In vain he’d tried to establish a telepathic link with Marcos, but he couldn’t block out the pain and concentrate long enough to complete the thought. Without help he was good as dead. His only hope had been to use his dwindling energy to psychically call for help and pray that a passerby came to his rescue.
It had worked, and now because he’d turned his back on an enemy, he had to steal.
Ramsey didn’t want to take her blood without her permission, but with death at the front door and his ego urging him on, he had no other choice. The moment the woman had stepped into the alley he’d caught her scent. She smelled like the sweetest flower, rising above the stench of piss, feces, throw-up, and garbage. His instincts kicked in overdrive.
He needed her.
Her blood pumped hard and fast through her body. The sound weighed on his ears, his mind driving him to rise up and devour her. He struggled to move, unable to keep control.
He’d willed her closer.
She’d come with tentative steps.
Closer.
He’d stopped breathing. Her scent drove him insane. His body demanded the blood in order to survive.
Blood.
Mentally, he tried to lure her. He’d tried and tried but couldn’t focus on the thought. Her blood was all he could think about. It consumed him.
“What happened to you?” she asked in a soft whisper.
Come closer. “Jumped. Stabbed. Dying.” He could barely speak. He’d wanted her so badly.
She stayed where she was. Red clouded his vision. Blood lust set in. He needed her. Now. He’d tried to lunge, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He whimpered in frustration, pain, and need.
Come closer.
“Do you have a cell phone? I have to call for help, but I left mine at the hotel.”
He didn’t have one. There’d never been a need. Everything he wanted to tell Marcos was done telepathically. He opened his mouth to tell her no but changed his mind at the last second.
No. Then she’ll leave. “My … my back pocket.” He could barely talk anymore, his energy draining fast.
She’d rushed to him and kneeled at his side. The sound of her blood pounded in his head. He couldn’t stop himself, and he breathed her scent in.
Delectable.
“Holy shit. This is all blood. You need an ambulance, mister.”
She pushed against him. Her hands roamed his butt, searching for a phone that wasn’t there. With all the strength he could muster he grabbed her, holding her in a vise-grip. She struggled against him, but even dying he had more strength than she did.
“Hey. Wh-what are you doing?”
“Sorry about this.”
He’d opened his mouth wide, his canines elongating in response. She looked on in horror, her screams caught in her throat as he descended on her neck. His teeth pierced her skin, and immediately the warm rush of blood filled his mouth.
She’d tasted better than he’d ever imagined.
He drank heartily, taking gulping swallows. Her blood coated his tongue, igniting his taste buds, and traveled down his throat, awakening every cell it passed.
His blood vessels opened to receive the life-giving nourishment. As he drank, her blood continued to spread along an intricate system of vessels. He could feel it. Picture it.
As her blood coursed through him his body repaired. Tendons stretched to grasp severed ends, muscles fused together again, and vessels grew to become stronger.
He was whole again. Renewed. He could release her now. His plan was to take her where she would be found by the authorities. Apart from being a little lightheaded, she would’ve been fine, no one the wiser. Her condition chalked up to a drunken night in New Orleans.
He began to pull back. An image passed across his mind.
Entwined bodies. Him and a woman. He ran his hand across her bare back. His fingertips reacted in reality, twitching. Her skin was so soft. He could feel her.
That’s odd. Not the woman, but where he had her. His sleeping chamber was his sanctuary. But there was no mistaking it. That’s where they were.
The image became clearer as blood flowed over his tongue.
Ramey lounged on his chair, the favorite in his room. Not his bedroom, but his real one—the concrete incased sleeping chamber where he slept during the day.
She was on him, straddling his lap. Her thighs were soft on his. Her skin so smooth. She pulled back and showed him the playful, wickedness in her eyes.
God, he loved her.
She was his lover, friend, and mate.
His to protect for all eternity.
Ramsey caressed down her back, languishing in the way her body reacted under his touch. Anticipation of what was to come rippled off of her. She moaned out her pleasure, an erotic sound that made his already hardened cock thicken even more.
He rounded her ample butt, gripping her.
“Diocaitus.” She called him a name that he hadn’t heard in a thousand years. The name his father had given him upon his birth. The name his children had called him. The name that brought up so much pain and sorrow. But when she called out to him, he didn’t feel anything but happiness and pride.
He belonged to her.
She cupped her breasts, showing off for him, plucking her nipples. Soon he would caress those as well. Heat from her pussy spread across his groan. His cock ached for her.
“Dani, I’m trying to keep my control here.” His voice strained.
She held his gaze. “Don’t.”
A challenge that he wanted to meet.
On a groan Ramsey lifted her, positioning her folds over his cock. Instantly wetness coasted his tip. He held her there, intending to lower her gently, but she sank onto him. Pleasure ignited him. He yelled out. Her pussy enveloped him, pulsating and needing. She moved, up and down, grinding against him. His hands bit into her skin.
He was too strong. He couldn’t lose control with the one he loved. He cursed under his breath and jerked his hands away to grab his armrests. She leaned away from him, giving him full excess to her ample breasts. At seeing the longing look in his eyes, she thrust her hands through his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp, and pulled him to her nipple where he gladly sucked one into his mouth.
