Bite My Fire: A Biting Love story.

by Mary Hughes

  His finger, warm on my lips, cut me off. “Elena. You don’t have to change to be what I want. And you shouldn’t change to be what other people want.”

  “Oh…well, I…that is…” He was so serious. So passionate. Like he cared, a lot. Like he really did lov…shit.

  Flustered, I rubbed my neck. The skin where he’d bitten me was smooth and whole. “Hey. Why don’t I feel bite marks?” I was seriously shaken by the whole L-word thing, so I grabbed the first topic I could.

  He must have sensed it, because he backed off. “I licked you. Our saliva heals.” He touched my neck with a gentle fingertip. “With small punctures, almost instantly.”

  And because work was the antidote for just about any awkward stupidity (like feelings), I connected the dots with the Schrimpf case. “There were unhealed holes in Napoleon Schrimpf’s balls. Does that prove it wasn’t a vampire bite?”

  “Not necessarily.” Curling his arm around me, Bo lay back. “The holes don’t close automatically.”

  “No?” I snuggled into him. Great sex, then a cozy chat after, nice. As long as it wasn’t about lov…yeah. “Why not?”

  “Maybe not enough saliva on the teeth. You have to coat the skin. Or maybe the blood running out washes the healing away. Come to think of it, that’s probably it. Wounds heal best if you apply a little pressure with the lick.”

  A cozy chat about bloody wounds. Definitely not normal bedroom banter, but Bo didn’t seem to mind. Was he perfect for me, or what? “Bo, if I gave you the list of people at Nieman’s Bar the night Schrimpf died, could you tell me which ones are vampires?”

  “I can tell you without the list. I know every vampire living within ten miles of Meiers Corners. But Elena…” Bo raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me. “You’re not still working on that, are you?”

  I wasn’t officially on the Schrimpf case anymore. I wasn’t even a detective anymore. But the death was unsolved. If I could figure it out, wouldn’t that look good on the department record? Wouldn’t that make Tight-ass want to reinstate me? “Well…”

  “Sweetheart, I have to go out of town tonight. It can’t be put off. That worries me.”

  “I can understand why, with only Thor and baby vamp Steve to back you up.”

  “No, that’s not it. Well, yes, it bothers me that they have to handle the whole city, especially with the increase in rogues. But I feel worse that I’m leaving you unprotected.”

  “What?” I raised myself on my elbow too, mirroring him. “I’m a trained police officer, Bo. I can handle myself.”

  “Against humans. But vampires…well. Even the newest fledgling is stronger and faster than you can believe. I don’t want you going after one, Elena. Not alone.”

  “The killer might not be a vampire.”

  “Then why are you asking about bite wounds?”

  I squirmed. “You’ve got to admit the evidence points to someone long in the tooth, as it were.”

  He shook his head. “Sometimes you’re too damned smart for my peace of mind. Yes, it looks like one of my kind did it. Which is why you should stay out of harm’s way and let me handle it.”

  He had a point. Even a year-old vampire like John Smith had unbelievable strength and speed. Bo, when he wasn’t trying to hide it, could do things that seemed supernatural. I should let him take care of it.

  On the other hand, ordinary humans like Willow, Giles and even Xander had poofed vamps in Buffy. How hard could it be? “Schrimpf was murdered. Crime’s my job. Look, I agree I shouldn’t go it alone, but you’re overworked. Why not at least let me help out?”

  His eyes went ice blue. “Elena, I’m not going to argue with you. If a vampire’s involved, it’s my business, not yours.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need help. You were just jawing air the other night when you said you should have been patrolling instead of having sex.”

  He didn’t respond, which was reply enough.

  “Let me ask you this. If I were a vampire, would you let me help?”

  “That’s moot. You’re not, I am. This is my city. I’ll handle it.”

  He was getting awfully defensive. Looked like Thor was right. “Someone who was supposed to help you let you down, didn’t they? And not just someone. A partner.”

  He jerked. “Do you read minds?”

  “I wondered the same thing about you, buster.” I blushed, remembering what ‘buster’ meant to him. “I mean, Bo. Tell me about it?”

