When Blood Calls

by J. K. Beck

  173

  Chapter 32

  She'd spent the day at the office dealing with the mundane, which, after viewing the dead so often, had been a welcome change.

  The mundane, however, hadn't kept the nightmares at bay, and she'd had to fight the urge to go to Luke's when the long day had ended. Instead, she'd gone out for a drink with Emily, and listened to her friend rattle on about the new attorney in the office and how he was apparently both single and cute.

  She'd called Luke afterward, telling herself she was only gathering information, trying to discover what he'd learned of Caris or Tasha. The answer had been nothing, and the frustration in his voice made her heart ache. All in all, it had seemed like a perfect day to stay home and catch up on all the things she hadn't had time for since she'd taken this job. Like laundry. And tossing out the spoiled milk.

  After three loads, she'd settled in bed with a book and hoped that the nightmares wouldn't come.

  Of course, they had.

  Little girls, sharp fangs. Crouch. Stemmons. And the blood. So much blood. And so she'd lain in bed, clutching the covers, wishing for Luke. Knowing that if he were beside her she could sleep, the nightmares tamed. Safe. Giving up on sleep, she slid out of bed, then went into the bathroom to splash water on her face, hoping the chill would bring her back to her senses. It didn't. She still wanted him. More than that, she needed him.

  Ironic, she thought, that a man who killed so easily could be the one person in all the world who made her feel protected. Safe. Loved.

  Dammit. One little word, and it was completely messing with her head. She didn't want to go there. Didn't want to think about loving Lucius Dragos. She feared, though, that she did. She loved him, and yet she didn't know how to be with him, this man who'd twisted Ural Hasik's neck until it had broken. It didn't matter that Hasik had been among the worst of the worst. Why stand up in court and argue for justice if men like Luke would go out to render it on a whim?

  And why, despite all of that, did she so desperately want him beside her right then? Why did she long for him to stroke her hair and tell her that they would catch Stemmons? That they would stop him before he hurt the next young girl?

  And why, God help her, could she imagine with sweet, visceral pleasure pressing her gun to Stemmons's temple and pulling the damn trigger?

  "But you wouldn't do it," she told her reflection. The trouble was, she didn't quite believe herself.

  In the living room, she turned on the news, then watched as a grave-faced reporter described Stemmons's two victims and thickly announced that the police had no solid lead on the escaped killer's location. She grabbed a cup of coffee, knowing that the caffeine would be no balm against lack of sleep, then headed to the door to get the newspaper.

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  She keyed in the alarm code to disable the system, then opened the door. The paper was there on the mat, just as she'd expected, but she paid it no attention. Instead, she stared at the porcelain-faced doll with the red lips and pink dress. A small sheet of paper was pinned to the doll's apron, one word scribbled across it: next. With her blood pounding in her ears, she grabbed a pencil from the table beside the door, then used the eraser end to carefully turn the doll over. Still using the pencil, she lifted up the back of the dress to reveal the doll's cotton body--and the name written in black marker along the seam. Tasha.

  Sara cringed as Luke hurled what had to be a thousand-year-old piece of pottery against the perfectly painted wall of his Malibu living room, then watched as it shattered into a million pieces. He reached for the companion piece, and she jumped forward.

  "Luke! No."

  "Goddammit," he raged. "He will not hurt her ... He will not touch her ..."

  "They're doing everything they can. Voight's scouring my front hall right now hoping to pick up a trail."

  "I need to go there."

  "It's morning, Luke. You can't."

  He stalked across the room, hands fisted, his entire body tense with rage and grief. She watched him, her heart aching. "You have nothing else on Caris's location?"

  "Nothing," he said.

  "Can I do anything? Can I be your eyes and ears during the day?" He turned, and the raw emotion she saw on his face made her tremble. "There is one thing," he said.

  "Anything."

  "I will not lose you, too."

  She shook her head, not understanding.

  "I want you to stay here," he said. "With me."

  "In case you forgot, you're the defendant and I'm the prosecutor."

