by J. K. Beck
"And what were you saying about passengers?"
"An older vamp can transform into mist--that's a fact that's crossed over into your human lore. But most humans don't know that they can clutch another person--vamp or human or whatever--and transform them into mist as well."
"Oh." Sara trembled, an image of Luke, his arms tight around her as they both dissolved into mist, suddenly filling her mind. There was something erotic about the thought of being so entwined with him, and she cursed her own inability to move Luke firmly and finally to the "defendant" slot in her brain.
"Glad you're asking questions. Some humans, they're too overwhelmed their first day to do anything but sit back and let the day wash over them," Roland continued.
"Don't even bother opening the manual until at least a week in. And never even ask what anybody is. Think it's impolite or something."
"Is it?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, probably so. But I never was a big fan of Emily Post, you know? Figure if you don't ask, you don't learn."
"So what are you?" she asked, taking him at his word.
"Hellhound," he said. "On my mother's side. Never was too clear on what my dad was. Left when I was a pup. But don't you worry. I ain't one of them wild ones."
"Oh." She considered it, not at all sure what to say next. Roland didn't notice the conversational lag. "So let me go do a round, see where everybody is, and as soon as it's set to go hot I'll give you a better overview and a runthrough of how it works. Okay?"
"Sure," she said brightly, still a little hung up on the hellhound announcement.
"No problem."
She watched the team work for another few minutes, then realized the rhythm of their movements was rocking her to sleep. She considered snagging a cup of coffee, but as soon as she did, they'd leave and she'd be up all night, exhausted but jittery. With no better option and no way to rush the team along, she dove back into 88
work. She studied the crime scene photos, trying to picture the scene. A dark night, and a man in a dark suit crossing a muddy park.
She closed her eyes, imagining a mist forming into a vampire, and the vampire bending over Braddock. Knocking him down, kicking him hard in the gut, and then swooping over him. While she watched, the creature bit down, then lifted his face to look directly into her eyes.
Luke.
Her heart pounded, but her body had turned to lead and she couldn't move, couldn't cry out, not even when the image shifted, and it wasn't Braddock that Luke was leaning over, but her.
His amber eyes never left hers as he slid inside her, her hips rising to meet him, wanting to take more of him, all of him. Needing him. Craving him. His mouth curved with male satisfaction.
You're beautiful.
Don't stop.
He hadn't stopped. He'd touched her, played her, his skin smooth against hers, his lips soft, his words and body nothing but need and passion, lust and longing, and all of it focused on her as he moved in and out, taking and giving, flesh against flesh. He was poised above her, his strong arms supporting his weight as he looked at her with pure, sensual hunger.
A hunger she understood, for it burned within her, too.
Take me. Luke, please, please!
He smiled then, and for an instant, her heart skipped from pure joy. Then the smile widened to reveal the bloody tips of his fangs. And when he drew his head down toward her neck, she screamed.
"Ms. Constantine! Sara!"
She opened her eyes to find Roland shaking her shoulder, and she sat up, damp with sweat and completely mortified. "Sorry. Sorry. I fell asleep. I'm okay. Sorry." He smiled good-naturedly. "It's normal."
"Sleep?"
"The nightmares. I do this for all the humans on staff. Gives me special insight, you know?" He grinned, yellow eyes flashing. "Consider it a breaking-in period."
"Right." She rubbed her hands over her face, then started when he shoved her phone in her face. "When you didn't wake up, I answered it. Says she's Emily. Says it's important."
She fumbled for the phone, clicked it over from mute to talk, and had barely managed a hello when Emily laid into her.
"Who the hell was that?"
"Security," she said. "Division 6 takes security very seriously." She ran her fingers through her hair and stood up, hoping that the movement would shake the image of Luke from her mind. She no longer had to worry about falling asleep. The nightmare had at least taken care of that.
"Wow," said Emily. "Guess Homeland Security really does begin at home. Marty told me about your promotion. I'm so proud of you. Insanely jealous, but also proud. And I miss you already."
