Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  “Now, who’s David?” he asked.

  She didn’t know why she felt like she could trust Slade with the information, but through the night he’d somehow become a safe addition to her side. With everything bouncing around in her head, she thought maybe if she unloaded some of the burden aloud onto his broad shoulders, she could make better sense of it.

  “David came into my office yesterday, just before dark. Said he needed to feed. He wanted protection for his mate if he met the sun face-to-face . . . if you know what I mean.” She pulled up the Feeders Anonymous information system and typed in David’s name, waited for it to load. “And then he did.”

  “Did what?”

  She swiveled around to meet Slade’s eyes. “He opened the door to the clinic, and let the sunset take him.”

  Slade moved around the chair, leaned against her desk, faced her. His chest was so broad and sturdy. Safe. But his color seemed to be paling by the hour. She needed to give him that test, she reminded herself. Something wasn’t right with him and she needed to find out exactly what. Not now, though. Not when she was so close to piecing together the puzzle pieces to David’s case.

  “Why would he go do something sacrificial like that?” Slade asked. “He have a fang loose like Jude?”

  “He said he didn’t want to go through with the Valcdana and become enlightened by someone he didn’t love. He was desperate for an answer.”

  Slade tapped his fingers against his arms, his eyes peering past the walls of the lab. “So what does this have to do with what Jude rattled off?”

  David’s file bleeped! onto the screen. There, attached to his Feeders Anonymous information was his counseling status: unfinished. And his preferred donor listing: Sample X.

  What caught Dylan’s eye wasn’t who he fed from—it was that he’d stopped feeding, canceled counseling, and dropped out of classes six months ago. From that time on, he’d been living on his own, free from ReVamp’s services.

  For someone with such a squeaky-clean record extending back years, feeding from the strongest, purest source found in Sample X, why would he suddenly call a halt to all treatment?

  Nothing was going to stop her from talking to Eve Monroe now. She’d have the answers to these questions—if she and David were as close as he made it seem, she’d know about Sample X and how he’d managed to stop feeding at the clinic. Not a Valcdana announcement, a Feeders Anonymous meeting, or a drop-dead sexy newborn was going to keep her away anymore.

  Dylan snatched the Post-it from the side of her computer indicating there had been no deliveries from Alvambra. She closed down the computer and turned to Slade, who looked thoroughly confused. “Come on. We’re going to drive to Brookside and talk with David’s mate.”

  Slade made it to the door first, and held it open for her. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

  She brushed past him, held her breath so as not to become distracted by his stimulating aroma, and strode toward her car.

  As much as she hated to admit it, she was beginning to like, and maybe even depend on, Slade’s chivalrous treatment. He was always there. Silently behind her, his supportive hands on her chair, letting her know he was present if she needed him, but not overstepping. He stood beside her, tall, protective, making her feel strong but safe. In front of her, opening doors and clearing the way.

  Having doors opened for you was kind of a nice gesture, wasn’t it?

  On the walk back to her Jetta, Dylan tried to find something wrong with being taken care of for once in her life.

  And she just couldn’t.

  It was irritating as hell. Like a pebble in her shoe she couldn’t take out, but couldn’t stop from thinking about every step of the way.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Return to the haven by sunrise. We will not send out a search party.”

  —San Francisco Haven Rule #3

  Dylan and Slade followed the directions given by the Tom-Tom GPS into Brookside and turned down Eve Monroe’s street. Taupe and tan with hints of boring seemed to be the theme of the decade—every cookie-cutter house was painted the same shade with similar landscaping designs. Comparable SUVs parked in the driveways. Small trees showed the youth of the subdivision. The only splashes of color found on the houses were the brightly painted doors. Red was her favorite.

  When Tom-Tom announced their destination on the left, Dylan slowed to a stop in front of a single-story home with a large bay window and a three-car garage flanking the right side. Slade double-checked the address. Bushes and trees in the front yard were losing the tough-fought battle with winter, shriveling to trunks with bare limbs and frostbitten twigs.