  "I think we've already destroyed whatever walls are supposed to exist between our two roles."

  She couldn't argue with that.

  "Stemmons or Caris left that doll on your doorstep," he continued. "They know where you live. And I will not see you harmed."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it when she saw his face. His concern was real, as was his determination. And she knew damn well this was not a battle she would win, even if she wanted to. "All right," she said. "I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to make that fly at work, but I'll figure it out."

  "Thank you," he said simply. "There is another thing." Though he spoke firmly, there was a catch in his voice. A hint of reservation that surprised her.

  "Luke? What is it?"

  "My blood. I want you to drink from me."

  His words surprised her, but what surprised her even more was that his words didn't repulse her. Slowly, she tilted her head, looking at him from this new angle. "Why?

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  Why would I do that?"

  "With enough of my blood in you, I can find you. I can reach out in my mind and locate you through your thoughts and sensations." He brushed her cheek. "You would be safe, and I would rest easier when you were out of my sight." She bit her bottom lip, unable to deny that what he proposed was appealing. Erotic, even. The promise of a forbidden intimacy and the excitement of dancing on the edge but not slipping over. What would it taste like? Feel like? And would such an intimate encounter change her?

  "No," he said, his words sharp in answer to the question she voiced. "I would not change you even if you wished for me to. I would not risk that with you, Sara. Not ever."

  "Risk? You mean the daemon?"

  "That is part of it." He stood and moved to the wall of windows, now covered by metal shutters that barred what would otherwise be a stunning view of the Pacific. "I told you before I would have you know everything. That there would be no secrets and you would understand who and what I am."

  "Yes," she said, a hint of worry rising within.

  "Then it's time for you to hear the rest of it." He turned to face her. "I killed my Livia," he said, his voice deceptively impassive.

  She sat on the couch, her knees suddenly weak.

  "She was so young, and death was upon her, a weakness that she was born with and only got worse as the years went on. I was newly turned and arrogant. I thought I could save her. But the daemon in me had not yet been bound, and it was too powerful. It rose up, and I surrendered to it. Instead of saving her, I took life from her, and lost myself utterly to the daemon. It was centuries before I went through the Holding. Centuries during which I did unspeakable things."

  "It wasn't you," she said, feeling cold. Feeling sad. "It was the daemon."

  "It was me," he said firmly. "The daemon is within me, and though I have control now, that power and that fury--that potential--is within me always." He sighed, looking back toward the shuttered window.

  She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry. "Bosch told me that vampires who haven't controlled their daemons are rogue. Are hunted." She winced, thinking of him like that. "He told me you weren't rogue."

  "I'm not," he said. "But at one time, I was. And there were those who lost their lives trying to put me down. My daemon is powerful, Sara, and it was not until I met Tiberius that I was forced to succumb to the Holding. For six months, I endured the torment of that ritual, and when I emerged, I had control, and I had reg
ret. Tiberius stood for me, arranged a pardon for my actions, and in the centuries that have passed since then, I have battled to keep my will dominant. To control and use the daemon rather than it using me. Most often I have won that battle. But not always, Sara. Not always." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring, a coiled snake, so tiny it seemed to disappear into his palm. A child's ring. "Livia's," he said. "I keep it as a reminder of what I did. Of what I am capable of."

  "Luke--"

  He held up a hand, cutting her off. "No." She watched as he collected himself, then focused again on her. "When you drink from me, you will not be vampyre-- you will not be able to seek me out, to feel my emotions. It works only one way without the 176

  change. There will be some increased strength, your senses sharpened. But no ill effects."

  "Sounds like a good deal," she said with a wry smile. "But I don't get it. Didn't Tasha have to drink your blood when she changed? Why can't you find her? The same way you'd be able to find me."

  "With Tasha it is different. I cannot feel her, nor she me. I cannot close my eyes and find her in the world. I cannot look at her," he added, moving to her side, "and sense her fears or her joys."

  "Why not?"

