by L. L. Foster
The room where she’d presented herself naked on his bed, only to be called away.
Fuck.
Concentrating anew, Gaby threw herself into the ink depictions of a long-toothed bloodsucker feeding off an innocent who screamed in soundless agony as her lifeblood drained away.
Heart racing, Gaby let her muse take over—until she really saw the woman she’d drawn.
This woman was different from the corpse they’d found. Darker, younger.
Shit, shit, shit. Would she be next?
Pausing, Gaby studied the drawing that her subconscious had conjured. Gaunt, fragile, eyes hollow with abuse, the dark-skinned woman looked like any of a hundred addicted transients who clogged the alleyways.
Somehow, Gaby had to find her, and save her.
Then, hand shaking, she noticed something that showed from just behind the woman’s leg.
A child.
“Gaby?” The doorknob twisted, but the lock kept Luther from entering.
Sick at heart, Gaby stood and stared down at the pages on the floor.
A young girl, not more than ten years of age.
God no. Please. Not that, not an innocent kid.
But the image remained, mocking her with the portent of what would come.
She backed up, removing herself from the harsh reality and going closer to Luther’s soothing voice.
“Gaby?” His fist struck the door in an annoyed knock. “Open up.”
Gaby rolled in her lips, breathing hard. “Yeah, hang on.” Not until her hand touched the doorknob was she able to draw her gaze from the papers. After a deep breath, she stepped to the side of the door and opened it a little. “What?”
His jaw loosened.
She hadn’t bothered with clothes yet, and he was now fully suited in a way befitting a detective. He looked nice. He smelled nice.
The way he’d touched her . . .
“Damn, Gaby.” His chest expanded. In a low, nearly reverent voice, he whispered, “You’re still naked.”
She stared at his throat and at a small bit of chest hair showing from the open collar of his shirt. His tie hung loosely around his neck, his dark blond hair was mussed. “Yeah, well I didn’t feel like getting dressed. Sue me.”
“I’d rather eat you up.”
Her gaze shot to his gorgeous brown eyes. She could tell that what he said held some significant sexual innuendo, just by the way that he said it. But the meaning escaped her.
“Damn, Gaby, you’ll be the death of me.” He trailed a finger along the curve of her breast, down to her nipple. He circled it once—and his hand dropped away. His eyes closed, his jaw locked, and then he firmed his resolve. “I have to go.”
Of course he did. Now that he had her heart pumping too hard again. Jerk. “So then why are you bothering me? Go.”
He cupped the back of her head and his voice gentled. After several heavy beats of silence, he asked, “You okay?”
“What do you care? You have a job to do—go do it.”
His palpable irritation struck her. “I care, and you know it.”
“Then stay and finish what you started.” She knew he wouldn’t. She knew he couldn’t. But, damn it, she didn’t really care about his problems at the moment.
Pained, he dropped his hands and stepped back from her. “Ann is waiting in her car.”
Some strange emotion that felt too much like jealousy took a bite out of her pride. Gaby shoved him back several feet, using more strength than she meant to. “Then fucking go to Ann! Damn you, Luther. Nobody asked you to hang around anyway!”
“You did.”
“Well I take it back.”
So quickly that she didn’t have time to think about it, Luther jerked her through the doorway and slammed her to the wall. One of his pants-clad legs came between her naked thighs, his chest pinned her. And then his mouth was on hers, kissing her hard and deep, giving her just a small taste of what she so desperately wanted and needed.
Gaby considered leveling him.
It’d be so easy to make him hurt the way she was hurting. But she held back.
That kiss of his . . . it robbed her of spiteful intent, and instead ignited new fires.
Easing up, his mouth still touching hers, Luther whispered, “Please be here when I get home. I promise that I’ll make it up to you.”
Before she could answer, he kissed her again, his tongue in her mouth, his hot breath on her cheek. It was wonderful and scorching, and it melted her temper.
