Blood and Kisses(2)

In the distance, she could hear a train passing over the highway. Its syncopated cadence seemed to chide, “Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea” as it sped into the night. She pushed the thought away. It was far too late to turn back. She took a deep, steadying breath, scooped up her bag, then gestured down the street, toward the pedestrian bridge that forded the chasm sculpted long ago by the Genesee River.

He tilted his head, his gaze latching on hers as if searching for something. Finally, he nodded.

No more than a regal inclination of his elegant head, but Thalia breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief. Whatever his reasons, it appeared he was willing to listen.

The warm, mid-June night held only a hint of breeze. An ornamental iron railing guarded the bridge. Streetlights provided small oases of light in the desert of shadows. Thalia located an empty concrete bench near the center and headed toward it, trying not to look at the man by her side.

He walked like a tidal wave, flowing with sinister purpose, immense, forceful, inevitable. Crushing, a tiny shred of reason insisted, but she ignored that, too.

She focused straight ahead. She loved this area, but tonight had no time to enjoy the heady weather or savor the beauty of the dramatically lighted waterfall or the delicious aromas drifting from nearby restaurants.

Back across the gorge, she could see people dining on well-lit, open terraces. Fashionably dressed, they ate, and drank and laughed, their lives so alien to her it was as if they performed in a play.

As they neared the bench, Thalia broke the silence. “There’s been a murder.” Her gaze flicked up to graze his face.

His expression was as closed and unreadable as the decorative bricks that surfaced the bridge. “Murders happen every day. This one is different because...?” He sank down on the cement bench and looked in the direction of the falls. Bright, orange-tinted light bounced off the exotic planes of his face and should have flattened his features, made him seem normal, ordinary. Instead, it caressed his countenance, highlighting his preternatural beauty.

Thalia sat next to him, leaving several inches between them. Despite the distance, she imagined she could feel his shadowy aura brushing hers. She shivered. Fear or desire?

It didn’t matter, both were equally forbidden.

Swallowing again to clear the sudden blockage in her throat, she pulled a slim, manila folder out of her amber-beaded bag and handed it to him.

He opened the folder to reveal a color photograph of a body. A young, blonde woman sprawled, naked, by the side of a road. “And naturally you assume it’s a vampire.” The dark honey of his voice held a rough edge.

“For one thing, she was almost drained of blood—”

“Could be a delusional human—.”

“This for another.” She leaned over and pulled a second picture from beneath the first, forcing herself to ignore the electric current that raced through her at the brush of his arm against her shoulder. The photo showed a close-up of the woman’s face. Her pale blue eyes were open, frozen as if looking through a window into a world of unearthly beauty. Her wide mouth was stretched into an ecstatic smile.

“Drug overdose?”

Thalia eyed him impatiently. Her desperation overpowered her caution. “Is that what you really think?”

He closed the folder with a crisp flick of the wrist. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll take care of it.”

“Will you?”

He stood, his body eclipsing the light from the nearby streetlight, giving her the odd sensation she’d suddenly shrunk. “The vampire code forbids us from taking a life, especially while feeding. I am the oldest vampire in the community. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh?”

“The victim is, was, my cousin.” Thalia straightened, proud of the hard-fought steadiness of her voice. Good. No hint of tears.

“A Poi...a witch?” His voice rang with incredulity.

She leapt to her feet, body stiff, fists clenched. “No. My cousin was not a Poisonblood, as you people so kindly call us. If only she had been. At least this would be over.” Tears burned in her eyes for a moment, but she forced them back. There would be time to grieve later. “She was a petty. Not a speck of magic ability. I came to you for information, that’s all. I’ll handle the investigation. I’m the professional.”

“You may be the Champion of the witch community, but what makes you think you could bring down a vampire?” He moved toward her, crowding her with his muscular body.

