Her Vampire Temptation (Midnight Doms Book 8)

by Alexis Alvarez

  I lean forward. “This time, I’ll memorize it all.”

  “Well, then.” She pulls up the information and proceeds to show me her newest creation, a drug that can slow the progress of MS, basically halt it in its steps. And she’s working on a drug that can force axons to remyelinate.

  This.

  This is what I mean when I say that vampires are meant to guide humans, not harm them. With us as the backbone, we can help human development proceed faster than ever before.

  I can’t do what Lacey does—probably never will, even if I spend a thousand years trying. But I can help her do it.

  I need to.

  I imagine armies of vampires working under cover, hand in hand with select humans, helping the world advance. Maybe we can even skip generations of work, increase the pace at which we explore space and fight diseases.

  Then people like my brother won’t need to die in tortured, painful ways.

  I’m no longer in the genetic pool, and although I walk this globe, I’m not really alive. More of a parasite than anything useful. And I wasn’t lying to Martin—I am lonely. It’s so painful that at times I’ve considered ending things by walking into the sun.

  But doing work like this?

  It gives me meaning. Hope. And I’ll fight to preserve it.

  Bri

  It’s been almost a week since I saw Alain, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

  My memories are strange, though. It’s like they come in little bursts of color, and then I have to struggle really hard to focus on them. Like my mind is actively trying to delete them.

  At first, I couldn’t even say whether we’d danced. Then it all came back, in a dream—the kinky amazing sex. The things he did, the way he made me feel—it makes me almost regret my one-night-only policy. I want him again.

  But I’m not going to see him again; I remember he made that clear, and so did I. One night only. And it’s better this way. If I see him again, I’ll risk getting too attached, and then it will hurt that much more when he leaves. Or when I do.

  Maybe this new consulting job will get him out of my brain.

  “Dr. Albright.” I put my laptop down on the conference room table, a smooth clean surface. “It’s great to see you again.” I try not to act like I’m a shy groupie meeting a rock star.

  “Briana, thanks for coming in at this late hour.” My new boss smiles and takes my hand.

  I’ve read about her in Scientific American; she’s one of the top researchers in the United States. She’s one of the most famous alumna of Howard Medical School, has three PhD’s, and even hosts a podcast for young scientists each week—everyone knows who she is these days. And she hired me.

  “Evenings are actually better for me.” I told her about my Xeroderma Pigmentosa diagnosis and struggles when I applied for the job.

  “I know that.” She smiles. “And I’m here at all hours, so it works for me too.”

  “A fellow night owl.” I grin back. I really like Dr. A. She didn’t care that I have a skin disease. She only wanted to look at my website work before hiring me.

  “Oh, back in medical school, I had to learn to stay up all night. Only way to learn the material. And then when it came to residency…oooh.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Well, let’s say getting three hours a night was a good one.”

  “That’s so insane.” There’s a little note of yearning in my voice. “But it was all worth it, right?” I gesture around the room. “Look what you’ve built.”

  She nods. “Definitely the sacrifice pays off.”

  “You know, I wanted to go to med school once.” I bite my lip.

  “Why didn’t you?” She tilts her head. Her eyes are bright and intelligent. Curious.

  “Well, my Xeroderma. I was having a lot of issues, and although my grades were good, straight A’s in pre-med, I just…it wasn’t going to work. I had surgeries. Treatments. It felt too exhausting. I went for my PhD in IT instead.”

  “You take the MCAT?”

  I nod. “I got a 527.”

  “Bri!” She widens her eyes. “Girl, that’s almost a perfect score.”

  I smile, shy. Then it fades. “It was a while ago, though.”

  “You know, it’s not too late to apply again. Older students make up a certain percentage of each class.” I can almost see the gears moving in her brain.

  “For me, it is too late.” I answer fast.

  “I had a study partner who was a decade older than you.” She smiles. “Now she’s a cardiologist at Mayo in Scottsdale.”

