Sanguinary (Night Shift Book 1)

by Margo Bond Collins

  Today, though, I welcomed the sun—particularly its value as a vampire repellant. The thought of the night before left me shivering, even in the middle of the daylight.

  I didn’t want to remember what I’d seen at the clinic, at the church, so I increased the pace, adding extra miles to my usual route.

  It was later than usual when I got back home, nearing ten o’clock. I had finished my bottle of water before the extra miles, and was panting when I began my slow-down walk to my door. Inside, I climbed into the shower. The hot water sluiced over me, and I watched as little eddies swirled down the drain. When I closed my eyes, the swirling turned to blood, flowing across every other image in my mind. The people I loved, the ones I worked with, everyone I knew or saw. All covered in blood.

  Fifty years—that’s how long we’d have until the vamps were in charge, until the whole world looked like that charnel house of a clinic. Until every house was a blood house, and bodies covered in strange, carved markings littered the street.

  I shuddered, leaning my forehead against the cool tile in front of me and letting the water pound against my back.

  Stopping the Sanguinary was the answer to keeping the world from sliding under.

  Reese held the key to stopping the Sanguinary.

  We were going to take them down.

  My eyes felt hot and dry by the time I toppled into my bed. They weren’t much better when I woke up after dark, but a glass of water helped. A quick trip to the nearest fast food restaurant—a Whataburger—did wonders for my mood, if not my diet, and by the time I got back home, I was feeling almost alive again.

  I dialed Garrett as I ate and listened to the phone ring on the other side until his voicemail answered. I called Iverson, and he said the EMTs had taken Garrett to the hospital, but he had checked out earlier in the day.

  I didn’t leave a message on Garrett’s cell.

  I did, however, leave a message on Reese’s phone, asking him to call me. He didn’t.

  By the next evening, I felt good enough to go for another run, pleased to finally be getting back into my training routine. I gave it an extra push, adding the same few miles to the end of my usual circuit—enough so that it was almost dark by the time I got back home.

  I had just put my key into the lock on my own door when Reese appeared from the shadows of the entryway to the apartment next door.

  I nearly screamed aloud before I realized who it was.

  I knew I should probably be panicking over the fact that he had found where I lived. I wasn’t listed in the phone book. My address didn’t show up online—I knew, because I had Googled it. But Reese’s appearance wasn’t entirely unexpected, given that strange connection between us. At the thought, my stomach flip-flopped. I focused on the black garment bag he carried slung over his shoulder.

  I sighed, images of the clinic threatening my memory. “What do you want?”

  “Another trip to the blood house.”

  I groaned.

  “You’re not up for adventure and romance?” He emphasized the first syllable of romance. Then he smiled, and my heart twisted. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the connection, or just because he was beautiful.

  Ignoring the thought, I rolled my eyes. “Not really.”

  His expression grew serious. “Mendoza put the word out that he’s got some big announcement to make tonight. I’m concerned that the events at Westlake Clinic might have prompted whatever he’s got planned tonight.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, suddenly as grave as he was. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “I don’t know.” I eyed him warily.

  “Try this.” He handed the garment bag to me.

  “Oh. Thanks,” I said.

  “Maybe you should wait to see if it fits before you thank me,” he said.

  I stared at him, my hand running absently across the garment bag. “Have you seen Garrett since Westlake?” I asked.

  He responded with only the tiniest shake of his head.

  I sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

  I knew it was a bad idea to accept gifts from a vampire. Even a beautiful vampire. Even a beautiful cowboy vampire who seemed like he might be one of the good guys.

  But he’d brought me a dress.

  And vampires have such good taste. They may be bloodsucking fiends from hell, but they’re generally stylish hell-fiends.

  This particular hell-fiend was no exception. The outfit was stunning. It wasn’t even really a dress. It was more of a suit. The top was a rich black satin jacket with silver-and-rhinestone buttons and a plunging neckline. The bottom was a pair of black satin pants overlaid with flowing black chiffon. It was perfect evening wear for someone who might have to kick vampire ass at some point during the festivities.

  He’d thought of everything. Including loops inside the jacket’s décolletage that were perfect for holding a stake in place. And a pair of low-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped around my ankle and calf and also served to hold stakes. And finally, he’d included earrings and a necklace—either high-end zirconium or diamond. I suspected diamond.

  After a quick shower, I put the outfit on. It fit perfectly. I twirled my hair into a French twist and pulled some tendrils down around my face to soften it, then dusted my face with powder, smudged on some eyeliner, and added lipstick. There. Now I looked like I belonged in a blood house.

  I rummaged through my closet until I found my one black evening bag and moved the essentials—lipstick, powder, cell phone, cash, stakes—over to it.

  When I walked out of the apartment, Reese was waiting. “You look lovely,” he said.

  “Clothes by Reese,” I said in my best advertisement voice. “Now can I say thanks?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  We walked down the stairs to the parking lot, where Reese ushered me into a big black Ford dually pickup. And despite the fact that I was with a vampire—even though I knew it was foolish—I felt completely and utterly safe. Knowing that the only vampire I had to worry about at the moment was Reese felt strangely freeing.

