by Karen Greco
"What a spell," Gramps said, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Best bit of magic I've ever witnessed. And you must be one tough-assed Druid to carry the magic of two people around. For how long?"
Dr. O shared a small smile. Father Dougherty moved an arm around Dr. O and helped him off the table. Frankie grabbed the other side and they maneuvered the exhausted man onto the couch.
"I had left just enough magic in him to keep him alive," Dr. O said, as he settled against the cushions with a grunt. "He doesn't age as slowly as me, but it was enough to cheat death many times over."
"But now your—" I stared, my voice cracking before I could finish.
Dr. O nodded. "Now I'm human, of a sort. I will live in my old age, all the aches and pains that come with the wisdom of years. I will eventually move on." He smiled, his wrinkles prominent. "When, you want to know, don't you?"
I nodded.
"That remains a great mystery. One of the few mysteries I have left, and I refuse to spoil it."
A knock on the door pulled my eyes away from him. I tried to take a breath but no air filled my lungs.
"Dammit, Darce," I groused as I stomped down the hallway. I pushed open the door. "You missed the entire—"
Special Envoy Mary Jane Colton stared at me, her icy gaze sending a chill down my spine. "We missed what, agent?"
"Agent?" I asked, turning to look behind me.
"She means you," Max said. He stood just behind her, stance wide.
"Just call me Nina," I said, stepping to the side to let them in. His arm made a protective barrier between her and me as they stepped into the apartment. "You can stand down, Max. There's no more of my magic flying around."
"Your magic is the least of our worries," he muttered.
I closed the door and sagged against it, watching Mary Jane's sharp heels dig into my old wood floors. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like why they were here.
"We have a problem!" Mary Jane called out to me from my kitchen.
"Why am I not surprised?" I muttered, tracing her steps into my apartment. She and Max hovered in my living room, looking warily between Father Dougherty and Dr. O. "Father Dougherty and Dr. O, this is Special Envoy Mary Jane Colton. The new head of Blood Ops."
She extended her hand. "Doctor, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am happy to see you back, safe and sound."
Dr. O nodded deferentially but ignored her hand. "Indeed."
Mary Jane gave him a forced smile and straightened, smoothing her perfect white Oxford shirt with the palm of her rejected hand.
"So what's this problem?" Frankie asked. His eyes danced in amusement at the power play filling up the room.
Max glanced at Mary Jane as she cleared her throat.
"You lost her, didn't you?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
Gramps clapped his hands together and plopped into kitchen chair. He leaned back, balancing the chair on its back legs. All he needed was some popcorn.
Mary Jane pushed her shoulders back. "She got a spell off—"
"Of course she did," I said, my temper rising. I pressed my nails into the skin of my arms, feeling them sharpen as I tried to keep my vampire under control. Vamping out on your boss was not a good idea, no matter how much she deserved it.
"I thought you contained her," Frankie said. His voice was controlled, but his eyes flashed a bright cobalt, telling me his vampire was rising to the surface as well.
"She slipped through our containment," Max said.
"How?!" I barked.
Mary Jane whipped her head around to give me a sharp look, which I matched.
"You took the knife out, didn't you?" I asked.
"We thought we could hold her..." Mary Jane started.
"But you misjudged," I finished for her, my anger stoking my bloodlust, boss be damned. I grabbed at her, pinning her against the wall, my forearm pressed into her chest while I nosed at her neck, scenting her. Mary Jane’s accelerated heartbeat sent tremors through her body as saliva dripped off my fang and drew a wet line against her skin.
"Nina," Frankie said, turning my name with a heavy warning.
"I got it under control," I lied, as my mind tried to force my impulses to behave. I swallowed and released my arm from her chest. Her feet landed on the floor with a thud. I didn't realize I lifted her up. "You people want to run Blood Ops but you behave like a bunch of inept humans."
Mary Jane, her breathing shallow, rubbed the wetness off of her neck. "We are human."
"Maybe that's the problem," Frankie quipped.
"Bertrand already chewed our asses out. We don't need it from the both of you," Max said. His arm went protectively around Mary Jane while he examined her neck.
