The Vampire's Fall

Blade forced his thoughts back to the dire situation. “What’s out in the truck that belongs to you?”

“Nothing. All I own is in my backpack,” she said, patting the backpack she held before her. “Not as if any of this stuff is mine. Fingerprints?”

“Yeah, well, maybe that would be a good thing? If they traced your prints there could be a chance you’d know who you are.”

She shook her head and studied her fingertips. “Not sure about that. I don’t want to go to jail. I was just borrowing the truck. You think they’d believe that?”

“Nope. Stay. I’ll handle this.”

She nodded and he waited for her to reach the top step of the stairs before heading outside.

Earl Smith was a local cop who knew his family. Of course, Smith didn’t know the Saint-Pierres were werewolves, vampires and faeries. He thought they were just regular folk that tried to fit in, save when Trouble got rowdy and a bar owner called to have the police escort him home. Blade was sure Trouble knew all the officers and deputies within a thirty-mile range by first name and badge number.

“You’re at the wrong place, Earl,” Blade said to the lanky man who was probably twice his age and half his weight. “Trouble lives east of town.”

“You know where this truck came from, Saint-Pierre?”

Fortunately Zen hadn’t driven all the way up to the barn, and had parked near the end of the short drive.

“Wasn’t here last night when I got home. First time I’ve been outside today, Earl.” Blade rubbed his jaw and walked up to peer into the cab of the truck. As Zen had said, it didn’t appear as if any personal belongings had been left inside. The key was in the ignition. “Hell, I didn’t even hear it drive up.” He laid a hand over the hood. “Engine’s not hot. Must have been here awhile. Who’s it belong to?”

“It was stolen from a parking lot in Fridley about a week ago. Got a tip from Brock Olafson—we have breakfast at the Panera every now and then—that I should probably check your place.”

“That’s odd. How would Brock know about a truck I’ve never seen before? Maybe he had something to do with it being here.”

“I, uh, hmm...”

While Earl gave that one a good think, Blade glanced up toward the kitchen window. Zen’s face ducked out of sight.

“I don’t know what to say, Earl. You know I wouldn’t do such a thing as steal a truck. I have enough of my own in the garage.”

The officer straightened and hooked his thumbs at his belt loops. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Inside the garage? Sure thing.”

Blade led him toward the barn where the entire ground floor had been converted into a garage for his fix-it projects. Best thing to do was play along. He’d not asked for this trouble, but for some reason, he was damned good at extricating himself from sticky situations.

It was a talent he’d gladly surrender if only everyone would leave him in peace.

* * *

By the time Blade returned to the loft, Zen had watched a tow truck haul away the vehicle she had borrowed. Okay, stolen. The keys had been in the ignition. How else to get around while she was trying to figure herself out and had no cash whatsoever?

Was that it? Had she been a thief before losing her memory and the criminal act was so ingrained that stealing a truck hadn’t given her a moment of guilt?

Blade topped the stairs and veered toward the kitchen, where the coffee machine blinked in wait. He inserted a coffee pod and leaned over the machine, his back to her. Zen could sense his irritation. He was still barefoot. Her worry vanished as she studied his feet. They were sexy. Seriously. Those dark jeans slouched over his feet, the hems torn and worn from treading without shoes. It was so animal, in a sensual, easygoing kind of way.

And he had once again saved her butt, this time by diverting the police from her. Because there was just something about not going to the police that made sense. And she was going to call that intuition about the life she couldn’t remember.

“Sorry,” Zen offered. “Guess I’m not making a fast getaway now like I had planned. Are you in trouble?”

“No. But the local police will certainly be keeping an eye on me for a while. Earl left convinced it was a joyrider who had abandoned the truck here. Why they hadn’t driven it into the woods and trashed it was beyond Earl, but he’ll dust for prints. I told him to keep me in the loop if he gets an identification.”

“Thanks. I think. If they come up with my prints, will they arrest me?”