  “And it would be too complicated with my condition, especially if it gets worse.”

  “They make adjustments for disabilities. It’s something to consider.”

  “It would be just too hard.” I shake my head. I don’t want to think about this because it’s a closed chapter. I shouldn’t even have brought it up. I know better than this. Life just doesn’t let you keep good things, so it’s better to give them up first.

  “Well, it is harder, the older you get,” she acknowledges. “God knows how I even got through my residency.” She chuckles, then smiles at me. “But you’ve found your niche. You’re an IT expert.”

  “Well, I’m glad to be working with you.” I smile and brush back my hair. “I’m excited.”

  “If you can make those changes I texted you, I’d appreciate it. Just come find me when you’re done.”

  “I’m on it.” I open my laptop and connect to her secure system using the password she gave me.

  Time flies, and by the time I’m done, two hours have disappeared. I’m happy with what I’ve created, and I’m excited to show the doctor my results.

  I head over to her office, but she’s not there. Maybe she’s chatting with Owen, the security guard in the lobby. She told me they sometimes have coffee in the evenings for half an hour and talk politics when she needs a break from sciencing.

  Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I feel odd—like I’m being watched.

  Although everything is lit up, and I know the building is locked as always, unease hits me. “Dr. Albright?”

  Silence. I glance around me, as my discomfort intensifies.

  “Hello?” My heart pounds. I walk softly as I enter the tiled hallway. Overhead lights are bright and cheerful, and it’s empty. I take a deep breath: This place is more locked up than Fort Knox. I can’t even enter the door that leads to the lab areas: That’s for Dr. A. and her researchers only. Fingerprint locks.

  I’m being silly.

  Garbled voices reach me from the lobby and come into focus as I approach, and I have to admit that I feel a sense of relief to hear Dr. A’s feminine voice and Owen’s deeper rumble.

  “…here again…it’s the second time I’ve seen him lurking around.” Dr. A steps, points out the glass front door, then steps closer to Owen and lowers her voice. “Need…keep an eye out…”

  “Issues in the area with….” Owen nods.

  “I’m just going to make a call.” Dr. A pulls out her phone. “Alain?” She heads down the hall, and her voice becomes indistinguishable as she walks.

  Alain? I frown. It’s an unusual name. What an odd coincidence that she’s talking to an Alain, and I met my own Alain just the other night.

  Well, not mine. It was just the one night. Even if I haven’t stopped thinking of him since.

  “Hey, Owen.” I come up to the guard, curious about what I overheard. “Everything okay?”

  Owen nods although he has a strange expression on his face. “Just noticed someone hanging outside the building. Probably a homeless person looking for trash to check. But we just like to stay on top of these things. You know, especially with the stuff going on lately in the news.”

  “Oh, okay.” I glance down after Dr. A, who seems to be having an animated conversation. She waves a hand while she talks. “Isn’t our trash locked up?”

  Owen chuckles. “That it is. Dr. A. says even our trash is worth protecting. Course, most medical and r
esearch facilities do that. Just unlock for the garbage truck.”

  “So he probably wasn’t after the garbage, whoever he was.” I peer out the window into the black, but all I can see is the reflection of the lobby, shiny and wide. It’s unnerving, thinking that someone might be watching.

  “Mmm.” Owen bobs his head, noncommittal. Put a hand on his waist, where he keeps a gun.

  “So, what was in the news?”

  “The Night Stalker?” He tsks at me. Raises his brows. “The three missing girls in Tucson, ‘bout your age? Still no sign of them?”

  “Oh, yeah.” My heart pounds. “Yeah, he’s scary.”

  Owen takes a sip from his silver thermos. The black band on it has his name written in silver Sharpie. Curly handwriting—probably his wife or daughter.

  “Three so far. They never turned up.” His voice is ominous. “Some freak on the loose. You got a gun?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Consider it.” He pats his holster. “Sometimes the easiest way to keep the peace is to have protection, you know? Anyway, I’ll walk you to your car when you go.”

