Blood and Kisses(3)

He’d taken one look at those lips and wondered how she might taste. Like an imported fruit, perhaps. It had been a long time since he’d eaten food, but he still remembered the juicy sweetness of a ripe mango melting in his mouth. His mouth watered at the thought and he felt his fangs elongate. Shaking his head, he bit back a curse.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her?

The vision?

So what? Why should he care if she lived or died? She was nothing to him. Less than nothing. And he was nobody’s savior. He’d done far worse in the past than ignore the Code.

The sounds of a struggle, a grunt of exertion, low swearing, a woman’s distressed cry, filtered past his preoccupation, drawing his attention to the reason he prowled the night.

Dinnertime.

He identified the direction of the sound, an alley several streets over.

A mugging.

He leaped to the top of a nearby building, perhaps three stories high, and used the gravel-covered rooftops as a path to his prey. He looked down on the scene from above. The mugger, fashionably bald, was big, bulky, and muscle-bound. Damn. Probably used steroids. They might not have an effect on Gideon, but they’d make the man’s blood taste like shit.

The woman, with her long blond hair and skin-tight jeans, looked like a college student after an evening of clubbing.

The mugger rummaged through the woman’s tiny purse while he kept her pinned against a wall with the threat of a small dagger. The knife blade flashed in the waning moonlight.

Gideon landed lightly on the ground. “Mind if I,”—he looked at the knife, then back at the man—“cut in?” Okay, so it was a pun and a clichéd one at that. He had to have some fun.

“What the—” The mugger dropped the purse. He spun to face Gideon. The man’s pupils were more dilated than the dark surroundings should provoke. High, then.

The man jabbed his knife at Gideon. “Get up against that wall with the lady.”

“I don’t think so.” Gideon folded his arms.

His face set, the mugger charged. Gideon blocked the bulging, hair-carpeted arm holding the blade with one powerful forearm. The man cried out in pain at the force of the impact and dropped the knife. The weapon clattered to the asphalt.

Gideon grabbed the man’s beefy upper arms and leaned in, holding his gaze. “You can go,” he said to the woman. She froze for a moment, then sidestepped Gideon, scooped up her small purse and ran off. The rapid tattoo of her footsteps echoed in her assailant’s heart. The man shook and his pasty complexion whitened with fear.

Gideon smiled. Good. The man should be scared. Terrorizing a lone woman. Gideon stared into the man’s rounded eyes. “You will find a legal way to supplement your income.” His voice was loaded with compulsion and the man nodded dully, his will entirely given over to Gideon’s dominion.

Gideon bent the man’s head back on his thick neck and sank sharp teeth into the throat of his quarry.

A sound caught Gideon’s attention as he released his victim. The man slid down the wall and sat jack-knifed, his head on his knees. He would awaken stiff and weak, but otherwise unharmed.

“Fletch,” Gideon said into the night. A dark-haired man sauntered from the shadows. Dressed all in black, his skin was pale, his eyes almost golden.

“You’re good, Damek.” The man smirked. “Maybe too good.”

Gideon caught the innuendo, but ignored it. The other vampire had no idea how wrong he was. Following the right path and being intrinsically good, were two different things. “It would take an older vampire than you to sneak up on me.” He shifted, ready for anything. You never knew what to expect from Fletcher.

“I saw you with the Poisonblood.”

“Yes?” Gideon braced at the other man’s hostile tone.

“Yeah. They’re trouble, Damek. Everyone of ‘em. From birth to death.”

“Is that so?”

Fletch’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever she wants, just walk away.”

The demon stirred. How dare Fletcher interfere in his business? “What I do is none of your concern, Fletcher.”

The younger vampire’s face twisted. He turned to walk away. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Rage tugged at the demon’s bonds. It took all of Gideon’s strength to let the other vampire amble back into the shadows with his skin still intact.



“So the Tomb was the last place your cousin was seen?”

Thalia spun around, her hand at her throat.

Gideon Damek stood behind her, fists buried in the deep pockets of his black trench coat. The weather had changed since the evening before, and rain drilled the tall windows flanking each side of the kitchen. Like a raging fire, he seemed to devour all the oxygen in the room, consuming even the air in her lungs.

Her cozy kitchen seemed the size of a shoebox. He was so close she could smell the exotic masculine scent of him. Something stirred deep within her. She fought the urge to take a deeper breath, to analyze each note of the fragrance, and pressed back against the stove in a futile attempt to gain some space. “How did you get past my protective wards?” An icy breaker of fear swelled over her.

Gideon shrugged, his dark eyes inscrutable. “I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. I suspect they would have kept out a younger vampire. Besides, you invited me.” He folded his hand into a simulation of a phone.

Thalia cleared her throat at that small comfort, trying to regain her composure. “You could have knocked.”

“At least I didn’t attack first and ask questions later.”

Thalia felt her face burn.

“Please sit down.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen table, being careful not to touch him. He took a seat in one of the ladder-back chairs, the mountain at rest.

She joined him, met his ebony gaze, then glanced away. Eyes like that should be illegal. They saw way too much. “I believe I was the last person to see Lily alive. I met her for drinks at the B.B. and C.,” she said, using the abbreviation for the Bell, Book, and Candle, a popular local bar used by both witches and vampires. The vampires called it the Tomb. It always amused Thalia that the two communities shared one big room without ever acknowledging each other. To pettys, it was just another Goth club. They wandered from side to side without realizing the true nature of the other patrons. “She was in a party mood, but I’d been on surveillance all day, insurance fraud.” God, if only she’d stayed. “Someone has to pay the bills.” How many times had she said that to Lily? Too many. “I was tired.” Tears raked the tender inside of her eyelids. She forced them back determinedly. Time enough for tears later, after she had driven a stake into Lily’s murderer’s black heart.

“I thought the witches’ Champion was a paid position.”

Thalia grimaced. “Theoretically. But people recovering from demon possession, or whatever, rarely have money to spare. The most I usually get are vague promises of future favors.”

Gideon’s dark eyes focused on her like the scope of a sniper’s rifle. Unable to stand the power of his gaze, she glanced at the table before brushing his features with her eyes.

“No one saw Lily leave.” Thalia licked her lips. “You were there that night.”

His face went as still and cold as a statue in a cemetery. “I’m there every night. I own the Tomb.”

The breath Thalia had been subconsciously holding left her lungs in a rush. Whatever she had expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. “You own the Tomb?”

He nodded. No more than a short, swift bob. His sensual mouth pressed into a tight, grim line.

The professional investigator took over. “Is this common knowledge?” She wished she had her laptop or digital recorder, but she didn’t dare get up. Despite his size and the majesty of his movements, he was a dark specter who might vanish as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Not as far as I know. I would hardly advertise my involvement with the Bell, Book, and Candle.” His tone was dry. “If people in the vampire community knew who owned the Tomb, they’d be constantly after me to expel the witches. Vampires are, excuse the pun, ‘fly-by-night’ patrons at best. I need witches and mayflies to keep the tavern running.” He leaned back in his chair, the mountain in repose.

“Mayflies.” Thalia crossed her arms over her chest, offended by the term.

“Mortals.”

“I knew what you meant, though I suppose it’s better than ‘lunch’.” Hostility flattened her voice.

Gideon tilted his head, eyes amused. “You think if they knew your people called them pettys, they’d, what? Take it as a compliment?”

Thalia gave a wry laugh. “You got me there.”

“And don’t think we don’t know what you all call us behind our backs.”

The word “leech” hovered unspoken between them, and Thalia shook her head. “Okay, okay, truce?”