“Probably.” He removed the full mug and turned to face her, sipping slowly. “And why not go to the police?”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t feel right. Not part of the destiny.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Zen shrugged again. Because really, the words had just come out; she didn’t have a clear reason for them. “Don’t ask me to explain.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted down a few sips of the hot brew. “If you say so.”

“So it’s as easy as that?” Zen asked. “I tell you not to ask questions and you don’t. Whew. You must have a heck of a closet filled with your own skeletons.”

He smirked and approached her, laying his hand over her heart. Zen flinched but didn’t want to pull away from the surprising touch of his big warm hand over her breast.

“What are you—” It didn’t matter what he was doing. She just didn’t want him to ever stop.

“Your heart is racing,” he said.

“Well, duh. A handsome man is touching my boob.”

He flinched away at that statement. Shook his head. “Sorry. Just wanted to know if you were for real.”

“I am real. I’m standing right here. What doesn’t look and feel real to you?”

“The whole not-knowing-things part. You can tell a lot about a person by measuring their heartbeats. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

With a nod he turned and pulled out another coffee pod and set it in the machine to brew.

“All righty, then.” Zen sat at the counter, more confused about the man than ever. So her heartbeats were fast. To be expected.

And what did she have to do to get him to touch her like that again?

* * *

There was something about this woman that was accepting and open, Blade thought. But also too damned curious. Dare he tell her what he’d encountered inside the house while she had been wandering about the field? That would then lead to a discussion on how he was familiar with demons, and...

Destiny?

There was certainly something other about her. But Blade wouldn’t necessarily label it destiny. Whatever that meant. When he’d laid his hand over her heart it had felt sure and strong—and fast. His sensory perception of other paranormal beings was excellent. Vampires he could tell by touch. Vamps gave off the shimmer, a knowing tingle. Werewolves were a scent thing. And faeries were a more difficult tell, even though faery blood ran through his veins, but some were just...bright. And that wasn’t a glow but rather a feeling he got.

As for witches, he felt a twinge in his spine when near them. Demons gave off a sulfurous scent and they generally had a difficult time hiding their red eyes.

He met Zen’s eyes as she sipped the coffee. Hers were blue.

“Yesterday they were green,” he said suddenly, leaning forward to closely inspect her irises.

“What?” She met his gaze, and then shook her head. “Listen, after your emphatic statement that we could never be friends, I find your gazing longingly into my eyes a little befuddling, not to mention the free feel you just took.”

“They’ve changed color.”

“What? My eyes? No, they’re still—” She touched her cheek below her eye. “I guess I’ve never given them a good look in the mirror.”

“Yesterday the color resembled emeralds. Today they are azure. Not red.”

“You’re hanging on to that theory, eh? Demons have red eyes. Or so the mythology states as much.”

“Zen.” Blade set his coffee mug on the counter and leaned forward. “That old lady back at the house where I met you? She wasn’t old or even a lady.”

“Sure she was. I spoke to her. Told her I was there to find myself. Though she did say something odd about finding herself. If she wasn’t an old woman, then what was she?”

“What you saw and spoke to was her human facade. I saw her shift into three demons. And then I slayed them.”

Tapping her fingernails against her mug, Zen surprised him in that she didn’t protest or stand up and dash off. The woman was reading him, delving into his words to glean their integrity. Trustworthy? Always. Upstanding? Rarely.

“What kind of demons?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know.” He narrowed his gaze on her. She wasn’t running. And asking questions was a good thing. Right? “The standard nasty-assed terrors that disperse into black dust when I draw my blade down their sternums.”

Zen clutched her chest and made a gagging face. “And you think I’m one of them?”

“No. Maybe.”

She gaped at him.

“I don’t know. But I do believe they were after you. When I was in the house, one of them said something like ‘she’s ours.’ You’re really cool with this conversation? Because most humans would not be.”

“I haven’t decided yet. I know demons exist. In mythology. As do bazillions of other breeds and species. But they are fiction, Blade. You do know that, right?”

He sighed. The conversation about paranormals was never easy, and he didn’t have it with humans unless it was absolutely necessary. Something about Zen made him believe this was a necessary conversation, so he decided to jump in with both feet and hope she didn’t freak.