"Listen, Em, I would say I miss you, too, but I saw you this morning. If you want 89
me to give you a rundown of my first day, we could meet for a quick lunch tomorrow. Right now I'm totally wiped, and--"
"No, no," Emily said. "I mean, lunch is fine, I'd love to. But I'm not calling to congratulate you or gossip. I got called in tonight, Sara. Marty, Porter, the whole office. And I said I'd be the one to call and tell you."
"Tell me what?" Maybe her brain was still sloshy, but Emily wasn't making sense. Sara didn't work for the District Attorney's Office anymore, so why on earth would they notify her of a meeting? "What's going on?"
She heard Emily suck in a breath, felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.
"Emily," she prodded.
"He escaped," Emily said, her voice flat. Dull.
"What?" Sara asked, her mind automatically flashing to Luke. "What are you--"
"Stemmons," Emily said.
Sara's knees went weak and she sank back onto the couch. "Don't be absurd. They transferred him to Corcoran this evening. He's in solitary by now, and good riddance to him."
"You're not listening," Emily said. "He got out."
"That's not possible."
"He had help, apparently. Both guards are dead."
Sara closed her eyes, imagining those poor guards riddled with bullets. "There was nothing in his profile to suggest he worked with anyone," Sara said. "Did he have a shiv? Hire a gunman?"
"No gun," Emily said. "Their throats were ripped out." Sara's head swam. "Wait. Their throats?"
"Massive blood loss," Emily said. "Only get this--"
"No blood at the scene," Sara finished. "Has Porter contacted Nostramo Bosch?"
"Who?"
"My new boss."
"Oh." Emily paused. "I'm not sure."
"Tell him to, okay?" For that matter, Sara thought, she'd do the same. Because from what little she'd heard, they'd either completely missed the fact that Stemmons was a vampire, or he had help from the fang gang.
"Sure," Emily said. "You wanna tell me why?"
"The MO matches a Division matter," she said. "That's all I'm allowed to say."
"I'd tease you for that if this wasn't so serious."
"Task force?" Sara asked.
"Already in place. If this is crossing jurisdictions to bring in Homeland Security, then Porter's probably going to ask for you to be part of the team."
"I'm in the second Bosch okays it," Sara said. "We know Stemmons has at least two hidey-holes we never found. He'll rabbit to one of them."
"Yeah, we've notified the school district. All the principals in the L.A. area have already been contacted, and the police are set to do extra patrols around schools and public parks."
Sara nodded, wishing there was more they could do, but gratified to see how quickly the wheels had been put into motion. Over the course of four months, Stemmons had abducted, raped, and brutally killed seven girls between the ages of nine and fifteen. 90
The girls were all blondes or redheads, with green eyes and tall, lanky builds. Stemmons was smart and hungry, and Sara knew damn well he wouldn't stop. He'd kill again, and soon.
"Hopefully our intelligence on the locations is correct," Sara said. "It's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"We know who he is now," Emily said. "That's huge. He can't move around like h
e used to. His picture's everywhere. We'll get him, Sara. He can't hide forever."
"Thanks," Sara said, then felt stupid for saying it.
"You're okay?" Emily asked.
"I'm fine," she said, trying to decide if she really was. "No, I'm not. He'll kill again, Em. It's what he does."
"I know," Emily said. "We'll catch him."
"We better."
After she hung up, Sara frowned. All those dead girls, and now more little girls were out there, big red targets painted on their backs, and they didn't even know it. With a sigh, she moved to the balcony and pressed her hands to the glass. Porter had been right. Before today, she hadn't known that vampires and daemons and shapeshifters existed. The creatures that lived in the dark, Porter had said. The things that crept out of nightmares.
Maybe so, but Stemmons was more of a monster than any she'd met in Division. And what did it say about her that she'd gone to bed with a man she should have seen as a beast? That even once she knew of his crimes, she still couldn't keep him out of her head? Could still imagine the soft caress of his hand upon her skin?