  “Ah, sure.” Normally I’d argue with him, but this conversation is freaking me out.

  Dr. A. comes back up the hallway, her low heels clacking on the shiny tiles. “Owen will walk you to your car later.” I notice she doesn’t ask me. She tells me. And she’s winding her hands together, a sign of nerves that she usually never displays.

  “He already offered.”

  “Good, good.” She nods to him, as if they’ve discussed something before. I feel like they’re not telling me something. “Did you check the back…”

  “It was fine. Like last time.” His voice is even. “So I think we’re okay.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Dr. A.’s face is worried, but she smooths a smile on as she turns to me. “Are you ready to show me results?”

  “I am.” I hesitate. “Who’s Alain?” It’s not any of my business, and I know that. But I can’t resist.

  She starts. “Who?”

  “A name you mentioned before?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I babble. “It’s just, you know, I met an Alain the other day. And it’s kind of a unique name, so it stood out to me. Sorry if I’m being nosy.”

  She nods once, slowly. “Let’s go over the project, shall we?”

  My cheeks get hot. I shouldn’t have pried. “Sure, of course.” I hurry back to the conference room and pull up the screen. “I got it all completed. Let me show you.”

  Later on, after Dr. A. has enthused about my work and given me my next set of projects, I follow Owen, like an obedient puppy, to my car.

  Never mind that my car is less than a hundred paces from the well-lit front door, and we’re not in some abandoned alley or anything. I mean, the road is right there.

  I open the door of my car, but before I get in, Owen touches my arm.

  “Hey, wait one sec.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver canister with a black and red sticker, and a keychain with a cable connect on the other end. “Take this.”

  I reach out automatically. “What is it?”

  “Pepper spray. Even if you don’t like guns, this could keep you safe.”

  “Uh…okay.” The small bottle is cool in my grip. “I don’t think I really need it, but…”

  “It’s easy. Just twist and spray. It won’t come out all aerosol-like. It’s more like a laser beam of liquid. You aim for the eyes. Go back and forth, like you’re putting out a fire.”

  “All right.”

  “Keep it handy.” He looks at me. Glances around the lot again. “Just in case.”

  “I will, but for the record, you’re making me sort of freaked out.” I hold up the thing.

  “Not trying to scare you. Just looking out for you. I have a daughter your age. I’d hope someone would do the same for her.”

  “Thanks. See you next time, I guess.”

  “Good night.” He waits until I close my door, then heads back to the building. As the door closes behind him, I sigh and start the engine.

  It’s then that I feel the sensation again, of being watched. What the hell?

  Clearly, I’m paranoid from talking to Owen.

  The street is yellow-orange with light from the overhead lamps, and the bushes are still in the breezeless air. For the moment, there are no cars, which makes it feel like I’m alone in the world.

  Suddenly, a man materializes out of the bushes beside my car, like one second he wasn’t there and now he—is. He’s tall. Dressed all in black. Stocky. All I see are bright beady eyes, fixed on me.

  Then he smiles. Mouths something… I can’t make it out. Steps closer.

  He says the words again, and this time I hear them in my head. “I’m almost ready for you.”

  I scream and jerk the wheel and reflexively squeeze the bottle in my hand. I should start the car. I should scream for help. I should dial 911. I should—I look at my phone on the seat for a split second, then back up —

  And there’s no one there.

  The bushes are sparse and empty. The street is desolate. The light flashes from red to green for no one, as there are still no cars. The air is breathless, no leaves move on the tree in the lot, and there’s no motion as far as I can see.

  “Jesus, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I’m shaking. Did I imagine him?

  Sweat pops out on my brow. I look over at the building, into the brightly lit lobby, but Owen isn’t in sight. I could call him or Dr. A—tell them to come out and …do what?

  Look for a man that I saw for one second? Who might not even exist?

  Even if he was real, he didn’t do anything.

