The Last Vampire- Complete series Box Set

by R. A. Steffan

  I cocked an eyebrow in silent question, and the other one rose to join it as he outlined what he had in mind.

  * * *

  A knock came at the door about forty-five minutes later. Rans had already flown away as mist to engineer a bit of blood-bank breaking and entering at St. Mary’s, and returned a short time later with enough blood to hopefully keep Guthrie running on a full tank until he was safely able to feed from humans. For his part, Guthrie had done an admirable job of keeping his shit together, all things considered, and there had been no instances of vamping out during the interim.

  I checked the identity of our visitor through the peephole, frowning a bit as I stepped back and opened the door.

  “Len, hey. Are you all right?” I asked, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the way his skin stretched over his cheekbones, as though he’d lost weight.

  “Never better,” he said, a bit grimly. Then, he seemed to consciously push away the dark cloud surrounding him, giving me a brief look up and down. “You’re looking well, Z. Normally I’d ask if you’d been staying out of trouble, but...”

  I gestured for him to come inside so I could close the door behind him, checking the locks as I did. “Yeah... not much chance of that, sadly.”

  With the door safely secured, I led him toward the kitchen, where the others were waiting. Len looked around at the casual elegance of the penthouse, taking everything in before lifting an eyebrow at me. Light glinted off his facial piercings.

  “Huh. Bagged yourself a rich vampire, then?” he asked. “Good for you. Though you should definitely make him spring for a better hotel, the next time he gets shot at a sex club.”

  For some reason, I felt my cheeks heat at his words. “Uh... yeah, apparently when you’re seven hundred years old, stock market appreciation tends to build up while you’re not paying attention. But this place isn’t his. It belongs to a... friend. One who recently became a vampire, as well. And—fun fact—who I’ve just discovered is almost certainly my biological grandfather.”

  Len came to an abrupt halt. I turned to look at him, chewing on my lower lip.

  He blinked a couple of times, then shook his head and waved me on. “You know what? Never mind. Just tell me what you need, and try not to be offended when I let as much of the other shit as possible slide off without sticking, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed readily.

  The kitchen was cheery and well lit. It also contained two unhappy vampires, one of whom still wore the distant, hunted look of a man fantasizing about being literally anyplace else. I took a moment to hope that Guthrie had downed a fresh blood bag before venturing out to rejoin society, even in this limited capacity. For just an instant, I thought I saw a flare of unearthly light behind his eyes as they fixed on Len, but it was gone too fast for me to be sure.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, striving for airiness. “So, Len? You and Rans already know each other, obviously. And... this is Guthrie Leonides. Guthrie... Len Grayson.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Guthrie said. “Though if you’d like some free advice from someone who knows what he’s talking about, you should run while you still have the chance.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Len agreed. “Honestly, though, its a bit late for that now.” He tipped a nod at Rans. “Hey, Bela Lugosi. Drained any good necks lately?”

  A smile tugged at one corner of Rans’ lips, despite his general air of tension. “Several, yes. Nice of you to come, by the way. How’s your young man with the red hair faring these days?”

  I didn’t miss the small flinch Len gave at the question, but he shrugged it off a moment later. “Eh. You know how it is. No lingering effects from being shot in the gut, at least.”

  There was something lurking underneath the studiously casual words, but Rans didn’t appear to be in any mood to pursue it.

  “Well, I did try to tell you there wouldn’t be,” he said mildly, ignoring the side-eyed look Guthrie threw him. “So. To business. There are two or three things I need taken care of, and I’m not really in a position to leave the penthouse for an extended period of time and do them myself. Do you have that little sedan from last time with you?”

  Again, I felt more than saw Len’s flinch.

  “No, I... picked up an old Lincoln Continental a few weeks ago. Not pretty, but it runs. Why?”

  “As long as it will fit multiple people and some bags, the looks are immaterial,” Rans said. “But before we worry about leaving, I’ll need you to purchase some basic toiletries and clothing for Zorah. After which, I’m hoping you know of a private club or sex party taking place in the area tonight.”