  He considered his answer. "Her mind," he said. "It allowed the change, but resists the connection. It is one of the reasons for the prohibition against turning those who are addled."

  She heard the sadness in his voice and took his hand. "We will find her." His fingertips brushed her cheek with all the intimacy of a kiss. "Will you do this for me? Will you drink from me?"

  Her heart skittered, and she knew that what he asked of her was even more intimate than sex. But she wanted it--despite everything that still loomed between them, she wanted him. And, yes, she wanted all of him. "All right."

  "Thank you."

  "Luke, about your blood--you said it strengthens me. Will I live longer, too?" she asked, teased by the allure of more time with him.

  He shook his head. "No, Sara. I am sorry. If I could have you with me forever, I would."

  "But you can," she said, her mouth dry, her words surprising her. Surprising her more because she only then realized how much the idea tempted her.

  "No." The word came out so harsh she cringed. "Do you think I would wish that horror upon you? To see you succumb to the tumult of the daemon? Do you think I can bear to think about your body, bloodied and battered, as you fought? And if you died before you were even given the chance to fight?" He stood and paced between the couch and the wall of shuttered windows, his fears and memories driving him. "For you to survive the bloodletting, I must control my own daemon, and that I cannot promise." He saw understanding in her eyes. Compassion. "You were young then. You have control now. You turned Tasha, right?"

  He bit back a bitter laugh. "Control?" He recalled the way he'd been lost when Annie's blood had flowed. The daemon had burst free, reveling in the blood, dancing in the power. He'd almost lost control. Taken too much, and Annie had nearly died because of it.

  And he'd done so because he had imagined that it was Sara in his arms.

  "I did not know Tasha," he said, trying to make her understand. "I did not love her. Not as I loved Livia. Not as I love you." He saw her lips part in pleased surprise at the admission. "The daemon latches on. It wants what it desires, and it would take all. It is strong, and I cannot guarantee that I am stronger. Not then. Not with my mouth on your vein.

  "No," he said, taking her hand. "The change is not for you. Never for you. But my blood. Sara, I would share my blood with you, and I will swear to protect you always." She nodded, overwhelmed.

  "Then drink," he said, and sank his fangs deep into his wrist. She hesitated only a 177

  moment, then she looked up at him, her eyes locking with his as she lifted his wrist to her mouth, pressed her lips down upon him, and drew in his blood. The tug of pleasure through him was instantaneous, and he drew his head back, his body already hard, his need for her desperate. He reached for her, his hand clasping the back of her neck. He leaned back against the couch and held her tight as she drew him in, as he met and merged with her, and gave of his strength. Mine.

  Hunger rose in him, but not the vicious hunger of the beast. Not the daemon. On the contrary, she soothed the daemon, brought him under control even as he lost himself utterly in the sweet pleasure of Sara's lips upon his skin.

  "Enough," he said, pulling away. Her skin glowed from the power of his blood, and he could feel her desire, her arousal, the connection between them vivid and sharp.

  "I feel you," she whispered. "I need you."

  "I cannot wait," he said as he pulled her shirt up, desperate to feel her skin against his, to plunge inside her. To ravage.

  "Don't wait," she said, the passion in those two words bringing him close to losing it.

  He needed no further encouragement, and he made quick work of the rest of their clothes, then thrust inside her, his palms pressed on either side of her, his eyes on her face, watching as passion rose within her. Within Sara.

  Mine.

  Yes, he thought, as the world exploded around him, she was well and truly his. And he was hers, as well.

  The creak of the automatic shades startled Luke, so intent had he been on the computer screen in front of him.

  He and Sara had spent the day in front of the computer and on the telephone, searching for a lead, a clue, anything that would lead him to Caris, to Stemmons, to Tasha.

  "This," he said, tapping the screen. "I think I may have something." Sara came over, her hand casually on his shoulder as she leaned in to read the screen. "What is it?"

  "Property records for the house that I thought was Caris's. I've been following a paper trail and found an interesting deed from the 1920s." He pulled up the image, then showed Sara the name on the deed--CV Enterprises.

