“See, kid,” Tom said wearily as he leaned against the hood of their car. “They closed shop, and I don’t see any door to her apartment. Let’s go, huh? We can come at them again after we get some sleep.”
The high-pitched pinging sound of a bottle clinking down the pavement caught their attention, and Doug’s senses went into overdrive. They exchanged curious looks. Doug looked to his left toward the sound, but the sidewalks were empty, and the narrow street was void of moving cars. The only movement was farther down at the intersection of Sixth Avenue, but here on King Street it was quiet—too quiet.
The clinking sound echoed again, and this time they could tell it was coming from the narrow alley on the side of the club. Doug placed his finger on his lips and nodded toward the alley. He reached inside his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the steel butt of his gun as he and Tom inched closer.
Tom drew his gun and secured it in front of him as he sidled up quietly next to Doug. Maybe it was Damien or Olivia putting garbage out? It could be a cat or a drunk making his home next to a dumpster, but Doug couldn’t squelch the sense that it was something more. Maybe it was the case, or maybe it was because an unnatural quiet had settled over the street.
As they moved slowly along the front wall of the club toward the alley, the lights of the nightclub sign flickered before going out and leaving them in the dark. No working streetlamps, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. Great.
“I don’t like this, kid.” Tom glanced around nervously.
Doug peered around the side of the building, but the alley was even darker than the damn street. He froze as the clinking sound of the bottle rattled again, and seconds later, an old Heineken bottle rolled past their feet.
A low, deep laugh floated toward them and chilled him to his core.
Doug and Tom raised their guns and swung around, but a split second later, something flew toward them. A dark shadow, seemingly death itself, grabbed Doug by the jacket, tossing him through the air, down the alley, and into the side of the dumpster. Lights bloomed behind his eyes, and his entire body went numb, as he slammed into the cold metal before landing in a groaning heap on the concrete.
Tom fired two shots, but someone or something tackled him to the ground, and through the head-spinning haze of pain, Doug could hear him screaming. He willed his body to move, to get up and help his partner, who was on the ground with someone on top of him. Doug rolled onto his side, gasping for air with his face pressed against the gravel, as he fought to stay conscious.
The numbness ebbed cruelly, as sharp pain radiated down his neck and back. He reached blindly around for his gun, but he could barely see anything. The world was spinning, and his head felt like it was going to crack open. He could hear his attacker move slowly toward him with the same low laugh he’d heard a moment ago. He inched closer as Doug vaguely recalled he had a gun in his ankle holster. Grunting from effort and biting back nausea, he snagged the gun from its hiding place.
“Police,” Doug shouted.
The man kept coming. Doug blinked as either blood or sweat dripped into his eye, and he squeezed off two rounds, one of which he was certain hit the guy in the chest. Through blurred vision he saw the guy jerk as the bullet impacted, but all it seemed to do was piss him off.
Behind him Doug saw Tom’s motionless body, and Doug knew he was dead. A dark shadow whisked in front of him, picked him up by the neck with one hand, and held him in the air like a rag doll. All he could see was a figure, a dark outline in the middle of a fuzzy sea of gray, while white spots danced before his eyes as the grip on his neck increased.
Gasping for air as the pressure in his head reached dangerous levels, he kicked at his attacker, but the guy was unfazed. In a flash he swung him around and pinned him against the building with the same ease that Doug would swing a baseball bat.
He let out an oooff as his back met the brick wall, and the wind was knocked out of him again. The second Doug’s feet touched the ground, he pulled at the steely claw curled around his throat, and with his last ounce of strength, kneed the bastard right in the dick.
All the guy did was flinch… and growl. He looked vaguely familiar, and somewhere in the recesses of his brain, he remembered this was a low-level criminal—one of Moriarty’s buddies. He was about five foot ten, far shorter than Doug, with dark hair and crazy eyes. That’s what he kept thinking. This guy must be crazy, hopped up on PCP, or coked out of his gourd. That was the only explanation that made sense—at least until he saw the fangs.
Vampire.
The word seemed silly, almost comical, and yet that was all Doug could think as the guy got right in his face and bared his teeth. He had fucking fangs, and a second later he drove them into Doug’s neck. It was like getting stabbed with a million tiny needles all over his body.
His skin burned, and his blood seemed to boil, but before long the pain was replaced by an odd sensation of floating and the vague awareness that he was being bitten over and over again. The guy was chewing on him like a damn steak. His back scraped against the bricks as he slid down the wall, while this crazy freak chewed on his neck. Just as his leaden eyelids fluttered closed, he heard her.
“Consider that your last meal, asshole.”
The creature released him, spun around, and hissed.
It was Olivia.
Olivia was here? Doug coughed, and the coppery taste of blood covered his mouth. He wanted to scream, to warn her to get the fuck out of there, but not a single part of his body would cooperate as he sat slumped against the wall. A split second later, a gunshot blasted through the alley and his attacker let out an ungodly shriek and exploded into flames.
As ashes fell over him like snow, the last sight he saw was his redheaded goddess, looming over him with a look of concern, a set of bright white fangs, and a big-ass gun. As Doug slipped into unconsciousness, he heard her whisper, “Forgive me.”
