BloodStar

by Montoya, Cassidy

  Being a kid of the system, Marley was a minimalist. She carried very few items with her from place to place, and the only thing she ever cared about was her grandmother’s onyx pendant. It never came off, not in bed, not in the shower, never.

  (Unless, of course, a certain bloodsucking lunatic stole it while entrancing and choking the shit out of her.)

  Julian took a liking to the pendant, although God knew why since it was worth next to nothing in the pawnshops and he wasn’t hurting for rent money. Maybe it was for the same reason Anya wanted it—proof of power and control. Marley woke up one morning and the chain was missing. She confronted Julian about it, and he apparently wasn’t in the mood to play games.

  "If you want a place to stay, consider it rent."

  "Rent? Don’t I pay you in pussy? I should be paid in full for the next three months. Give it back to me, please, now." This was Marley being assertive—something she had tried unsuccessfully in the past, but was determined to master. In retrospect, maybe the situation would have worked itself out differently if it hadn’t been punctuated with the whole pussy comment, but at least she had been clear and polite, hadn’t she?

  But she wasn’t polite enough. He answered her with a split lip, stitches above her left eye, and a sprained wrist from being physically thrown out the door and onto a sidewalk. The only long term damage was the bruised ego.

  The result of the time Marley spent with Julian, other than a humiliating trip to urgent care, was a good case of self-loathing and the kick in the ass her (maybe) alcoholism needed to get its groove on. It took her a long time to forgive herself. It took a lot of Vodka, too. Marley was no gold digger, but during her Julian-tenure, she wore a gold digger’s uniform. She allowed her own greedy nature to turn her into someone she didn’t even recognize, and because of that, she never again let herself be swayed in any one direction or other based purely on comfort or convenience. The mistakes she made with Julian were exactly the reason she blew up when Sabian tried to stake his claim.

  Sam watched as an uninvited reverie pulled Marley under. She had to snap-shit back to the present, and quick if he wanted to make any progress. He needed her head on straight when Anya got back, whenever that was.

  "Do you remember when Julian wanted you to meet him down at the Four Queens? He probably told you it was something of a business deal you guys could get in on?"

  Marley nodded.

  "But the suits never showed, right?"

  She nodded again, eyes the size of the moon.

  "The suits were Hunters." When her eyes watered over, Sam thought, Jesus and Hail Mary, does she have to cry every fucking time? Softly, he said, "Bet you never realized you were the key to wrapping up someone’s life work, huh? Mine, Sabian’s, maybe even that asshole, Julian." Now her tears spilled over, and he allowed himself to give in to the urge that had been eating him since the moment she awakened.

  Sam went to her and took her into his arms. Her body molded to his without hesitation, and he felt like a perv for relishing the softness of her breasts against his chest while she cried for ancient transgressions. And maybe he was a perv, but God it felt good. Felt right. He wanted more.

  "Fuck, I always knew things weren’t kosher that day," she said through the tears that soaked Sam’s shirt. "He wanted me to be a fucking hooker, you believe that?"

  Sam could believe it, but didn’t say so.

  The tears loosened Marley’s reserve. "You know how many blowjobs I gave that son of a bitch just to change the subject? Nothing like a good diversion," she laughed bitterly.

  Okay, that wasn’t exactly the direction Sam saw the conversation going, but something about the thought of Marley on her knees, unbuckling a belt and making herself at home had him transfixed, and he forgot all about the progress he was supposed to be making.

  "If I really needed out of something all I had to do was swallow, and he’d forget his own birthday for the next three hours. Pencil dick motherfucker. Goddamn, I need a drink." The weight of her head on his shoulder lightened, and he looked down to see her big brown eyes staring up at him. "Sam, tell me you have alcohol, I don’t care what kind."

  Jesus Christ, he wished he did. His imagination filled in the blanks—she would guzzle something hard, and he’d be impressed. She would be drunk and half naked within ten minutes, and he’d play hero, helping her off with the rest of her clothes. He didn’t see the fantasy through to the end, but half-way in Marley was on her knees, his cock in her mouth, his hands in her hair. Sam Junior was ready to hack its way out of his pants, jerking and throbbing. He repositioned so that she couldn’t feel or see it. What he needed to do was move away from her. Like ASAP.

