by Rayna Vause
“LOSING YOUR touch, Kier?”
Laughter burst out from the small crowd surrounding the pool table when he botched a simple bank shot.
Kier chuckled good-naturedly. “I guess I’m just off my game tonight.” He stepped back from the table and gave a rueful smile and a shrug as his opponent proceeded to sink his three remaining solid balls followed by the eight ball.
“Good game, man.” He high-fived his friend. “The next round is on me.” He collected the empty beer mugs littering the high tops around the pool table and headed for the bar. He slipped behind the counter, nodding at the regulars who waved and called his name in greeting.
“Alex, everything good?”
“It’s fine. I’ve got this. Go away.” His bartender and best friend all but shooed him away.
Kier laughed, poured a fresh round for his four companions, grabbed a bottle of water for himself, and then headed through the bar to the pool table.
“Okay, gents, who’s up for another game?”
“I’m game.” His challenger selected a cue from the rack. Kier rounded to the head of the table and leaned down to break. Just as he took his shot, a familiar and unexpected scent teased his senses, one he hadn’t encountered in almost six months.
He scratched, causing a fresh round of ribbing to begin. Any other time Kier would have given as good as he got, the smack talk almost a bigger competition than the nightly games of pool. At the moment, though, any smartass comeback he could offer escaped him. Time stopped as a wave of heat, equal parts anger and desire, rolled through him. He breathed deep again. It couldn’t be him, but there it was: that sweet, rich scent with just a hint of vanilla.
Kier straightened and handed off his cue with an absent thanks, then made his way to the door of the game room. At six at night, things weren’t in full swing. In a few hours people would be crammed in, filling the bar with a writhing, rowdy sea of people. At the moment the crowd was thin. He did a slow scan of the throng. He took in the scattering of dancers on the small dance floor, scanned the faces of the people sitting in the booths and tables that ran the edge of the dance floor and down the length of the bar. He studied the reflection of the faces of the people who lined the bar. Then he honed in on the man standing in the entrance, the owner of that intoxicating scent. Danny Reynolds. He studied the tall, slim blond bundled in a gray pea coat. His cheeks flushed from the cold. Still as gorgeous as he remembered. Kier drew in a long breath and shored up the walls that locked away all the desire, frustration, longing, and hurt that wanted to race through him. He must have a hell of a reason to come here. He’d find out what Danny wanted, then get him the hell out of his bar. He’d let Daniel Reynolds kick him in the stomach once. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing the memories of their time together back into the furthest reaches of his mind. It wasn’t something he wanted to dwell upon, not now, not ever.
“Hey, Kier, you playing or not?”
“Sorry, guys. Fill in for me. I need to take care of something.”
He crossed the bar, weaving his way through the tables, ignoring the calls from various patrons, and stopped behind Danny, who’d stepped up to the bar. As he approached he noticed something off, a subtle change in Danny’s usual scent. Something unnatural. Something in his fundamental makeup had changed. Kier frowned and tried to ignore his growing concern.
“Danny?”
He whirled around. Wide, worried chocolate eyes met Kier’s.
“Kier! It’s, uh, it’s good to see you.”
The man before him wasn’t the healthy golden man who’d walked… no, run away from him months earlier. This version of Danny was pale and exhausted. He fidgeted as he searched Kier’s face. His eyes seemed a bit too bright, and there was an air of desperation that clung to him.
“What are you doing here?” Kier kept his tone flat, indifferent.
Danny laughed, the sound nervous and tight. “I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop in.”
Kier narrowed his eyes at Danny as he crossed his arms.
Danny shifted from foot to foot, and then he sighed and his shoulders sagged. “Kier, please. I need to talk to you. Privately.”
“I’m pretty sure you said more than enough six months ago.”
“I know. I know I was an ass, but this is important. Life and death important.”
Kier stared at this man who’d once meant so much to him and debated. He didn’t know if he was ready to hear anything Danny had to say. But he couldn’t turn him away.
“Come with me.” Kier turned and started through the crowd. Against his better judgment, Kier led Danny to an office at the rear of the bar. He walked to the mahogany desk that sat in the middle of the room, turned, and leaned against the edge.
He watched Danny as he took in the office. “It still looks the same.”
“I’m happy with my space the way it is. Why would I change it?”
Danny nodded at the picture. “You kept it. We picked it out together, so I figured you might have taken it down.”
Kier shrugged. “It’s a nice piece.” He crossed his arms.
“Yeah, it is.” Danny offered a weak smile.
“Look Dan, I don’t imagine this is easy for either of us, so why don’t you tell me what you want. Why are you here?”
“Kier, I….” Danny shook his head. “Maybe this was a mistake, but I’ve got nowhere else to turn.”
Kier leveled his gaze on Danny and watched the man’s every move. Danny kept shifting his focus around the room with occasional glances at him. He couldn’t keep his hands still. His entire body seemed to vibrate. Danny didn’t tend to fidget, but this was the second time in the span of a few minutes that he caught him doing it. Danny appeared ill at ease, no longer at peace within his own skin. Kier wanted to pull him into his arms and soothe him, but they didn’t have that type of a relationship anymore. Instead he gripped the edge of his desk and waited.
