Bite Me (Blood Chord Book 2)

by Alex Owens

  Off to one side of the room, sunken into the floor was a small pond-like Jacuzzi, complete with a scaled-down version of a waterfall. It looked like a natural oasis and thanks to the plants it even smelled like one too. My fake sunlight completed the mirage rather nicely.

  I adored my bathroom. I wanted to have its little river-rock babies and shit.

  I loved it so much that I spent way too much time in there, just walking around, running my hands over the rock ledges and dipping my toes into the bubbling water. Other times I would lay a towel over the floor and gaze up through the fake skylight, letting the sun warm my skin without the horrible burning sensations that would normally follow.

  After the evening I’d had, I was going to get some damned R&R if it killed me.

  I swiftly closed the louvered wooden blinds covering the three oversize windows in the room. The idea that someone might still be out there, peering in on me, was enough to raise Goosebumps over my flesh.

  But I was determined to put that out of my mind.

  I was on a mission of forgetting— the creepy episode earlier, the liquid diet that kept me somewhat-alive, the things (and people) I’d done in Florida. I was going to forget it all, at least for a couple of hours.

  Step One: Turn on the shower jets (three of them, designed to hit the body in all the right places) to let the room fill with steam.

  Step Two: Hang a fluffy towel on the warming bar and gather up my shampoo and body wash (Lavender, if you must know.)

  Step Three: Scrub all the brine from my body and the grime from my mind.

  Step Four: Soak in the Jacuzzi for a long, hot while.

  And then... well, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  But that was the point. No thinking at all, at least for an hour. And that’s just what I did.

  A long while later, and several worries lighter, I emerged from my haven wrapped my over-the-top plush robe, with newly painted black toenails and smelling of eucalyptus and sunshine. Hey, even Vampy mom’s need to feel sexy every once in a while.

  I found Morgan still perched on the sofa, scouring the web for the exact laptop she wanted. The television was playing the evening news, though muted. Something caught my eye and my heart thumped.

  “Hey, turn that up.” I circled around the couch and took a seat beside Morgan, folding my legs up under my body.

  The newscaster was talking about a local case, something they rarely did. News in our humble neck of the woods tended to travel by carrier pigeon, not broadband. I only wished I could eat some popcorn.

  “The CDC is investigating a strange medical case over on the Eastern Shore tonight after a nearly unconscious man drove himself to the hospital and passed out in front of Bay Memorial’s ER doors. Thirty-four year old Dennis Dean has been admitted to the hospital with an acute case of severe anemia. According to the hospital’s spokesperson, Dean had no apparent signs of trauma to explain the blood loss and initial testing has ruled out the typical medical conditions. The CDC hopes to rule out pathogens as the cause, but until they can do so, the hospital is operating under level four precautions.”

  “You know him?” Morgan asked, looking up from the computer.

  I gulped and shook my head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  The reporter continued with the story while a picture flashed on the screen. It showed my victim from the other night, with who I assumed was his wife and two young children posing on the beach, matching blue jeans and crisp white shirts for all of them.

  “Locals may remember the Dean family, who suffered an unspeakable tragedy last spring when Hannah Dean and her unborn child were killed by a drunk driver. Since then, Dean has been raising his two children alone and has become an advocate for stiffer DUI legislation in Richmond. In fact, the bill named after his late wife—Hannah’s Law—will be coming up for a House vote this November during the special session. Tune in tomorrow at noon, when we’ll have a correspondent at Bay Memorial for further coverage on this unfolding story.”

  I waited for several minutes before I excused myself so that maybe Morgan wouldn’t notice how much it had bothered me, but the whole time I sat there and raged at myself.

  How stupid could I be? I’d picked the one good guy in a bar full of losers and horn-dogs.

  He hadn’t been sitting there making a conscious decision to cheat on someone, no. He’d been working up the courage to finally move on with his life. And I may have ended it instead.

  I clenched my fists into balls in my lap.

  “I’m going out.” I stood and left the room without another word, not that Morgan noticed. She’d gone back to laptop shopping. After a quick trip to my room for some clothes, I donned a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a pair of beat up cowboy boots.

  I snagged my leather motorcycle jacket from the rack by the door and stepped out into the night.

  Chapter Five

  I revved the engine in my car and was less-than-impressed by the lack of horse power. How the hell was a gal supposed to tear up the back roads listening to Nirvana and Metallica when her car sounded like a golf cart with emphysema?

  Setting the radio to feed off of my iPod, I cranked up the volume just as Korn’s Coming Undone blasted from the speakers. At least I could drown out the sound of my wimpy motor with some angst-laden metal. If I was lucky I’d cover up my own guilty thoughts too.

  I backed out of my driveway and headed down the dark, forested private drive, my mind running a mile a minute. Once the tree line on my right opened up, changing over to a yellowed corn field, I slowed my car. There were several dozen deer that lived in the woods surrounding my property and they’d run out in front of my car on numerous occasions. It wouldn’t do me any good to take out Bambi by accident.

  I was already feeling just about as low as I could go.