  That got him to smile and relax some. “I like ‘buster’, rather. You’re right. I had a lieutenant years ago who was eager and clever. And ruthless, though I didn’t see it at the time. I relied on him more and more, finally made him my equal. My partner. Turned out he was using me and my training to gain power in the Chicago Coterie.”

  “The what?”

  “A group of vampires, head of several gangs of rogues. Neither here nor there, except after my ex-lieutenant joined, the Coterie developed an unhealthy interest in the Meiers Corners’ Blood Center.”

  “Our blood center? Why? Don’t they have blood centers in Chicago?”

  “Yes,” Bo said. “But they also have a lot of vampires needing blood. The Coterie wants ours because, frankly, blood is power in our world. He who controls the blood controls all.”

  “But Meiers Corners is so tiny. How can a few pints matter?”

  “We’re the Hemoglobin Society’s new regional distributor. Thousands of units will pass through.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  “Agreed. One of my jobs is to protect the people of the city. The other is to protect the Blood Center. We’re already spread thin. I don’t want to also have to worry about you going after vampires alone.”

  “But you need my help, Bo, at least with the murder. And it’s probably a local vampire that did it, not one of those Coterie creeps. You say vamps are stronger and faster than I can believe, but how strong is someone like Vlad? Or Drusilla?”

  “Can’t you leave that damned murder alone?” Bo’s eyes went violet with temper. “Drusilla didn’t kill Schrimpf.”

  “Fine. Besides Drusilla, what other vampires were even there that night?”

  His jaw worked. Finally, with obvious reluctance, he said, “Only Vlad.”

  “Who, as an older vampire, would know how to close holes.”

  Bo blew out a breath, flopped back on the bed. “You’re like a terrier, aren’t you? Vlad isn’t old. Though he pretends otherwise.”

  “He isn’t?” I could just see the tips of Bo’s fangs. Damn.

  “No. Vlad rose two years ago. Chicago. But even the youngest vampire—”

  “—is stronger and faster than I can believe. I heard.” Vampires were his job. He was warning me off. But murder was my job. “Why is Vlad here in Meiers Corners, then?”

  “I suppose he thought he’d stand a better chance of finding a place in a household. The bigger Chicago houses don’t take fledglings. Damn it, Elena, I don’t like where this conversation is going. Enough.”

  He was getting angry because I was pushing. This was the reason I was alone. Only my dad ever understood that driving need for justice. And even he had left me.

  But I wasn’t going to stop, not even for Bo, who I might actually l…l…oh, just say it. Love. I loved Bo Strongwell. Fuck me, but I did.

  But police work wasn’t just my job. It was who I was. “Why didn’t Vlad find a household?”

  I braced myself for the backlash. I’d already felt the anger. Now I’d get the condemnation.

  Now Bo would dump me. Like countless before him.

  Fangs extending, eyes darkening to red, he leaned up on one muscled arm and glared at me. Opened his mouth to deliver his blistering rejection.

  He blinked. His eyes traveled over my face, softening to a puzzled blue. “Elena…?”

  I sat perfectly still. Bracing myself for the unthinkable. Thanks to Murphyous Interruptus I’d been dumped before, plenty of times.

  This was the first time it wou
ld hurt.

  A lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bo stared at me for the longest time. Slowly, his lips curved in a rueful smile. “Ah, Detective. Don’t worry. I know you can’t help yourself.” He lay back down. “When Vlad came, I didn’t have any openings. And Stark is very choosy.”

  A great weight lifted from the neighborhood of my chest. I could hardly believe…he meant it. I didn’t have to change for him. Well, damn. “Makes sense, considering Stark and Moss are sitting on the Fort Knox of blood.”

  “Something like that. You know, Elena, at first I tried to keep this secret from you because I was afraid for me. Then I tried because I was afraid for you. Sweetheart, don’t go looking for trouble, please? At least not before I get back.”

  “Looking for trouble is against regulations.” He wasn’t angry. He was concerned. Oh, I so could love him, if I didn’t already. I crawled on top of him and gave him a big kiss (albeit a cop-mode kiss). “If vampires are so strong, why would Vlad want to be in a household? Couldn’t he just, um, forage?”

  “A household guarantees a constant supply of blood. The youngling is trained under an older, more experienced vampire. And—I destroy rogues.” Bo’s eyes momentarily flashed ruby red.