He'd stood right there on this balcony and held her, looking out across the night with her, his arms engulfing her, his touch completing her.
He'd filled her, and that night--now locked tight in her memory--he'd been a man, not a monster.
Xavier Stemmons stood in the dark, the swing set behind him casting eerie shadows in the light of the moon.
Now the playground was empty. Soon, though, the sun would rise, and they would come. The young girls with their soft bodies and beguiling eyes. They were youth; they were life. And he'd taken what they offered, drawing their essence in, capturing their light.
He realized now what a fool he had been.
It was their blood that was key. He should have consumed it, not merely drained it. Taking their life gave satisfaction, but only by taking their blood would he rise up. Would he become. Would he be freed of earthly bonds. A god.
Without the blood, he couldn't rise like the Dark Angel who had swooped in to rescue him. Who had delivered him from the fools who had sought to confine him, to constrain his gifts.
He breathed in deep of the chill night air, remembering the way she had burst into the van as the second guard had been about to lock the door. She'd moved with inhuman 91
speed, so fast that the guard never even had time to reach for his weapon. With one bold stroke, she'd tumbled him to the ground, moving so fast Xavier hadn't even seen her fall upon him. Hadn't seen her sink her teeth into the guard's neck. He'd seen only the result--the guard, dead on the van's floorboard, and the blood on her mouth as she'd smiled at him over the body, her eyes soft and sultry, her grin wicked.
The first guard--the driver--never came, and Xavier assumed she'd taken care of him first. Left him collapsed over the steering wheel, his neck gaping open, his life now in her belly.
She'd crawled toward him, a lioness hunting her prey, and for a moment he'd felt the cold pangs of fear. For a moment, he'd understood why the girls had cried out. They hadn't understood what he'd wanted from them, and they'd been afraid. Afraid as he was, even then.
Like his little girls, though, his fear was misplaced. She sought not to take his life, but to raise him to a higher level. She saw the depths of him, she said. Saw his great potential, and promised him not death, but everlasting life. Life, power, light. Draw the light, draw the blood, and feed the angel.
She'd explained it all so beautifully. And now he knew what he had to do. Now he knew the true nature of his work.
Satisfy the angel--do her bidding--and she would render upon him the glory of the world.
He spread his arms, embracing the night and imagining the satisfaction of the coming days.
He had freedom. He had life.
And he had purpose.
Xavier Stemmons was a man with renewed vision.
Free, and ready to drink deep of the light of youth.
92
Chapter 15
Luke steered the BMW with his knee as he rummaged futilely in the glove box, cursing Nick for not keeping even a pint of goddamn synthetic in the car. Frustrated, he sat upright, his stomach clenching with the hunger, his blood burning with need. The fight with Hasik and Tinsley had sapped his strength, and he was cursing his lack of foresight. The daemon stirred more when the hunger was upon him, and without the strength to fight, the daemon rose and stretched and came out to play. No.
With a low growl, he clutched the steering wheel and concentrated on driving. The more focused he kept his mind, the less his physical needs would intrude. He saw the exit for downtown in the distance and crossed neatly over three lanes of traffic. Even at midnight, the traffic was dense, especially on a Friday, when the humans who lived mostly during the day came out to join all the creatures of the night. He parked on the street across from Sara's building, then looked up, easily finding her balcony on the thirty-sixth floor. Were it not for the bands on his arm, he could have transformed, then arrived at her back door on windswept wings. Quick, simple, clean-and utterly impossible given his present circumstances. Which left him to more mundane, human-oriented methods. Like the elevator. He would be revealed on the building's security footage, but that was a risk he would have to take. If all went as planned, Sara would be firmly aligned with him, and there would never be a need to pull the footage.
He moved toward the entrance, then stopped as the elevator doors within the lobby slid open. With a small hiss, he stepped back, his eyes fixed not on the faces of the pair now leaving the elevator, but on the badges clipped to their shirts. Division 6--Security Section.