  Halfway down the road past the complex’s gate, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Don’t turn around. Someone is following us.”

  I fought the urge to peer over my shoulder. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. And he’s been behind us since we left your place.”

  “Crap. It’s probably the FBI,” I said.

  Reese took that more calmly than I anticipated, simply raising an eyebrow. “Is it you they don’t trust, or me?”

  “After my conversation with the agent the other day? Probably both.”

  He nodded, and without warning, spun the truck down a side street. The car tailing us missed the turn, and Reese killed the headlights before making several more turns. I craned my neck around to look out the back windshield. When I saw headlights, I spun around and sank down into the seat, but they turned off on another road. Not our followers.

  Reese settled back in the seat. “I think we lost them.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about being followed by the Feds, and that worried me. I was afraid I might be losing track of which side was which. Or at least, which people—and vamps—were on whichever side was mine.

  Another thought struck me. Why hadn’t Agent Chandler—or any FBI agents, for that matter—shown up at Westlake, or the cathedral?

  Was Chandler acting on his own?

  I pushed the idea aside. As long as I didn’t get pulled into any interdepartmental shenanigans, I was happy.

  We parked half a block away from the blood house. As we made our way down the street, Reese pulled me into the shadowy entrance to another building.

  “Hey,” I said warningly. “No biting, remember? We don’t want you sending any extra power to the Sanguinary by feeding on me.”

  “We still need to have the smell of fresh blood on you,” he said, “or you’re never going to pass as my Claimed bloodgiver.”


  He reached up with one hand and pushed the satin covering my shoulder over to the side to reveal my bite scars. His own marks were still fresh, but the cuts didn’t hurt—not like the wounds I had gotten when fighting vamps.

  I had removed the bandages from those bites for this outing, and Reese ran his fingers lightly over the two small scabs. His touch made me shiver, but I told myself it was only the night air.

  The other vamp’s bite wounds, on the other side of my neck, were still raw. I had left them covered.

  “So how are we going to manage this?” I whispered. I licked my lips nervously, then wished I hadn’t when I saw how Reese watched my tongue. Like a predator. My heart beat faster.

  Reese caught his breath but maintained that uncanny eye contact. “You have to quit doing that,” he said, his tone raw. His hand clamped down on my shoulder, just under the bite marks, and I winced.

  “Doing what?” My own voice was feathery, almost nonexistent.

  “Being afraid of me.” His nostrils flared in an especially vampirey way.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  Reese closed his eyes and carefully unpeeled his hand from its grip on my shoulder. He, too, took several deep breaths.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said in his normal voice. “I’m not entirely sure what happened just now.”

  “You thought about eating me.” The panic I’d been feeling seconds earlier worked its way out as a higher pitch.

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I did consider it.”

  “Oh, fuck. This isn’t going to work.” I started to push my way past him and back onto the street.

  He grabbed my arm. “I can’t do this without you. And I can control myself,” he said, his voice turning wry, “as I think I just proved.”

  I eyed him warily. “Can we make me smell like blood without you going all creepy vampire guy on me?”

  He laughed, and this time it was a normal laugh. “Yes.”

  “Okay. I guess.”

  “I think, though, that perhaps I ought to change my original plan.”

  “Which was?”

  “Never mind.” He fished around in his pocket and came out with what looked like an ice pick.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s an awl.”

  “An awl? You carry an awl around in your pocket?”

  “Before I was a cop—back in college—I used to be an artist. A sculptor. I keep this with me”—he looked at it—“as a reminder. Also for protection. No one expects a vampire to use a weapon other than his teeth.”

  “I promise you,” I said, “no one fighting you would be looking for an awl even if they didn’t know you were a vampire. No one ever expects an awl.” I paused. “What’s wrong with a gun? You were a cop after you were an artist. No one expects a vamp with a gun, either.”

  He laughed, but didn’t answer the question. Maybe he had a gun too.

  “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Probably.”

  I stood very straight, squared my shoulders, and titled my head to the side to give him better access. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  He stepped close to me and with two swift jabbing motions used the awl to open first one puncture mark and then the other.

  “Ow,” I said. My shoulder throbbed.

  “Here.” Reese licked his thumb and ran it gently across the wounds. The throb dulled and my shoulder tingled, and I focused on that, rather than the sensation of his skin whispering across mine.

  I wiggled the shoulder experimentally. “This is great. I think I’ve found the next breakthrough in anesthesia. Vampire spit.”

  “We’ll be rich,” Reese said dryly.

  “Do I smell enough like blood?” I asked.

  Reese sniffed the air. This time his nostrils stayed nice and unflared, unvampirey. “Yes. But I need to mix my scent with it a bit more, I think.” He licked his thumb again.

  “I take it back,” I said. “This has got to be unhygienic.”

  Reese slid his thumb over the wounds again, then wiped the blood off the spit-covered thumb and onto his coat. “There,” he said, sniffing the air again, “that’s better.”

  “So can we go now?”