  Guthrie made a sort of cut-off choking sound.

  Len just stared. “You realize... that whole clubbing thing didn’t go so well for you last time, Bela. Are you even being serious right now?”

  “As a heart attack,” Rans said, adding, “which... probably wasn’t the most sensitive metaphor I could have come up with under the circumstances, admittedly,” under the force of Guthrie’s glare.

  I sighed. “Here’s the deal, Len. You remember when you asked me last time, I told you that I was mostly human, right? But one of my grandparents was a demon. Well, to be more specific, he was a sex demon. Which means that I, as a human/sex demon hybrid, have to periodically feed off other people’s sexual energy, or else I get really sick and weak. Hence, the real reason we were at the fetish club where we ran into you and Tris a few weeks ago.”

  Len stared at me with a decidedly strange expression on his face.

  “I did say you should have run for the hills when you had the chance,” Guthrie muttered.

  Rans took up the thread. “Quite so. Anyway, the practical upshot is this. I need Zorah topped up on succubus sex juice before we leave for wherever we end up deciding to go. You’re a shibari enthusiast. You also have connections in the St. Louis kink scene, and to top it all off, you’re constitutionally incapable of appreciating Zorah’s exceptional attributes on a primal level. All of which makes you the perfect person to go with her.”

  “I... can’t believe I’m really having this conversation,” Len said.

  “I can’t believe I’m stuck in the same room as people having this conversation,” Guthrie added.

  “I can’t believe my seven-hundred-year-old vampire boyfriend couldn’t come up with a less humiliating way to have this conversation,” I muttered, glaring at him.

  “Sugar-coating never helped anyone,” Rans said calmly.

  “Right,” I told him. “Except for anyone who’s had to swallow a bitter pill in the history of ever.” I turned to Len and hooked my arm through his. “Len. Come on—enough of the sex stuff. You’re taking me shopping with someone else’s money now. We’ll talk about the rest of it while we’re out.”

  “Um...” Len said, looking down at my hand on his arm with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

  I checked that I still had the untraceable credit card Guthrie had given me in the pocket of my sleep shorts, and steered Len toward the door, shooting Rans a final look as I did. He only raised an eyebrow and said, “You two crazy kids have fun, now,” in the sort of tone that made me want to punch him.

  I contented myself with flipping him off, but he only flashed a brief leer at me in return. It looked forced. He was still way more worried by our circumstances than he was letting on, I knew.

  We rode the elevator down to the underground garage in silence. When we got there, Len’s car was... wow.

  Back when I’d been a kid, there were still a fair number of these late-seventies-early-eighties land yachts on the road. Today, not many of them were still running. The car was your standard ‘smaller rectangle set on top of a bigger rectangle’ design, with sharp corners and miles of hood in front of the windshield.

  It had also been a pimp car at some point, with tricked-out wheels and a coat of pearlescent red paint that I was pretty confident didn’t come from the factory. The thing was so old that even its second career in the pro
stitution industry had happened long enough ago for rust to start creeping across the bodywork.

  “Are those... bullet holes?” I asked tentatively, tilting my head to get a better view of the little dark spots spaced irregularly along the front quarter-panel.

  Len’s mouth flattened into a line. “How do you think I was able to afford the damn thing on a salary from AJ’s?” he asked. “Besides, I’d’ve thought the bullet holes would make you feel right at home.”

  I shut my mouth and got in the passenger side, taking two attempts to get the door closed properly. At a guess, the hunk of metal on its shrieking hinges weighed about twice as much as I did.

  “Hey—I’m not judging,” I said, settling into a seat that nearly swallowed me whole. The seatbelt stuck as I tried to pull it out. Len saw me struggling and leaned over to give it a sharp yank, freeing it.

  Somewhat surprisingly, at the turn of the key, the engine purred into life like a contented kitten. Len eased the massive vehicle out of its parking spot and headed out of the private garage, shooting me occasional side-eyed glances as he did.

