The Prescient: A Science Fiction Vampire Detective Novel (Vampire Detective Midnight Book 3)

by JC Andrijeski

She used air quotes for his fighting name, her voice twisting in open sarcasm.

  “‘…Caught on camera with mystery woman. Could this be why he’s been so illusive with fans? Does the White Wolf have a girlfriend?’” She dropped her air quotes, her expression openly angry. “All the gossip programs were carrying it, Nick. Her face is all over them.”

  “What?” Nick stared at her, then glanced at Wynter, in spite of himself. He felt some of the blood drain from his face, even before he saw the hard look in Wynter’s eyes, or the curved eyebrow she arched in his direction.

  He looked back at the redhead, then stepped towards her menacingly.

  “Get the fuck out!” he snapped. “Now! I’m calling security… right the fuck now!”

  That did the trick.

  The blood drained from her face, even as her eyes widened almost comically. Nick saw her staring at his eyes, her expression holding enough fear that he knew his irises had turned blood red, in addition to his fangs extending.

  Without another word, she turned, and bolted for the lobby door.

  Nick just stood there, fighting back fury, and now a prey response to seeing her run… not to mention the anger he felt off Wynter like a throbbing iron at the back of his head.

  He didn’t move at all until the door slammed shut behind her.

  Chapter 9

  The Absolute Worst

  He watched the hook curve upwards to take the weight of his coat as she hung it by the door.

  Then she was walking deeper into his living room, leaving him to shut the door behind them, and re-engage the lock.

  He set the bottle of champagne on the low table by the door. He watched her stretch her arms over her head where she stood by the couch, the curve of her back as she reached towards the high ceiling of the old Victorian.

  She was waiting him out.

  That, or maybe trying to give him space.

  That, or maybe wondering if he was going to change his mind again.

  She hadn’t said a fucking word to him on the elevator ride up.

  He hadn’t said anything either. Truthfully, he’d had no idea what to say.

  He didn’t know what to say now, either, but he knew he owed her something.

  He didn’t consciously plan what eventually came out of his mouth.

  As per usual with her, he just said it.

  “I don’t even know her name,” he said.

  She turned, flashing those blue-green, jewel-like eyes at him. “Is that supposed to make it better?”

  “It’s supposed to tell you that any ‘relationship’ between us is purely a figment of her imagination.” Studying her eyes, Nick heard his voice harden more, partly in frustration. “Did you miss the part where I never got her name? She was an I.S.F. feed. I was with her once. One time, Wynter. I don’t know the first thing about her—”

  “But you fed on her,” Wynter retorted. “You fucked her and you fed on her, Nick.”

  There was a silence, then he clenched his jaw.

  “Yes.” When the anger rose back to her eyes, he snapped, “Before I knew you, Wynter. Before I’d gone to Kellerman that day. Before I even met you.”

  “You fucked her and you fed on her,” she reiterated, wrapping her arms around her chest, around the sleeveless dress she wore. “Which means you read her, Nick. You were inside her mind.” Her voice twisted back into sarcasm. “You know… that ‘one time’ which probably went on for hours.”

  “Yes,” he said, throwing up a hand in frustration. “Yes! I did that. I already said I did that. I admitted all of it. So? So what?”

  She glared at him. “That’s more than you’ve ever done with me, Nick.”

  “And a hell of a lot less,” he growled back.

  She stared at him.

  He watched her turn over his words, even as her jaw hardened more.

  He didn’t decide what he was going to do next.

  He never seemed to do anything with her that was remotely thought out.

  He didn’t think things through with her. He never had. He went through the motions of thinking, of reasoning it all out, before and after, purely to make himself feel better, but he was just honest enough to know what utter and complete bullshit it was.

  Nothing he did with her was logical.

  None of it.

  He crossed the space between them without thinking now.

  He moved fast, silent—vampire-like.

  He caught hold of her around the waist, softening when he felt her tense…

  Then, when she relaxed, he turned her around, manipulating her body firmly in his hands, even as he remained conscious of every muscle of hers that might protest, every part of her that might want to fight back, to show any resistance whatsoever.

  He felt none of that.

  After that initial tense, he felt nothing off her but willingness.

  He felt her pull on him instead.

  Pull on him… urging him, maybe… whatever the fuck it was she did…

  He pushed her over the back of his couch and she softened to let him do that, too, planting her palms on the cushions, letting her ass rise up in the air. He paused long enough to look at her. The combination of letting that pain rise, letting it really come into its own in his chest and gut, and her complete and utter submission under his hands, pretty much wiped away the last of his own resistance.

  He was unbuckling his belt before he let himself think about any of it.

  He pushed her dress up to her hips, using his feet to kick hers apart. He remembered fantasizing about doing something pretty damned close to this the first day he met her and let out a low sound, even as he fingered aside the lace underwear she wore.

  Remembering she’d worn that, not for him, but for her blond vampire date, he let out a sound closer to a growl even as his fingers slid briefly inside her, making her breath stop, her heart thud louder, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else.

  She was gasping then, still pulling on him in some way he could sense without understanding it at all… when he entered her, gripping her shoulder in one hand as he angled into her as far as he could go.

