Tempted by Blood

Jesus, the kid didn’t look nearly old enough for the Thirst to have started. But then how was he to tell? At over a century old, he thought any born vampire under the age of thirty looked like a child.

Jackson gave the youthling a two-fingered I’m-watching-you gesture followed by a turn-around-and-get-the-hell-out-of-here look. Both the human and vampire complied.

The bass from a speaker pounded so loudly in his ears he wasn’t sure what was the beating of his heart and what was music. He flexed his empty hand. Nothing like a good altercation to sand off the dark, rough edges. Today, he woke up feeling more out of sorts than normal. It had to be the blood of those two women last night. First, the sun-rich blood of the woman in the private salon last night, then Arianna.

Mitch escorted the Darkbloods into the hallway, calmly, quietly.

Niiice. If they could wrap this up quickly, he could go back in and hang out.

The two DBs moved in unison, their black coats swirling around their ankles. Did these losers think a simple pickup awaited them in the alley? That was only for routine reverts, vampires who needed a little reminder about the laws of their kind. Not members of the Darkblood Alliance who didn’t abide by Council law, who thought it went against the laws of nature not to feed from and kill humans.

No, guys like these two got the special treatment.

The kind that involved a slip of a special blade and some ashes.

But just as Mitch and his two new BFFs approached, all hell broke loose out on the dance floor behind them. Shouting erupted above the music and Jackson heard the sound of breaking glass. A few chairs went flying.

A fight, probably in the cage line—people hated waiting their turn to go on display.

The screech of the DJ’s record blasted like squealing tires through the speakers. That was when Mitch glanced away for a split second. It was the only invitation the DBs needed.

Mitch hit the ground, sputtering from an elbow to the chest, and the two charged the exit, heading straight for Jackson. They were fast, probably jacked up on Sweet. Jackson shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to spring.

Yeah, bitches, bring it on.

Light glittered off something in his peripheral view. Damn. The human female. Those complicated things. He flattened himself against the wall and let the DBs pass him.

One glance at his partner coughing on all fours confirmed the guy just had the wind knocked out of him.

“Your silvie,” Mitch managed to say.

What? Darkbloods had his blade? “Goddamn it.”

Jackson ran out after the bastards into the alley behind the club. He wasn’t about to let them get away, otherwise they’d be back to prey on another unsuspecting human some other night. DBs were always on the prowl for people with the extremely rare sweetblood. Although their two human male targets inside the club weren’t sweetbloods—Jackson would’ve been able to smell that—chances were, one or both of them had a fairly uncommon blood type. One that the DBs were after.

Besides, they had his knife. No one messed with his knives.

In just a few strides, he got to the short one first. With a roundhouse kick, Jackson’s boot landed squarely on the side of the guy’s head, snapping his wraparound sunglasses and collapsing him to the ground. A well-placed shove, a little hitch with his blade, and the DB was already charcoaling.

One down, one to go. Jackson retrieved his weapon from the body.

The other one made it almost to the street by the time Jackson caught up with him next to a Dumpster. He jumped onto the guy’s back and clamped him in a choke hold. Was this the one with his knife? He didn’t care if the guy had a Darkblood blade; they were poorly made and fairly ineffective. But a nick from Jackson’s own blade would be an entirely different story.

The fucker spun around, clutching at Jackson’s biceps, but he didn’t succeed in loosening them. Damn, he was strong, though. Much stronger than the other one. Probably from the Sweet. Jackson hitched his arms tighter and the guy choked. As with any vampire who lived on an all-blood diet, the air from his lungs reeked, and Jackson tried to keep his head turned away as much as possible. DBs used the stench as a calling card of sorts. If you were looking for a little action, you knew you could score a hit from the guys who smelled like a Texas meat locker with a faulty refrigeration unit.

Being this close, Jackson would need a serious shower after this was over. The DB continued to struggle, but when that didn’t work, he fell to the pavement with Jackson’s arm still firmly wrapped around his neck.

“Take it down if you can’t handle it on your feet,” Jackson said mockingly through clenched teeth. What a fool.