He recognized the woman. She’d stared at him moments before, but not in lust, only with concern for his life. In his vision he’d cradled this woman in a lover’s embrace. Now he held her as a predator would his prey.
The blood on his tongue slowed. Her heart weakened, beating erratically, straining to pump blood that wasn’t there.
I’m killing her.
He forced the vision from his mind, but remnants held on. He could still feel her body on him, her hands holding him.
He licked her wound, closing it, and stared at the woman. She was limp in his arms, her face pale and slack.
Fuck.
It had been ages since he’d drained someone. He’d lost control. He couldn’t blame it on the state of near death either. She’d healed him, but he’d still taken from her.
He cursed under his breath. What the hell am I doing?
As he stood, he held her protectively to his chest. She was limp in his arms. Her head and arms flopped like a ragdoll. Her heartbeat was there, but so low and thready. He couldn’t let her die, not an innocent.
“Marcos, I need you immediately. I’m at Royal and Iberville.”
“On my way.”
What was she doing out this late alone anyway? Was she a hooker? He eyed her clothes, an oversized t-shirt and black leggings. No, he knew his fair share of hookers. They shared the night with him, walking the streets and slipping into alleys with their johns to make their money. They were a nice lot, and he didn’t judge them. They were a product of their circumstances and choices that they’d made in their life. Not so much different from him.
He leaned against the wall, not because he needed the extra support, but so he could get a better look at her. Even in the darkness he saw her clearly. She had delic
ate, soft features. Her age was somewhere in the late twenties. If she didn’t have ample breasts and full hips he would’ve guessed her to be younger. But teenagers didn’t have the womanly curves that she did. Her midnight black hair, dark as ink, contrasted against her pale skin.
She was old enough to be out on her own, but why would she chance it?
The residents of the city would’ve made the venture without much thought, but she’d mentioned a hotel earlier. Was she in town with her husband?
Hmm. He checked her slender fingers. No ring. He shook that idea from his head.
A boyfriend? Possibly.
Anger surged. Who would allow their woman to roam New Orleans at night by herself? There were too many dangers out. And he just so happened to be the deadliest.
He scowled. He didn’t know this woman, but something in him knew that she deserved better.
A familiar SUV pulled to the curb, blocking the alley. Dark tinted windows couldn’t hide the driver from him. Marcos.
Marcos opened the door and groaned as he turned to stretch his legs to the ground. The sound was reactionary. Marcos would’ve been quiet if he’d thought about Ramsey hearing him. Marcos tried to hide the fact that age was catching up to him, but Ramsey was well aware that his best friend wasn’t long for this world, and it scared him. A fact that Marcos was well aware of.
Ramsey lowered the woman to the ground as gently as he could as Marcos, with his shuffling gait, came down the alleyway. Marcos had all the wrinkles of an eighty-year-old man. He was of average height and was round in the middle. He liked to cook, and it showed. He’d long since lost most of his hair, but what was left was grey and kept short.
“Sir? What happened? Do you need to feed?” Concerned laced Marcos’s voice.
“I’m fine. I had a run-in with some vampires who were armed with a very interesting weapon.”
Marcos tsked. “I hope you finished them. We don’t need that kind of riffraff in our city.”
Ramsey shook his head. “Unfortunately, they got away.”
Marcos inhaled sharply. “Were they Originals? Here in New Orleans? Attacking you?”
Ramsey thrust his hand through his hair. His fingers immediately snagged in the matted mess of dried blood. “No, they were newbies. But they got the upper hand.”
Marcos stuttered, not knowing what to say. A fledgling wouldn’t have stood a chance against Ramsey, but then again, they’d had a weapon he hadn’t counted on. Ramsey motioned to the woman that he propped against the wall, the same spot he’d been in. “She’s an innocent. Unfortunately, I needed to take more than I should’ve to recover from the attack. She’s in need of medical attention.”
At noticing the woman for the first time Marcos instantly dropped to kneel next to her. His knees cracked as he did. He felt the side of her neck for a pulse. “I’ll call an ambulance right away.” He took out his cell phone and dialed 911. “Hello, I need to report a crime,’ he said when a dispatcher answered the line.
“What type of crime?” Ramsey didn’t have any trouble hearing the dispatcher on the other line.
“I’m not sure. I came across a woman in the alley off of Royal between Canal and Iberville. She’s unconscious.”
“We’ll send fire and rescue right away. Can you stay with the victim, sir?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Marcos disconnected the line. “Well, you should leave now. I’ll see to the woman.”
Ramsey nodded. He took one last look at the female. Beautiful. Too bad he wouldn’t ever see her again. From a standing jump he landed on the roof, fully intending to leave.
But couldn’t.
Marcos fussed over the woman, talking under his breath that help was arriving soon and she would be okay. Marcos was the nurturing type. He would make sure that she was cared for. Too bad he couldn’t have any children of his own. A bout with the plague when he was a teenager had rendered him sterile.
Guilt wracked Ramsey. She’d only wanted to help him, and now she was the one needing help.
