S he had missed the Blood Bank.
During the past year Stacia had been visiting with vampire friends in other cities. San Francisco. Miami. London. Amsterdam. Rome. Ah, Roma. The city of her birth and her death. As much as she had loved sampling the many fine young men and women lingering in the cafés around the Piazza Navona, New York City always felt like home.
Now she was back. And eager to catch up on all she’d missed—like the striking man crossing the room. Broad shoulders arrogantly thrust back, hips moving with a confident swagger, he made female heads turn. He exuded sex and danger—and something else, as well. Something that would make puny mortals quake with fear if they knew—he was a vampire. Like her.
Though, not exactly like her. He was much younger and his power was not so great. And the veneer of his humanity was still shiny and new, like the gleam of a freshly minted coin. But the shine of that humanity would rub away eventually. It would become tarnished the more he gave in to the beast within him. But for now…
“Delicious.”
Her companion shot a look over his shoulder and shook his head ruefully. “Trust me, Stacia. Ryder is not interested. He’s involved with a human.”
She scoffed. “Why waste the time? Humans all die.”
“Doesn’t he know it. His lil’ chit’s best friend was just murdered.”
She considered the comment. “So how can his human chit expect to satisfy him?”
Blake playfully nudged her shoulder with his. “Diana satisfies him with something you know nothing about—love.”
Love. An oft-mentioned but thoroughly useless emotion after nearly two millennia of existence. She had believed in love, long ago, but time had taught her the futility of such an emotion. The loss that came with it, especially when it involved a human…she was immune to such pain by now.
But not to the need for passion. Especially with a handsome man such as that one. Of course, her current drinking partner was no slouch himself.
She cradled Blake’s cheek and brushed her face against his. “So you don’t think I know anything about love? Would you care to be proven wrong?”
He met her gaze. “It’s not love with you, Stacia. It’s sex.”
“And that would be bad because…” She licked the shell of his ear and enjoyed the shudder that worked through his body.
“It would be bad because you elders drain vamps like me just for sport.” He angled his body away from hers.
Annoyed and amused, she sent a little wave of power over him. His body reacted, a frisson of acknowledgment that rippled over his lean muscles. “Please, Stacia—”
“Begging, love?” She increased the strength of her power and commanded, “Touch me.”
In her mind she formed a picture of what she wanted. A moment later he cupped her breast. But it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough, she thought as she imagined him slipping his hand beneath her clothing.
He did as she fantasized, the cold of his palm bringing her nipple to a hard peak. But even as he moaned, he pleaded. “Stacia, this isn’t what—”
“You want?” But she wanted it. She needed him to satisfy the emptiness inside of her. An emptiness sprung from being an elder, one of the vampires so old and powerful that none would challenge them. One of the vampires who had lost nearly every trace of their humanity.
Heady with her control over him and with the way his hand at her breast had her insides twisting for more, she stroked the magnificent erection in his lap.
“Take this to the back,” Foley said, interrupting their interlude.
She looked past Blake’s shoulder to where the bar owner waited, his eyes glimmering with lust. His intrusion angered her. With a wave of her hand, she sent punishment his way.
He grabbed his throat, struggling for air as she mentally disciplined him while still stroking Blake. While Blake continued to fondle her.
Sex and power. Power and death. A heady combination, she thought as Foley began to drop. Just a few minutes more and he’d be gone. Then something stopped her. Certainly not her conscience. Maybe the prospect of wasting time when she would much rather be riding Blake.
With another wave of her hand, she released Foley and increased her control over Blake. “Are you ready, love?”
“Devil take me, but I am,” he said and followed her to one of the back rooms.
In the last few weeks, the vamps at his club had helped Ryder stop thinking about Diana. Or almost stop. And after an uneventful evening at the Blood Bank last night, he was eager for their company.
His friend Diego sat at the bar sipping a glass of wine. A usual pastime ever since the death of his lover, Esperanza.
Ryder clapped the other vampire on the back in greeting. “What are you up to, old man?”
Diego shot him a rueful glance. “Drowning my sorrows. Care to join me?”
He waved for another round of drinks. “It’s been quite a few months now, Diego. While I don’t mind the way you’re fattening my bank account by buying all these drinks—”
“Mi amigo, all wounds heal differently,” he said, raising his head in a regal gesture and finished his last few sips of wine.
Ryder peered over Diego’s shoulder to a group of young women congregated at the end of the bar, tittering and flirtatiously glancing their way. The signals were broadcasting loudly, only Diego wasn’t picking them up.
“Maybe it’s time for you to consider it, my friend.”
Diego only shot a quick peek at the women before offering a toast to Ryder. “Salud, amor y pesetas.”
He picked up his glass, but paused before clinking it with the other vampire’s. “Translation, por favor.”