“Demons are real, Zen. As are all other creatures of myth you believe are fiction. If you don’t have your memory, what makes you think your beliefs are real? That they have merit? Maybe you only think you don’t believe in mythological beings?”

She opened her mouth to say something, then paused. He had even confused himself with that question.

“I know some things,” she insisted. “As you seem to believe you know things. So I’ll play along. Say demons do exist. And you, apparently, are aware they exist. What does that make you? Are you some kind of creature, Blade?”

The million-dollar question. And she couldn’t hide the smirk of laughter that niggled at the corner of her mouth. But he wasn’t going to lie to her. Because to shuffle around the truth wouldn’t get him anywhere. And after slaying three demons he felt as though he’d become involved in something. A something that demanded he pay attention for Zen’s sake.

“Vampire.” He sipped the coffee and set it down. He ran his fingers through his hair and offered a tiny smile. He wouldn’t mention his faery half. That would only complicate matters.

He waited for Zen to digest his confession, and expected a calm reaction, as she’d displayed thus far. So when she stood abruptly and grabbed her backpack, nearly knocking the coffee cup off the counter in the process, he knew he’d gone too far.

“Quit playing with me,” she said. “I need help and I need answers. Not some idiot who thinks he can one-up the town asshole. Brock may have been the better choice last night.”

And she marched away from him and down the stairs.

Blade leaned over the sink and watched through the small window as she stopped halfway down his gravel driveway. She realized she no longer had a vehicle. The town was ten miles south. Would she make the walk? In a long dress?

Or would she come back inside and ask for his help? She hadn’t asked for his help thus far. And yet, he had willingly offered, and had gone above and beyond by giving her the roll of cash.

What was with that?

Normally Blade Saint-Pierre stood off and to the side, in the shadows. He didn’t call attention to himself. He didn’t like confrontations. Nor did he engage in small talk and friendships. It was easier that way. The unseen were not challenged, or tortured.

Too late for that, eh?

Yet he wanted her to see him for reasons that baffled. Of course, asking her to believe he was a vampire was out there, even for the smartest and most open-minded of humans.

After shuffling down the stairs, he headed out to his truck—he did have the appointment with the nuns—and smiled to himself. Zen would have a much longer walk than she anticipated.

* * *

He was following her, so Zenia picked up her pace, determined to make it to town before he could stop and once again offer her help. She didn’t need help from a wacked crazy who believed himself a vampire. What role-playing nightmare had he gotten lost in? Didn’t boys generally give up that stuff when they left their teens?

But it was a long walk. And he must be driving five miles an hour. Superobvious follow. Yet when his truck pulled in front of her to make a right turn, and his passenger-side window rolled down, it took all her strength not to rush up to the truck door and see what the handsome man had to say.

Arms crossed and posture stiff, Zenia stood at the road’s gravel edge. The sun was high and she guessed it would be a hot one today. She wondered if her skin burned easily. She didn’t want to make the long trek into town on foot. But she had reached her limit with trusting this guy. Handsome did not win over crazy. Usually.

Maybe?

Blade leaned across the seat and called, “Tangle Lake is in the other direction!”

Zenia steeled herself against turning and looking back the way she’d walked. “I knew that,” she said.

He tilted his head, as if to ask, “Really?”

“Fine.” She marched toward the truck. “You win.”

He popped the door lock open and she stepped up inside, setting her backpack on the floor. The tin circle poked out of the unzipped top.

“What’s that?” he asked with an urgency that again alerted her that this guy wasn’t all there in the head.

She tugged the pack onto her lap and pushed the circle inside, zipping it securely. “It’s mine. Now, would you mind giving me a ride to the big cock? Or whatever it is you called it? And I recall you had mentioned something about helping a couple of nuns. You must have an appointment to get to, so the sooner you drive me into town, the faster we can both be done with each other.”

“The big cock it is.” Blade shifted into gear. He drove a few miles before turning the radio down to a whisper. “It’s called The Red Rooster Inn.”

“Whatever,” she managed with as little interest as possible.