  "Caris Vampire?"

  "Could be. She always had an interesting sense of humor."

  "And you found other properties owned by the same company?"

  "I did," he said, pushing back from the computer. "Two commercial buildings and one house. I'm going to investigate the house now."

  He saw the worry on her face. "Be careful," she said.

  "Always."

  She grabbed her purse, which made him frown. "You're leaving? You promised to stay here."

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  Confusion brushed her features. "Well, yes. But not every second of every day. I still need to work. And I need to go to my apartment and get some things." He nodded. She was right, of course. "With an escort, though. Call Division. Have them send someone from Security Section."

  She looked at him, silently noting the irony, then nodded. "All right. I won't leave until someone arrives."

  His shoulders dipped in relief. "I could not bear to lose you."

  "I know. Me, too."

  She held out her hand for him, and he pulled her to her feet and into his embrace. He kissed her forehead, felt his body firing, and stepped away. "Later," he said, brushing his fingers over her lips. "We shall continue this later."

  "We certainly will," she said.

  His phone buzzed, and he reluctantly stepped away from her to answer it, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

  "Lucius?" Tasha's voice, and his heart tightened at the sound of it.

  "Tasha? Where are you?" He held out his hand and found that Sara was already beside him, holding him tight, keeping him steady.

  "They hurt me. Said I'm broken. But I'm not broken, am I, Lucius? I'm a good girl."

  "You are," he said. "Of course you are."

  "I did a bad thing, though," she whispered.

  Fear rippled through him. "What did you do?"

  "The thing inside me. I let it out. I let it out even though you told me never, ever to do that. But I couldn't help it. I needed to get away. They were going to hurt me, Lucius. They were going to cut off my head."

  His body tensed, the daemon within him rising, ready to fight. Ready to kill. "Are you safe?" he as
ked, grinding the words out past clenched teeth.

  "Yes. But I'm scared. Will you come?"

  "I will," he said, clutching Sara's hand. "I'll come right now." 179

  Chapter 33

  His daemon was snapping at the edges of his control by the time he found his ward, curled up in the single-stall bathroom of the gas station on Santa Monica Boulevard. The attendant was pounding on the door, screaming that customers were complaining. Lucius grabbed him by the shoulders and tossed him the length of the building, where he crashed into a row of newspaper machines, knocking them over and spilling quarters out over the sidewalk.

  He didn't bother with the door handle--he simply ripped it off its hinges. Inside, Tasha screamed, then scrabbled to him on all fours, her now-gray dress dragging in the filth and muck on the bathroom floor.

  "I'm here, I'm here," he said, holding her close to his chest and soothing her. "Are you hurt? Do you know where the son of a bitch is?"

  "He drank from me," she said after several false starts. "The human. From me and from all those little girls."

  "Was he alone?"

  She shook her head. "A female. A vampire. She promised to change him. Promised to bring him over if he killed me. Said I was wrong. That I shouldn't even exist. Scared me, Lucius. Wanted to hurt me. Wanted to kill me." She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he held her as shivers wracked her body. "I let it out. The monster inside. And I got away. But they wanted to hurt me, Lucius. They wanted me to be ash."

  "Nobody will hurt you," he said, calling upon all of his strength to keep his voice calm. Soothing. "No one will ever hurt you again."

  "You'll protect me," she said, lifting her head to look at him, the pain in her eyes almost enough to bring the daemon back to the surface. "You love me." He breathed deep, willing the daemon back down. "You are mine," he said, holding her tight. "And I will protect you to the death." Since J'ared had called while Sara was in her car with the news that the medical examiner wanted to see her, Sara skipped her floor altogether and headed straight for the medical tech section of Division. She found Richard Erasmus Orion IV eating a peanut butter sandwich in the break room. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed as classical music blared, his cowboy boots perched on the shiny clean Formica tables. She cleared her throat and he jumped, then immediately shut the music off and held out a sticky hand for her to shake.