. Toilet, sink, shower stall. She sniffed the air and was pleasantly surprised by the scent of disinfectant covering the faint remnant of blood-tainted urine. She turned to call Michael over and swallowed a gasp. He was right behind her.
Too close, too much skin.
You’ve seen men more naked than Michael. Wolves usually strip down when they shift.
Then why did this feel different? Hell, what was wrong with her?
“I can do this alone.” Michael reached past her to grab a towel hanging from a hook in the wall. His powerful muscles flexed beneath pale skin.
“You look like shit.”
Michael paused in his movements, effectively penning her in. Keeli forced herself to look at his face, and only his face. Which, in this light, was appalling. Just what had that woman done to him? And what was up with his tattoo?
“I’ve looked worse,” he said.
“Hard to believe. You vampires aren’t much for scrapping.”
His eyes hardened—dangerous, cool—and Keeli clenched her jaw, steadying herself. She smelled blood, his blood, and it was not unpleasant.
“You don’t know much about vampires,” he said, leaning close.
“I know enough,” she shot back, trying to steady her voice.
“Enough to help me solve a crime involving one? Enough to remain unbiased during the investigation? Jenkins told you, didn’t he? The body was found on Maddox territory. The murderer could be a member of your own clan.”
“‘Maybe’ isn’t the same as ‘is’,” she shot back, briefly wondering who had told him she was a Maddox wolf. “And besides, if you’re worried I’ll try to protect my kind or stab you in the back, don’t be. I don’t play that kind of dirty, even against people I don’t like. If a werewolf—even a Maddox werewolf—murdered a vampire, then a werewolf will pay.”
“Justice,” he murmured. “You’ll swear to it?”
“I already have,” she said. “When I promised you and Jenkins my help.”
“I want to hear it.”
Keeli wanted to add more wounds to his face. “Justice,” she ground out. “I swear it.”
Michael nodded, though he did not move away. His gaze flickered down to her lips, back to her eyes. “You are not going to have an easy time of this. The other wolves—”
“Are my problem,” she interrupted. “And considering everything else that’s going on, I hope they’ll understand why we have to work together.” Sheer bravado. Keeli wasn’t sure of anything, and it scared it. Terrified her.
Michael’s mouth twisted, wry. “You give your kind more credit than I would mine.”
Keeli snorted. “A word of advice. If you don’t want me to insult vampires, don’t give me openings like that.”
This time she saw a true glimmer of a smile. Michael lowered his arm and stepped back. “If you don’t want to join me in the shower, I suggest you move.”
Heat filled her cheeks; she hadn’t blushed this hard in years. How immature. Keeli pushed past him, hands pressed to her thighs to keep from accidentally brushing his naked torso. The back of her hand touched his hip instead; the contact was brief, but eloquent. Her skin tasted soft cotton, and beneath, so close, hard planes of muscle, bone.
Her breath caught; the door closed quickly behind her.
Standing in the middle of Michael’s dark studio, Keeli closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Slow, calming, breaths, meant to quiet a racing heart, a flushed body.
She felt wet between her thighs.
Michael was wet all over. Shivering.
The cold shower was not working. He wondered if it was another human myth, invented by men who liked to pretend there was a cure for lust. It seemed like a myth to him. A lie. He was still hard and the cold water pounding against his body was doing nothing to drive away the throbbing ache that had begun the moment Keeli brushed against his body.
You’re not even hard. Celestine’s whisper haunted him. If only that were still the case.
She is a wolf, he told himself, bracing his arms against the wall. You shouldn’t be feeling this.
Or maybe his powerful desire had nothing to do with Keeli. Maybe it was just his proximity to an attractive woman—a delayed reaction, perhaps, to his resistance against Celestine’s actions. His body, finally waking up.
And refusing to go to sleep. Michael clenched his jaw. This was impossible. He couldn’t stay in here forever. He thought of Keeli, waiting for him outside the bathroom, and stifled a groan as the ache in his groin intensified. He was wrong—this desire had everything to do with Keeli.
He turned the shower knobs; cold water changed to hot. Michael did not relax.
You can’t go out there like this.
Michael touched himself. He tried not to think of Keeli.
He failed.
Chapter Six
By the time Michael emerged from the steaming bathroom—clothed and slightly damp—Keeli had regained some semblance of control. She did not know what was wrong with her but it had her afraid and disgusted.
“Are you ready?” Her voice sounded unfriendly, rough.
