A Taste of Love and Evil

by Barbara Monajem

  She was babbling. So much for nonverbal communication.

  Why wasn’t he moving? He was steel hard, breathing heavily, wound spring tight. His eyes were closed, his lips parted in an agony of lust, his camouflage in rags. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. So why…?

  She tried again. “About owing me, I apologize. I was wrong to let your quirks upset me. That’s just another kind of violence.” She couldn’t help it—she kissed his cheek, the spot where his dimple lurked, ever so softly, with all her heart. “You can owe me all you want, and I’m fine with owing you. Keep a tally if it makes you happy. We can cut notches into the bedpost. Of course, we’ll have to get a bed with posts first.”

  Finally, the twitch of a smile. Camouflage dissolved in tatters, faded in wisps, but still he didn’t move. She fought for inspiration. “Do you think I’m being heartless, wanting sex while Miles—”

  His ass cheeks bunched under her palms. “Oh, fuck, Rose, no!” With something between a sob and a moan, he pushed into her, hesitated, then rammed her, over and over.

  She’d believed herself skilled at adapting to a lover’s moods, to being whatever a man wanted, but this man made no sense at all. She gave up on thinking, gentling him instead, murmuring sweet words, stroking as he battered into her, and gradually his pace lost its frenetic rhythm. He kissed her, his eyes open, dark and sad. She smiled at him, and his dimples resurfaced as he smiled ruefully back. The fuck turned slick and hot, then languid and slow, tender and together. She sank her fangs into him, delivering the rush that made him come, and closed her eyes to savor the pumping of his heart and the rich tang of his blood.

  When she could speak again, she retracted her fangs and licked her lips. “Just so you know, my first name is Temperance.”

  He laughed and laughed. Rose kissed him with a tenderness she could never before have imagined, snuggled next to him, and fell deeply, solidly asleep.

  “Ouch!”

  Immediately, she was wide awake. “Your arm again?”

  Jack pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. “No. Constantine’s here.” He gave a brief shiver and stood. “Get dressed.”

  Her heartbeat ramped up. “Where? I don’t hear anything. Surely I would have heard before you.” Outside, darkness had closed in, but the jazz band still played. Was Constantine with them?

  “In here.” Jack rubbed his temple. “I heard him in here.” She must have looked at him as if he were nuts, because he said, “In my head. He’s telepathic. You’ve heard the stories. We have a sort of psychic link.”

  “You and Constantine?”

  “Yes. Don’t ask me to explain. I don’t understand it; it just is.” Jack opened the door to the bedroom, impatient now. He turned on the light by the bed. “He’s been hurting for a long time. He kept sending me pain, and I shut him out because I was hurting too much myself. I was a lousy friend.”

  What was he talking about? “What if he’s coming with Biff?” She gathered her clothes. “How do you know he’s not in here already?”

  “How could he be?” Jack was already in his jeans. He reached for an exquisite cream linen shirt. Damn, the man had lovely taste in clothes. And she shouldn’t even notice such things right now.

  “He does the camouflage thing.” Rose yanked her sweatpants up. “Just like you.”

  Jack didn’t react, so she rushed into an explanation. “He was camouflaged against a curtain at that concert, watching everyone, when I bumped into him. I wasn’t going to tell you, because it’s nobody’s business but his, but since you’re in danger from him—”

  “I’m not in danger,” Jack said predictably, working on the buttons of his shirt.

  Rose fumbled with the fastenings of her bra. “I’d be able to hear him, smell him, if he were here. But you won’t, and—” She gave a little scream of frustration at Jack’s blank face and at the stupid bra. “You don’t believe me, do you? I swear, he can camo.”

  “I believe you.” Jack came around behind her and did up the bra. His hands were patient and his voice calm. Wasn’t he the least bit afraid?

  “I’m the one who taught him,” Jack said. Rose stared, and he added, “We knew each other when we were kids.”

  “You could have told me this earlier,” Rose began, but a footstep sounded above them. “He’s on the roof. He’s headed toward the door.” Her fangs slotted down again and she glared at Jack, hands on hips. “I have to be sure you’re safe.”