  Destroy. As in cut off the head and dig out the heart. I shivered. “Why haven’t you destroyed Vlad?”

  Bo must have felt the shiver because he started stroking my back. “Vlad isn’t a rogue. He doesn’t have a household, but he doesn’t kill for his blood, either.”

  “How does he get it?”

  “Buys most of it. Steals some, I suspect.”

  “Why don’t you stop that?”

  He thought a moment. “I guess I feel somewhat responsible for his condition. I didn’t have room two years ago. When Drusilla left, I took Steve in instead of Vlad. My household, my decision. But I feel badly about it. So I leave him be.” He took me by the shoulders. Looked deeply into my eyes. “Elena. My point is, no matter how young, a vampire is still dangerous to you. To any human. Please, wait to pursue this case. At least until I return.”

  “You don’t think I’m going after a vampire by myself, do you?” I injected as much sincerity as I could.

  With another sigh, Bo shifted me off. Sat up. “Sometimes I wish I could compel you. Elena, it’s almost impossible for a human to destroy a vampire. But there are ways you can immobilize one.”

  “Really?” This was important information, since Dru was my prime suspect. Especially if I was going after her alone. Which, of course, I was not. Honest. Swear on a stack of cream Danish.

  Bo took my face between his warm hands. “Listen to me carefully, Elena. You need to drive a stake through the heart.”

  “I know.” Pointy stick, grab and stab. Easy.

  “You don’t know. The stake has to be big. About this thick.” He seized my forearm. “Thick enough to punch out the heart.”

  “Okay.” Still seemed easy enough. Sharpen a baseball bat and stick it through the vampire. Poof, dust.

  “You can’t just pop the chest. Bones are in the way, the breastbone and the ribs, even harder than a human’s. Go up, through the belly.” He grabbed my hand and demonstrated, driving two of my fingers into his amazing abs.

  “Through the belly, uh-huh.” My fingers started petting.

  “Elena. Pay attention.”

  “I am.” So was his auxiliary Mr. Stakey, rising thick and pointy from its nest of pubic hair.

  “You have to thrust hard, Elena. The diaphragm is also in the way.”

  “Thrust hard, uh-huh…diaphragm?” Like something that covered a cervix? A barrier, with something hot banging it, something hard and hot banging and banging until it burst, blasting eager little swimmers?

  “The breathing muscle. Think of an inch-thick sheet of rubber. Imagine driving the stake through that. You have to thrust hard. Elena, concentrate.”

  I was trying. But all this talk of thrusting and driving—

  “And this only works if the vampire is asleep. Or on a youngling who doesn’t know enough to pull the stake out.”

  That got my attention. “They can pull it out? They don’t just…poof?”

  “No. And if the stake isn’t thick enough, the heart heals around it and goes on pumping.”

  “Sweet exploding Cracker Jacks.”

  “Yes. Remember, the stake doesn’t destroy the vampire. It only immobilizes it.”

  “Run me over with a Humvee.”

  “One more thing. Even an immobilized vampire will go for your throat if you get too close. It’s reflex. So jump back after you stake it.”

  Sometimes there was only one word to use. “Shit.” Staking a vampire was way harder than it looked on TV. “So, um. Where are you going, and when will you be back?”

  Bo fell back on the bed. “Thank goodness. She may be sensible.” He rolled up on one elbow and smiled at me, taking the sting out of his words. “I’ve reached an age where I’m going through certain changes. There’s someone in Iowa who can help me through them.”

  “Age changes? Like puberty?” A horrible thought hit me. “Menopause?”

  He laughed. “More like graduation. It’s a good thing, reaching a thousand. I’m going to learn some new things. But I don’t know how long that will take. Maybe a night, maybe a week.”

  “A thousand?” I repeated blankly. “A thousand what?”

  Bo took one of my hands, his thumb playing gently over the skin. “Years, Elena.”

  My eyes widened. Ah-oo-ga. Wild take number thirty-three. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I’ve been a vampire for a thousand years.”

  “You really were a Viking.” Another thought struck me. “And you haven’t had better sex in all that time? Wow. I must be pretty special.”