Diego’s crystal-blue eyes were vacant of all emotion except one—sorrow. “Health, love and money. I guess two out of three isn’t so bad, is it?”
“No, amigo. Two of three is generally not so bad.”
“What a pathetic bunch we have here,” he heard from behind him, and suddenly another vampire slipped an arm around him and Diego.
Blake popped his head into the space between the two of them. “Evenin’, mates. Thought I’d drop by for a nip of something.”
Diego muttered, “Wonderful. My insufferable night just got more insufferable.”
“Come now, mate. Still lost in your cups? Maybe a good bite will—”
Blake didn’t get to finish as Diego grabbed Blake’s arm. “Mate,” the older vampire said with some anger and an obvious hint of fang, “don’t think that I will tolerate your stupidity even if you did help save my life not too long ago.”
Ryder softly said, “Let him go, Diego. I can’t have this kind of thing in my club.”
With an apologetic nod, Diego did as asked.
Blake took a step away and rubbed his arm. “I was just trying to help.”
“Because you are doing so well in the romance department?” Diego turned toward the bar once more and picked up his glass.
Ryder offered a drink to the younger, platinum-haired vampire who eagerly accepted it. He had no idea how Blake survived. As far as Ryder knew, Blake had no keeper and not enough money to pay for his blood. Which might account for why on occasion, Blake had indulged in a bite or two down at the Blood Bank. Maybe even why he had drained the young coed who was now the Lair’s bartender to the point where he had to either turn Meghan or let her die.
“Thanks, mate. I’m a bit short of cash tonight,” Blake said.
Ryder motioned for another drink and offered Blake the seat next to Diego. The young vampire refused, choosing instead to stand, glass held loosely in his hand.
“How is Meghan?” Blake asked, searching for any sign of the young vampire he’d sired.
Meghan was another regular at the Lair and she sometimes filled in for absent staff, but Ryder suspected she would stay away as long as she sensed the punk vampire’s presence. A wonderful thing, this vamp radar. Good for either avoiding or tracking those you cared about.
“She’s doing well. And you?” Ryder had seen the punk in and around the club on various occasions, but this was the first time he’d had the opportunity to speak with him since the incident months earlier that had endangered his new undead friends and had proved fatal for Diego’s lover.
“Completely recovered, thanks. And you?”
“Fine.” Although he was anything but. Otherwise he wouldn’t be drinking with two vampires instead of with…“Fine,” he repeated, more curtly.
Blake motioned to Ryder with his glass. “In this undead life, there’s only one thing that could be responsible for that kind of attitude—a woman or the lack of one.”
Diego turned on his stool and snarled, “Is this your new occupation—Dear Abby to lovelorn vampires? If so, you’d best find another. You suck at it.”
Blake took another sip of his wine, considering Diego. When he finally spoke, some of his bravado was gone, as was his Cockney accent. “When I was a young lad, before I got turned, my sisters would always come to me with their problems. They thought I was a good listener.”
“You had sisters who actually talked to you?” Diego asked.
“Two older and two younger, along with three younger brothers.”
“Mi hermanita was headstrong. My mother swore my sister would make her gray before her time,” Diego replied with a wistful smile on his face.
“Did she?” Ryder asked. He’d been an only child and had never had the pleasure of a family with his wife.
A flash of sorrow flickered across Diego’s face. “She died of a fever before she could.”
“I lost a sister that way, too,” Blake commiserated, and laid a hand on Diego’s shoulder.
“And the rest?” Diego asked with an arch of his brow.
“Going hungry with the famine when I…” Blake couldn’t continue and Ryder didn’t want him to. He’d been feeling morose enough without this discussion about death and loved ones. The theme struck too close to home tonight.
“Gentlemen, as Blake noted, we are a sorry lot and sitting here in our cups is accomplishing nothing.”
“And what do you propose, amigo?”
“Yeah, wot?” Blake asked, reverting to his punk self.
Ryder smiled, suddenly knowing just what might relieve some of the unpleasantness of the night. “Time to let loose, don’t you think?”
With that, he motioned to his friends to step outside. Once in the small alley, he reached within and woke the beast. Without Diana, he could summon and dismiss the vampire when he desired. It was only around her that his control grew spotty, evidenced by the fact that he’d put the bite on her twice now. The second time, he had nearly been unable to stop, overcome by passion.
Heat flared to life at the remembrance of that night. His fangs burst from his mouth. As he faced his friends, his voice was low and held the rumble of the stirring animal. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t know how long it had been, only that he was panting, his body burning with undead power as they settled on the roof of the building across from the Blood Bank. They must have covered most of Manhattan in their flight over rooftops and through the park, reveling in the physical freedom that came from releasing their demons.
For so long Ryder had denied that the animal brought him anything other than disgust. Only recently had he made any effort to understand it or to acknowledge that his darkness could be used for good.
