Blood Dolls

by Angela Roquet

  “I meant check beneath it,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  “I hate to interrupt, ladies, but...” Collins cleared his throat and pushed the door open into the back alley.

  The chilly air of freedom iced the water on my face as we made our escape, racing down the length of blacktop stretched between the club and the next building over. We rounded a corner, heading back toward the side lot where I’d parked my Bronco—and ran headlong into another security guard.

  He was a big, meaty vamp like the other two. Of course. And probably older and more experienced than I. Not that that feat deserved a cookie or anything.

  The sound of boots hitting pavement echoed behind us. We were surrounded.

  The new guard was better dressed than the two who had chased us through the club. Definitely a manager. A gold chain peeked out from under his open collar, and matching cufflinks dotted his sleeves. He straightened them like a grade-A shmuck as he stared us down. His mouth curled up on one side, exposing an elongated fang.

  “The boss would like a word.”

  Chapter Two

  “Come on, boys. It was just a little party trick,” I teased, clinging to my cover. As a rule, I didn’t give up a good ruse unless I absolutely had to.

  The man’s sneer sharpened. “Boss don’t like tricks.” Okay. The hooker jokes were getting old.

  “Not my boss, not my problem,” I countered.

  He growled and took a step toward us. My blood vision throbbed, painting him red for a split second before it faded again.

  Human. He was human. That was...unexpected. He had to be wearing caps. The big phony.

  I took the next step, moving closer to him. “Well, your boss might not like tricks, but you certainly do.”

  A touch of fear lit his eyes. His mouth pinched closed, and his tongue made a none-too-subtle path over his teeth, pushing his lips out in a long sweep. Then his shoulders dipped as if he were relieved to discover his disguise still intact.

  “You’re not really my type, honey.” His lips curled back, stretching his mouth into a deeper sneer than before. The fang-check had given him an extra dose of confidence. “You’re gonna turn around, nice and slow—”

  “Or what?” I laughed. “Are you going to bite me with your fancy dentures?”

  Collins blinked at me, but Mandy didn’t look surprised at all.

  “You smell all kinds of human,” she purred, her eyes glowing a soft yellow.

  The man hesitated, but he recovered quickly. “I just fed. Of course I smell like a human. She couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

  “She?” Mandy lifted an eyebrow. “I smell a man—a sweaty, horny, male human.”

  Even in the dark alley, I saw the color drain from his face. Someone had a crush on the boss. This guy was the club owner’s right-hand man in more ways than one, apparently. His faux sire wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. The fangs were a nice touch, and I imagined they demanded the necessary respect the manager of a vampire club needed in order to do his job.

  One of the guards behind us coughed. “You want I should shoot the mutt to make a point?” When the poser manager didn’t answer, the guard snapped his fingers. “Zane? You in there? We need to get a move on.”

  “I got this.” The manager—Zane—reached into the fold of his jacket. Before he could draw the firearm I assumed he had tucked away in a concealed holster, the sound of a cocking rifle froze us all in place.

  “You’ve got what, precisely?”

  A few yards behind Zane, Roman waited in the mouth of the alley. I hadn’t seen him arrive. His black commando uniform blended with the dark of night. He’d tucked his white hair under a stocking cap, and though his skin had paled to an alabaster shade through winter, the high collar of his turtleneck and the scope of the M4 hid him well enough.

  Zane’s brows drew together as if he recognized Roman’s voice. “This ain’t your business, lawman.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Roman said. “Once you take it outside, you make it my business.”

  “Radu owns this entire block. You’re trespassing.” Zane took a chance and twisted his head around to glare over his shoulder.

  “This alley is maintained by the city, which makes it public property.”

  “What do you want?” Zane shouted, finally losing his patience. This was clearly not the macho show he had intended it to be. “Is this tramp your sweetheart or something?”

  “She’s a witness to a crime I’m investigating,” Roman said. I gave him a pointed look and then darted my gaze between Mandy and Collins. “They all are,” he added.