“I gave Beckett Severo a call while I was following you down the road. He’s my sister’s husband. Owns an auto-body shop. He has a sweet little Mini Cooper he can let me buy cheap. He’s going to wash it and give the interior a good cleaning, then he’ll call me when it’s ready. Work for you?”

“What color is it?” she asked, only because she suddenly felt as if he was making all the decisions for her, and she needed to wrangle some control.

“Red?”

“Like a demon’s eyes?”

“Yes, like a demon’s eyes. Believe me, Zen. I’m not making this stuff up.”

“Really? I want to believe you, but...” She sighed and tilted her head against the window. All out of argument. And so desperate for some small grace. “All right. Let me try out belief for a minute. You’re a vampire? With fangs?”

“Got the fangs. I need warm blood to survive. Every few weeks. Though I prefer it more often.”

He winked at her and it was all she could do not to drop her jaw in horror. He’d just confessed to drinking blood! And the truck was going the speed limit. If she opened the door and jumped now, could she get up and walk away as easily as she had after the bus incident?

But deep within, Zenia felt this man meant only good toward her. If he had a strange belief about his origins then she should allow him that. But that allowance should be countered with a healthy dose of caution on her part.

The giant red iron rooster swept by on her right as Blade pulled into the inn’s parking lot. Zen wanted to dash out of the truck and run as far away as possible. She wasn’t about to stay where he knew where to find her.

And yet. It was his kind eyes. And he had given her a huge roll of cash. And made arrangements for her to use a car. Balancing his crazy with his kindness was actually leveling out the scale.

So Zenia said something that surprised herself. “Come in with me.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

He winced.

Yeah, so she’d just given him a standard girlfriend line. Poor guy. But she needed to get on the same page with him.

“I don’t believe you’re so lacking in curiosity that you can simply drive away, are you?”

He considered the subtle challenge. Twisting the key in the ignition, the truck settled to quiet.

After checking in, Zen filed down the narrow hallway with Blade in tow. Her room was small and fashioned with timber furnishings that sported green-and-red-plaid fabric on the chair and bedspread. Sure was a lot of plaid in this neck of the woods, she noted. She tossed the backpack on the bed, directed Blade to make them coffee and excused herself to the bathroom.

The blue-and-yellow dress was loud. She did need to pick up some new things. Something a little less crazy cat lady and a bit more sensual. Because she knew she was attractive, and Blade’s admiring gaze hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had his attractiveness gone unnoticed.

She wondered if he would flinch if she tried to touch his soft hair. She sensed that would be his first reaction. And then she wanted to test that theory because pushing him to his unknown boundaries felt important to her. To see if he could stand up to any challenge.

Because if pushed maybe he’d reveal his lies. That perhaps he clung to the fantasy of being a strange creature for reasons that helped him survive in this world. Or maybe it was simply that he watched too many movies. Believed women would go for the brooding vampire act. Ugh.

She tilted her head aside, her reflection tracing a finger down her neck. A vampire. Did he want to bite her? What would that feel like? Orgasmic, her knowledge provided on a whisper. And what was orgasmic? Had she ever had the experience of sex?

She didn’t know. And that frustrated immensely.

She hadn’t learned anything about herself out in the field yesterday. And maybe she had. Demons had been after her? Incredulous. She should have stopped to say goodbye to the old lady.

Why was he making up such an elaborate ruse? For what reason the lie? No, he was being truthful. And to test that theory she’d have to see proof.

“Fangs,” she muttered.

And once he had to confess to a lack of such telling signs of vampirism, then she could move forward. Both of them could.

Nodding once, she turned off the bathroom light and found Blade waiting with two cups of coffee in hand.

“Dark?” she asked.

“As black as I could get it.”

She glanced to the backpack. It was unopened. He hadn’t snooped. Not that she had anything to hide. Just a bunch of stolen charity clothing and that weird tin circle. And her roll of cash. His cash. Yet she didn’t feel as if she owed him for that generous gift. Was it because she couldn’t recall if she was the sort of person who had guilt?

