Intervamption

by Kristin Miller

  She forced herself to work through mid-day, filing papers away, getting rid of bugs in the system. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice Slade was still absent from the Induction classes. It didn’t work. It was all she could do to pull her eyes away from the back door. Any minute she’d see him walking in from the underground garage, those broad shoulders pulled back, his jaw clenched tight. Any minute now. . . .

  Why didn’t he at least call in and tell her he wouldn’t be coming?

  On second thought, what did she care anyway? It’s not like he had to report to her or check in or anything. She wasn’t his boss . . . or his lover. Her eyebrows kicked up at the thought. What would it be like to have those rough hands caressing her stomach, drifting lower, pressing between her thighs? What would his chiseled body look like hovering over her?

  She shook herself back to the present, shoved a Blood-Blaster into her mouth, and marked off another day on the calendar.

  Less than a week left until Winter Solstice.

  A few measly days until she belonged to Erock. Not Slade. Erock.

  A handful of slipping hours to track down Sample X and convince him to donate again. Maybe if his blood hadn’t run dry vampires wouldn’t be feeding at whim. If Dylan could only find out what was causing his blood to remain strong, and the others to grow weak, she could try to reproduce it or clean the other enough to match it, keeping her brothers and sisters well-fed and off the streets.

  Mundanes weren’t going to turn a blind eye to what was going on much longer. Soon they’d sit up and take notice, and then vampires would not only have to worry about therian controls, but human ones as well.

  Vampire hunts would resurface, daggers and torches at the ready. They’d have no chance at survival, not even in hiding.

  Ruan walked into the lab and made a beeline for his desk. He sank into his chair and dove into whatever happened to be on the screen. It’d been like this since the kiss. He’d hardly spoken a word to her, let alone met her in the eye.

  The first time she tried to explain her responsibility to the khiss, he refused to listen.

  “I understand your role in the Valcdana, Dylan, and I should’ve known better. I’m sorry for overstepping my ground,” he’d said, staring hard at the floor. “It won’t happen again, you have my word.”

  “Ruan, I don’t want this. I want to go back to how things were before. You are my work partner. My confidant. Nothing’s changed on my end, you know. When we were friends, I used to be able to come to you if I had a problem. I miss that. I want that back.”

  “Are you having a problem now? Do you need anything from me?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “Then there’s no reason for us to be talking about this, is there?” He’d turned a cold shoulder and stalked away.

  How could she argue with someone who didn’t want to hear anything she had to say? How could she explain that he wasn’t what she was yearning for without sounding high and mighty?

  How could he throw away their friendship over something like a simple little kiss?

  Years ago she’d kissed a male newborn with more passion than that and nothing came of it. The young buck had taken her face in his hands and smacked a good one on her in thanks. It turned out to have some heat on his end, which was extinguished the second he accidentally bit her lip. Regardless, they remained friends to this day.

  But with Ruan it was different.

  She would never, ever understand men, of that she was certain. They would always be one of life’s great mysteries.

  Along with this infection in the blood, so it seemed. She’d been working so long, her eyes burned from computer-screen overexposure, and her fingers were stiff. She needed to take a break, but she needed to find a cure more. ReVamp and all the vampires who sought assistance depended on it.

  That’s when it happened.

  She’d been deleting old files, ones from the eighteen hundreds that had been copied into her system for history’s sake. There was no longer a need for them and they were using up a bunch of space on the hard drive that she could use for newer research.

  Her eyes set upon the next file name up for deletion: Meridian.

  Wasn’t that the name Eve had given Slade? She said David had gone out of town to visit someone named Meridian. Yet she’d looked in the system the night they got back. There was no record of a Meridian at all.

  She’d put her noggin to use, too, by transferring her success at finding Eve to searching not only the vampire databases, but Google as well.

  No trace of the elusive Meridian.

  Yet now here he was, staring her in the face. A blinking black name begging for examination. She clicked on his file and looked up to call Ruan over to share in the excitement . . . but he was gone.