  “Anyplace in particular I’m supposed to go?” he asked, once we’d reached the street.

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter, as long as I can get underwear, jeans, shoes, and maybe some kind of athletic wear. So, Target, I guess?”

  He nodded and pulled into traffic. I studied his profile, struck again by how strung-out he looked. His purple fauxhawk was teased into its usual neat crest, and his metal piercings glinted in the uneven light of the moving car. But beyond that, he looked like shit, not to put too fine a point on it.

  “All right, buddy,” I said. “Out with it. You’ve heard all about my humiliating new take on sex addiction, so you might as well tell me what’s going on with you right now. Because I have an awful feeling that whatever it is, it’s somehow my fault.”

  For a long moment, Len was silent, and I got the impression he was fighting with himself over whether or not to answer. Finally, he heaved a sigh, his shoulders hunching over the Lincoln’s steering wheel.

  “Tris and I are on the rocks.”

  I made a sympathetic noise.

  “We’re ‘taking a break,’” he continued, lifting one hand from the wheel to sketch air quotes. “Jesus, Zorah. Everything’s been so fucked up the last few weeks.”

  Tell me about it, I thought. Aloud, I said, “It’s because of what happened that night at the club, I’m guessing?”

  Len had asked Rans to erase Tristan’s memories of being shot, and of what had happened afterward—eyewitness proof of the supernatural at work. He’d refused the same treatment, though, and I’d suspected at the time that doing so was a questionable decision on his part.

  What he’d seen and experienced that night was... a lot. And that was before you factored in the whole ‘kinda sorta lying to your boyfriend about it’ part.

  Len shrugged. “I mean... yeah. Not that things were perfect before, but...”

  “Is he okay?” I asked. “You said he was already dealing with some mental health stuff.”

  “Well—he still is dealing with it, of course.” Len shifted in the driver’s seat. “But our problems right now are more to do with me. I mean, he’s on his meds; they’re still working like they’re supposed to. I’m the one who’s—” He cut himself off and shook his head sharply.

  “Are you okay?” I pressed, already guessing the answer.

  “No,” Len said. “No, I’m not fucking okay. Vampires exist. Demons exist. I’m a fucking atheist, Zorah. What the hell am I supposed to do with that shit?” He let out a sharp, unhappy breath. “Anyway, Tris thinks I’m hiding something from him. Which, obviously, I am. He asked me to move out while we figure out what we’re doing.”

  My chest ached. “I’m so sorry, Len.”

  I caught his frown in profile. “Still not your fault that crazy horror movie monsters are trying to kill you, Z.”

  “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know,” I told him.

  He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “No offense, Zorah, but you barely know me.”

  I shook my head. “I know enough, Mister ‘Walks-Frightened-Female-Coworkers-To-The-Bus-Stop.’ You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Len gave a barely audible snort. “What makes you think I’m not just trying to prove to myself that it all really happened?”

  “Either way, you’re still here,” I repeated, giving him a sad smile.

  “Yeah. I guess I am. And I probably oughta check myself into the same treatment facility Tris used,” he muttered.

  “Nuh-uh. Target first. Heavy-duty psych meds later,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment. “And I’m sorry about Rans springing the ‘sex club’ thing on you like that. Don’t feel bad if that one’s a hard no. I’ll admit I’m kind of drained right now, but it’s not too bad. If I need to, I can figure out an alternate plan that doesn’t involve my gay ex-coworker tying me up in rope bondage so strangers can perv on me.”

  Len turned into a mall entrance and shot me another glance. “Okay, before I address that part directly, it’s my turn for relationship gossip. What exactly is going on between you two, anyway? At the club, I assumed you were dating... or maybe friends with benefits. Now, after watching him pimp you out for an evening of semi-public shibari, I’m not so sure.”

  “No, we’re together,” I said, still taken by surprise at the feelings those words engendered whenever I thought them, much less said them aloud.