Damn.
He melted into the shadows, waiting until they exited the building, and as they passed by, Luke slipped in. A woman was on the elevator now, the doors beginning to slide closed. He called out, flashed a smile, and she leaned forward to hold the doors open.
He slid in, smelled the slow rise of desire as her eyes dragged over him. Inside him, the daemon stirred, awakened again by the burn of hunger in his blood and the need radiating off the woman beside him.
So easy, he thought, his head pounding and his fangs tingling. So easy to take. To feed.
The hunger pushed at him, growing stronger with the daemon's urgings, and resistance was hard-fought, painful. He kept his mouth shut and took in a breath through his nose, the simple act of drawing in air reminding him of the humanity he'd worked so hard to restore.
He did not harm the innocent. Not anymore.
And no matter how hard and how fast the hunger came upon him--no matter what danger he could pose to Sara should he meet her when the hunger was at its most keen-93
still, he could not partake.
Not even a morsel.
Not even one tiny, delicious taste.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
"Thirty-five," he growled, ignoring the fear that now flashed in the woman's eyes. The way she backed away. "Punch the button for thirty-five." She did, then pressed herself into the corner as Luke fisted his hands, willing the daemon back down, down, down.
Letting the hunger pass. Fighting not to lose himself.
The doors opened and he burst into the hall, slamming his fist through the drywall, trying to wrest control. Behind him, the woman jumped forward, her hand slapping hard at the button to close the elevator doors.
Good.
The sooner she was gone, the sooner he could see Sara.
Even her name calmed him, and he conjured her image, the mere thought of her soothing him, pushing down the last remnants of the daemon.
He stood there, breathing deep. Once he was certain that control had returned, he moved through the halls until he reached the condo directly beneath Sara's, 3519. He moved to 3521, and rapped sharply on the door. After a moment, he heard the low grumble of a human awakened from a deep sleep. The man who opened the door was tall and lanky and clad only in boxer shorts and a ratty flannel robe. "What the fuck?"
"Insp
ection," Luke said, mentally reaching in to twist the man's thoughts.
"Nothing to be concerned about."
"Oh, well, if that's all."
The man stepped aside, and Luke moved through the condo toward the small balcony, even as the man rubbed his fingers through his hair and stumbled back into his bedroom.
On the balcony, he took his bearings. Sara's apartment was up one floor and over one unit. Easy enough to access. He climbed onto the railing, then it was a simple matter of leaping up and over.
He landed with a small thud on her ridiculously small balcony, then pressed himself up against the wall, out of sight of anyone who might be looking toward the door that, he was delighted to see, hung open.
A male voice drifted toward him--"That pretty much wraps it up"--followed by Sara's rich, "Thank you for doing this. I feel safer already." Concentrating on remaining in the shadows, he eased forward until he had a view into the room. A group of security drones were filing out, and he caught the distinct whiff of hellhound coming from the creature talking to Sara.
As the hound pressed a small black control box into Sara's hand, Luke knew that he had no time to spare. He took one step closer to the open patio door and slipped inside, unseen.
"So what you've got here is your standard portable control box," Roland said, 94
tapping the black box that was about the size of a garage door opener. "Exactly like what we've installed by the front door, but it's portable."
"I figured that out just from the name," she said, unable to resist.
"You got a wit, kid. A genuine laugh riot. Now you wanna pay attention?" Her lips twitched, but she nodded and focused on the box.
He indicated a row of buttons along the top labeled with the numbers zero through nine. "You use these buttons to key in your code when you set or deactivate the alarm. Pretty easy," he said, "so long as you don't forget your code." She tapped her temple. "Got it."
"Good. And this little baby," he said, pointing to the red button situated right in the middle of the box, "is your good old panic button. Anything hinky goes down, you give it a push and you'll have all the muscle in the PEC at your side in seconds."