  For a moment, he just hung there, unmoving.

  She let out a gasping, choking sound when he didn’t move, something he couldn’t make sense of at all, not at first. He pulled out of her slowly and arched into her again, and she cried out, gripping the cushions of his couch as she moved back up to meet him.

  Still, her breath was ragged, like she was struggling to breathe.

  Was he putting too much of his weight on her?

  She was struggling, her breath hitching.

  She was having trouble breathing…

  She was crying.

  Gods. She was fucking crying.

  That pain in his chest blinded him.

  He pulled out of her, again without thought, wrapping his arm around her waist. Pulling her up off the back of the couch, he brought her over it with him, lifting her in a single fluid movement as he leapt over the back of it. He brought her down to the thick rug on the floor, his arms still wrapped around her, and now his body and one leg wrapped around her, too.

  He found himself squeezing her against him, unable to speak.

  She just let him at first. Then she was holding him back, gripping his arms. One of her arms wrapped around his neck, right before the other wrapped around his waist.

  He kissed her neck, her face, her throat…

  “It’s just going to get worse,” she said, pulling her arm from around his waist to wipe her cheek and eyes with her fingers. “It’s just going to get worse after this, Nick… and you’re just going to keep doing this.”

  He pressed his face into her neck, pulling her further under him.

  “What’s going to get worse?” he said after he felt her melt against him.

  “All of it,” she said, the frustration in her voice rising. “All of it, Nick. The pain. The fucking headaches. The confusion. The fucking emotional rollercoaster. The dreams. It’s not going to
get better. It’s going to get worse… and you’re not dealing with it. You run away whenever you let yourself even feel it, much less when you let yourself admit what’s really happening. You leave me to deal with it alone…”

  She wiped her face again, avoiding his eyes. He felt a whisper of embarrassment on her as she let out a strangled half-laugh.

  “Then again, you don’t sleep, do you, Nick?” she said, her words verging on bitter. “You don’t dream. You probably don’t get headaches. You don’t get separation pain. You just go into that goddamned ring every couple of nights and beat the shit out of someone. Then you grab a groupie out of the crowd and feed on her. Problem solved, right?”

  He fought to think about her words.

  He fought to make sense of what she was saying to him.

  In a way, he was relieved.

  For whatever stupid, masochistic reason, he wanted to talk about this. He wanted to understand. And everything she was saying resonated with him.

  Even the part about dreams resonated.

  Nick just had them when he was awake.

  “You’re wrong,” he said, gruff. “You’re wrong, Wynter—”

  She let out a disbelieving laugh.

  “About which part?” she said derisively. “Which part did I get wrong, Nick?”

  He thought about that, going through her words.

  Then he looked down, meeting her gaze.

  “Pretty much all of it,” he admitted, after that pause ended. “Pretty much every single damned thing you said. Except maybe the part about me using the fights to cope.”

  Watching her avoid his eyes, wiping the make-up from under hers with small fingers, he gripped her tighter, unable to help himself. The urge to shake her strengthened the longer he looked at her, the more he felt the overt skepticism on her. He saw her mouth tighten, even as she shook her head perceptibly.

  Seeing the thoughts churning there, he spoke before she could tell him to fuck off again.

  “I haven’t been with anyone,” he said, gruff. “I haven’t fed on anyone. I’ve been getting fucking pain, like you said… in my chest. In my gut. Sometimes in my throat, so that I feel like I’m choking. I can’t be still. I can’t be alone for long.”

  He looked away from her face, frowning at nothing as he stared out over his apartment floor.

  “I’ve been getting headaches,” he added. “Weird daydreams if I don’t keep my mind occupied. I’m angry all the time. I’m fucking angry, Wynter… all the time. But I haven’t had any desire to deal with that through feeding, or fucking, or even surfing, or working out… any of the things I used to do to cope. Fighting helps a little,” he admitted, still thinking. “But only a little, and not for very long. Not for nearly long enough…”

  Seeing her head turn in his periphery, feeling her look up at him, he shrugged, focusing on nothing as he gazed out over the floor.

  “I don’t understand,” he said, clenching his jaw. “I don’t understand fucking any of it, Wynter. I don’t understand you and me. I never have.” Looking down, he met her gaze, studying her blue-green eyes. “Vampires don’t get separation pain. We don’t. We don’t lose our desire to feed. We don’t lose our desire to fuck—”

  “Did Brick tell you that?” she said, her voice faintly derisive. “Or one of your other vampire pals from the White Death?”

  He stopped, biting his tongue.

  Her words didn’t anger him.

  Instead he found himself thinking about them, too.

  “Maybe,” he conceded after a pause. “But I would have agreed with him until now. I’ve never seen or heard anything to suggest otherwise… not in me or anyone else.”

  “Bullshit,” she said.

  When he blinked, looking down at her again, she scowled.

  “Bullshit, Naoko,” she repeated, shoving lightly at his chest. “I felt it on you. I felt that pain on you… when you talked about the seer you loved. I know you’ve felt this before. I know that’s at least half the reason this bothers you so much. You don’t want to put yourself through it again. You don’t trust me, or anyone else, and you don’t want to go through it again—”

  “No.” He shook his head, adamant. “I’m not fucking lying to you, Wynter. That wasn’t the same as this. It wasn’t the same at all.”