Sitting on the bed, she shuffled closer toward the head by the pillows when Blade sat not three feet from her. Inviting him in may have been a stupid idea. She’d hoped it a means to allow him to confess. Did the victim invite the serial killer in so easily?

“I need some proof,” she said. “That you are what you say you are.”

“Will that make you believe?”

“Of course.” Or it would make him believe. One way or another, this was going to get settled.

“So you are not a woman of faith?”

“I don’t know.” She tapped her head. “Not all there, remember?”

“What kind of proof are you asking for?”

She set the coffee mug on the wood bedside table that looked as though it had been carved from an oak stump. “Whatever kind you’re willing to offer.”

She didn’t want him to be crazy. She really did not.

Sliding closer on the bed, she raised her hand to touch his hair, then decided against it. “Fangs?”

“If that’s what you need? I can do that.”

Blade tilted his head back and closed his eyes. And when he rolled his head around, his nose drew along her cheek. Her skin tingled at the barely there touch. It seemed as if he was scenting her. And when the tip of his nose dusted her earlobe she felt her nipples tighten and couldn’t decide whether to delight or be afraid of that feeling. Curling her fingers, she closed her eyes as a mix of anxiety and breathless anticipation stirred in her core.

A sharpness slid along her neck. Zen gasped in a breath. What the—? Blade’s hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. His mouth was barely parted, yet bright white fangs jutted over his lower lip.

“Holy... How did you put those in so fast?”

“I didn’t put them in. They are my teeth.” A wide grin revealed his fangs rising to sit even with his upper teeth, and then again, they descended into the long, pointed, gleaming weapons. “You wanted proof.”

“But... That means...” He was telling the truth? That was incredible. Impossible. Freaky. Real? “Oh, mercy.”

Zen raced for the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

After a few seconds a rap sounded on the wood door. “Zen?”

“I’m good!” she called. “Just need a few minutes to process.”

Chapter 6

Zenia leaned forward onto the vanity, peering at her eyes reflected in the mirror. What she saw there was not fear but uncertainty.

“He’s a vampire. Those fangs were real.”

She hissed out a breath and her shoulders sank. The man was really a vampire. Because his teeth had not been fake. No cheesy white plastic dentures. He’d lowered and raised them as she had watched.

So here she stood. Processing. And to do so, had locked herself in the bathroom to put herself away from the creature on the other side of the flimsy wood door. Who could probably knock it down if he wanted to and suck out all her blood before she could manage to scream for help.

She shook her head. “Don’t let your imagination make this into something weird. Weird? Ha! The man is a vampire. Which means the mythology is real. And what makes me think all I know is real anyway?”

Of course, if vampires were real that also opened the door to other creepy critters being as real. Werewolves, ghosts and demons?

“He killed demons. There were real demons in that pink house. He was telling me the truth. And they’d mentioned me? What is going on?”

She’d fallen into some kind of creature feature. And while she should do the smart thing and run like hell, she couldn’t resist a peek down the dark stairway.

“He’s been nice to me so far,” she reasoned with her reflection. “I can trust him.” A nod confirmed her decision.

And so she turned the knob and walked out into the room. Blade leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Head bowed, his hair was tinted blue, no denying that. Was that indicative of his vampire nature?

Wow. Just wow.

“Are you going to bite me?” she asked calmly.

He smirked and shook his head. “No.”

“Why don’t you want to bite me?”

Now he laughed. “In the course of two questions you went from curiosity to fang junkie.”

“Fang junkie?”

“Women and men who seek the vampire’s bite. It gives them an orgasmic high. Sort of a thank-you for giving blood.”

Zen blew out a breath. Shook her head. She’d asked for proof. And he’d given it to her in spades. The guy was a vampire. And the more she considered it, his fangs were actually kind of cool.

She walked up to him. “Let me see them again.”

With a shrug, he opened his mouth to reveal the fangs. She touched the tip of a fang and he flinched away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Women don’t generally touch,” he said defensively.

“I’m sorry. They are interesting to me. Don’t you ever poke yourself in the lip?”