  The file dated back to 1835.

  Meridian. Known world traveler. Settled in Crimson Bay 1800. Husband and son deceased. Finances unknown. Labor skills unknown. No feeding preference listed. Sought treatment at vampiric service facility in Crimson Bay Area in 1810 for son’s extreme muscular dystrophy. Son removed from hospital by unknown source. Meridian last seen during therian-vampire revolution of 1835 seeking son’s carcass. Request denied.

  What an odd file, Dylan thought. Meridian was not a he at all, but a she. A very worldly, somehow private she. If David hightailed it to Crimson Bay to see Meridian, that meant he’d found her.

  Didn’t Jude mention something about David and the blood supply during the Feeders Anonymous meeting? Eve said David had found the scrolls, discovered someone who could decipher them, and broke free of Valcdana’s chains. Meridian had to be the person who helped him.

  But what on earth did the tainted blood at ReVamp have to do with the Valcdana?

  What big-ass puzzle piece was she failing to see?

  Sighing, she realized at least now she had a place to start. If David somehow found the connection between the two, she would simply walk in his footsteps and discover what he discovered.

  She’d delve into the catacombs and find the scrolls. Then haul her tired ass to Crimson Bay to find Meridian and demand to become privy to the same information David received. Only then, when she was on David’s playing field, would she finally feel like she’d solved the problem at hand.

  All the pieces had to be related somehow.

  They had to be.

  If they weren’t . . . if Dylan was wrong . . . the vampires of Crimson Bay were about to plummet straight into blood-lusting hell. And she was heading into the Valcdana to be enlightened by Erock for all eternity.

  For some reason she couldn’t explain, the prospect of a lonely sentence in hell suddenly had more appeal than a lifetime as Erock’s mate.

  When the sun finally dipped below the horizon, blanketing the city in dark, and the newborns left for the haven, Dylan closed down ReVamp for the night. She gathered her things, and locked the place up. Nothing sounded better than heading back to her studio for a nice, long drink. Then after her energy was restored, she’d somehow finagle her way into finding the location of the catacombs.

  She only wished there was someone at her side to join in the journey. If she was honest with herself, she knew she didn’t want just anyone . . . she wanted a particular someone. His eyes watching her from across the room. His scent enveloping her as she brushed past him. His presence keeping her safe.

  Slade.

  Where the devil was he?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Hands-Off Policy broken by therians after a Sheik reported finding piles of mundanes bitten to death in landfill south of the city. Vampires have been blamed for the tragedy although no bodies have been delivered as proof. Therians announced today they’ll stake any vampire looking suspicious in Crimson Bay. Watch yourselves and each other.”

  —San Francisco Haven Newsletter: Note from the Primus 1970

  Dylan couldn’t explain it, but she sensed Slade was in trouble from the moment she stepped into the haven. She’d checked his studio, found it emp
ty. She’d scoured the haven’s networking system, asked around to see if anyone had seen or heard from him recently. No dice.

  She didn’t nap well. Working around the clock was jacking with her night-wake schedule big time. She hauled herself out of bed around five a.m after a long night of tossing and turning. She threw on a pair of jeans, a white tank, and the first cardigan she could grab and paced the halls of the haven. Someone had to have seen Slade. He couldn’t have been out and about all day and night. Maybe instead of going to bed after they met up with Eve yesterday, he’d hit the streets. He could control himself, couldn’t he?

  Damn it, she was driving herself batty thinking about him. And she hated it.

  As she waited at the entrance of the haven, sheltered beneath the awning in case the sun’s rays made a dangerously early appearance, Dylan wondered if she was being totally ridiculous. Slade wasn’t a newborn anymore, incapable of controlling his urges.

  He’d transcended that stage. He was fine. Had to be. The test results showed up normal and she couldn’t argue with facts. Maybe he’d decided -to stay somewhere else for the night . . . in another haven . . . with someone else.