Danny paced, then turned to face him. Kier noticed that his hands trembled as he shoved them through his hair. He blew out a breath, then leveled a gaze on Kier that punched him in the gut. Kier read fear, pure and simple.
“I need help. I didn’t know who else to turn to.” He took a step closer, raised a hand to reach out, then dropped it. Instead, he rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Something’s wrong with me.”
“Wrong with you? What do you mean?” Kier frowned. “Are you sick? You kind of look like crap, by the way.”
“Getting attacked will do that to a person.” Danny shrugged as he hugged himself.
“Attacked?” Kier tried to maintain a level of detachment in his tone even as he snapped to his feet. He managed to halt his actions before he reached out to touch Danny and forced his hands into his pockets.
“Vampire. Last night.” Danny opened his coat and tugged down his shirt collar. He ripped the bandage away from his neck. The punctures had healed, but the scars were still visible.
“Fuck, Danny. What the hell happened?”
Danny told him, in graphic detail.
He could have been killed. Kier dropped his chin to his chest and clenched the edge of his desk. Needing to breathe. To get the horrible images of Danny lying dead in the street out of his head.
“It’s only been twenty-four hours and already a ton of strange things have happened to me. My other bruises and scrapes from the fight healed overnight except for these burn marks that I got from sunlight exposure, and… I can’t seem to eat anything. I’m so damn hungry and scared, and if I can’t figure out what is going on with me soon, I might just lose my mind.” Danny’s voice shook and his stomach growled. Unsteady, he moved over to the short beige couch and collapsed onto it. He covered his face with his hands. “What do I do, Kier? What’s happening to me?”
Kier’s gut clenched. He had no defense against the fear that emanated from his former lover. The plea in his voice battered at the wall around his heart. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be the col
d-hearted bastard he’d planned on being if he ever encountered this man again. He clenched his teeth and his fists. Then he blew out the tension and moved to crouch in front of Danny. It might kill him, but he couldn’t turn away the scared man huddled on his couch. He reached out, hesitated, then laid a hand on Danny’s knee.
“What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I don’t know,” Danny snapped as he shoved his hands into his hair. “I was just going home, and I got jumped by psycho vampire from hell. It’s not like I went out looking for this, you know.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” No, Danny hadn’t looked for this. Hell, he’d run from Kier and this world. What Danny needed right now was his help, not his condemnation.
“I need you to walk me through this. None of this vampire’s actions make sense. With Purity getting more and more dangerous and fanatical in their actions, hunting on the streets has become a rarity.”
“Hunting on the streets?” Danny’s eyes went wide. “And you wonder why people fear vampires to the point of hatred. Humans tend to like their top-of-the-food-chain status.”
“Hunting like that was never condoned.”
“So, there is a form of hunting that’s acceptable?”
“No. There are other, easier means to get the sustenance that we need.”
“Like what?”
Surprised by the questions, Kier studied Danny. When he’d learned Kier was a vampire, not only did he refuse to hear him out and try to understand, he ran so fast in the other direction he all but left skid marks. Kier flashed him a raised eyebrow. “With Purity on patrol for vampires, it was just easier and safer to feed at one of the clubs or havens like this bar. Right now, though, we need to focus on you, not a rogue vampire. I have to say, I’ve never heard of such a small taste of vampire blood causing so many problems, though. It’s like you’re changing, but not completely. Like you’re stuck in transition. Being a vampire is an all-or-nothing proposition. You either are or you aren’t. There is no middle ground.”
“Trust me to be something new and different. I always wanted to be a trendsetter, but not like this.” Danny gave a weak laugh.
“Damn, when you get into trouble, you get in deep.” Kier tried to sound lighthearted even though there was nothing lighthearted about the situation.
Danny’s stomach growled again. He rubbed his abdomen, the look on his face pure misery.
“I’ve got an idea, but you probably won’t like it. Just wait here.” Kier left the office before Danny could ask questions. The less the man knew the better. He quarter-filled a mug from the special tap behind the bar, then returned to his office.
“Here, drink this.” He handed it to Danny.
“Is this blood?” Danny stared in horror at the dark liquid in the mug.
“Don’t ask, just drink.” Hell, he’d crave it by the bucketload if he was transitioning; he might as well get used to the taste now.
“I can’t drink this.” He thrust the mug back at Kier.
“Look, you asked for my help. Don’t argue with my solution. You may have no choice in this matter. Now drink, dammit.”
Danny sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowed, then grimaced. “How do you drink that stuff?”
Kier shrugged. “It’s an acquired taste. How do you feel?”
He watched Danny closely; if nothing else the blood had put a little color back into his face. Danny was going to hate knowing that something that repulsed him actually seemed to help him. Then in a flash Danny’s expression changed.
“Oh God.” Danny groaned as he clutched his belly.
Kier had him in the bathroom in an instant. When the sickness passed, Kier closed the toilet lid and helped Danny sit. After wetting a cloth, he handed it to the exhausted man, who was now paler than when he started.