Michael picked up a pair of mirrored sunglasses from the kitchen counter. They matched his overall look—loose black slacks, black button-up shirt. Cool, sophisticated. Keeli wondered if his archaic robes of the night before were hanging in the closet.
He put on the sunglasses and tugged a hat over his damp black hair.
“I’ve got sunblock on,” he said, in a voice that was curiously tense. “Test me. Raise the blind.”
Keeli went to the window and carefully peeled off the tape. She stuck the strips, tail-like, on the windowsill. One small tug and the blind rolled up. For a moment, as the window lay revealed, sunlight streaming warm against her face, she forgot the vampire—forgot her problems and all the shit heading toward the fan. All she could think of was color.
Just beyond the cracked glass grew a cascading riot of scarlet and tropical sunrise, canary, and mango. Thick brambling roses tumbled over a rusty fire escape, pushing through the narrow bars with thorn and stem and leaf, rubbing up against the window with petals soft as a purr.
“How?” she murmured. She raised the window. Inhaled, shuddering, as scent overwhelmed her. This was the reason she had smelled roses, but she had never imagined …
Remembering Michael, she whirled and nearly knocked noses with him. She felt his breath against her face, the cool pass of his skin on her own. She swallowed hard; her head felt strange. Dizzy, almost.
“My roses,” Michael said, a strange expression on his face as he leaned away from Keeli. “I grow them.”
“They’re beautiful,” she said, tearing her gaze from his covered eyes. She glimpsed her reflection in the lenses; her face looked warped, confused. She glanced at his lips and turned her head, feeling burned. What the hell was wrong with her?
Michael stepped close; Keeli stood with her back to him, gripping the windowsill so tight her knuckles turned white. He did not touch her—she did not want him to—but he was near, so near, and her body felt too warm.
“As you can tell, I have few luxuries. In my youth, before I became a vampire, I lived in a dry place. Nothing but grass and sheep and horses. I never imagined color such as this. How something could smell so soft and look so lovely, and yet be covered in thorns. I found it … highly appropriate.”
“Beauty always hurts,” Keeli said, daring to glance at him over her shoulder. “Hurts the person looking, hurts the person with. The first can never have enough; the second, it’s all others see.”
She felt him staring at the back of her head. Her nails cracked through paint in the window ledge, dug into wood. “Are we going or not?”
Silence. Keeli took a deep breath and forced herself to turn. Michael felt too tall, too close—she craned her neck to look him square in the face, wishing she could see beyond his mirrored shades.
Vampire, she reminded herself. Don’t you forget what he is.
Kee
li pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him away from her. He stumbled backward, his hands coming up—to touch her, maybe. Frightening. She had to get away. Right now.
She did not know what she would do if he touched her. She did not want to know how it would feel.
Michael lowered his hands. Keeli squeezed past him, desperate to create space, some illusion of control.
“Are you ready?” She stood on the other side of the room, near the door. The wolf trembled beneath her ribs, but she did not rub her arms like she wanted, to check for the telltale pin-marks of dark hair through skin.
Michael glanced at the open window, sun streaming warm upon his body. He looked at Keeli and raised an eyebrow.
“All right, then.” Keeli opened the door. “Let’s go.”
She watched him go to the table for his weapons. From her brief study of them, she knew there weren’t any guns or stun rods. Just lots of sharp things. An assortment of swords, long daggers, and wicked-looking stakes. What a vampire was doing with stakes raised a lot of interesting questions. Maybe too many.
“It’s illegal to carry concealed weapons,” she reminded him.
Michael raised an eyebrow. “I think the simple fact of being a vampire—and werewolf—already makes us something of a concealed weapon.”
Keeli flushed. “You know what I mean.”
“And if something goes wrong during the investigation?”
You mean, if someone tries ripping off your head for asking a dumb question? “That’s what I’m here for. I’ll protect you.” She smirked.
Michael did not laugh. Something hard moved through his eyes. “Maybe it will be the other way around. Did you think of that when you agreed to this?”
Yes, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She also didn’t like having it thrown in her face. “Just what are you?” she demanded. “What kind of vampire works with the police, spends his mornings getting bitch-slapped and has a collection of pointy things that are death to fangs? You are too screwed up to live.”
Michael glided close, and there was nothing pleasant about his gaze, the cruel warp of his mouth. His angular face lost its beauty, suddenly seemed more skull than flesh, more death than pale life.
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