  Jack’s dimples peeped out. “My heroine.” He tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt, and went barefoot toward the stairs leading to the roof. Rose hurried beside him.

  The door at the top opened slowly, revealing only a shimmer against a deep purple sky.

  “Drop the invisible act, Dufray,” Jack said. “We know you’re there.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jack waited at the foot of the stairs as Constantine shed his camouflage and trod lightly down.

  “Yo, Tallis. Nice to meet you again, Rose.”

  Rose nodded warily, her fangs still down, T-shirt dangling from one hand, breasts lushly inviting in her lacy black bra. No wonder Constantine couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Sorry if I interrupted something.” The musician didn’t sound sorry at all. “Head hurt?”

  “Yes, damn you,” Jack said grumpily. “What’s up?”

  “The sky is falling, or so Vi believes, and she may be talking sense for once. I need you both at the Impractical Cat, right now.”

  Rose nodded, put her shirt on, and went into the bedroom. Jack followed.

  She was already working on her socks and shoes. If her instant obedience to Constantine niggled at him, Jack let it pass. Constantine might look cool and collected, but the freshness of his anger roiled at the edges of Jack’s mind. Jack kept it at bay and put on his socks.

  Constantine followed them into the bedroom. “There’s been an uproar at Vi’s. I sent a couple of bodyguards to console her, but that won’t bring back the gown Rose made.”

  “What happened?” Rose cried.

  “Biff took the gown at gunpoint.” Constantine made straight for the guitar on its stand. The jazz band outside struck up another lazy, almost dissonant tune. Constantine joined in with an elegant riff, then stilled the strings with a hand. “You still play classical?”

  Jack’s childhood guitar had been Constantine’s first. He’d borrowed it, and it had disappeared with him. Not that Jack cared; his father’s money meant possessions were easy to come by. Friends, not so much. “Now and then.”

  “Are Vi and Zelda okay?” demanded Rose.

  Constantine launched into the riff again. “They’re lucky to be alive, although Zelda swears Biff didn’t mean to shoot. She lost her temper and he lost his cool. The bullet’s stuck in the crown molding, and Vi’s livid. She’s convinced Titania wants to take over Bayou Gavotte.”

  “So this means Biff’s involved with Titania.” Rose made a face.

  “Poor stupid bastard,” said Jack.

  “He tried to kill you!” Rose tugged on her second shoe, scowling. “You’re not supposed to feel sorry for him.”

  “I’m sorry for anyone in Titania’s clutches.”

  “He’s in my clutches now,” Constantine said. The riff didn’t sound quite so elegant anymore.

  “Now I feel sorry for him,” Rose said. “But why would he want to kill you, Jack? You’re not competing with him for Titania.” She gave him a look. “Right?”

  “Jesus, Rose! Of course not!”

  She tied the second shoelace and stood. “If Biff’s working for her, why didn’t he steal the gown at the truck stop?” Her eyes widened. “What about Miles? Titania has the dress now. She has no reason to keep him alive.”

  “She didn’t have any reason before.” Jack stood as well.

  “I’ll kill her,” Rose hissed.

  “After what I’ve heard, she would be better off dead.” Menace dripped from Constantine’s fingers into his music. Again, he stilled the string
s.

  Rose knitted her brows at Constantine. “Now I’m feeling sorry for you.”

  Constantine’s entire aspect lightened. “Sweet Rose, don’t waste it on me.” He turned to Jack. “Go through the patio and knock five times on the red door. Jabez will bring you upstairs. I’ll go by the rooftops. I’m told jamming with a street band today would be a poor career move.” Wistfully, he set the guitar down and left.

  Rose grabbed her phone off the table, stuffed it in her bag, and followed Jack down the stairs. “It can’t be good for him to kill people.”

  “It’s not good for anybody,” Jack replied.

  The jazz band, a ragtag bunch of older guys, had taken over the cross street next to the Impractical Cat. Streetlights bathed the shifting group of listeners, augmented today by reporters and gawkers. An undercurrent of expectation, of fear and excitement and hope, simmered through the crowd, and a TV news van squatted in the loading zone like a malevolent toad. Rose shuddered.