  Dennis Dean—the poor bastard who’d had the bad luck to run into me in a bar; that pitiful man that was trying to raise two children by himself while grieving for his wife and the child he’d never gotten a chance to hold. Thanks to me, his kids were almost orphans.

  I smacked the steering wheel with one hand while I shuffled to the next song on my iPod.

  Boys to Men’s End of the Road came on and I almost drove straight into the marsh on my left—on purpose. I really needed to make some genre-specific playlists instead of giving myself musical whiplash every time a new song came on.

  I shuffled again and had just enough time to make out the first few bars of Seven Nation Army when movement in front of my car snagged my attention back to the road.

  I jammed my foot on the brake and felt a pretty good thump on the front bumper of my car. Putting it in park, I got out of the car to see what I’d hit. I fully expected to find some button buck with white spots still on his butt, injured and beyond repair. Instead, I got a surprise.

  I’d hit a dog—a great big hairy one that flashed his super-sharp looking canines at me as I crested the front of the car. I yelped (yes, even Vampires can be startled) and backed away, trying to assess the situation. I didn’t see any blood, which didn’t rule out internal injuries but it made me feel better anyway.

  The beast-dog was a rich sable coat so soft I wanted to touch it. He had white feet and was so exotic looking that I couldn’t help but wonder where in the world he’d come from? His eyes practically glowed under the full light of the moon. He surely didn’t look like some mangy stray, but I had a hard time imaging it as anyone’s pet too.

  I risked another step forward. “It’s okay pooch. I’m not going to hurt you... take it easy.”

  I was greeted with a low rumble and another flash of fang. It was like the damn thing hadn’t believed a word I’d said. It struggled to its feet, barked at me once and stumbled into the cover of the browning corn field.

  Shit, I couldn’t just get in my car and drive away. I may be a monster, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be a softie about some things. Kids and pets, mainly.

  I had to know if the poor guy was hurt, bu
t I didn’t want to go into the corn—what if there were a bunch of creepy blonde kids hiding in there, just waiting for me to step into the darkness. Nope, I wasn’t about to go in there.

  I spun in a circle, hoping someone would magically appear and tell me what to do.

  The old house across the field had a few lights on... maybe the dog belonged to whoever was living there now?

  I eyeballed my car and then the distance to the house. It was about 200 yards off the road and I really didn’t want to walk that far, but I couldn’t bring myself to be the lazy vampire and drive either.

  I mean what good is it to have crazy endurance if you can’t let it out for a spin every now and again?

  I left my car running with the headlights illuminating the immediate area, turned and sprinted to the front steps of the house in no time. Uug, it looked even worse up close.

  Who would choose to live in this dump, I thought.

  I knocked on the front door and waited, trying not to be like the nosy neighbor lady standing at the door with her face pressed to the dingy glass. There wasn’t much to see anyway. I assumed I was looking at the living room, though there wasn’t much living going on in there at the moment. From what I could see, there was only a folding table with takeout containers, two metal chairs, a drop cloth on the floor and a big rubber trash can in the corner.

  Music was playing somewhere deep with the house, so maybe they couldn’t hear me?

  I knocked louder and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”

  After several more seconds standing there, I was getting ready to give up when I heard a scraping sound, like something heavy being pushed across the floor. That sound was followed by footsteps, growing louder as they approached.

  The old me was a little bit worried about who was going to come walking around the corner. I mean, this place looked like a serial killers temporary chop-shop. But the new me thought, “Well, hello cowboy” when he finally stepped into view.

  Tall, tanned and shirtless, just like something out of a Wrangler commercial. His jeans hung low on his hips and he was barefoot. I may have drooled just a little bit over the way his chest muscles flexed and popped as he wiped his hands with a rag. Green-gold eyes spied me and he smiled, pushing open the screen door.

  “Hey there. Can I help ya?” He leaned against the door frame and looked me over nice and slow, almost as slow as his southern drawl.

  “Uh, hi. I live up the road from you,” I pointed in the direction of my house then dropped my hand when I realized how dumb I must look. There were no other houses on the road, so it’s not like I needed to draw him a road map. “Anyway, I was going out for some, uh, milk, and this big dog ran out in front of me.”

  Why in the hell had I said milk? Even when I drank milk I’d never felt the need to just run out for it. Toilet paper or tampons, yes, milk no.

  I looked back up into his sparkling eyes and realized I’d let my mind drift. Mr. Hunkyburger was staring at me expectantly. Right, back to the dog.

  “So... I think I may have hit your dog. He got up and ran off, but I didn’t want to just leave without letting you know. Um, and I could help you look for him if you want?” I was babbling then. Perfect.

  “What did this dog look like?” His face was neutral and I hoped he wasn’t going to chop me into fish food for not-quite paying attention to the road.

  “Huge, hairy and pissed.” I said, not meaning to be funny, though it came out that way.

  He smiled and flashed his perfect white teeth. I won’t even mention the set of dimples on the man.

  “That sounds about right.”

  I furrowed my brow, not sure what to make of that. “So, do you want to look for him? You know, to make sure he’s alright?”

