Blood and Kisses(4)

Leave. Every synapse of Gideon’s brain seemed to urge him to escape the close confines of Thalia’s homey kitchen. Her presence was playing havoc with his self-control. But his body didn’t agree with his mind. Stay, it begged.

His body won. “Truce.”

He examined the elfin woman who sat across from him in the piece of doll’s furniture she called a chair. When Thalia was a child, her mother, the Champion then, had taken her everywhere. As a sort of apprentice, he supposed. He’d always been drawn to the tiny blue-eyed child. She’d seemed like a changeling, too otherworldly to be human. Adulthood hadn’t changed her fey charm, although she seemed shyer now, a wild creature that’d been hunted and become wary.

It was that old fascination that kept him planted in his seat.

Once more, she had attempted to hide her Champion’s mark with a strand of raven hair. Clearly, the mark bothered her, but Gideon liked the way the strawberry crescent moon hugged the gentle curve of her cheek. The imperfection only highlighted her luminous eyes and the lush curve of her pink lips. He doubted she had any clue how beautiful she was. How desirable.

Lulled by the soothing patter of the rain and the soft husky cadence of her voice, he’d already stayed longer than he’d planned. Get what information she had and get out. That had been the plan.

An inhuman yawn suddenly ripped him away from his thoughts.

The source of the yawn, a fox terrier-sized, chestnut-red dog, stood in the doorway to the dining room. It had the sleek lines of a tiny deer. Pointed ears crowned an alertly wrinkled forehead split by a thin white blaze. Dark almond-shaped eyes seemed to see into him. Gideon had not been an ancient Egyptian, but he was reminded of Anubis weighing the souls of the dead against a feather to determine their worth. The dog had a white chest, four white paws and a white tip to the tail corkscrewed on his left hip.

“Spirit,” said Thalia. “Where have you been?”

I took a nap, the dog answered telepathically. He sat in the doorway, lifted one spotless paw to his mouth, and began washing his face.

Gideon was able to communicate with animals, but animal thoughts were typically pictures punctuated by the occasional word. He’d never heard an animal speak in a complete sentence before. He raised an eyebrow in Thalia’s direction.

“Spirit is my familiar. He’s been with my family in various shells for many generations. This decade, he’s a basenji.”

Gideon nodded as if this made perfect sense. At his age, not much surprised him, but this came close. He’d heard of familiars, but he’d never met one.

The basenji walked over to the table and hopped up on to a chair. Did you ask him?

“Not yet.”

“Ask me what?”

Thalia sighed, her lovely features taut with strain. “I need to know if Lily is going to come back as a slave to the vampire who killed her.” Her face was austere. Gideon had the impression she was imagining the grim task of breaking into the city morgue and staking her cousin.

He swallowed the angry words that sprang to his tongue at the thought. How many innocent vampires had been murdered for no crime but existing? She’d been through a lot. He could cut her some slack—for now. “There needs to be a blood exchange for that, and the lab report indicates she was totally drained. She’s gone. Her soul has moved on.”



Thalia closed her eyes. Relief loosened the rigor in her joints. Lily had made the transition. When she opened them, she’d regained her equilibrium. “Have you learned anything?”

“Not yet. I’ve compiled a list of names of vampires and witches who were at the Tomb that night. I intend to interview the vampires tonight.”

“I’m going with you.” She braced for a fight.

“Very well, but I warn you, you won’t get a warm reception. And some of them may not have fed yet.”

Thalia turned. “I’ll get my coat.” She glanced back and let out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit!”

He was gone.



The aching emptiness awakened him.

He opened his ancient eyes and peered up at the crumbling ceiling. His keen vision allowed him to trace every crack, despite the heavy shadows. Dusk, aided by the rain, had fallen early that evening. The sky, an oppressive, purple-gray, seemed eager to devour the horizon. It was impossible to see where the broad expanse of wind-ruffled lake terminated and the dense clouds began, giving the illusion he was looking at the ends of the earth. The weather suited his purpose, allowing him to walk the land before sunset, but still he shuddered. He hated rain. Perhaps when all this was over he would move on to some arid clime, maybe Arizona or Southern California.

He could go back home, but he liked the States. The food was good. People went missing here everyday and most Americans never gave it a thought. California, he decided. That was where he would begin his reign. Lots of undocumented people there. No one would notice if some disappeared. Definitely California.

But first, he had unfinished business.

The yellowed parchment he’d had the prophecy transferred to centuries ago had long since disintegrated, but that didn’t matter, the words were imprinted in his brain.



In the new world,

one lake of five shall be the site.



The ancient dead, but living,

shall attain great power



When the marked one dies

and a sacrifice is made



By one who rose long ago

from the grave.



Seers and their prophecies. Why couldn’t Inanna have just spelled things out? There wasn’t even any indication of a time period.

No matter, his internal clock told him this, at last, was the time.

He rose from the rickety bed, smoothing his black wispy hair with one crabbed, pointy-nailed hand. His attention was drawn to his desiccated flesh. His hooked nose wrinkled in repugnance; he could smell his own rot. The surge of power he’d derived from his last kill was fading more quickly than he’d expected. He would have to feed. And soon.

No matter. Feeding was a pleasure not a duty.

He cloaked himself with illusion and swept into the rainy night. The tired blood in his veins sang a little song of anticipation. It would be a little more difficult to find prey in this tiresome drizzle. The Red Wings baseball game at Frontier Field had been rained out, and only the regulars would be at the Tomb.

The Tomb. What a name.

He allowed himself a rusty chuckle. His adversary was nothing if not predictable. Although he supposed more than one hundred years ago, the name might have sounded original.

He found a sheltered doorway not far from the bar and settled in to wait.





Chapter 3



“Going somewhere?” Spotlighted by the twin beams of his headlights, Thalia stood before the hood of his black Jaguar. Rain sheeted off her hooded raincoat. Her hands were fisted on her hips.

Gideon sighed. He’d never doubted she’d find him, but he’d thought it would take her longer to track him down. “Get in.” He waited while Thalia slid into the passenger seat. “How did you find me?” A twinge of admiration at how quickly she’d located him softened his frustration.

“Tracking spell. I figured you’d try to dump me.” She glared at him. She looked like a snow leopard confronting a tiger. A very wet, angry snow leopard.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m taking you back.” He put the car in gear.

“Forget it. I’ll just find you again. If you’re so worried I’ll get hurt if I come along, think what trouble I could get into on my own.” She smiled sweetly, batting her lashes.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said.



“Gideon, this is an honor.” The slim black vampire with the fifties-style, D.A. hairstyle bowed elaborately at his waist and swept a long-fingered hand behind him, inviting them into the bowling alley. A broad smile creased his narrow face, but Thalia thought she detected a hint of nerves beneath his extravagant welcome, a tinge of tension around his deep-set eyes.

“Richard.” Gideon strode into the cavernous building. His unbuttoned coat billowed behind him, shedding raindrops on the shiny wood floor. He sank into a molded plastic chair at the end of one of the darkened lanes.

Richard scurried to keep up, the rubber soles of his bowling shoes squealing on the wet floor. “And you brought the Champion?” He raised his eyebrows significantly in Thalia’s direction. “Naturally, you’re welcome, Gideon, but to bring a P—witch here?” His lip lifted in a sneer.

Gideon growled. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, hands knotted in Richard’s shirt, shaking the other man like a rag doll.

A kernel of warmth unfolded in Thalia’s chest. His anger at the insult made her feel protected, cared for. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She shook her head as if to cast off the feeling.