“I swear, Gaby, I’ll be thinking of you every second that I’m gone, and that’s dangerous. So tell me you’ll be here.”
Lying never fazed her. Gaby did what she had to do when she had to do it. But right now, feeling Luther pressed to her, she didn’t have enough wits to consider a more prudent reply. “I don’t know if I’ll be here or not.”
Fury took him two steps from her.
Not that Gaby gave a damn about his anger issues.
“Look, Luther, the truth is I have some stuff that I have to do.” She rolled a bare shoulder, cocked her hip, and crossed her arms. “I don’t know how long it’ll take me. Might be a few minutes, might be all night.”
His gaze burned.
Outside, Ann laid on the horn, causing Luther to curse. He ran a frustrated hand through his brown hair.
“What?” He narrowed his eyes in demand. “What do you have to do that’s so important?”
Gaby enunciated “Stuff” in a way guaranteed to annoy. But how could she clarify more than that when she didn’t yet know herself what had to be done?
His jaw worked, he breathed hard, and then, very slowly, he smiled.
An evil smile.
God help me. But, as usual, God ignored her, leaving her to palpitate over what Luther planned.
Leaning in close to her, he breathed in her ear at the same time that his hand pressed between her legs. “When I say that I want to eat you—that means my mouth on you, Gaby.” His hand pressed against her. “Here.”
A shock of sensation ran over her.
His tongue touched her ear and stole her breath. “Everything I do to your mouth, the way I lick with my tongue, the way I suck on your tongue . . . ”
She swallowed and said, “Yeah?”
“That’s what I’ll do to you here—” His fingers toyed with her, long enough to send her need skyrocketing, too briefly to give her any satisfaction.
He leaned away, removed his hand, and left her wanting.
Deadpan, he said, “But I can’t if you’re not here when I get back.”
Knowing what he’d done to her—and why he’d done it—sent fury erupting to the surface. Blind with rage, Gaby swung at him, but he ducked and the momentum turned her so that he caught her back to his chest.
“Easy now.” His whisper held amusement.
“You miserable fucking jerk!” She considered maiming him. “It wasn’t enough to leave me wanting you. No, you had to go and amp it up.”
“Take what you feel, multiply it by a hundred, and that’s what I’m suffering, too.” His lips teased her ear as he spoke softly to her. “Be here when I return, and we’ll both get some relief.”
“Fuck you.”
His sigh was long and filled with frustration. “If you’re going out, do you need any money?”
Her spine snapped straight so fast that it hurt. Without thinking it through, Gaby stomped his foot, and when his hold loosened, she brought her elbow back hard into his midsection.
He wheezed—and released her so he could fold in on himself.
Breathing hard and nearly blinded by her pride, Gaby spun around to face him. Through her teeth she ground out, “I will never, ever take money from you.”
One hand rubbing his ribs, his expression a mix of pain, anger, and resignation, Luther slumped back against the wall. “You could have just said no.”
Well, yeah . . . she could have. Gaby eyed him, saw she’d truly hurt him, and wilted.
Now feeling guilty, Gaby re
iterated, “I don’t need your money.”
“You have your own?”
“Yes.” Oh God, now he was going to ask her how she got money. Gaby waited, her brain churning for possible explanations other than the writing and drawing of a popular underground graphic novel.
But all Luther said was, “Good. But, Gaby, if you ever do need anything, I hope you’ll come to me.”
And with that, he turned and went down the stairs and out the front door. Before closing the door behind him, he said, “Remember to lock up when you leave. You can take a spare key from the basket on top of the refrigerator.”
Gaby stared down the stairs at the closed door.
Why did he have to be that wonderful? So macho but so caring, so capable and still pure of heart.
She didn’t deserve him, but she wanted him. And he wanted her.
Then she thought of that small child she saw in her drawing. The kid was still safe, for now. If the child had been in imminent danger, duty would have sent her for it.
She had to believe that.