  My body is shaky, and it takes me a few seconds to stabilize my grip on the wheel. Actually, I will go back in, or at least call Dr. A. This could be the same man who was lurking before—

  Suddenly, my head aches, an immediate explosion of pain. I cry out and grab my temples, and—

  I shake my head. Why am I just sitting here? I should be driving home. My head feels like it’s full of cotton and water. It’s like I can hear whooshing in my ears. I’m dizzy, too. When did I last eat?

  There’s a fuzzy image of a man in black, but it fades, like a dream receding, and soon it’s nearly gone.

  Chapter 9

  Alain

  “Slash. Come in.” I open my door and stand back for the young vampire I’ve summoned. “You can set up in your usual spot.”

  Another week has passed, and my concerns about Karl have only grown. Despite my near euphoria about Dr. Albright’s progress on our project, I can’t fully enjoy it. Not when I know he’s lurking around.

  I need to handle Karl. Not just because he’s endangering humans and other vampires. But because he’s endangering my ability to focus on my work, the one thing that gives me meaning.

  “Bruh.” Slash nods his head and looks around, hoisting his laptop case on his wiry shoulder. “What’s up?”

  “My good friend Martin is in dire need of a new ID. And a lesson on using social media.” I put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, as much to introduce him as to bolster his confidence, because he looks sort of green. “He’s terrified of technology.”

  “What’s your century?”

  Slash goes to the shining dining table that has only ever been used to house his computer during his visits, the one that’s polished to a mirror-like sheen and inlaid with hand-carved wood. Made in Indonesia, a one of a kind, it’s worth a fortune. And like most of the things in my house, absolutely superfluous.

  “The 1800’s. But I’ve been asleep for a century.” Martin runs a hand over his hair. “My dear chap, I don’t know if this is strictly necessary...“

  Slash gives him a dark look. “Do you want to fit into society, so you aren’t outed as a supernatural being and killed in a way so gruesome that you can’t even contemplate it?”

  “Um.” Martin clears his throat. Looks at me for help.

  But I’m laughing. “Go on, t
hen. He’ll hook you up.”

  “I’m teaching a new class for vamps next month. It’s called Social Media 101: You and YouTube. I’ll enroll you.” Slash slides into one of the wooden chairs, and his hands fly over his keyboard. “Many of us don’t actually have a social media account. But it’s really critical that you know how to use them, anyway. Otherwise you can’t fit in.”

  Slash was turned in his twenties, and I have no idea how old he is because he won’t say. But he’s every inch the young millennial. “But first we’ll teach you how to use Insta and Twitter. And get you set up with a new driver’s license and all that.”

  “I always think you’re the vampire who most fits modern society.” I shake my head.

  “I agree.” Slash gives me a quick grin. He’s lean and dresses the way the younger kids—humans—look on TV and movies. He’s even wearing some kind of cologne that smells like it came out of a magazine.

  After he gets Martin started on a tutorial on his spare laptop–Martin laboriously pushing keys with one clenched index finger as if they’re bombs that might explode at any moment–I pull Slash aside for a few minutes and lower my voice.

  “I need your help on something else.”

  “Yeah?” He crosses his arms.

  “I need you to help me figure out what Karl’s up to. I have this.”

  I hand him the business card that fell out of Karl’s pocket into my hand the last time we met.

  Well, business card isn’t the right term. It’s an index card with some numbers written onto it, scribbled in black pen. And it didn’t exactly fall out. I stole it.

  “I’m no expert, but that looks like an IP address.” I tap the ink.

  Slash gives it a glance. “I like to stay, you know, nonpartisan.” He blinks rapidly. Doesn’t take the card.

  “This isn’t a whim.” I raise my voice, then temper my response. “He’s dangerous.”

  “I stay out of personal stuff between vamps. That’s how I survive.” Slash looks away, across the room. But he’s tapping his foot. I think he knows something, and it’s making him uneasy. He may be the Switzerland of vampires, but he’s not an asshole.