She took a fortifying breath. “Pettys have successfully hunted vampires for centuries. There’s no reason a witch shouldn’t be just as successful.” She’d come this far. She refused to be intimidated now. Especially not while the scrap of paper bearing his name burned in her purse. Found with Lily’s belongings, it’d led her to him.

And even if he were innocent, she needed him. He was the most respected—most feared—vampire in Rochester, and without him, the vampire community wouldn’t give her the time of day.

“Those so-called successes included just as many innocents as miscreants.”

Damn, she loved the old-fashioned way he talked. “I’m a trained private investigator. There will be no mistakes.” She strove to imbue her words with confidence.

“Damn right, because if you try to investigate this without me, I’ll do more than make sure no one in the vampire community will talk to you.” An unholy blaze kindled in the depths of his eyes.

Thalia hid a shiver. Not so old-fashioned after all. “Okay,” she said, burying the surge of triumph and relief flowing through her at the fruition of her plan. “It’s settled then. We’ll work together.”

The insidious little voice that had put words to the rattle of the passing train changed. Be careful what you wish for, it whispered. Be careful what you wish for.



The watcher waited as the Champion and the Butcher parted company. When they were out of sight, he slipped from the shadows and followed the woman. A faint smile curled his lips. When this little game ended, he would have unimaginable power, and she and his ancient foe would both be dead.





Chapter 2



He was crazy.

He had to be. Only insanity could be responsible for his agreeing to help the little witch.

Code or no Code.

Gideon stalked down the dark alley, his mind caught up in the events of earlier in the evening. Drug dealers and prostitutes, nightshift workers and partygoers, skirted him as he passed, avoiding his gaze.

What had possessed him to agree to help the Champion?

He was no fit companion for man or beast, let alone a young, beautiful woman, witch or not. He rubbed the hand that had touched the softness of her cheek against his shirt to dispel the burn still lingering there. He was possessed, all right. And the demon wanted his due.

He felt his eyes catch fire and shuddered with the effort of quenching the unwanted flame. He’d skimmed the fringes of human and vampire society for thousands of years, avoiding the temptations of personal connections for good reason. True, tradition insisted the oldest vampire in a community was responsible for enforcing the Code, but he’d ignored tradition before. A pair of large crystal blue eyes feathered with ebony lashes and framed by delicate, arched eyebrows flashed into his mind.

Gods, she was beautiful.

But he, more than anyone, knew beauty was merely an illusion.

Another image replaced the details of the Champion’s lovely face in his mind. A frail body strewn carelessly among the tall weeds, naked and vulnerable. The strength and vitality of life drained away, leaving only an empty shell. But this woman wasn’t blonde, like the woman in the photos the Champion had shown him. Streamers of long, silky black hair obscured most of her face. The edges of a strawberry birthmark peeked through, confirming the victim’s identity.

An emotion ripped through him with the savage power of a stake through the heart. And he knew why he’d agreed to help.

Without his aid, the Champion was destined to die.

In the distance a bird twittered. It would soon be joined by others, sparrows and chickadees, grackles and crows. Dawn came early this time of year.

Despite the temperate weather, he shivered. He was so cold, cold to the bone. Had he ever been warm?

The dawn called to him as it always did. He longed for the fiery heat of the sun. To be warm again.

Ridiculous. He was a vampire. He was never cold. Physically anyway, whispered a tiny voice. Gideon shrugged off the thought, shoved his hands into his pockets. He certainly hadn’t felt cold with Thalia on his lap. A wave of remembered heat melted over him at the memory. His fangs ached.

He’d been surprised by her attack, but knowing he’d startled her, he’d allowed the kick to take him to the ground. The demon had enjoyed having a lapful of warm woman.

He’d seen her around town, but had never been so close to her. She was tiny, slight, but there was a fluid strength in the way she moved. Raven black hair streamed from a ponytail to the middle of her back. Unbound it probably fell almost to her waist. She was a study of contrasts, black hair, creamy skin, blue eyes, pink lips.