  There was a silence where they both lay there.

  He grew conscious of her lying under him again in that pause, but he didn’t move, or try to do anything. He felt her heart beat against his skin, and closed his eyes, fighting that pain, which was worsening again in his chest.

  “Did you let him feed on you?” he said, his eyes still closed.

  There was a silence.

  In it, Nick felt himself tense. He felt his pain worsening.

  It hurt more that time, though, like a knife twisting in his chest.

  “Wynter,” he said. “Did you?” Swallowing, he kept his voice low, keeping it calm and low and toneless with an effort. “Because we might have to get the kid to erase him, if you did. There’s no way he fed on you without knowing what you—”

  “Oh, bullshit, Nick,” she snapped.

  His eyes opened, and he looked down.

  Understanding what she meant, realizing she was right, he frowned.

  “You’re not going to explain this?” he said, his voice a touch harder. “You’re not going to explain any of this to me? You’re not going to tell me if that fucker fed on you… if you’ve let other vampires feed on you? You’re not going to tell me what the fuck is happening with us? Why I’m reacting this way to you?”

  She listened to him speak, bewilderment dawning over her face the longer he spoke.

  When he finished, she just looked up at him, her eyes openly confused.

  She didn’t say anything at first, but when she finally did, that confusion was even more prominent in her voice.

  “What makes you think I know any more about this than you do, Nick?”

  He stared back at her. Then he frowned.

  “You just sounded like you did,” he growled, waving a hand in frustration. “You just listed off a bunch of symptoms… said it would get worse. From the beginning, you’ve seemed to know more than me about all of this. Even that first fucking day, when I was sitting there, confused as fuck by whatever the hell was happening between us, and you were already trying to seduce me, asking me to bite you—”

  She writhed under him, fighting to get free, but he held her down that time, gripping her wrists and throwing his weight over her. When he pinned her legs, she stared up at him, fury in her eyes. He found he understood that, too, although again, he didn’t ask himself how.

  “I’m not saying this is one-sided,” he growled. “Can you stop taking my words the worst possible fucking way, and just talk to me, Wynter?”

  “Because you’re so fucking rational about this… is that it?” she snapped.

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “Then what the fuck are you saying?” she said, half-shouting at him now. “You were there, the same as I was, when that weird, goth-looking seer called us ‘mates.’ Don’t tell me you know so little about seers you didn’t know what that means?”

  He stared at her.

  Frustration made that pain bloom tauter in his chest.

  Frustration mixed with pain, mixed with a hunger that made no sense, that he realized he’d been avoiding along with the rest of it.

  She was right.

  Goddamn it, she was right.

  He was still playing mental games with both of them. He was still trying to convince himself he could just fuck her, this one night, then go back to his fights and his case with Straven and not think about it again, not until the pain got so goddamned unbearable, he had no choice but to think about it.

  She hit him in the chest.

  Not very hard, but hard enough to snap his eyes back to her face.

  He was horrified to find her crying again.

  When she spoke, she said the last thing he expected, though. />
  “You are the worst mate ever,” she said, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “The absolute fucking worst, Nick. I could not possibly have picked a worse person to bond with. You’d think I went to the mate store and said… give me the worst one. The absolute worst you’ve got. That’s him… give me that one.”

  He blinked, staring at her as her words sank in.

  Then embarrassment rose in him, worsening when he realized he could feel how deeply she meant her words, and how real the pain was behind them.

  “…You act like this is something I did to you,” Wynter went on. “You act like I waylaid you, or even just fucking chose you. But I didn’t, Nick. I didn’t ‘choose’ you, not in any conscious way, at least. And yes, I one hundred percent mean it when I say you are the worst, Nick. All I can feel off you is how much you don’t want this, how much you don’t want me, how much you don’t want to deal with any of it—”

  “That’s not true,” he said, gruff.

  She let out a disbelieving laugh.

  “Really?” she said derisively. “Which part, Nick? Which part isn’t true? You want to enlighten me? Because I spent the last few weeks dreaming about you… and even in my fucking dreams, you avoided me, left me, pushed me away. That, or you spent hours with me, acting like I was fucking molesting you, just because my light kept being drawn back to yours…”

  He felt that pain in his chest worsen.

  His mind spun over her words.

  He connected it to things he’d been feeling, those waking dreams he’d had, more than once—even while he’d been in the ring.

  “I might be the worst mate ever,” he admitted.

  She let out a strangled half-laugh.

  “—But don’t pretend I don’t want you, Wynter,” he growled. “Or that it’s as black and white as you say about me not wanting this. Obviously, some part of me wants it. I couldn’t fucking control myself tonight, even after everything I did to separate us. I was ready to beat the shit out of your date. I more or less bullied you into coming home with me—”

  She snorted, but he cut her off.

  “—And I’m sorry I’ve put all of this on you,” he said, his voice more subdued. “I really am. You’re right about that, and I’m sorry. Some part of me has been blaming you… and trying to convince myself you’re more behind this than I am.”