  She stepped out of her Jetta and walked up the winding pathway to the front door. Eve’s windows were closed tight with heavy blinds. Even the peek-a-boo window on the top of the blue door was covered. She imagined it’d be dark and cold inside.

  Slade surveyed the sky. “We better be making this quick. Looks like we only have about an hour until sunrise.”

  “I need to know what she knows.” Dylan knocked once. Twice. “And I need to tell her what happened to David. It really is the least I can do.”

  The door creaked open. Only a sliver. A woman with sleek blonde hair and deep hazel eyes peeked into the space, cinching the tie closed on her terrycloth robe.

  Dismayed by the faint rings around the woman’s eyes, Dylan checked her watch. Four-thirty a.m. This woman should’ve been wide awake. Not looking like she’d just rolled out of bed.

  “Can I help you?” she asked quietly. “Is something wrong?”

  “My name is Dylan, and this is Slade. I . . .” she didn’t know quite how to put it. “I knew David.”

  Right away Dylan realized she’d found Eve by the way her eyes danced with worry.

  “What do you mean, you knew him?”

  Dylan swallowed hard and looked past Eve into the dark foyer. “Mind if I come in so we can talk?”

  “First, you need to tell me if you’re . . . one of them.”

  Them? Who was the distant group she was referring to? “No, I’m not a therian,” Dylan whispered. “If you let me come in I can explain.”

  Slade cleared his throat and scanned the street, his eyes focusing on a tiny dog sniffing a pile of dirt on the sidewalk.

  “No,” Eve said. “I mean . . . are you a vampire?”

  Meaning . . . she wasn’t?

  Wait a minute.

  She didn’t smell mundane. She didn’t give off a mundane vibe. Or a therian one for that matter. What the hell was David doing in love with a mundane woman? But she was obviously no typical human, if she was in a relationship with him, was she? Her wispy blonde hair was slicked back and tied into a full ponytail that dangled mid-back. Her eyes weren’t just hazel; they shimmered with specks of green, shadowing over brown in places where the light didn’t reach.

  If Dylan didn’t know the rules of her race better, she’d say this woman had vampire blood . . . but that wasn’t possible . . . she’d have changed already.

  This was so not the picture of the evening Dylan had drawn in her head.

  “Yes, I’m a vampire like David, but I’m not going to hurt you,” Dylan said. “There’s no reason to be afraid. Could we please come in?”

  Eve evaluated Dylan’s face and probably her options. She had to know if Dylan really wanted to come in, there’d be no stopping her. She could break down the door in a second if she wanted to. Not that she’d invade Eve’s privacy like that. Fortunately that wasn’t the point.

  Eve must’ve come to the same conclusion because she nodded, and then slowly opened the door. Dylan brushed past, Slade following as close as her shadow.

  Dylan’s first assumption was right. The place was dark and cool like a cave, with modern lines and simple color palettes. It was sparsely furnished. Spotless, pristine, perfect. Far from her shamble of a studio apartment.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me how you know David.” Eve nestled her petite frame on the edge of a floral love
seat against the window and held her hands to hide the shaking. “And why are you making a house call at four a.m?”

  Dylan took the winged armchair across from her. Slade remained standing, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded over his chest. That vampire was always on guard, wasn’t he?

  “Why don’t you tell me how you were acquainted first? I’m very curious.”

  Eve sighed, clasped her hands together. “We’ve been seeing each other for awhile now. We met at a pub on Van Ness and hit it off right away. It’s so new, yet I already can’t imagine my life without him.” She smiled, awkward and tense, like she didn’t know why she revealed as much as she did. She licked her lips, and then bit the bottom one, a nervous gesture Dylan hoped Slade didn’t regard as sensual.

  “What about you?” Eve asked.

  “I work at ReVamp. Do you happen to know anything about the clinic?”

  “I know you guys help vampires with their disabilities.”