Thanks to his black belt in Brazilian jujitsu, Jackson preferred the ground and pound, anyway. At the first opportunity, he wrapped his legs viselike around the guy’s torso, locked his ankles in place and squeezed. The loser groaned loudly. Like a boa constrictor taking advantage of every exhale, Jackson’s thighs compressed him farther.

With a flick of his wrist, Jackson positioned the tip of his knife on a precise spot between the guy’s ribs—he could find it with his eyes closed.

Just as he was about to finish the job, he saw the flash of a blade and felt the sharp sting of silver on his forearm.

Was that from his own knife? The one lifted from Mitch?

Energy began to pour out of his system. Pain instantly radiated outward. He had his answer.

His grip on the guy’s throat weakened. With a few more beats of his heart, Jackson knew the effect of the silver would be coursing throughout his body and he wouldn’t be able to hang on. Like hell if he’d let this one get away. It’d only be a matter of time before this blood-dealing loser was back to work on the streets of Seattle, enticing vampires to revert. Ply a susceptible vampire with enough blood and the old cravings of their ancestors—the uncontrollable kind, the blood-sucking, energy-slogging kind—would be too strong to ignore.

With a final surge of adrenaline, Jackson gripped the handle with both hands and angled the point upward.

“Eat this, you son of a bitch.”

And in one mighty, satisfying jerk, the blade found its mark.

Footsteps pounded on the cobblestones just as Jackson rolled away, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to avoid the charcoaling body. A thin layer of ash covered the toes of his Lucchese ostrich-skin boots and he tried to brush it off. He wasn’t picky about a lot of things, but these boots set him back almost a thousand bucks. He’d bought them to impress his parents when he showed up at the ranch wearing them—they were the only kind of boots his father wore—but they hadn’t even noticed. Still, he loved them and didn’t want them covered with Darkblood stink.

“Holy shit, are you okay, man?”

“Good timing,” he growled, ignoring his partner’s outstretched hand as he pushed himself to his feet.

“The little one elbowed me right in the gut. Couldn’t breathe for a minute. Damn, you worked these guys over fast.”

With his back turned, Jackson examined his injury. It was more like a scratch, really. He was weak, yes, but like carb loading before a marathon, all the human energy he’d slogged tonight should prevent the effects of the silver from being too serious. Or at least he hoped it would. The pain had made its way to his shoulder now and he grimaced.

Mitch’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? He got you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, with my blade.”

“I’m sorry, man. I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve anticipated something like that happening. I heard the noise, saw shit flying, and I must’ve gotten distracted for a split second.”

“Don’t worry about it. Darkbloods on Sweet are unpredictable.”

Mitch pulled out his cell phone.

“Who the hell are you calling?” Jackson asked, though he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer.

“A medico team.”

“No, you’re not. This is nothing.” He couldn’t let the medical staff see him in this weakened state and do any testing. Who knew what the results would show.

Mitch eyed him skeptically. “You don’t look so good. Are you sure?”

“Yep. I’m fine.”

He tried not to reveal just how much pain he was in as he turned toward the nondescript back door of the club. Mitch already thought he was a stud when it came to women and fighting the bad guys. Might as well make it a hat trick, let him think this didn’t hurt like a motherfucker. “Now, come on, let’s get inside and take care of those reverts.”

“Reverts? You mean those guys at the table with the humans?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “No, Cinderella and her evil stepsisters.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“DO YOU WANT MORE salad?” Arianna asked Krystal as she unplugged the panini maker and grabbed her own plate.

When she got home from work, she’d decided to fix dinner before she tackled her blog post for tomorrow. Now that Krystal was her responsibility, she was trying to set a good example by actually eating meals at a table, rather than in front of her computer or the TV the way she usually did. Besides, she wasn’t looking forward to writing the article in the first place, so she welcomed the distraction.

“I’m good,” her cousin answered flatly.