  A smile lit Bo’s eyes. “Very special, Detective. Very special indeed.”

  –—

  That night I sat in my living room, two lists on the table in front of me. One was the short list of vampires Bo produced before he left. Thorvald and Steve in Bo’s house, Solomon Stark at the funeral home, Drusilla and Vlad on the streets.

  Only two names overlapped the Nieman’s list. Vlad. And Drusilla.

  I was considering my next move when the doorbell rang. Either the UPS man was working late, or I had a visitor. Not Bo, he was on his way to Iowa (and he’d show up in my bed, not on my doorstep). I opened the door.

  Ah yes, Duck Tracy. “Hello, Detective Ma’am!”

  Detective. A pang went through me. “It’s not detective any more, Dirk. Titus…demoted me.”

  Dirk shook his head. “Being a detective isn’t a title, Detective Ma’am. It’s who you are.”

  I blinked. Dirk—cluelessness personified—had actually said something nice. “Why Detective Ruffles, that’s almost philosophical.”

  “My uncle told me it.”

  “Still nice.” I invited him in. Like adopting a cat named Trouble, but after that, how could I not?

  He saw my the lists on the coffee table. “What’s this?” Before I could stop him, he picked one up. Did I say Trouble? I meant Disaster. He got my list of vampire suspects. Dirk was clueless, but even a blind chicken gets a piece of corn occasionally.

  I snatched the list out of his hand, folded it and slid it into my back pocket. Skimming my butt I was electrifyingly aware of the new lacy lavender thong underneath, and my mood improved dramatically. “We need to follow up on the black-market blood angle. Let’s go check on Stark.”

  “That’s it, Detective Ma’am. Get back on the horse. Down, but not conquered. Stay in the race!”

  “Um, yeah.” Dirklet was either more philosophical than I knew, or… “Did your uncle tell you those too?”

  “Uh, no. Ms. Barton.” Dirk removed his yellow fedora and brushed a hand through artistically tousled hair. He gave me a goofy smile.

  Dolly Barton, head of gossip central, knew. Which meant the whole damn town knew. I felt like crying.

  No, I didn’t. I had se
xy new underwear, a gift from a hot man, which added to the empowerment. Nothing like a present of lace to keep a girl’s spirits up. “Come on, Detective Dirk. Let’s head out.”

  At Stark and Moss, our old friend Somber Graysuit Man opened the door. One look at Dirk, and Moss’s face turned as gray as his suit. “What do you want?”

  I said, “We’re here to see Mr. Stark.”

  Moss eyed me. “O’Rourke? You’re off the case.”

  Janet Jackson’s tits. Did everyone know? “I’m not here in an official capacity. Look, can we just see Stark?”

  From behind Moss, a voice dark as bittersweet chocolate said, “Let them in, Josiah.”

  “But, sir…!” His reluctance plain, Moss stepped aside. “As you wish, sir.”

  A tall, angular man was revealed. Somber, but not gray like Moss. No, Solomon Stark was somber like a bayonet. Heavy cheekbones, heavy eyebrows. Deep-set, brilliant dark eyes. He wore a black suit and tie, and black wingtip shoes. He looked like every scary undertaker ever imagined. The only thing missing was the tall black hat. “Please come in, Detective O’Rourke.”

  “It’s not detective.” I couldn’t quite keep the sourness out of my voice.

  “Ernest Titus is not the only authority in Meiers Corners. And he certainly is not the most influential. We’ll use Detective, Detective O’Rourke. Hello, Detective Ruffles.”

  To my delight, Stark pronounced the name Tight-ass. It occurred to me Stark might be the one person (besides Bo) who could have said Tight-ass to the captain’s face and gotten away with it. There was a height and presence to Solomon Stark.

  Dirk poked me in the ribs. “Ask about the black-market blood.”

  “Er, yes. Mr. Stark, we have a few questions. Specifically, about the blood you drain from corpses. What happens to it?”

  One thick eyebrow went up. “We follow government guidelines, Detective O’Rourke. All the proper handling and disposal procedures.”

  “Off the record?”

  “Ah. That’s different.” He turned to his associate. “Moss, perhaps Detective Ruffles would like to see the new casket display. Would you show him?”