  He broke the embrace and walked back to the sink. With his back to her, he said, "I don’t have any, and you don’t want it, anyway. You need to keep your head together, Marley." It was good advice for both of them. "Eat, that’s what your body really needs."

  Marley got to work on some beef jerky, and asked, "Did you already know about me? I mean, you and me?"

  He nodded but kept his back to her. The tent in his pants was only part-way deflated.

  "What was that like?"

  "How did I feel?"

  "Yeah."

  "Apathetic, at least about you. I was there for the BloodStar." It was true. Back in Vegas, he was ambivalent about Marley. His sights were set on Franky and Sabian’s midnight blood.

  "Okay, hang on. BloodStar plural?"

  "No, I mean the BloodStar. Your boyfriend."

  "Why do you do that?" she asked, a hint of irritation in her voice.

  "What, it’s not true?"

  "No, it’s not true." She thought about it, and said, "I have no idea what we are. Just stop calling him that, okay?"

  "Whatever you say, princess." Sam didn’t know why his dial was set to asshole again. Maybe it was a switch flipped by his dick.

  "God, Sam. What did I ever do to you?"

  "Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. You’re perfect."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Marley went all puppy-dog sad eyes at the acid dripping from Sam’s tongue, and he felt a moment of guilt, but to hell with that. He couldn’t acknowledge it, not to Marley, not to himself.

  "We should have known Sabian was onto us," he said. "Some bloodsuckers are just suckers. They can be tricked, and the easiest way to play them is with fresh blood, but not Sabian. Sabian can be kind of a…let’s just say fanatic when it comes to your protection."

  Sam didn’t like how much Marley liked that.

  "How did he know?" she asked.

  "Who knows? Fucking creepy bastard knows everything. Probably knows we’re here right now." Then Sam shook his head. "Nah, probably not. If he knew, he’d be here. They’re hard to see, you know." Holy fuck, if he didn’t like the way she seemed to love hearing about Sabian’s probable chivalry, why the hell couldn’t he stop looking at her?

  "Who?" Marley asked the question, but the answer was obvious.

  "Them—the parasites, vampires. Well, not hard to see, just hard to see for what they really are. They are everywhere, did you know that?"

  "Not exactly on the endangered species list, I guess."

  "Vegas is a real magnet for them. Lots of drunk, drugged fools throwing their money away. A lot of bloodsuckers choose their victims based on financial gain. In fact, lots of times they don’t even kill their prey, just enthrall them and bleed them—figuratively and literally. Lots of riches floating around in Vegas—decadence galore, and nothing is more tempting to a vampire than deep-fried opulence with a side of drugged-out defenselessness." Reading the look on her face, Sam said, "I bet you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about, right?"

  She only waited, didn’t say a word. Sam couldn’t blame her. He was like Jekyll and Hyde right now. She probably didn’t want to provoke another dicky comment.

  "Fledglings, that’s what I’m talking about. With so many leeches running around in Vegas, it’s hard for them to tell who to trust, who might be
a friend of a friend of an enemy. Shit like that. Vampires live long lives, and they hold long grudges, so some of them choose not to sift through the possible repercussions of getting cozy with other vampires, and just create their own companions."

  "You mean make other vampires out of humans?" Her eyes were wide with disbelief.

  Laughing in earnest now, Sam replied, "Yeah, Marley. That’s generally how it’s done. For being so jacked up in their world, you’re pretty clueless."

  "Like I said, pretty much a rookie over here. I got about a half a second of information from Sabian before the Queen of Darkness took me, and I know what Hollywood feeds the masses. That’s about it."

  "Well, Hollywood is more accurate than you’d think."

  Marley nodded her head, settling back in for the rest of the story. "So, fledglings…"

  "Yeah, fledglings. Sabian knew we were about to make contact with you, and he wasn’t going to let that happen—no way, no how, even if it meant he had to fuck us up his little stalker lifestyle. But instead, he sent a thirsty fucking fledgling to intercept us before we could get to you." He stopped talking, giving her time to put two and two together, and come up with the appropriate questions that would allow her to finally begin understanding the nature of the beast.