“I’m a mite thirsty,” Blake said, his shoulders visibly rising as he tried to slow his breathing. He tucked his black T-shirt back into his jeans and straightened his black leather jacket.
“As am I.” Not a piece of Diego’s elegant attire was out of place, unlike Ryder and Blake.
Ryder repaired his clothing then plummeted over the edge of the building to the earth below. He barely heard the soft thuds of his companions as they joined him on the alley’s cobblestones. At the door of the club, he hesitated, but something compelled him forward. Not the demon, but the human in him who wanted to confirm that even when he was surrounded by the undead, his mortal self still dominated.
The bouncer granted them entry and once inside, the essence of others like them greeted him. At the far end of the club, Foley talked to a petite, dark-haired woman. A familiar silhouette, clad in black leather that fit like a second skin.
Violence rose up inside of Ryder and the beast nearly overwhelmed him with its desire to exact punishment on the other vampire. Ryder clenched his fists. So much for restraint, he thought as he stepped toward the couple.
Diego snared his arm. “It’s not who you think.”
“Open your senses, mate. She’s one of the elders.” Blake stepped up to Ryder’s back and placed a hand on his shoulder to check him.
Taking a breath, Ryder released the restraints on his animal. Suddenly, the surge of power coming off the female rippled through him, telling him she was not only undead, but as Blake had said, quite old and powerful. The strength of her energy swirled about her and spilled out into the crowd. Chum for vamps, he thought. How many did she attract with her deadly bait?
“Easy, mi amigo. She’s not to be taken lightly,” Diego warned, but Ryder had no way to suppress the experience of her.
Painfully he stood there, poised on the edge of…anticipation, both sexual and intellectual. What could this vamp be like that she had so much sway without his even knowing her name, without his having seen her face?
She turned then, and energy surged through him, singeing his senses. The force of her acknowledgment was so strong he had to rein in the beast before it rushed to her side. Control, after all, being one of his goals.
She smiled at him, as if amused by his struggle. She approached, a sex-filled sway in her hips that promised oblivion between her long, leather-clad legs.
Dipping her head to one side, she barely glanced at his two friends. “Diego. Blake.” She examined him. “And you are?”
“Ryder Latimer,” he answered, fascinated by her appearance, so much like Diana’s. Dark, nearly seal-black hair cropped close to her head exposed the perfect curves of her ears, which were adorned with an assortment of golden rings. Her brows were smudges of black against pale skin. One brow was threaded with a golden ring that shifted with her brow as she raised it in amusement.
“Intrigued?” She motioned to Blake and Diego. “Leave us.”
“He’s not like the rest of us, Stacia,” Diego said, which only earned him a chuckle from the very attractive vamp.
“Of course not. That’s what makes him so interesting.”
That she could so blithely ignore Diego confirmed one thing—she obviously possessed more power. Her intense force coupled with her apparent rashness made her formidable. From the rumors Ryder had heard from his friends, the elders were old, powerful and brutal.
“More interesting than me, luv?” Blake asked.
She smiled and walked to the upstart vamp.
“Ah, Blake.
The other night was wonderful.” She laid a hand on Blake’s chest and his face filled with…
Ryder couldn’t tell if fear or passion ruled. She trailed her finely boned hand up to Blake’s jaw then playfully tousled his pale white hair. Blake moaned with unfulfilled desire.
Stacia laughed sexily. “Always the randy young pup. That’s good. Maybe you and I can get together again later, but now…” She slipped her arm through Ryder’s. “I’d like to know more about you, Ryder.”
Chapter 7
F or most of her life, Diana had suffered from nightmares featuring demons and dying. She had never figured out what caused them or why they had ended once she’d become involved with Ryder. She suspected the existence of real monsters proved scarier than the stuff of her dreams.
After visiting Sylvia’s office a few days ago, however, her sleep had once again been plagued by visions—of Sylvia lying dead on the M.E.’s table and of her dad and of Ryder.
She could understand the connection between Sylvia and her papi, two loved ones taken from her well before their time. As for Ryder’s appearance—she wrote that off to her conflicting emotions about his role in her life and to the reality that Ryder had already cheated death. Because of his near immortality, he had dealt with the loss of so many of his loved ones and somehow survived. In some twisted way, that gave her the confidence that she, too, could survive this distressing episode and eventually return to a more normal life.
A visit to Sylvia’s office had provided information key to the investigation—the name of a Nervous Nelly client Sylvia had seen shortly before her death. Arturo de la Fuente had normally been the client of Sylvia’s partner, Steve Martinez. The request to meet with Sylvia had been out of the ordinary. Because of that, they’d visited de la Fuente and discovered a ledger that pointed to a money-laundering scheme. Finally they had a motive for her friend’s murder other than a husband’s jealous rage.
Death Calls Page 5