  “That’s just it,” Dylan said. “We don’t have disabilities, as you put it, at all. Didn’t David tell you about what the therians are trying to paint us as?”

  Slade grumbled something and paced back to the living room door. He lifted a blind and checked the street.

  “Is that why you’re here? To tell me about the shape-shifters? Why not just lay your cards on the table. What harm could I possibly do to you and your guard?”

  Dylan thought the last part was comical and stifled a laugh. “David came to me, seeking protection.”

  Eve smirked. “Yeah, right. David is fully capable of taking care of himself.”

  “Had he been acting a little odd lately? Maybe a little distracted?”

  Eve twirled a blonde strand of hair around her finger. “Maybe. Why do you keep referring to him in past tense?”

  “Do you know anything about our practices or . . .” she paused, not sure how much was acceptable to talk about, “. . . the Court?”

  “David’s told me enough.”

  “Then you understand the predicament you put him in. How could you continue to see him, knowing full well you couldn’t be together?”

  “I didn’t put him in any predicament. I love him.” Eve stood in a flash. “We both understand that our relationship isn’t . . . normal. But that’s what makes it work and I won’t tolerate someone sitting on my couch, telling me that what we have is wrong.”

  “It’s your love that killed him.”

  “You lie,” Eve hissed, sounding more like a vampire than Dylan expected.

  “I’m not lying. He came into my office, asking for protection . . . for you. He said he couldn’t go through with one of our most sacred practices because he loved you too much.”

  Eve pulled her cell out of her robe pocket and dialed his number.

  “No answer?” Dylan asked flatly.

  Eve met her eyes when she was obviously transferred to voicemail. “What’s happened? What did you do to him?” Panic streaked her voice

  “He did it to himself.”

  Eve swayed. “No. I won’t believe it.”

  “What’s done is done. It doesn’t matter what you do and don’t believe. But I wanted to ask you about how he’d been feeding the last six months. He hadn’t been to the clinic or to counseling. And he hadn’t drunk in so long. He told me he didn’t have a feeding record at all, when in fact he simply didn’t want me to look it up. I was hoping you could explain that.”

  Eve sank into the couch, her robe falling aside to reveal her black satin nightgown. Dylan roped in her gut-clenching reaction to reach over and close it for her. Didn’t Eve know she was in the presence of a single male? A very sexy, easily aroused single male?

  Eve’s hazel eyes shifted. “He said he’d found a way only yesterday.”

  “A way to feed? Was it from another clinic? Was the blood stronger there?”

  “No. A way to stop the ceremony.”

  Slade skated back into the room. “What ceremony? The Valcdana?”

  She nodded.

  He stole Dylan’s seat in the wingback, and perched on the edge as if blood-sweetened nectar was floating out of her mouth and he was a hungry, hungry honeybee. “Tell me everything.”

  She looked up from her lap, eyes glossy with tears. “He’d been looking for the scrolls for months. When he found out he was next on the list, he’d searched day and night. He was desperate.”

  Those were just the words Dylan had used to describe him to Slade. Funny how they saw the same side of David.

  She continued, eyes a little too focused on Slade for Dylan’s taste, her voice low and breathy. “And then he found them. He went and saw someone . . . someone who could decipher them . . . and he said he found a way for us to be together. To beat the Court. . . .”

  “Impossible,” Dylan scoffed.

  “Shhhhh.” Slade waved her comment away without unlocking stares with Eve.

  The nerve! Not an hour ago he’d been looking at her with those same determined eyes. Seemed his desires were easily swayed. She bit her tongue and ground it between her teeth.

  Eve talked directly to him like they were connected somehow. “David got wind they were after him. They wanted to stop him from talking and finding out more than he should have. The next day you two knock on my door.”

  Dylan knelt by Eve’s side. “He found the scrolls without Primus permission and deciphered them? You’re certain?”

  She nodded and caught falling tears with the side of her sleeve.