  Crossing her arms and tapping her feet against the concrete only reminded her how frustrated she was to be waiting for some male to show his face. Where had he been all day and night? Why’d he miss the newborn Induction session? He was their representative, for Christ’s sake. Was he avoiding her on purpose?

  At least she wouldn’t have to wait much longer for answers to her questions. Slade was close and getting closer and he better hurry up—morning wasn’t thirty minutes away. She’d tracked his presence only a few blocks out, could smell his spicy fragrance carried on the winter wind. In fact, was that him walking toward her now?

  She pushed off the warehouse wall, squinting through the dark.

  He was hunched. Pained. Holding his stomach with both arms as if cuddling or protecting something there. He looked up, his hunger-fueled eyes settling upon her.

  Twinges of fear balled in her stomach. Something wasn’t right.

  “Slade?” she called, taking a step toward him. “Where have you been?”

  He didn’t answer, just walked up to her and dropped to his knees. “I’m so hungry, Dylan. So hungry.” He bent over his knees, his head hung low.

  Her fear evaporated into the crisp morning air. She could’ve sworn she felt her heart crack in two. Why hadn’t he come to ReVamp if he was hungry? Seemed she was right about his hunger going through some sort of latency period. She should’ve followed her own orders and forced him to take that final test. Maybe she would now. . . .

  “Slade, have you fed yet?” She knelt down and took his face in her hands. Looked deep into one fiery eye, then the other. They were dilated more than she’d ever seen before. His hunger made Jude look apathetic. “Good Lord, Slade, what have you done? Let’s get you into the haven and find you something to drink.”

  He swallowed hard, and nodded, letting his head fall forward, then back.

  She wrapped an arm under his and led him through the guarded stations. He mumbled something that fell on her ears as gratitude and . . . did he just say he’d missed her? Turning down the single male hall, she hurried to his studio door, slid it open and led him inside.

  He dropped on his bed like a stone, curling into a fetal position and holding his stomach.

  Dylan ransacked his mini-fridge, found a single bottle of AB and brought it to his lips.

  He shook his head violently. “No . . . can’t drink. Won’t.”

  “Slade, you have to. Why are you fighting this? Come on, you’re starving . . .”

  He opened his eyes a sliver, enough for Dylan to see the worry plaguing them.

  “It’ll be all right. I’m here,” she said, and took his head in her hand. She tipped the bottle against his lips, letting the liquid dribble into his parted mouth. “That’s it . . . that’s the way. Relax into my voice. Everything’s going to be fine. Drink up.”

  He hesitated, grimacing, like he wasn’t sure about the flavor, and then covered her hand holding the bottle with his. He raised his head now, letting the blood flow freely into his mouth and down his throat. He gulped heavily, stroking her hand, little whimpers escaping with heavy exhales. She didn’t let go.

  When he’d devoured the final drop, he groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. “Well, that’s interesting . . .” he whispered.

  Dylan waited a few seconds for the blood to filter through his system. “Slade, tell me you’ve fed recently. How long has it been since your last drink?”

  His fingers traced some funky pattern over his heart.

  “Slade, how long has it been?”

  “Never,” he said. “I haven’t.”

  “What do you mean? When was the last time you fed?”

  “Induction.” He stretched out. Color returned to his cheeks.

  He had to be joking. No one could go two days without a single drop. Dylan knew he’d poured his drink down ReVamp’s sink when she’d forced him to feed in the lab! But why would he do that to himself? “Be serious. You couldn’t have possibly lasted that long. It’s unheard of.”

  He shook his head, letting it fall to the side until his face was level with hers. She had the urge to stand, get off her knees and escape the heat of his glare. Instead, she stared back.

  “I missed you,” he said. He couldn’t have known how the nerve endings on her body stood at attention. “And I come bearing news.”

  “Oh yeah? I hope you’re going to tell me you haven’t been acting out on the streets. Otherwise I’ll have to report you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s the last thing I’d do.”