  “Is that so?” Zane wasn’t convinced. He gave Roman a sleazy grin. “And I suppose a little half-vamp like you is gonna fend off three full-blooded security guards and then arrest a vamp, a wolf, and a human all by your lonesome?”

  Roman lifted his M4 and lined up his eye with the scope. “Who says I’m alone?”

  One of the guards behind me swore under his breath. “Z, look up.”

  I gawked along with them, taking note of a rifle tip poking over the edge of Bleeders’ roof. Then I swore under my breath.

  It wasn’t like Vanessa to get her hands dirty over something so trivial. And it certainly wasn’t like her to let Roman do all the talking. She was a captain now, after all. And a hardass one at that. I’d only been on her team for a month and a half, and I’d already had my ass chewed more times than I cared to admit. If she were hanging back, I had to assume it was because she was too pissed to confront me with an audience present.

  I was in for it once Roman got us out of the alley. I just knew it. And it was my own fault for meddling in a case that hadn’t been assigned to me while my own case file rotted away in a desk drawer.

  Zane’s hateful sneer turned back to me. “Next time I find you in the club, you won’t make it to the alley.”

  “What makes you think there will be a next time?” I popped out a hip and batted my lashes. The perfect picture of innocence—well, if not for the latex pants and low-cut blouse.

  “I know your type.” Zane ran his tongue over his fake fangs. “Glutton for punishment, and I’ve got plenty to spare.”

  Roman cleared his throat. “If you’re done sweet-talking my witness, we’ll be leaving now.”

  “Sure thing, lawman.” Zane straightened his jacket and gave me an unpleasant smile as he circled us. He nodded at the other two guards, cuing them to turn and follow him back down the alley.

  Roman used the tip of his rifle to motion Collins, Mandy, and me in the opposite direction, past the dumpster behind the furniture warehouse where I’d found a decapitated vampling just last year. My skin crawled at the memory. I held my breath, recalling the stench of death mixed with rotten fruit scraps from Bleeders’ juice bar.

  Once we made it to the parking lot, I bypassed Roman and headed for my truck.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, tilting his rifle over his shoulder.

  “Home, before Vanessa jumps my ass.” I stuffed my hand into my jacket pocket, fishing out my keys.

  “Vanessa?” Roman lifted an eyebrow, and then his lips parted with a silent gasp. “Ah, the shooter on the roof ploy.”

  “You mean...”

  “It’s a rusted rifle muzzle. I’ll fetch it in the morning after the vamps have checked in for the night.” The faintest grin touched the corner of his mouth.

  “Nice.” I nodded my appreciation—for his cleverness and the fact that I wouldn’t be facing Vanessa’s wrath tonight. There was plenty else on my to-do list. “I have a new lead to research.”

  “For which case?” Roman squinted at me in the darkness pooling around the cluster of vehicles. He’d parked his SUV one aisle over from the Bronco.

  “Shhh.” Mandy held up a hand, silencing us as she surveyed the lot. Her hair dripped down her cheeks, smearing her smoky eye makeup. “We’re not the only ones out here.”

  Coll
ins rose up on his toes, staring out over the car roofs. “I don’t see or hear anything.” Then he smacked a palm to the side of his head. “Oh, right, the bow-wow superpowers.”

  Mandy groaned at his uncool assessment. How very dad joke of him.

  “You’re riding with me,” Roman whispered, his icy gaze locking on mine. “Send your harem home.”

  I scowled but tossed my keys to Collins, earning a grunt from Mandy.

  “I have a driver’s license now,” she grumbled as she and Collins loaded into the Bronco.

  “And two speeding tickets to prove it,” Collins said. He gave us a quick salute before closing the driver’s side door and firing up the engine.

  Mandy folded her arms and then rolled her eyes before fastening her seatbelt. I couldn’t hear Collins anymore, but I assumed he was lecturing her on safety. As I watched them pull out of the lot, my stomach roiled with equal parts dread and excitement. Being alone with Roman had that effect on me.