Arianna glanced over to the banquette where Krystal was still poking at her salad. Something had to be bothering her—she’d hardly said anything more than a one- or two-word sentence in response to Arianna’s questions about how her day was, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t the food causing her surliness. The girl had devoured the same salad several nights ago, and the panini wasn’t made with anything weird. Arianna picked up her glass of wine and slid in on the opposite side of the table.

“So you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Krystal didn’t look up from her plate. She hid behind those brown curls covering her face as if she didn’t care, which Arianna knew was far from the truth.

“Come on. You can talk to me. What’s going on?”

The girl still didn’t answer, so Arianna continued. “Is it something to do with Sarah or one of your friends back home?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Arianna touched her sandwich, but it was still too hot to eat. The melted cheese would scorch the roof of her mouth. She took a bite of the salad, instead. “Is it your mom? Because if it is, you can tell me anything, Krystal. I promise.” Ever since Arianna’s mother died, Krystal’s mom, her mom’s twin, had had issues. First it was alcohol then prescription meds. She’d been in and out of rehab for years.

Krystal smashed a piece of feta cheese from the salad with her fork. “No, it’s not about Mom, either.”

Then what could be bothering her? Arianna had started to lift the glass to take a sip, when she set it back down again. “Listen, I’m not your mom. I’m your cousin. That basically means we’re like sisters, only it’s waaaay cooler. You can tell me anything. What am I going to do, ground you? Well … I guess technically I could, but I’m not going to. Come on, talk to me.”

Krystal sighed heavily and dropped her fork with a clank. “It’s my phone. The one you just got me. I—I …” When she looked up from her plate, tears glistened in her eyes. “I lost it. I’m sorry, Ari, I didn’t mean it. It’s like I had it one minute, then the next minute I didn’t.”

A knot quickly formed in her belly. How could they both lose their phones on the same day? She reached over and gave Krystal what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. “When did you notice it was gone?” she asked cautiously.

“This morning. After you left for work. I looked every where. My backpack. My room. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it. I know it was expensive and everything. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

Arianna’s heart melted at the girl’s distress over disappointing her. “It’s okay, Krystal, things like this happen. I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve been more careful. I’m not used to having a phone to keep track of.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I just lost mine, as well. Can you believe it? Both on the same night.” Arianna tried to make it sound as if she thought it was a funny coincidence, but what were the chances of it happening to both of them simultaneously?

Krystal’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to remember exactly where I was the last time I saw it.”

“Me, too!” Looking relieved, the girl turned her attention to her sandwich.

Arianna watched her cousin take a bite and waited for her reaction; it was nice having someone to cook for, she decided. “How’s the food?”

“It’s good. What’s in this one? Cheese, tomato and … what’s the green stuff? Spinach?”

“No, basil. It’s like the ingredients from a pizza, but without the meat.” Arianna wiped her fingers on her napkin and took a sip from her wineglass. Although it was a cheap, peppery merlot from the grocery store, it was actually pretty decent. “Hey, do you remember that street fight we saw last night?”

Krystal frowned, thinking. “Um … yeah, kinda.”

“And the guy who broke up the fight and helped us home?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember him.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“No, sorry. He had big muscles and a huge tattoo on his arm.”

“He did? I don’t remember that.” She couldn’t exactly call the police and ask to speak to the officer with the tattoo. “Wasn’t he wearing a leather coat?”

“Not when you were kissing him. The tattoo was right here.” Krystal giggled and pointed to her biceps. “It was a colorful snake with fangs and …”

Fangs? Arianna couldn’t remember the point she was going to make.

As Krystal continued to talk about the fight and the guy with the tattoo, the kitchen felt as if it were spinning. Arianna pinched her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. She must have a serious case of vertigo or something. Then, to make matters worse, her stomach began to twist and roll.

Oh, God, she wasn’t going to vomit, was she? She grabbed the edge of the table, put a hand over her mouth. What was the deal? She hardly ever got sick. In fact, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been nauseous.

Krystal had said something about … fangs?

Calm down. I’m not getting sick. I feel perfectly fine. Just take a few deep breaths in and out and I’ll be back to normal.