  Jack ushered her through a parking lot and across a patio with a scattering of tables, pots of pansies, and a fountain. The air had turned chilly—at least by Louisiana standards—and a busboy had stacked tables and chairs to one side to mop the flagstones. A smell of blood diluted with water tickled Rose’s nostrils; someone must have cut himself out here. A medley of cooking aromas and a cacophony of voices drifted out from the restaurant.

  Reaching it, Jack rapped softly on a red door near the restaurant entrance. Immediately a reporter surged toward them, but before he had a chance to thrust his microphone into their faces, the red door opened and a huge black dude came out. He snagged the reporter by the collar, motioned Jack and Rose indoors, set the reporter gently back on the flagstones, and slammed the door shut again. He bolted it and escorted them up a spiral staircase to the top of the building.

  Even before Constantine appeared in the doorway above, the iron-rich smell of blood slammed into Rose. She leaped headlong past him into the dormer room. Biff lay curled on a polished wooden floor, moaning softly, a blood-soaked cloth clutched to his shoulder. A bloodstained bandanna encircled his brow. More blood matted the ends of his hair, soaked his T-shirt, and trickled down his torso.

  Rose fell to her knees beside the blond man. “My God, who did this?” Fangs full down, she glared at Constantine and then at Jabez, who had locked the door behind them. A bodyguard—she remembered him from that concert ages ago.

  “Do what you can for him,” Constantine said coldly. “Then maybe we’ll be able to find out.”

  Why had they left him on the floor? “Get me lukewarm water and a clean cloth, and put him on the couch with the injured side facing out. Gently, please,” she added as Constantine and Jabez hefted the thug. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He must be in terrible pain.”

  At the end of the room was a counter with a sink and an espresso machine. Jack filled a bowl with water and brought it over, along with a cloth napkin. Gingerly, Rose peeled the bloody cloth back, dabbing water to loosen it. Biff’s eyes flickered open in recognition and fear. A solitary tear leaked from one eye.

  “It’s all right, Biff,” she whispered. “I’ll do my best to clean you up.”

  Her best wouldn’t be great. His torn shoulder lay white where it should have been a rosy tan, a ripped and bled-out hunk of flesh. “He needs a doctor.”

  “After he talks.” Constantine stood uncaring and unmoved.

  Jack had masked himself in nondescript, but he said softly, “Just do your best for now.”

  Rose put a calming hand on Biff’s torso and set to work, licking him clean, spitting into the ragged edges of the wound. She concentrated on Biff’s shallow breathing as her tongue slithered over his skin. Constantine moved to the espresso machine. The aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of blood. Milk steamed, espresso dripped into cups.

  Constantine picked up a guitar, and he and Jack went out onto the roof, closing the door behind them. Biff let out a throbbing breath and gasped it in again when the bodyguard ambled across the room and sat on the arm of the couch, his hand—he had gorgeous, lethal hands—within an inch of Biff’s head.

  This was too much like being back with the mob. Not that she’d ever had to lick anybody’s wounds; Lou had been too possessive for that. She kept steadily to her task. From outdoors came the soft sound of Constantine’s guitar.

  Gradually the wound sealed, and Biff relaxed under her hand. Good. Rose sat up, stretching and sucking in her fangs, hoping the bodyguard wasn’t the lascivious type. Apparently not. Either that or he was well trained, for he didn’t move, or look, or speak. So, now for the other wound.

  She was about to untie the bloody bandanna when her cell phone chimed to say she had a message. Cursing the capriciousness of cell phones that ignored random calls, she rummaged through her bag. She found the phone and dialed voice mail, thankful that at least she’d insisted on a phone that didn’t require a password to pick up mail. The last thing she needed was to have to remember which password worked where.

  “Iachimo, honey!” It was Titania’s voice, the same obnoxious coo she used when vamping Miles. “It’s been too long.”

  In the roof garden, Constantine lounged beside the fountain, fiddling with the tuning pegs of the guitar. “Don’t like your woman licking all over that dude?”