  “So...” I held up my hands. “You’ve got me all alone. What now?”

  Roman’s gaze swept nervously over the parking lot. Mandy’s warning had spooked me, too. I considered activating the Eye of Blood to have a look for myself, but I’d abused the gift enough for one evening. I could already feel the draining aftermath settling into my bones. If I kept this up, I would have to add a third donor to my harem sooner rather than later.

  “Come on.” Roman cocked his head toward the SUV. “We’ll talk on the way.”

  “On the way where?” I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets and followed him across the lot.

  “To the office. Vanessa’s waiting.”

  “What?” My jaw dropped. “I was just trying to escape a lecture from her. Now you want me to willingly ride off to one?”

  Roman shrugged. “Might as well get it over with. Besides, we have a new lead—for the case we’re actually assigned to.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him as I yanked open the passenger door and climbed into the SUV. “You know, Scarlett is Ursula’s scion. They’re very much linked. So shouldn’t their case files be a joint investigation?”

  “If you try to feed Vanessa that pathetic line of reasoning again, she’s going to scalp you.” Roman sighed and shoved a key in the ignition, lighting up the elaborate dash of the SUV. I had my own fancy work vehicle now, too, but it wouldn’t have been very conducive to my undercover operation at Bleeders—that, apparently, wasn’t as undercover as I’d thought.

  “How did you even know I was here?” I asked as we pulled out of the parking lot and merged into the busy, late-night traffic.

  “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.” Sometimes his tone was so dry, it was hard to tell if he was joking. “Why are you so obsessed with finding Scarlett anyway? What do you think is going to happen if you manage to stumble across her?”

  “I’ll kill her.” My humor could be dry too, but I wasn’t joking. And Roman wasn’t laughing. He pushed a button on the dash, shutting off the power to the radio and the other gadgets. We had so much to be paranoid about, it was hard telling what his reasons were this time.

  “That would only result in you being executed or coffin-locked. Is that really what you want?” His blue eyes pulled away from the street and pierced me with a look that crossed somewhere between sympathy and agitation. “What do you suppose would happen to your harem then?”

  “Like you care.” I propped my elbow on the windowsill of the door. “I haven’t heard you address either of them by name since we started working together, and Mandy is officially a member of the Cadaver Dogs, so you can stop referring to her as my mutt now.”

  “See, you care about them.” Roman stole another glance in my direction. “That’s the point I’m trying to make. And if you keep involving them in your schemes to take down Scarlett, they’ll be tried as accomplices. How do you think they’ll fare?”

  I tucked my chin into my hand and swallowed the lump building in my throat. “Then maybe I’ll just coffin-lock her. God knows that sucks plenty.”

  Roman inhaled sharply through his nose. “The council decides who gets coffin-locked. First, she’ll be offered a trial. What do you think she will have to say about you on the stand? Or about her brother’s death?”

  Ice shot through my veins. “I’m not responsible for that, and she can’t prove anything.”

  “You don’t think so?” Roman pulled off onto South 22nd Street and followed it past the St. Louis FBI field office.

  Blood Vice was set up just beyond it in an unmarked building with opaque windows. In training, I’d learned that the FBI worked out of over fifty offices, and Blood Vice had divisions with more than half of them. What a strange world, hiding right under my nose all this time.

  “You’re not the only one with the Eye of Blood,” Roman said as he parked the SUV and killed the engine. “The queen also possesses the gift.”

  “So Lilith is dead, then?”

  Roman shook his head. “The gift is inherited either when a royal sire dies a true death or when they take their forever rest. Lilith passed it on to Lili when she took her forever rest in the late seventeen hundreds.”

  “Wait...” Something wasn’t adding up. “Scarlett has the Eye of Blood, too.”

  “You’re certain?” His brow creased, and he stole a sideways glance at me.

  “She bit me—at the barn—and then just...knew who my sire was. Does that mean Ursula is dead?”