Gaby thought of a person vile enough who, for twisted reasons unfathomable to the sane, would want the child. It sickened her, but she feared that the same bloodsucker who had already been at work draining others now wanted the child for nourishment.
Maybe taking a child was easier than capturing an adult. Maybe a kid would be more resilient, quicker to heal if the maniac wanted a reliable blood resource.
Somehow, starting right now, she’d find that kid and protect her.
And then she thought of Luther’s request. A shudder passed through her, filling her with equal parts dread and longing. He had a terrible hold on her.
And God help her, she prayed she’d be home when he returned.
* * *
The body, long ago quartered into more manageable hunks and stored in a refrigerator, offered nothing more to him.
After the awful intrusion into his domain, a primitive building used only for the delectation of his prodigious appetite, he’d been able to salvage only a portion of the last sacrifice.
The rest of the body had been stored in an industrial refrigeration system in the basement. Soon it would be discovered by the intruders.
For now, Fabian Ludlow would make do with what had been left to him. He preferred the liquid fulfillment of warm blood, the sweet sensation of it passing over his tongue and sliding down his throat. He savored how it settled in his belly.
He needed it, like some needed the sunshine and sleep.
Long ago, he’d discovered how ingesting blood and, when necessary, human flesh, had added to his health, making him stronger, faster. Keener of mind and more astute to his surroundings.
He hadn’t known that he’d be denied his most recent kill.
Thinking of the trespass, his skin itched and his soul screamed in hollow demand. Damn the judgmental law officials for unchaining his captive.
How dare they make moral decisions against vices they couldn’t begin to understand?
From a secluded vantage point, Fabian had watched in impotent rage as a skinny woman, indistinguishable from so far away, had collapsed on the porch. The police ignored her as they scoured over the site and gathered ridiculous clues that would lead them nowhere. Eventually the idiots sent his prey on a fool’s trip to the hospital.
He might have been able to get another cup or two from the vagrant if they hadn’t interfered. And, of course, he would have kept that delectable, tasty body for when the blood flow failed.
Now he’d be forced to kill someone new.
Someone younger, fresher.
More tender.
Saliva pooled in his mouth, on his tongue. What he imagined, what he craved with mammoth preoccupation, was something of which he hadn’t yet partaken.
But now the time was near.
He ran his thickened tongue over his lips and dreamt of it, how it’d be, how the blood might taste transcendent and the underdeveloped muscles might be softer, more malleable . . .
All around him, the others laughed and danced. To his right, one young couple mistook the bloodlust for lust of another kind; they fucked wildly, without discretion.
Fools. They reveled in their freedom without discerning that it was all him.
He was the one who had transformed them. He was the one who had enlightened them on the veritable pleasures of the flesh.
He’d shown them how to take what they needed from those useless souls born only to give.
Worthless individuals unfit for sustaining life cluttered the earth in nauseating proportion. Unlike most, Fabian comprehended that they were there by contrived design, no different from cattle or pigs sent to the slaughter.
They were meant to nourish those with appropriate initiative to partake of the offering.
Those who he enlightened with the benefits of ingesting the blood, often straight from the vein, had also been taught the pleasure of taking another’s life. He’d taught them to sate themselves with the power of another human, even one too weak to survive.
With each soul he captured, he felt his own strength expand to undeniable proportions. It wasn’t an illusion, as one now-dead fool had dared to suggest.
It was actuality. Sweet, undeniable truth. He was near superhuman, with immeasurable cunning and aptitude. He understood that, even if some others yet failed to recognize it.
“Fabian, come join us.”
Bored, he looked at Georgie, a young man who favored Goth fashion and an overabundance of tattoos and body piercings. Georgie didn’t understand the merits of subtlety, or that sometimes less was more. Fabian had met him, along with most of the others, through the shop.
It amazed even him that people proved so easy to lead when one had leadership qualities, as Fabian did. But then, tattooing was a personal business, and it didn’t take long to get to know a person when you put a needle to their skin.