  Reese nodded, and I slipped out of the doorway.

  I didn’t know how much longer I could stand going back and forth between trusting him and fearing him.

  But here I was, going into a blood house with him, smelling like blood, without other backup.

  In the end, trust won out, aided by the thrill that ran through me and to him, drawing us ever closer together.

  Even without an exchange of blood.

  I closed my eyes for a second and took another deep breath. Then I followed Reese in.

  Chapter 16

  The blood house was packed. Apparently, every vampire who was any vampire and his bloodgiver had come out for Mendoza’s big announcement. Looking around, I was glad for the outfit Reese had bought me. Dressing down would have been the best way to stand out in this crowd tonight—and the last thing I wanted to do was stand out in the midst of a bunch of vampires.

  Make that a bunch of glittering vampires.

  Most of them were draped in diamonds. This group probably comprised the biggest chunk of all the vampire power in Dallas. If I’d known about it in advance, I could have arranged to wipe out most of the bloodsuckers here.

  But how? Bomb the place? That would kill all the bloodgivers too. Did I really want to kill all the humans along with the vampires?

  Did I want to kill Garrett? Because there he was walking toward me with cute-vampire Dahlia hanging off his arm. He was dressed in a tuxedo and looking perfectly handsome.

  Until I looked into his eyes.

  Handsome and haunted, I amended silently.

  “Well, hello, Reese,” Dahlia said in her little-girl voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. You’re usually not interested in these sorts of things.”

  “What sorts of things?” he asked.

  “Transfers of power, of course,” she said. “Right, Garrett, sweetie?”

  Garrett hadn’t taken his eyes off me while Dahlia had been talking. “Right,” he muttered absently. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Cami?”

  “I guess.” My shrug wasn’t as casual as I had planned.

  Garrett peeled Dahlia off his arm and grabbed me by the elbow, practically dragging me toward one of the unoccupied, curtained rooms. We stopped before we got there, though. His grip was weaker than it had ever been before.

  “What are you doing here?” Garrett hissed.

  “Me?” I pulled my elbow out of his hand sharply. “I’m not the one with the vampire problem, just out of the clinic from hell. I’m undercover, remember? After Westlake, you should still be in the hospital. What are you doing here?”

  He ignored my questions. “Everyone’s talking about Reese’s new Claimed one. I assume they mean you?”

  “So what?” I asked.

  He grabbed me by the upper arms and shoved his face into mine. “So I want to know where you get off telling me not to let the vampires touch me when you’re playing Claimed girl to Reese.”

  “Let go of me, Garrett.” I shrugged and pushed his hands off my arms. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I hissed, “but I am playing Claimed. He doesn’t get to drink my blood.”

  “Bullshit,” Garrett said, snarling. “Mendoza says it’s true—you really are Claimed.”

  “Mendoza says it? What are you doing talking to Mendoza?”

  He didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. “He owns the place.”

  “And you’re in here often enough to talk to him.” I put my hands on my hips. “Well, clearly, everything he says must be the God’s honest truth. Oh, wait. He’s a vampire. Maybe he’s not telling the truth. They lie, Garrett.” We were leaned in close to each other now, practically spitting our words into each other’s faces.

  “Yeah? Then maybe you ought to think abou
t whether or not your friend Reese is lying to you.”

  “You know what? This is none of your business. But it is mine. My business, Garrett. My job. You know, what I do for a living? What you’re supposed to do for yours too. And if you screw it up because of some weird vampire-bloodgiver jealousy, I swear, I’ll—”

  “What? What will you do, Cami?”

  Suddenly I felt deflated. “This conversation is over, Garrett. What I do is my business. And what you do is yours. You want to ruin your life by letting some leech drain it away, that’s your problem. Just don’t blow my cover, okay?”

  I didn’t even wait for an answer. I turned around and left. I didn’t have the time or the patience to discuss this with him any longer. I had a job to do, and I couldn’t let Garrett interrupt it. That was my new mantra: Not my problem. I repeated it to myself over and over as I headed back toward Reese, who had taken a seat at the bar.

  “Trouble?” Reese asked as I sat down next to him.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman slide into the seat next to me. Her dark curly hair flared out in a perfect wedge from the crown of her head to her shoulders, falling artfully across one eye—that cool look women with lots of curls can sometimes manage. I’d always envied that particular look.

  “Vodka,” the woman said in a throaty voice. “With.” Her hair swooping across her cheek hid her face from me, but the voice sounded familiar.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette, then fished around for a light. The bartender handed her drink to her and flourished a flaming Zippo.

  “Thanks,” she said, and leaned in to light her cigarette.

  That was when I recognized her.

  Leah Richards.

  I elbowed Reese. He turned to look at me, and then did a classic double take when he saw who was sitting next to me.

  Holy shit. She’s a vampire.

  She wore a black sheath dress that fell to the floor, skimming across her curves. When she moved, the dress shimmered with deep red undertones. Her skin, always pale, was now porcelain white. Her eyes had been rimmed with black and her lipstick matched the burgundy in her dress.