  “What... is it like an open relationship or something?” Len asked.

  “Not exactly,” I clarified. “He needs to bite people and drink their blood, or he starves. I need to make people horny for me and suck a bit of their sex energy out of the ether, or I starve. You know that old saying, ‘I don’t care where he gets his appetite, as long as he eats at home’?”

  “Yeah...” Len said slowly.

  “Well, for us, I guess you could say it’s kind of the opposite.”

  He seemed to weigh that for a few moments as he looked for a parking spot. “All right, then. Fair enough. Weird as fuck, Z... but still fair enough.”

  FOUR

  LESS THAN AN HOUR later, I had a new travel bag stocked with the essentials for a life on the run. More importantly, I had underwear. Talk about things you didn’t appreciate until you were stuck without them for a few days, right?

  I’d insisted on a stop in the mall restroom after the cashier checked out my purchases, which I used to remove the tags from a pair of black leggings, a slouchy top, a bra, and panties so I could wear them right out of the store. The filthy and battered shorts and t-shirt I’d been wearing went straight in the trashcan. Sharalynn’s borrowed sandals got tossed in my bag, exchanged for a pair of practical ass-kicking boots. I figured that if I was going to do this whole ‘paranormal femme fatale’ thing, it was high time I started dressing the part.

  I’d also picked up a new burner phone. Dialing from memory, I used it to call Rans once we were back in the car.

  “Basics acquired,” I reported. “How’s Guthrie doing?”

  “His disposition is just as sunny and cheerful as ever,” Rans replied, in a tone that made me suspect Guthrie was standing right next to him. “Are you going somewhere to feed now?”

  “That’s still to be determined,” I told him, switching the phone to speaker and setting it in my lap. “Aside from the complete inappropriateness of asking Len to do this in the first place, it’s a Thursday. Not exactly party central in this town.”

  “Actually, there are members of the old SL2 gang who meet up on Thursdays and Sundays,” Len said. “There are fewer cops out snooping around on those nights, or at least that’s the theory. The group kind of fell apart after that poor security person died, not to mention the police showing up with bullhorns and SWAT teams. But some of the members still keep in touch. They just do it privately, and they move it around each time.”

  “Well, there you go, then,” Rans said, as though it was set
tled. “Pop off for a couple of hours and get yourself an animus snack. With Myrial stuck in Hell and the Fae having no clue we’re in the city, it should be safe enough. Hopefully by the time you get back, I’ll have figured out some sort of plan-like... thing.”

  I regarded the phone’s screen with skepticism. “Okay, two thoughts here. Point one—I now have a small and brutally practical selection of clothing that does not include either latex or leather. And point two—none of this addresses the fact that it’s both weird and totally unfair to ask Len to do this.”

  As if it were a foregone conclusion that he would agree, Rans said, “Len, mate—you don’t mind, do you? Just think of it as a night of friendly bonding over... well... bondage.”

  “Mind? It’s not so much a matter of me minding, as of me thinking you’re both crazy,” Len said. “But I guess we’ve already established that part pretty thoroughly.”

  “Clothing, Rans,” I prompted. “Like I said, I don’t have any, and I can’t exactly show up to a sex party naked.”

  There was a beat of silence from all quarters as what I’d just said sank in.

  I blinked down at the phone. “You... seriously want me flashing tits and ass at a group of complete strangers? Especially when you’re not even there?”

  I mean... I supposed it would be both simpler and more effective at getting the onlookers horny for me, but—

  “Obviously I’d find the prospect far more enjoyable if I were there to appreciate it in person,” Rans said. “But picturing it in the privacy of my thoughts would still brighten a day that has otherwise been utter shite, love. It’s completely up to you, though. You can always swing by Victoria’s Secret and get something pretty to wear under the ropes if you’d rather.”

  I sighed, resigned. “Okay, fine. Fuck it. Picture away, you medieval pervert. But Len still gets veto power over this whole idiotic plan, just to be clear.”