  “I don’t know what it means.” Roman shook his head again. “I’m a half-sired from a different house. Apparently, this is one question I can’t answer for you.” His eyes grew darker. “Put it out of your mind. There is no one you can ask without painting a target on your back—and mine.”

  “Fine.” I huffed. “Then tell me this. What the hell is a forever rest?”

  Roman made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. I knew he hated having to add so many footnotes to his lectures because of my ignorance, but how else was I supposed to learn these things?

  “It’s hard to explain, but it’s a voluntary death of sorts. Anyway—” He sliced his hand through the air, silencing the next question before it passed my lips. “The queen has the Eye of Blood, and one sip of your blood will do more harm than any lie Scarlett could ever hope to spin.”

  “Great.” I twisted in my seat to face him. “So I guess this is why you’ve been so reluctant to help me track down the bloody brat?”

  “Yes.” He bit off the word through clenched teeth. “That, and the fact that we’ve been assigned to a different case, which you haven’t exactly been helpful with.”

  “Oh, fuck Ursula—if she’s even still alive.” I slapped the console between us. “She’s not the one responsible for turning a bunch of innocent teens into sex slaves.”

  “Maybe not directly—”

  “She’s not the one responsible for Will or for me.”

  “I thought that was Raphael,” Roman said, sarcasm building in his tone. “So Ursula is blameless for her scions’ actions, but Scarlett is responsible for her brother’s?”

  “He was working for her.” I glared at him. “Make no mistake. If he were still alive, I’d be hunting him right now, too.”

  “We’re not assassins, Jenna.”

  “Why does the duke want her anyway? After twenty years, maybe it’s time to move on. Don’t you think?”

  “The why isn’t our job,” Roman growled.

  “The why helps us do our jobs.” I pointed a finger at him, refusing to back down. “These little details can make all the difference in a case. I thought becoming an agent would mean fewer secrets, not more.”

  Roman caught my finger before I could pull it out of his reach. His grip tightened painfully around my knuckles until I grabbed his wrist with my opposite hand. “I’ll answer your whys and then some if you promise to keep your mouth shut while Vanessa rips you a new one,” he said.

  “Why should I?”

  Roman’s scowl softened. “I want you to take th
is new lead with me. If you don’t piss her off more than you already have, she might just let that happen.”

  His hopeful breath stirred something low in my gut, and our touching hands over the console were suddenly too intimate. I was melting, going soft in the middle as his eyes bore into mine.

  I swallowed. “Fine.”

  “Promise,” he whispered, sending a tremor up my spine.

  “I promise, okay? Now let go before you break my finger.”

  He let go and opened his door. “I’ll break more than that if you break your promise.”

  There was that dry humor again—or so I hoped.

  “You break it, you buy it.”

  I yanked off the black wig and tossed it on the passenger seat as I exited the SUV. Roman gave me a playful smirk as I fingered back the stray bits of hair that had fallen from my braid. I wanted to look presentable for my ass-chewing.

  Well, as presentable as a girl could get in latex pants, anyway.

  Chapter Three

  Vanessa’s office looked like it could have belonged to a fancypants attorney with all the oiled leather and walnut furniture. The bookcases that filled one side of the room were packed tightly with human law books. They were all for show, of course. She probably hadn’t even cracked their spines.

  The Constitution of the Vampiric High Council, better known as the Blood Decree, was a simple—yet strict—rule book. The condensed volume easily fit in a desk drawer, where I assumed Vanessa kept her copy safe from human eyeballs.

  While I appreciated the straightforwardness of vampiric law, the absence of wiggle room and heavy leaning toward capital punishment was a bit alarming. Not because I’d become so fond of pushing boundaries—that was totally out of necessity—but because it made me feel like a big, fat hypocrite.

  I had my own copy of the Blood Decree. Even though it left the final verdict up to the council, the suggested sentencing for my so-called crimes was not optimistic. It made upholding vampiric law seem like dirty work. Especially when it came to the laws I didn’t quite agree with.