  "So, what? The fledgling killed Franky?"

  "Yes."

  "By feeding on her?"

  "Yes."

  "Was she scared?" It was only a whisper, such a small voice. Sam felt something protective stir again, and that wasn’t all. Her bad-ass-come-and-get-it attitude was already a turn on for a guy like Sam, but pair that with vulnerability and somehow his nether-region got a vote like the productive little citizen it was.

  "What do you think?" he asked, tearing his eyes from hers.

  Shaking her head sadly, she whispered again, "Of course she was."

  So she knew about the Dump, which meant one way or another, Sabian had been riding the high when he was with her. Sam felt the fire of his temper stoke. No way on God’s green earth could the BloodStar keep his hands off her when he was all hyped up on his drug. Was she the supplier? Or did he just suck some poor fuck’s blood and throw the body away like usual?

  "Fucker probably dumped Franky and went straight to some whore and got his rocks off proper. Or maybe he…used Franky…before dumping her. And of course, mission accomplished for Sabian. I, on the other hand, had to get the fuck out of Vegas. Couldn’t even lay her to rest."

  "Wait. Weren’t you with her when it happened?"

  "No. The fledgling took her right out of the passenger seat of our rental while I was getting coffees. She was gone when I got back out to the car—all her stuff still on the floor where she left it. I didn’t even know it wasn’t Sabian until a year later. We weren’t allowed to identify her, and all Hunters are basically erased from existence when we take the oath, so she died a Jane Doe, and who the fuck knows where she was buried? I was ordered to leave it be."

  When Sam didn’t go on, Marley began her questions. "So, how did you find out it wasn’t Sabian who did it?"

  "Just by chance." Sam got up and went to the curtains. He opened them a sliver, looked left and then right, and closed them. Anya had to be back soon. She’d been gone all day, and it was almost dark. It was making Sam twitchy. He turned toward Marley and crossed his arms.

  "One of the Hunters brought the fledgling asshole in—unrelated matter. He was sloppy, violent out there in the world, no idea how much attention he was calling to himself. Sometimes when we hunt, we bring them back in for interrogation before decapitation." Marley’s horrified grimace was hard to ignore. "What did you think happened when we catch them?"

  Marley just shook her head. Sam wasn’t sure what exactly she was negating.

  "Some are perfectly happy to give up all their secrets," he said. "Especially the older ones. They turn bitter as time moves on. I guess it gets old being stuck in the shell they wore when they were changed."

  He walked back over to the chair, and scooted it closer to her before he sat down. He stared for a minute, just long enough to make her fidget. Sam wondered how far he’d get with this story before she started to defend the cute, cuddly vampire fuck.

  "Fledglings, however, don’t usually turn out of bitterness," he said. "They’re immature, and like the bullies they are, eventually start running off at the mouth about all the people they’ve killed, and how they’re going to do the same to us when they get free. They never get the chance."

  "You torture them?"

  Sam shrugged.

  "How?"

  "Don’t worry about it. The Vanguard has no constituents to satisfy, so torture isn’t such a hot button issue for us."

  "But…" There was nothing to say, and she seemed to know it.

  Sam had no idea why he was talking so much. He sounded like Solis’s new partner, fucking chatter-box rookie. Maybe he had to. Maybe he was in the middle of some kind of purge, out with the old, in with the new. If he purged Franky, maybe there would be room for Marley? But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the mother fucking BloodStar. But what was there to do at this point but go on with his story? Anya’s venom slithered around his tissue, fucking with his brain, fucking with his dick.

  God, he wished Marley was fucking with his dick. She still needed that shower, was filthy as all get out, and still he would put his tongue to the very center of her and tickle until she screamed if he had half a chance.

  But the BloodStar would be along at some point, and he’d know, and when Sabian got around to fucking with Sam’s dick, there’d be nothing hurts-so-good about that.