Sirens pealed through the air, followed by screeching tires. Blue and red lights flashed in front of the alley. Two police cars followed by an ambulance. Ramsey crouched, hiding in the darkness and peering over the ledge.
Two police officers came out of the first car and one from the second. They didn’t wait for the medics to get out of the ambulance before they started down the alley.
Marcos stood, groaning as he did, and waved them over. “I wanted to move her closer to the street, but my poor back wouldn’t allow it.” Marcos may have looked around eighty, but he was much older. The police would take his feeble old man act without question.
“I’m glad that you didn’t, sir,” one of the officers said. “We don’t want to disturb the crime scene before we’ve had a chance to look at it.”
“Is this where you found her?” another asked. He crouched to take a look at her, using his flashlight to illuminate the area.
“Yes. I didn’t see her back here at first. I thought I was hearing things when she called out to me.”
“She called out to you? She’s unconscious,” the third said.
The medics pushed the gurney down the alley, the wheels snagged on trash.
“She said, ‘Help me, Mister’. Just once. When I got to her she was out of it.”
The medic finally got the gurney to the woman, and one of the officers guided Marcos out of the way.
“Can you tell us what you were doing out this time of night?” The officer pulled out a small pad and a pen.
Marcos opened his eyes wide, the whiteness a sharp contrast in the dark. “Do I have to?”
The officer cleared his throat. “I insist.”
Marcos sighed. “I’ve been without a companion for a really long time now. My wife has long been dead, and I just wanted…” He shuffled on his feet. “I wanted to talk to someone.”
“The woman?” the officer asked.
Marcos shook his head. “Oh, no. I wanted to talk to a woman of the night. I had money.” He pulled out a few bills from his pocket.
Ramsey shook his head. Marcos with a prostitute? He’d never let the thought occur to him. Especially not a female one. Marcos was gay.
“So what happened?”
“I—I parked and went to the corner, where I saw a nice woman standing, offering her … um … services.”
“Uh, huh.” The officer scribbled in his pad. “Continue.”
“Well, the lady of the night said that she didn’t want to talk. She wanted to … um.” Marcos blushed. Such a good actor.
The officer lifted a brow. “Have sex?”
Marcos nodded, relieved that he hadn’t had to say the words himself. “Correct. But that’s not what I wanted.”
“Why not?” The officer had a stern look, but he was trying to hold in a laugh if the twitch of his mouth was any indication. “If your wife passed and you wanted female companionship…” He shrugged. “It seems only reasonable that you’d want sex.”
“Sex? Oh, no,” Marcos exclaimed. “My knees are bad, I have two slipped discs in my back, my blood pressure is high, and I haven’t tried to use my Johnston in years.” He sighed and shook his head. “I just wanted to talk.”
The cop winced. “Sorry to hear that.”
Marcos shrugged. “The kids don’t come around anymore, and the grandkids can’t be bothered with an old man like me. So this is what I’m reduced to.”
Ramsey rolled his eyes. “Laying it on too thick,” he told Marcos telepathically.
“I’ve been taking some acting classes at the Y.”
“Since when?”
“Since four months ago. I like it.”
“Glad you found a hobby, but scale it back. You don’t want them making you a suspect.”
“If it comes to that you’ll wipe their memories clean. But until then…”
“And if I had left like I should’ve, you would probably be spending the night in a cell waiting for Nadine to bail you out af
ter your arraignment.”
“But you are here, so be quiet and let me practice. I might go out for a part in ‘Death of the Salesman’. They’re putting on the play in a few months.”
“Good gracious.”
“Quiet.”
“So you went to the hooker and that was a no-go because you couldn’t have sex. Then what?”
“Well, then I came back this way, and when I got to my car I heard her call out. I wasn’t going to come into the alley. It could’ve been a trap, you know? But my conscience just wouldn’t let me get into the truck and pull away, so I investigated.” Marcos said the last part with pride.
“One, two, three.” The medics counted off then lifted her onto the gurney.
“What … what happened?” the woman asked, groggy and full of confusion.
An officer, both medics, and Marcos immediately surrounded her. “Can you tell me what happened to you, ma’am?” the officer asked.
“I-I was attacked,” her voice was deep and throaty.
“By who? Do you know your attacker?”
She shook her head then groaned out in pain. She touched the side of her neck. The spot where he’d fed. “No. A man, he … he attacked me. Handsome, tall, French accent.”
Ramsey puffed out his chest. “She thinks I’m handsome.”
“She’s also confused, so…”
“Don’t be such a hater.”
“I hate to break it to you, but she probably thought she was being attacked by that famous New Orleans vampire. What was his name again? Ah, Brad Pitt.”
“You’re talking about the actor that played… Pft. Never mind. I don’t know why I’m arguing with you about this anyway.”
“Is this the man?” The officer pointed at Marcos, and Marcos had the nerve to gasp his offence.
She looked up at him, searching for recognition, then frowned. “No. This man was much younger.”
“I am also not very tall, nor do I have a French accent,” Marcos pointed out. “The only description that fit me was ‘handsome’.” He raised his chin with a humph, as if daring anyone to argue.
When a Vamp Falls (War of Blood and Bonds Book 1) Page 3