Then, just as quickly as it came on, the nausea began to subside. But with it came a strange image in her memory. She saw a tall, muscular man—several men, actually—all with fangs. There was a scuffle. No, a fight. A really brutal one involving a body shriveling to dust and a really strange knife. It had a curved blade that flashed in the moonlight like a thousand tiny crystals. She would’ve liked to have seen it up close. The scene was like recalling a part from a movie you saw a long time ago and yet … that wasn’t quite right, either. The men’s faces were shadowed, their features indistinguishable, but they definitely had fangs.

Krystal was saying something she didn’t quite catch. Her voice was distorted, like it was coming from inside a tin can.

“What?”

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get you a glass of water? Or some crackers?”

Arianna opened her eyes, the sick feeling gone. Clearly, she’d dreamed about some really weird crap after what they’d witnessed last night. She’d always thought it was fascinating how the mind worked like that, trying to resolve problems at the subconscious level. She wondered what it meant that she’d been dreaming about vampires. Maybe all the research she’d done on topics for Paranormalish was catching up with her.

The guy last night was an undercover cop and had broken up a fight between two rival gang members. He was nice enough to drive them home … after she kissed him. Oh, good God. Her face heated again at the memory. She’d actually freaking kissed him. She quickly shoved the embarrassing image from her thoughts.

Krystal was staring at her, wide-eyed, a mixture of disappointment and resignation on her face. “Water and crackers always helps my mom when she’s had too much to drink. That and some Tylenol.”

Arianna smiled at her cousin. It had to be tough growing up with an alcoholic parent, where the child took on the role of being the responsible one. “Thanks, but that’s not it. I’ve only had a few sips of wine. Promise.” She got up from the table and dumped the wine from her glass down the drain. For good measure, she dumped out the rest of the bottle, too. “There. Just to be on the safe side. That was … weird.”

After they did the dishes and Krystal went to her room to do homework, Arianna turned on one of those reality cooking shows, grabbed her laptop, pulled out the scrap of paper from Carter and settled onto the couch. In a few clicks, she was into her cloud account.

As people were yelling at each other on TV, several rows of small picture thumbnails filled her screen. That’s strange. She didn’t remember taking so many photos last night at Blake’s house.

She clicked on the first image. She’d seen it before. It was Blake sitting in front of his grandmother’s afghan.

She clicked the last image. It was a dark, grainy picture of a sidewalk or road.

Okay. Delete.

She moused over the next one and clicked. Same thing, only this one showed the edge of a car’s bumper. A Jeep.

Like pocket-dialing, she must not have realized she was taking pictures. Delete.

These must be from the gang fight. Maybe there were some good ones earlier. She couldn’t remember taking any and yet …

She clicked on another one. When it filled the screen, her hands flew to her mouth.

It was the same sort of image she’d recalled at dinner. The photo was grainy because of the dim light and fog, but there was no mistaking the details. There was the man who had helped them home, the undercover cop, with that curved blade held high in the air, poised over another man on the ground. And they both had fangs.

Vampires? That was totally crazy. A chill snaked down her spine and lodged so deeply inside her that she wondered if she’d ever be warm again. But what else could they be? This made it pretty damn obvious.

She remembered now that when she kissed him, he’d seemed out of breath, as if he’d just physically exerted himself. Jesus. Killing someone with a blade would certainly do it you.

With shaky hands, she clicked through the rest of the photos, a dozen or so of them. Along with each one she looked at, her memory seemed to get clearer and clearer. When she got to the last one, her heart just about stopped. There was Krystal, standing next to a Jeep. The man had an urgent expression on his face and was pointing straight at the camera, as if urging her to go to where Arianna was standing.

Then, in one big rush, it came back to her. The shadows coming to life, Krystal being taken by two men, the other guy showing up.

They hadn’t witnessed gang members fighting. They were vampires. They had tried to take Krystal, but the other man, the one she had kissed, had saved her. Probably saved them both.