“I didn’t touch her,” I said, scowling at both of them. "Let me guess. Now you want us to clean it up."
"It's what you do, right?" Mary Jane said.
"You did this yourself," I said. "Max, we told you keeping her alive was a mistake."
Mary Jane pressed a manicured hand to Max's chest before he could respond. "We needed her alive."
"What for?"
"We have our reasons," she said.
"Are you mad?" Frankie fumed. A shiver of recognition went through me as I noticed he was dangerously close to vamping out too. Damn, that meant Frankie was beyond pissed. "She's in the wind. She has no ties here."
"She has Nina," Mary Jane said. "She won't leave this state until she's done with her."
"Done with me?" I said. "You mean kill me."
Mary Jane just smiled. Great boss, right?
"Forget it,” I said, seething. “It's your turn to bring her in. We did our part. Too bad you failed at yours."
Mary Jane shook her head and made a clucking noise. "Remember our deal. She's still out there, and this state is still a tinder box."
"So you're saying your missiles are still pointing this way," I said, drawing my lip up in a sneer. I stared at her neck, her skin above her carotid artery moving in subtle waves. My fangs itched. That blood bag wasn't enough.
"Missiles?" Dr. O asked, his movements pained as he struggled to stand up. Father Dougherty took his arm and eased him back down to the couch.
"Yes, missiles," Frankie said. "These gits are going to clear out Leila with a bunch of bombs."
"And yet you wanted her taken alive," I said, narrowing my eyes.
"It wasn't our original intention to take her alive," Mary Jane said, her impatience rising to the surface. "But it was a courtesy extended to Bertrand when he asked."
"You blew it and now we have to clean up your mess because of a courtesy to Bertrand," I said, my anger bubbling up. "That's just brilliant."
"Where do you think we'll even find her?" Frankie added. "The prison was easy. Not so much now."
"Locator spell, perhaps," Mary Jane said, her right eyebrow rising. "I thought there were powerful witches in this room."
Gramps snorted. "Lady, like Nina said, you blew it." He dropped the chair down to all four legs. "I'm hightailing it back home to Mexico, and if you all are smart, you'll do the same."
My cell-phone chirped out the tune to "Sunday Bloody Sunday," and I glared at Frankie, who shrugged. It’s the end of the damn world and he’s messing with my ringtones?
I snatched it up from the kitchen counter and checked the caller ID. "I don't think a locator spell is going to be necessary," I said, before swiping. "What's up, Chuck?"
But I knew exactly what the Beta-Vamp was going to tell me before his panicked voice burst through the phone. Leila had found her way to the old farmhouse.
24
"I don't think I've told you that I love your new look," Frankie snarked at me, his grin wide. He held up a pair of kitchen scissors and opened and closed them, eyebrow raised.
I yanked my hand through my shower-wet hair, which now stopped halfway between the nape of my neck and my shoulders. The ends were ragged from being sheared by my sharp vampire talons, not a professional with top notch scissor skills. "Maybe I can look up
a spell or something to fix it."
He chuckled. "How about calling a hair salon? Some have evening hours, you know."
I gave a noncommittal shrug. I wasn't one for spa days.
"In the meantime, do you want me to clean it up for you?"
"You know how to cut hair too?" I asked dryly. I pulled the belt of my fluffy robe tighter and tapped my foot lightly, glancing at the shuddered windows. Nervous energy and adrenaline still spindled through my body.
The sun was still up, so the shades were drawn tight to keep out the daylight. The one thing Leila couldn't do was walk in the sun, so she was contained in the basement of the farmhouse until dusk.
Since she wasn't a threat with the sun out, everyone but Frankie cleared out. Matty and Darcy were holed up in Matty's basement. Father Dougherty took Dr. O to the church rectory. Gramps went straight to the bar. Max and Mary Jane...well, they could go to hell for all I cared. I suspected they went running back to Bertrand's, so close enough. Everyone was reconvening here just before nightfall. But that was about as far as we got with any sort of plan.