He didn’t hold the body art against Georgie. In fact, he often appreciated the beauty of an intricately inked human form. It had almost the same splendor as a body torturously carved of all meat.
But Georgie was stupid. He took drugs that Fabian had not approved, and that was forbidden. Only the narcotics that Fabian himself supplied were permitted. It was yet another method of control, another means of maintaining the upper hand. No one was allowed to ingest any narcotic substance that Fabian did not personally hand out.
Georgie knew that—but he thought he could show up high and Fabian wouldn’t notice.
Fool.
At present, Georgie partook of the bounty Fabian had supplied, his eyes glazed and his movements sluggish. He took extraordinary pleasure in being egregious.
For Georgie, it was the shock factor, not a proper understanding of the merits involved in partaking of sweet sustenance, consuming the very essence of life. He didn’t fathom the cerebral and sentient fulfillment of what they did.
As Fabian watched Georgie, his temper spiked.
Given a choice, Georgie would probably be stupid enough to eat the brains or even the spinal cord, both of which were prone to carrying disease.
Running his tongue along the blunt edges of his capped teeth, Fabian considered a punishment that might befit Georgie’s irreverence.
Yes, he knew what to do, knew exactly how to teach the others by using Georgie as an example. His heart began to pound in feverish anticipation.
God, he loved the adrenaline rush when he planned an attack.
Parting his lips, Fabian slipped his fingers into his own mouth and loosened the snug-fitting porcelain caps. One by one he removed them, leaving his real teeth exposed. He dropped the caps into the pocket of his coat.
With consummate delight, he skimmed his tongue along the honed edges of his predator’s bite. Long ago, his front teeth had been filed and reshaped to accommodate his inexhaustible hunger. There were no smooth borders, only jagged rims and his razor-sharp, elongated eyeteeth, meant to pierce the skin and flesh with ease.
An inferno of heat bu
rned behind Fabian’s eyes when Georgie laughed too loud. He made a mockery of them, ridiculing their sublime practice, when in fact he should have shown due deference to the offering.
Fabian’s shoulders curled; his long fingers tightened. “Stop it,” he whispered, “right now.”
But Georgie didn’t hear the warning. He swiped a sleeve along his mouth, wasting the bounty—and Fabian lost the fragile hold on his maniacal rage.
On a thunderous roar, he launched himself at Georgie, knocking him backward. With a solid thud, Georgie’s head smacked against the chilly cement floor of the abandoned home Fabian had chosen to carry out the delectation of their avocation. Georgie groaned, flailed, and then sank into a stupor.
Someone screamed. Bodies scrambled to get out of their way.
In a blind frenzy of need and fury, Fabian sank his teeth into Georgie’s soft white throat. His tongue stroked, located the jugular, and he readjusted his bite.
Yes. Fuck yes. His eyes sank shut as he fed at the ripped throat.
He felt Georgie’s futile, insensate struggles. But he was a pathetic boy, not more than twenty, and as weak in body as he was in mind.
At six feet, two inches tall, Fabian was far stronger. He’d fed many times and gathered the strength of multiple sacrificial souls.
Nothing had ever tasted as good as this. He relished the raw, wild feeding from a live body with the heart still pumping hot blood throughout the veins. Because of societal intrusions, he’d long denied himself this splendid pleasure. Instead, he’d been making do by hooking IVs to wilting bodies, ensuring the blood supply lasted.
Now, with this frenzied meal, he moaned with bliss.
All around him, the others were silent, maybe with awe, maybe with fear.
He fucking well didn’t care.
Caution made it necessary to plan out the menu, to make each kill last. For far too long now he’d had to resort to a discreet drinking of the stored liquid mixed with anticoagulants and blood thinners, and to meting out the supply in small doses.
He was an alpha male, savage by nature, at the top rung of the proverbial food chain. His basic nature prodded him toward pursuit, domination, and slaughter. At least, on occasion.