Holding the laptop, she jumped from the couch and headed to Krystal’s room, but she hesitated at the door. These photos were very graphic. If her cousin saw them, it might really upset her. As the parent figure in the girl’s life now, Arianna had to be conscious of things like that. She closed the computer, tucked it under her arm and knocked.

“Come in,” was the reply.

She leaned in the doorway. “Hey, do you remember two guys in a Jeep last night?”

“From the gang fight?”

“Um … yeah.”

Krystal scrunched up her brow, thinking. “No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t see them.”

“Do you remember seeing a Jeep at all?”

“Nope.”

Arianna exhaled slowly, trying to get her mind around all this. How could Krystal not remember standing next to the Jeep when Arianna had the proof right here?

“How about some weird shadows that—” she almost said materialized from the darkness, but changed her mind “—that, well … looked weird?”

Krystal shook her head. “Why?”

She pulled up one of the more innocuous pictures. “How about this guy? Does this bring up any strange memories?”

Krystal looked at the computer screen. “That’s the guy who broke up that knife fight. The guy you kissed.”

“Yeah, I know, but can you remember anything more?”

Krystal thought a moment before answering. “No, not really. Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.” She clutched her computer to her chest like a schoolbook. There was no way she’d tell Krystal that she’d survived a vampire attack. Or show her any of the other pictures. There were plenty of others without Krystal that she’d be able to post on her blog. Given all of this, she was soooo thankful now that she hadn’t told Krystal about Paranormalish. “I think I had one of those strange déjà-vu experiences you sometimes hear about. Must’ve been a weird dream I had last night. One of those really realistic ones.”

Krystal’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, I love when I remember a cool dream later.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

NORMALLY, VENTRA CAPELLI had a knack for knowing just the right outfit to wear in any situation. From soccer-mom chic in the suburbs when she faked a flat tire to emaciated hipster at an art gallery wanting a smoke, she knew how she needed to dress in order to throw any humans off guard. When she looked like them and they saw that she needed their help … well, it was like sugar water and flies. Or, now that she lived in the Pacific Northwest, beer and slugs.

But tonight she wasn’t sure if this simple black sheath, businesslike yet elegant, with a long strand of freshwater pearls, a few chunky bracelets and diamond studs in her ears would get her what she wanted. For that to happen, those present needed to see her as capable, serious and in control. They needed to trust that she could do the work her predecessor couldn’t.

As the elevator descended deeper into the depths of the Prague mountainside, she was thankful she’d thought to bring along hard copies of her documentation. Surrounded by all this rock, she doubted she’d get internet coverage on her tablet, although she’d brought the thing with her, as well.

With a smooth swoosh, the doors finally opened up to a large vestibule. She tucked her handbag under her arm and walked out.

She’d heard stories of how beautiful the Darkblood Alliance headquarters were, but nothing had prepared her for this. Her heels clicked on the marble flooring, the sound echoing off the chamber walls, emphasizing the vastness of the space. Various suspended sculptures hung from the frescoed ceiling, not unlike the Chihuly glass pieces in the lobby of the Bellagio in Las Vegas, a hotel she was intimately acquainted with. As she looked closer, however, she realized these weren’t glass works of art. They were made from various human bones.

From floor to ceiling, the walls were covered in human-skull sconces. The lower jaws had been removed, replaced instead by pairs of femur bones, making the skulls appear to be biting them. Unlike jack-o’-lanterns where light shone out the mouth, nasal cavity and eye sockets, each one of these skulls glowed, the bone sheer enough to be illuminated by the candle inside. Hanging down from the coved ceiling was a chandelier made from artfully arranged bones and skulls. The overall effect was a stunning visual representation of the power vampires would always have over humans.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” said a silky male voice behind her.

She spun around to see a thin, middle-age vampire standing behind a reception desk. She’d been so distracted by the beauty of this place that she hadn’t noticed him. She knew better than that. It wouldn’t happen again.

With his dark hair slicked back, he wore a hand-tailored Italian wool suit and a crisply starched white dress shirt. In an obvious display of individuality, a flamboyantly colored silk tie completed the look.