  So instead, Sam talked.

  "So this one—his name was Kenneth." He breathed a laugh, and when Marley didn’t join in, he said, "Doesn’t that crack you up?"

  No response.

  "It’s such goofy name for one of them, too American, normal."

  Marley still didn’t get his joke. Jesus, she was so out of the loop.

  "Anyway, Kenneth goes crazy when I happen into the room, just out of curiosity since I heard he was in Vegas during the time Franky was taken. He’s shouting and spitting at us, and going berserk—laughing and kicking."

  Sam remembered the white flesh of the vampire Kenneth set against the white walls of the interrogation room spattered with black vampire blood. Sam had stood in the back corner by the door, more bored than anything else, just hanging around in case this crazy asshole made mention of something he could use. He was ordered to leave it be, but Sam was never good with orders that didn’t make sense.

  I got your fucking bitch partner! It was me. She was good—put up a fight, mixed up the blood just right.

  That was how Sam found out it hadn’t been Sabian, but what was more cruel? Sabian’s special brand of chug-a-lug and leave’em, or serving up a victim to a psycho like Kenneth who probably liked to fuck the dead in the ass while they were still warm? At least if it had been the BloodStar, Franky would have been entranced. Sam didn’t know why, but Sabian tended toward the merciful suck. Didn’t change the fact that he was a hard-core murderer and could get just as Tarantino as the next leech if he felt like it. Instead, he sent the one leech in Vegas who Sam knew, just fucking knew without a doubt, got biblical, Sodom-and-Gomorrah style, before leaving her for a morgue incinerator.

  But Marley wouldn’t see the trend. She would defend that fucked up hope of hers that Sabian was different. He was number one on the damn Hunt List for a reason. For hundreds of individual reasons.

  "Vamps aren’t so much into pain, know what I mean? Like to lose themselves in pleasure, avoid pain almost at all costs, especially ones that have nothing to lose. That was our guy Kenneth. He knew he was a dead leech walking."

  Sam let the sneer spread like mold across his face, liking Marley’s expression. So she didn’t get down with the way he enjoyed killing and torturing vamps—so fucking what.

  "See, if it had been Sabian in that chair, I bet he would have held out to the bitter end because he’s so f
ucking in love with you, always worried about what his actions might bring down on you. Kenneth, on the other hand, had no one to worry about, no one he loved, so he gave up the goods after only an hour."

  "Was he…made by Sabian? Wouldn’t he want to protect him?"

  "Nah, Sabian didn’t make him. In fact, your little loverboy isn’t exactly the most prolific sire; not like his own maker. I only know of one childe born of Sabian—remember?" His voice took on a slight Russian accent and he tried for the impossible-to-feign ethereal sound: "‘I am the only childe of Sabian BloodStar.’ That would be our gracious hostess."

  "So you weren’t involved with Franky? I mean romantically?"

  For years, Sam had practiced The Look, the one that said What? Me and Franky? Preposterous! But when he pasted The Look on his face now, it felt off. He couldn’t front with Marley the way he always had with his Hunter pals.

  "There were feelings, but that was all," he answered.

  Something skated across Marley’s face—a look Sam wanted to believe he recognized, but he just couldn’t convince himself. She’d looked exactly as she had when he told her Sabian hadn’t killed Franky—relieved. Was she happy he and Franky were never together? Jesus, was she jealous?

  Except he didn’t care, right?

  Oh hell, what kind of fucking pansy-ass was he becoming?

  "Franky was special, like I said, but not just because she could see things. She was selfless, and God was she funny." Jesus, he was holding on tight now. It was as obvious as the shit-smell coming from the bed. He had to. It was the only way to defend against this madness in his heart over Marley. "She saw some good in them, which I never understood."

  Sam looked hard at Marley. He wanted to hate her, and more than that, he wanted her to feel like hell, like the scab he picked off his elbow and discarded to the debris no one sees on brown carpet. "I’ve looked hard, man, and never found anything redeeming about leeches, but she did. She found real stuff, real good in them, more than just the beauty and sex. She was pure."