Danny wiped his mouth, then pressed the towel to the back of his neck. When he looked up, Kier saw tears pooling in his eyes. Ah, damn. This was not how he’d planned his night. He’d never expected to see Danny again, had finally moved on. Now here he was, fucked by fate. Kier laid a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Danny.”
“I don’t know how much more I can stand of this. Is there a plan B?”
“Plan B is taking you to a doctor.”
“I seriously doubt my doctor is going to know how to fix me.” Danny hunched into himself.
Taking Danny by the elbow, he helped him to his feet. “The one I have in mind just might.”
Chapter 2
Twenty-Three Hours Ago
“COMMANDER ROGAN, I think you should take a look at this?” The voice crackled over the radio.
Michael Rogan glanced over at the walkie that lay in the passenger seat of his Jeep and sighed. He knew that voice too well. It belonged to a rookie member of his squad, one whom he heard from a little too often. Sure, he meant well, but he called in for the littlest and sometimes stupidest reasons. Still, given a bit more experience, he’d be far less jumpy and a darn good soldier. However, on a night like tonight, when all Rogan wanted to do was finish his patrol and return to headquarters, he wished the kid would adjust faster.
He reached for his radio as he continued to cruise past the darkened storefronts that lined the mostly empty streets. Despite being the home to a sizable college, Sinclair still rolled up the sidewalks by nine o’clock. The growing fear over the recent vampire attacks had shoppers and store owners getting home as early as possible as the days got shorter and dark sooner. Generally, he was a live-and-let-live kind of guy, but the sooner Purity could get them under control, the better. People should feel safe in their own neighborhoods, day or night.
He pressed the button on his walkie. “What is it, soldier?”
“We’ve got a body, here?”
Rogan gritted his teeth. Dammit. This body made the seventh in as many weeks. “You know the drill. This isn’t the first time we’ve come across a vampire kill.” It likely wouldn’t be the last, either.
“This is different, sir. This is a dead vamp. I really think you need to see this.”
Rogan frowned. A dead vamp was a dead vamp, but something in the rookie’s voice concerned him. “What’s your location?”
“Employee lot of the public library, sir.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Tossing aside the radio, Rogan make a U-turn in the middle of the empty street and accelerated the Jeep.
Five minutes later, Rogan drove into the library parking lot. He parked just outside of a taped-off area illuminated by a portable floodlight. Climbing out of the Jeep, he called out to his men. “What have we got here? Have you called the cops yet?”
He approached the cordoned-off area, noting the sprawled body of a thin man, a large piece of wood sticking up out of his chest. He glanced at his men, noticing the pallor of their faces, the distressed furrow of their brows as they watched him approach. He crossed to the scene, ducked under the tape, and walked to the two fatigue-clad men. All eyes shifted to the body. Rogan noticed a familiar pair of scuffed red combat boots. He closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to them for a long moment. When he looked again, he shifted his gaze to the lifeless face. Shit!
“Okay, no cops. This one stays in-house, understood?”
The men nodded.
“Have you called for a cleanup team?” He snapped out the demand.
“No, sir, we wanted you to see this first before we contacted anyone.”
Rogan nodded and grabbed the radio off his belt.
“Headquarters, this is Rogan, come in.”
“This is headquarters, go.”
“I need cleanup at the employee lot of the Sinclair Public Library. Now.”
“Acknowledged. Team is being dispatched. ETA is fifteen minutes.”
Rogan hooked the radio back on his belt.
“That’s Jared Lydecker, isn’t it, sir?”
Rogan glanced up at the young soldier, who couldn’t be more than twenty-three. His wide eyes locked
on the body at his feet as he swallowed hard. “Yeah, it is. You two are going to make sure this site stays pristine until the team gets here. Radio squads 3 and 4 to get over here and have them start an area search. If anyone even thinks they saw something that can help us figure out what happened here, I want to know about it. Understood? I have to go in with the body and report to Lydecker.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned, irritation and relief swirling in his gut. He’d joined Purity years ago when it was a fledgling private organization just starting to gain traction. Fresh out of the Army, getting into security made the most sense to him. Purity offered him a heck of a lot of money to basically do what he’d been doing before. He helped to keep the community safe and trained new soldiers. Unlike being on the police force or in the military, the odds of him getting shot at were slim to none. With a family to care for, the offer appealed greatly. Instead, he wound up spending his days cleaning up after Lydecker’s son, Jared. Jared should have been eliminated ages ago; he should have been put down like the rabid beast he’d become. Rogan couldn’t be sorry someone had done the deed for him, but he did not want to deal with the coming shitstorm.
A heap of what looked like old rags and insulation moved, and a low moan emitted from it. All three soldiers whirled, guns at the ready. Rogan approached with caution, ready to fight if necessary. He leaned down, gripped a dirty blanket, and yanked it back. Dark bloodshot eyes glared up at him from a grubby face.
“What the hell, man? I’m sleeping here.”
Rogan jerked the homeless man to his feet, then whipped his head away as the pungent aroma of unwashed body and an excess of alcohol accosted his nose. “How long have you been here?”
“How the hell should I know. I don’t have no damn watch. Got here a bit after dark. Found a soft spot to sit and, uh, relax a bit, then fell asleep.”
“Did you see an altercation that happened here earlier?”