"I had her Frankie," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just had to take her head, and this whole mess would be done. Over."
"Nina, we've been over this a million times," Frankie said, thunking the scissors down on the counter. He looked exhausted. "Come on." He patted the top of the kitchen table. "Let's get that haircut cleaned up. Did I ever tell you about the time I worked for Vidal Sassoon?”
The edges of my frown twerked up. "You are such a liar."
He held up his hand. "Swear on my Aunt Fanny."
I gave a small jump, planted my ass on the table and crossed my legs demurely, pulling the ends of the robe down my legs. I put my hands over the choppy ends of my hair. "What'd you do at Vidal Sassoon? Clean the toilets?"
"Give me a little credit," he bristled. "I was the shampoo boy."
I cleared my throat to keep from laughing. "You?"
"It was the ‘70s," he said, his tone of protest raising my suspicions.
"The ‘70s you say?" I prodded while he tried to pry my fingers off the ends. "And what makes you think that you can cut hair when all you've done is shampoo?"
He sighed, dropping his hands from my hair. "I'm observant, you know that. I picked up a few tricks. This is a simple cleanup, just even out the ends." I gripped my hair tighter, pulling on my scalp. "Can anything I do make it look worse?"
That was a good point. My shoulders dropped along with my hands. "Have at it," I said, wincing when I saw him pick up the scissors out of the corner of my eye. He ignored me and shifted my shoulders so that I was sitting straight. "What do the ‘70s have to do with the haircut?"
"Nothing," he said, a bit too fast. I felt a light tug on my hair followed by the sound of a scissor snip. I raised my hand to block my hair again, and he sighed. "I had to wear a certain uniform."
"And?"
"Doesn't that explain it all?" he asked, annoyance edging his voice. The next snip was a little sharp.
"What, were you on roller skates?" I teased. "Wearing gold lamé?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes."
I burst out laughing.
He slapped the scissors on the counter. "I told you it was the ‘70s. Everyone wore gold lamé!"
I was laughing so hard, I was tearing up. "You must have looked ridiculous," I said, wiping my eyes.
"You done?" he quipped, picking the scissors back up when I nodded. He started in on my hair again while the image of Frankie the Shampoo Boy in gold lamé kept dancing through my mind. I still quaked with laughter. Frankie paused his trim and sighed. "It wasn't very comfortable either. The fabric doesn't breathe. Now stop mucking about or I'll poke you in the neck."
I smirked at the bad joke. "Too late."
Frankie hacked at my hair and a comfortable silence settled in between us. We had shared similar small moments like this for years: reading books, watching TV, me oiling my knives while Frankie whittled stakes.
Scissors down, Frankie fussed with my hair, attempting to style it. I reached my own hands up and laced them into his fingers.
"Want to take a look?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I trust you, Mr. Vidal Sassoon."
"That may well be your undoing," he said. While he was teasing, I knew a nugget of truth was buried inside. For both of us.
“Wait, don’t move,” he said. A slight breeze brushed across my skin as he speeded from the kitchen down the hallway. Before I could yell after him, he was back beside me, holding up a hand mirror.
“Come on then, take a look.”
I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.
“What, are you afraid you no longer have a reflection?” he teased. “Come on Nina, marvel at my brilliance.”
I sighed and took the mirror from him, and held it up to examine my new do. My face softened as I took in his masterful work. He turned my jagged ends into a pixie-ish bob that still managed to hold edgy appeal. I looked...pretty.
“I want you to see yourself through my eyes, love,” he said, his voice quiet. “You’re beautiful.”
He pulled my hair and tipped my head back, gentle but with an undercurrent of demand. He dropped his head and his mouth found mine.
His kiss was unexpectedly gentle, almost tentative. The trepidation was mutual. My heightened senses triggered heightened emotions, and I wasn't sure what was real anymore. Was this attraction to Frankie a result of the vampire turning me lusty? Or did we really share something deeper and more meaningful, something nurtured by time, friendship and our unique partnership. The couple that dies together, stays together.