Doug’s body stung, throbbed, and twitched in the throes of death, and then… he was flying. Flying with Olivia, his limbs tangled temptingly with hers as they whisked through cool, peaceful tunnels of stone. Darkness swamped him as the light faded from his sight, and the world he knew slipped away. White-hot pain cloaked his body in the shadows, but the soothing sound of Olivia’s sweet voice eased his suffering and calmed the fire. He cradled her in his arms as the smell of copper and rich earth enveloped him and swept him away.
* * *
Chapter 8
Cool, clean sheets and the familiar scent of cinnamon surrounded him, and for a moment Doug thought he was dreaming, but when he opened his eyes, it all came roaring back in full color. He sat up as nausea swamped him, and the room started spinning before he flopped back into the soft mountain of pillows.
Two cool hands covered his bare shoulders, and Olivia’s tantalizing, spicy aroma filled his head, instantly quelling the knots in his stomach. There was no way he was in a hospital. The place smelled clean and fresh, but not like a hospital. Maybe it was heaven?
He let out a moan of confusion and grabbed his head with both hands as he fought to get his bearings. He was in a bed. That much he’d figured out. He was naked as the day he was born and had gotten his ass kicked, probably by the same guy who killed those kids.
He remembered being bitten and feeling like he was dying. He could swear Olivia shot the crazy bastard and turned him to dust. I must be dead. Dead or crazy. Shit.
You’re not dead. He could swear he heard Olivia’s voice floating through his mind. Or crazy.
“Olivia?”
Doug cracked his eyes open and was greeted by her smiling face and brilliant green eyes. Her red curls fell over her shoulders and tickled his bare chest as she leaned closer inspecting what he figured was a gash on his head. Doug grabbed her wrists and tugged her closer, holding her against him. Panic and fear slammed into him as the memories flickered into his mind bit by bit.
Doug licked his dry lips and managed to croak out, “Where am I?”
“You’re in my apartment.” She extricated herself from his grip and picked up a mug from the nightstand. She held it to his lips. “Drink this. It will help.”
It smelled like Christmas morning and a great steak rolled into one. He sucked it back greedily and groaned as the warm, thick liquid coated his throat. Within seconds, energizing warmth spread across his chest and radiated through his body. He tipped the cup all the way back, trying to get the last drop, and had to force himself to keep from licking the inside of the now empty mug.
“Whatever that is, it tastes great,” he rasped.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and he wasn’t exaggerating either. The throbbing in his head instantly went away, and the nausea had been replaced by a cool, tingling sensation that washed down his arm and through his head. It was like bathing in a peppermint patty.
“What was that? Some kind of organic remedy? I’ve never tasted anything like that.”
“I guess you could say that,” she said humorlessly.
Olivia let go, rose from the bed, and went to a white dresser on the opposite side of the room. He watched as she tossed a bloodstained washcloth in a basin and cleaned up her makeshift nurse’s station. She was wearing a black catsuit that looked like it was painted on and hugged every womanly curve. Ass-kicked or not, he had the ridiculous urge to jump her bones, but given his current state, that wasn’t likely.
“Not to sound like an ingrate, but why did you bring me here and not call an ambulance?” His brow furrowed as he looked around the bedroom. “How did you get me here by yourself anyway?”
She ignored his question. “What were you doing in the alley?” Olivia asked in a voice edged with frustration. She turned, folded her arms over her chest, and studied him but kept her distance. “Why on earth were you there?”
“Tom and I came to ask you—” He stopped mid-sentence as more memories came charging back and looked frantically around the room. “Where’s Tom?”
Olivia didn’t answer, but sadness flickered over her face. “I couldn’t help him,” she whispered. “It was too late. I’m sorry.”
“What?” he seethed as he pushed himself to a sitting position. “You just left him there?” His throat tightened as he choked on anger and sorrow, glaring with accusing eyes. “You left him in that alley to die?”
“He was already dead by the time I got there.” She squared her shoulders and leveled a cold gaze at him. “I’m sorry. I was, however, able to get there in time to help you.”
Doug swore loudly, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and slammed his head into the brass headboard. His partner. His friend and the closest thing he had to a family was gone—and it was entirely his fault. Tom hadn’t wanted to go back there last night, but Doug insisted, and now Tom was dead.
“He’s dead because of me,” he ground out.
“You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.” Her gentle voice soothed him, but it couldn’t stop the tidal wave of grief and guilt. “It’s not your fault, Doug.”
“Where is he?” Doug asked tightly.
“We have his remains. I thought you’d want to have a say in how he’s taken care of.” The bed dipped as Olivia sat next to him and rested her delicate hand on his forearm. “I know it’s difficult, but can you tell me what else you remember?”
“Nothing that won’t sound crazy,” he said as he rubbed his hands vigorously over his face. He dropped them in his lap, and Olivia linked her graceful fingers with his in a surprisingly intimate gesture. He brushed his thumb across the ivory skin of her hand and marveled at the smoothness; she was fire and ice all rolled into one. “We came back to talk to you. I heard something in the alley. Tom and I went to see what it was, and that’s when they jumped us. And then…” he trailed off, unable to finish his thought.