  Jack let go of his camouflage with a whoosh.

  “I wasn’t sure she’d go for it,” Constantine continued. “She’s reasonable for a vamp.”

  “Unlike me, she cares about everybody.” Jack tossed back his espresso. It burned all the way down. “Apparently I have a rescue complex.”

  “She told you that?”

  Jack nodded gloomily. Too bad that was the least of his problems.

  “You? The original white knight? You were breaking up fights and comforting girls at eight years old.” Constantine doubled up over the guitar with laughter. Jack was close to cracking a smile when Constantine wound down and said, “Thanks, Tallis.”

  Jack set the coffee cup on the lip of the fountain. “For what?”

  “I haven’t laughed so hard in months. Laughter’s good for the soul.” The musician ran his fingers lovingly across the strings, just like when he, too, was eight years old. After he’d touched a guitar, he’d been incomplete without one. “Whoops, I forgot. I don’t have a soul—or only the evil remnants of one.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  Constantine motioned with his chin toward the window of the office where Rose worked on Biff, and Jack answered his unspoken question. “Yeah. She went for the jugular, I’d say, and he swerved just in time.”

  His old friend’s eyebrows twitched together. “Titania?”

  “She told Rose she was on her way here, so it’s possible…but why attack Biff? He got the damn dress for her.” And he didn’t merit Rose’s tongue bathing his bloody, undeserving shoulder. Bastard. “She’s taken Rose’s employer, Miles, and of course Rose cares about him, too. She has no concept of what we’re up against.”

  Constantine picked out a gentle ballad, but the emotions he emanated were anything but. He caught Jack’s eyes and stilled the strings. “I’ve never met Titania.”

  Jack shook his head. “I’ve been keeping tabs on her for a while. She’s evil incarnate.”

  “No, no, that’s me. If she’s trying to one-up me, I’d better get rid of her.” A trickle of sweat ran down Constantine’s brow. “You want me to? It might be simpler.”

  Jack sighed. “Unfortunately, we white knights can’t connive at cold-blooded murder.”

  Constantine bent his head over the guitar. “It’s all for the best, since I’m not sure I could follow through. Don’t have the stomach for it lately.”

  A wave of affection for his old friend swept through Jack. He didn’t speak.

  “Don’t tell anybody,” Constantine said. “Wouldn’t want to ruin my rep.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He glanced back in toward Rose. “Shouldn’t she be done by now?”

  “You
’ve got it bad.”

  “Hell, yes,” said Jack.

  Rose gaped at the phone. It looked like hers, but…Jack must have gotten a new one today, and it was one just like hers. Her own phone was back in Jack’s apartment, where it had spun across the floor. She sank shaking into a chair.

  Titania’s voice cooed on. “I’ll be celebrating tonight in Bayou Gavotte. Remember how much you like celebrating with me?”

  Rose bit down hard, but the pain of her fangs digging into her lip hardly registered. I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll kill…

  “The two of us, hot and hard and fast, just the way you like it. Call me.” Titania made vile kissing noises and hung up.

  Allure and anger spiraled up from Rose’s core. She dropped the phone before she could fling it across the room. Coherent thought dissolved into a tornado of rage. Foaming, slavering, ripping, kill, kill, kill…

  “Vampire temper. Shit.” That was Jabez, with a voice deep as night and deadly hands.

  Rose didn’t care. She leaped from the chair, snapped at him as he, too, rose, snarled like the animal she was. “Don’t touch me.” She shuddered at the violence in her voice and gnashed her fangs against her teeth. I’ll kill the bitch. Kill…

  The bodyguard was on his feet, then at the door, leaning out, saying something. Dimly, through the fire overwhelming her vision, Rose registered Biff’s struggle to sit, to stand, his features dissolving into terror.

  I have to get rid of this, and I have to get rid of it now.

  She reined in hard on the rage and allure and gathered them into a tight, fiery ball. The fury burned and fought to escape. Jabez watched her, completely unfazed. Did he have any idea of the damage she could do? She couldn’t hold it any longer, but there was nowhere to send it, nowhere to hurl…