  “You said he figured out how to stop the Valcdana,” Slade said, his voice hoarse. “Who helped him decipher those scrolls?”

  “An elder.”

  “Who?” he asked again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where did he go day before yesterday? Anywhere out of the ordinary? Who did he meet?”

  Oh, look who decided to join the circus and take over as ringleader.

  Eve shook her head, and then her eyes flickered with something different—knowledge. “He took a drive to Crimson Bay for the afternoon to see someone named Meridian. That’s all I know . . .” Tears continued to fall. She wiped them away.

  Slade rose off the couch and approached Eve. He knelt before her and took her hand. Kissed it.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  He nodded to her slowly, a notion of respect and deep appreciation, and strode out of the room, leaving Dylan reeling. He’d kissed her? A mundane woman? Okay, so she was a breathtakingly beautiful mundane woman, but still . . .

  “Dylan, let’s go,” he called from the foyer.

  Oh no, no, no. She would not come when called like some stray dog. No, he’d have to wait until she was ready to go. There was more she wanted to ask Eve. More questions that needed answers.

  “Dylan . . . please, come on.” he called again, more gently.

  “Eve, I’m sorry for your loss. I really am.” Dylan left the living room, then turned back. “One more question though. How did David feed if he wasn’t being seen at any clinics?”

  Chuckling softly, Eve pulled her robe aside revealing the curvature of her powdery-white neck. There, pink, red, and a little swollen were a series of bite marks.

  “He fed from me,” Eve said softly. “He fed from me . . .”

  Another tear rolled down her rose-tinted cheek. She let it fall into her hand. Then smiled a smile meant for David and her alone.

  The drive back to the haven was met with silence. Thoughts about Valcdana, Eve, David, his feeding habits, and Slade’s lack of hunger spun in Dylan’s head over and over again. She didn’t notice Slade studying the rearview mirror, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. Didn’t notice his clenched jaw, either.

  She sure as hell didn’t notice that same tiny dog from Eve’s street prowling the alley behind the haven when they arrived, only ten minutes before daybreak.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Truce finally reached: Therian Sheiks will sign Hands-Off Policy in regards to Crimson Bay vampires as long as no
mundanes are involuntarily harmed from a vampire bite.”

  —San Francisco Haven Newsletter: Note from the Primus for December 1967

  Things were spiraling from bad to worse. Fast. Ruan’s life felt like a giant whirlpool spinning faster and faster and faster, leading him toward a tiny drain that was slowly sucking the life from him.

  First, Dylan was ordered to marry Erock. That’s so not what he had in mind when he sought Savage’s help. He wanted assistance. Another guard at her side. Another set of watchful eyes. Not a permanent fixture attached to her hip that would inevitably prevent him from being near her as well.

  Next thing he knew, she’s parading around with a scruffy newborn. What was she thinking? Putting herself in that kind of situation with a single male wasn’t the brightest of decisions.

  But she was a big girl, she’d told him time and time again. Her small but determined voice rang in Ruan’s ears, even now. She could decide her life for herself.

  Yeah. She could. As long as she wasn’t staining her reputation in the process. She’d worked too long and too hard at making a clean, hard-working name for herself. Now she was showing signs of throwing it all away. It was a damn shame.

  Her lips had been plump, hadn’t they? And her hands shifty.

  Ruan closed his eyes, pictured Dylan’s petite face in his mind. Her chestnut curls. Her blazing blue eyes. Her lips, swollen and pink from kissing that newborn . . . Slade.

  He pounded a fist on his desk and pushed back.

  He hated that damn newborn. Thought a hundred times about ripping his fangs out and shoving them down his throat on the long drive back to their haven. But what would that prove?

  That he was a smitten, jealous son of a bitch, that’s what.

  Leaning back, hands linked behind his head, Ruan stared up at his studio ceiling. The room was dark as night and hot as a furnace. The way he liked to keep it. Most days it made for solid sleep and comforting dreams.

  Tonight, it fueled his rage.