  “That’s okay, you were on your way out and I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.”

  I shoved my hands in my coat pockets, stalling. Why the hell I was dragging it out, I didn’t know. I guess I wanted to know more about him and let’s be honest here—he was easy on the eyes.

  Focus.

  “You aren’t worried about him?” I asked, wondering what kind of man doesn’t care about his dog.

  “You don’t know Rooster. He’s a tough one.”

  “Rooster? Is that his name, really?” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s short for Roosevelt, but he prefers Rooster.”

  The dog had a nickname? And he preferred it? Weirdsville.

  “Mine’s Lincoln, Linc for short. Mom was patriotic.” He shrugged.

  I tried to hide my smirk, but failed miserably. “So your Mom named your pets too?”

  He held out his hand and I took it. “Something like that.”

  His handshake was firm, warm and definitely masculine. No limp wrists here, guys.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Claire, but I’ve been known to answer to Mom on occasion.”

  Curiosity flashed in his eyes. “Oh, you have kids?”

  “Just one; her name’s Quinn. See, I understand the odd-name-thing.” I smiled. “We live at the end of the road.... Right, I already said that, didn’t I? Anyway, Morgan and I saw the lights on earlier and wondered who was living here. Not that I used your dog as a reason to come snoop or anything... I mean... shit.”

  I stubbed my toe in the dirt and took a minute to gather my composure. God, this fine piece of man meat was going to think I rode the short bus as a child. I risked a glance back up to his so-cute-I-wanted-to-lick-it face and stopped fidgeting.

  “Is Morgan your husband?” He asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

  “No, Morgan’s my nanny—I work odd hours and I don’t know how I’d do things without her.”

  Something about the way he was looking at me gave me a sense of been-there-done-that, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. His face held a mixture of amusement and caution, like he couldn’t decide if I was a cool chick or bat-shit crazy.

  “Anyway, I hope your dog is okay. Can you let me know if he turns up?”

  He nodded, clearly still on the fence about me.

  I was tempted to knock a few bricks out of my mental shield to see if that would tell me anything, but decided it was probably a waste of time. His emotions danced across his face, so I’d likely only receive feelings that I already knew. It’s not like I could read minds, though it would be cool if I could. My new consulting business could be helped with a talent like that...

  “Okay, see you around I guess.” I smiled and left Linc standing in his doorway, just watching me go. Oh, how I’d love to know what he was thinking.

  When I’d gotten about fifty feet away, he called out to me. “Hey, you forgot your milk... and your car.”

  I looked the way I’d been walking—toward home—and over to my car in the other direction and wanted to stake myself with a rusty spike. By the gods, I was losing it.

  Flapping my hand in the air over my head, I headed to my car without another word. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t make me look even more like an idiot, so a quick wave would have to suffice.

  It was only as I reached my car and chanced a glance back to the house to see if he was still standing there (he wasn’t) that I figured out why he looked so familiar—he was the hunky guy I’d head-butted while out trick-or-treating with Quinn.

  I was curious about him before, but after putting two and two together, I couldn’t wait to figure out more of Lincoln’s story.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, I was up relatively early, considering my nocturnal habits.

  Not only did I want to see what I could find out about my smoking-hot neighbor, but something far less fun had me up and at ‘em. I’d realized late the night before that I volunteered months ago to help at Quinn’s school and today was the day. But I wasn’t ready to think about that, so I shut myself in my office and settled in for an hour or so of internet snooping.

  I didn’t find anything useful, which wasn’t surprising since I only had a first name and an address. Tax map rec
ords only got me the old owner’s name and I figured they weren’t updated very often. Surprisingly, there were a lot more people named Lincoln than I thought—and over a hundred of them lived in Virginia. Score one for civic pride.

  Until I got more information, I wouldn’t be able to get any more information.

  I sighed at the catch-22 and checked the time. I’d have to start getting ready in just a few minutes, but I had enough time to check my email. I quickly weeded out the junk and flagged a few work-related emails to deal with later.

  I had an email from Cassidy though, so I clicked on the icon to open it. She’d helped me figure out a few things about my Empathic abilities when I’d most needed the help, and we’d become fast friends, albeit long distance ones. She lived all the way across the country so I had no idea when I’d see her again. Sadly, she was just about the only friend I had and the fact that we mostly communicated via email depressed me.

  I was becoming a hermit.

  Cassidy’s email was brief, with just a few words telling me to call her when I had the chance. She thought she might have figured something out about me, but wanted to run it by me on the phone—it was safer than sending it out over the internet.

  Well, that sounded ominous.

  A quick glance at the clock told me I’d wasted too much time. Shoot, now I’d have to hurry to get to the school before it started.

  I closed my laptop after clearing the browser cache. Some might call that paranoid, but after my dealings with the Triad I had every right to be overly cautious. I gathered up the notes on my desk, shoved them in a file and put them with other things I didn’t want prying eyes (or Quinn) to find—in a box on a shelf high in my closet. It wasn’t the best place, but so far I hadn’t come up with anything better.