  “Really? You looked pretty desperate walking up to the warehouse. It’s a good thing I was there, don’t you think?”

  “Do you want the good news or not?”

  She shut her mouth and nodded.

  “The catacombs are located in the east wing’s royal chamber.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  He sat up on his elbows, looking better by the minute. “I have my methods. Now what do you say we find a way to get back there and peek around? We don’t have time to waste tossing over our options, so we’ve got to figure out a way to get in, like, now. Got any ideas running through that busy brain of yours?”

  She measured the seriousness of his features. The stress lines on his mouth, the laugh lines on his eyes. She was relieved to have him back.

  “The east wing is going to be . . . difficult to access,” she said instead of admitting she missed him too.

  “Heavy security?”

  “No. The east wing is Erock’s quarters.”

  Slade’s body stiffened, his eyes darkened. “Do you think he has any idea the entrance is in his room?”

  Dylan thought long and hard, which she found difficult under Slade’s intense gaze. “I don’t know . . . he’s got an awful big mouth. If he found the catacombs I doubt he’d be able to keep it under lock and key for long.” She paused, her eyes trailing over his caramel skin and tensing muscles. “I can’t think of any reason why keeping the catacombs a secret would benefit him, anyhow. His father is already Primus, which means he’s next for the seat. Why wouldn’t he want to bring them to light if he found the way in?”

  “I can think of one big-ass reason: power.”

  “He’s already got it. Didn’t you hear what I said? He’s next in line.”

  Slade sat upright and took her hands in his. “Yes, beautiful, I heard you loud and clear. But we know there’s more going on here than meets the eye. What if he’s keeping the scrolls safely hidden until after Winter Solstice, when ReVamp’s doors are shut tight and he’s got you successfully glued to his side?”

  Dylan’s clothes suddenly felt uncomfortable, tight and a little itchy. She shifted her stance. “Well, when you say it like that . . .”

  “So how ‘bout it? How are we getting in there?”

  “You and I
both know there’s only one way to do this.” She removed her hands from his and tugged down her tank, revealing a tantalizing amount of cleavage. “Bait.”

  Jaw clenching, Slade pushed off the bed and paced the cramped room. “No, that’s not happening. We still have four days until Winter Solstice. We’ll find another way. I’ll break through a goddamn brick wall before I let you go near him like that.”

  “What? Do I look that bad?” Dylan glanced at her hugging jeans, white tank, and rose-pink cardigan, fidgeted with the buttons a bit to get them in line. She’d never been good at the seductress thing, but she didn’t think she looked that bad. Certainly presentable enough to get Erock’s attention.

  When she lifted her lids, Slade came at her fast. He gripped her around the waist and nuzzled into her neck, then pushed her flat against the wall. He nipped and pulled at her ear lobe, suckled on the arch of her neck, his fangs grazing her skin.

  “Slade,” she breathed, letting her hands slide up and down the wide span of his back. He pressed against her, maneuvering his hips, nudging aside her legs so he could fit between them. She didn’t know when he would stop, or if he would at all. For the moment she didn’t care.

  He hissed on a sharp inhale and locked eyes with her. “I don’t know what’s going on with these urges inside me. You have to believe me when I say this has never happened before. I don’t feel like myself . . . I feel like I want to . . . like I need to . . . Sweet Jesus, you smell good. Are you wearing perfume?”

  Primal need dominated his expression as he eyed her vein like he wanted a taste. God, she was wet for him already. She licked her lips, watching his eyes trace the same slow line.

  A throaty moan escaped him as he dipped lower and lower to her vein, his fangs extended. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back from you, Dylan. I know I should. I mean, I really should, for my own reasons as much as yours. I’m trying, but there’s so much going on inside me right now. I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but suddenly the thought of you looking like this, in Erock’s presence, with the thoughts that are going to shoot through his mind, I could rip—”