Frankie pulled me into his arms and lifted me off the table. My weak moan of protest went unnoticed as he carried me to the bed, his lips never leaving mine. He settled himself on top of me, putting his weight on one arm while he worked at the knot in my belt with the other. I felt the fabric give, and he pushed the robe open. My skin prickled from the exposure to both the cool air and Frankie's glowing eyes, his desire bringing the vampire forth. My own passion ignited as his fingers brushed along my exposed skin, his eyes tracking the path from my neck, between my breasts, then brushing lightly down my stomach. I shuddered in anticipation of where they were headed next.
He dropped his head into the crook of my neck. "You are beautiful," he whispered, his tongue tracing a tantalizing line from just under my ear down my neck. I gasped when his teeth brushed the sensitive spot, which turned into a moan as his razor-sharp fangs slipped just below the surface of my skin. I pressed my pelvis up to meet the rough fabric of his jeans, raw desire flooding me as his teeth dropped deeper, the pain turning to pleasure and then the pleasure turning into pain, an intoxicating yin and yang that had me close to climax.
Frankie's slid his teeth slowly out of my skin, keeping me from tipping over the edge. My fingers pulled at his pants, loosening the fabric with a satisfying pop of each button. I pushed them down his legs while he pulled his t-shirt over his head.
"Bite me," he whispered. He shifted his body to move his chest over my mouth, my lips feeling his creviced skin from his raised scars. "Right there. But careful not to pull blood, just bite. You think you can?" He stilled, my mouth touching a scar just to the right of his heart.
My body quaked at the promise of feeling his skin between my teeth. “Bite, don’t pull,” I said with a nod.
I gingerly raked my fangs along the hardened surface of the scar tissue. His response shot through his body, encouraging me to push through the surface. We moaned together as my teeth forced themselves deeper. I pressed into him again, fully feeling the depth of his desire with nothing between our bodies, the tightness of the tough scar tissue around my fangs arousing both of us. My teeth sank deeper still, and my lips caressed his skin. I lost myself in passion, teeth ripping into the tight scar tissue as lust propelled me. I took a deep pull against his chest, my body aching for blood and sex.
Frankie pulled himself away from me. His speed had him at the bot
tom of the bed before I realized he was gone. I shifted onto my elbows and pulled my robe closed. "Did I do something?" I asked, keeping my eyes lowered while I tugged on my hem.
"No, no, not at all," he said, slinking his way back up the bed. He peppered small kisses along my face. "But you started to pull blood from me. My blood would make you ill."
"Your blood?"
"Well, any vampire blood, since you're one of us, now," he said, weaving his fingers into mine. "Since we are technically dead, our blood is stagnant. Drink stagnant blood, get sick."
I brought my hand to my mouth. "Sick like how?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Remember how sick I was from the opioid laced blood supply?"
"Another thing that can kill us?" I asked, and he nodded. I flopped back into the pillows. "Vampires sure are good at keeping what kills them a secret."
"It does help cull the necrophiliacs," he said, settling in beside me. "We can still bite, just don't pull."
I closed my eyes and turned my head, the mood broken by my newbie vampire bungle. The thought of the next 24 hours closed in on me like a coffin.
"Frankie," I said, sitting up. I raked my fingers through my damp hair, feeling its even ends. He did a good job. "Look, Frankie. This stuff with Leila, turning vamp...everything. I think it's all clouding my judgment."
He smirked. "Clouding your judgment?"
"Yeah, you know," I said, not meeting his eyes. "I haven't had any real time to process what's happened. To me, I mean."
"Fair enough," he said, running the tips of his fingers along the fabric of my robe. I touched my neck where his teeth had been and a shiver of pleasure slipped through me.
"I mean, my emotions," I stammered, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that dropped into my lower body. "Everything is just so heightened right now." My focus waned as his fingers slipped under the belt of my robe.
"You will get used to that," Frankie said as he pushed the robe off my shoulders. I closed my eyes and dipped my head towards him, mouth open to scent his musk.
He moved his hand to the back of my neck, tilting my head towards him. His lips moved to mine, a tentative press before he unwound his fingers from my hair.