He looked away and around the room. What was he supposed to tell her when he didn’t trust his own memories? He fleetingly noticed that there were no windows in the room, and he didn’t know how he knew, but he could tell they were underground.
“What else?” she asked quietly as she rubbed her thumb over his palm. Smooth strokes seemed to ripple through his whole body, like a pebble in a pond; that simple touch affected his body from head to toe.
“I’m not really sure,” he said absently. “Tom fired at least two shots, but something or someone tackled him.”
He bit back the grief and focused on his anger. Anger he could manage, but not grief, not the stabbing pain of loss. When his mother died he promised himself that he wouldn’t get close to anyone else again, so he wouldn’t feel that heart-wrenching emptiness. Grief, loss, and a broken heart were harder to face than anger and vengeance. Those emotions could feed the fire in his belly—the one that wanted to kill whoever did this to Tom.
“I got tossed against a dumpster, and after that it’s all jumbled.” Doug instinctively touched the spot on his neck where the guy had bitten him but found nothing. “And really fucking weird.”
“Something wrong?”
Olivia watched him intently, and his eyes met hers as his fingers brushed the unmarred flesh on his neck. It should have been a hacked-up mess, bandaged or stitched, but it was smooth and free of injury. It was as though he had never been attacked at all.
He tightened his grip on her hand.
“Doug?”
“He bit me, Olivia,” he said just above a whisper. He looked her straight in the eye, worried that she would tell him he was crazy or hallucinating, but to his surprise she remained calm and resolute. “He had fangs, and the guy fucking bit me. I thought he was coked up or drugged out of his eyeballs, but I’ve seen a lot of addicts in my day, and none had that kind of strength. He picked me up like I weighed nothing. At first, I thought the fangs were fake and part of a costume.”
“What else?” Her voice, edged with tenderness, dipped low as her eyes searched his. “What else did you see?”
“You.” Doug adjusted his position in the bed and looked at her intently. “I saw you shoot him.”
“Yes.”
Her voice was barely audible and her expression unreadable. Was it regret? Fear? Apathy? He didn’t know, but since she didn’t roll her eyes or call him crazy, he held his breath and waited for her to continue.
“It’s okay.” A smile cracked her face, and she squeezed his hand. “You’re not crazy.”
“You said something about this being his last meal, and you shot him.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t get the one that killed your partner. Which means we’ve still got a rogue out there, and it could cause quite a bit more damage if we don’t put it down. I’m just glad it didn’t turn your partner. When rogues create other rogues, the turn never goes well, and the situation gets exponentially worse.”
“Rogues? What do you mean create rogues?” Doug cocked his head, and that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach came rumbling back. He squeezed her hand tighter, and his jaw clenched. “How about we cut the crap, and you cut to the chase.”
“I thought you were a good detective?” She arched one amber eyebrow as the corner of her mouth lifted. “Detective.”
She slipped her hand out of his as she rose from the bed and paced back and forth across the room. He watched her carefully and tried not to think about the facts. They all added up to a big pile of crazy, like a sack full of cats kind of crazy.
“Let’s look at the evidence, shall we?” She ticked the evidence off one finger at a time. “A man with herculean strength, who was far smaller than you, tossed you around like a doll. He had a set of fangs, bit you, and drank your blood. When I shot him, he exploded and turned into a cloud of ash. I live in an apartment with no windows beneath my nightclub, which is, by the way, called The Coven.” She slowly moved toward the side of the bed as she spoke, but didn’t tak
e her eyes off his. “You’re not dreaming now, Detective Paxton. So why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”
Vampires.
The word ran through his head again and again like a broken record at a million miles a minute, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Doug smirked at the ridiculousness of the idea as he ran his hand over his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. But the smile ran from his face when he realized something quite important was notably absent.
“Something wrong?” Olivia asked evenly. “I guess you could say that I stole your heart, but that seems rather dramatic.”
“This has got to be another freaky fucking dream,” he said with sheer disbelief. He looked at her for reassurance that he still had a heartbeat, that this was just a dream, but no such luck.
“We’ll talk about the dreams another time,” she said casually. Doug’s startled gaze flew to hers when she acknowledged the dreams, but she didn’t miss a beat and kept talking. “I think the fact that I’ve turned you into a vampire is more than enough for today’s convo.”
“Vampire?” Doug asked incredulously. “A vampire killed Tom, and then you turned me into a vampire?” He let out a short laugh and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Bullshit. Tom was attacked by a dog or something.”
“Sadly, it was not a dog, and this isn’t bullshit. We have at least one more rogue vampire out there, and we have to find it and put it down before it does more damage.” Olivia tore her gaze from his and went back to the dresser. She picked up a large black pitcher and poured more of that stuff into his mug. “Drink more of this,” she said, crossing to him and holding it out. “It will make you feel better.”
Tall, Dark, and Vampire (Dead in the City) Page 13