Kitabı oku: «Tempted by Blood», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ARIANNA’S PENCIL SLIPPED OUT of her hands as she walked past a row of cubicles in the accounting section of the Xtark offices. As she stooped to pick it up, all the files she carried fell to the floor, papers scattering everywhere.

Damn. She was totally discombobulated and distracted today.

Having misplaced her phone somehow, this was turning out to be the worst day ever. Normally she didn’t need to come into the office two days in a row, but there was another meeting. One of the new assistants had been let go yesterday. Apparently, she hadn’t divulged that she was a writer and she had social-media pages using her pseudonym. They’d fired her without giving her a chance to explain.

“Does anyone else have any secrets they’d like to confess?” the VP in charge of operations had asked in such a patronizing tone that Arianna had wanted to punch him. She was pretty sure that would’ve gotten her fired.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Carter had muttered under his breath.

She’d almost laughed out loud. She was pretty certain that that would have landed her in hot water, too.

And to top things off, she’d slept crappy. She’d tossed and turned, and had some really bizarre dreams—one of them involving the really hot guy she’d met last night. When she awoke, she had a major kink in her neck and muscle aches that were so entrenched that even a strong cup of coffee and two Tylenol hadn’t helped.

Where was that damn phone? she wondered as she gathered up the papers. She’d searched her bedroom where she always plugged it in to charge on her nightstand, then the kitchen counters, even all the cracks and crevices in the Caddy. She distinctly remembered having it when she interviewed Blake and when she picked up Krystal, but hell if she could find it now.

Seeing that gang fight must’ve been more traumatic that she’d thought. She had to have dropped it somewhere in all the chaos. After she got out of here, she’d go back to the area to see if she could find it, even if the search did seem futile. If it was there, somebody probably had picked it up by now and was making calls to the Netherlands. Even though it was password protected, hackers had their ways. At least it hadn’t rained again last night. Maybe the man who’d broken up the fight had seen it. Could he have picked it up?

Her face heated up at the thought of him. She hadn’t really kissed him, had she?

His full lips had been soft yet commanding against hers. His chest strong and muscular under the palm of her flattened hand. She’d even felt the beating of his heart.

She’d planned only to give him a quick peck and was caught off guard when the kiss turned out to be so much more. He obviously hadn’t been surprised by that turn of events because without hesitation, he’d slipped his tongue past the seam of her lips and forced her mouth open. And she’d let him.

What had caused her to do something outrageous like that? It just wasn’t like her. Sure, the guy was really hot, but she normally wasn’t the swooning type.

Though his hair was tied back, a few multicolored strands had grazed her cheeks as he leaned over her. What kind of guy would color his hair like that? she mused. Sure, it looked great and she was pretty sure he knew that. There was no doubt that he was the kind of guy who liked attention. And he was obviously very practiced when it came to having strange women kiss him, too.

Good looks and charm typically meant nothing to her, thanks to her father. It was a sugar high that left you temporarily elated until reality set back in and you got practical. And Arianna was practical to a fault. So why the hell had she kissed him? She grabbed the pencil she’d dropped and held it so tightly that it snapped.

“Need some help?”

She looked up to see Carter step out of the elevator. He leaned heavily on his cane and approached slowly, as if each next step could cause him to fall.

“Nah, I’m fine,” she replied as she picked up the last of the files.

As she got into step beside him, matching his pace, she noticed his pained expression. “You okay?” He looked a little worse than he had this morning.

He grunted. “Nothing that a medical miracle couldn’t take care of.”

Although she wasn’t privy to all the details, she knew that Carter was suffering from a debilitating disease that only seemed to be getting worse. It had to be really frustrating for him, especially since he used to be really active, running marathons, climbing mountains, kayaking the sound. When she first started at Xtark, she’d seen pictures in his office of the time he and his buddies summited Mount Rainier. He’d looked healthy, vibrant and happy. The past few times she’d been in his office, she didn’t see the photos and had wondered if he’d stashed them away. She certainly didn’t blame him for not wanting a reminder of what he used to be capable of doing.

“Sorry to hear that,” she said, keeping her voice low as they walked past the customer-service department where dozens of CSRs with headsets were answering calls. Xtark might make her mad a lot of the time, but they did put out some very popular games, including the violent and gory Hollow Grave. Plus, they didn’t outsource, which she appreciated, though it probably wasn’t due to their desire to support the local economy and workers, but because they didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t directly under their control.

God, she was in a bad mood today. Xtark paid her well and was a pretty decent company to work for … as long as you played by their rules. If she didn’t like it, she could walk. One thing was certain—she needed to get a serious attitude adjustment. Maybe that was what she needed. A vacation.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m learning to deal with the hand I’ve been dealt, because when we die, we die alone.” He sounded so matter-of-fact; was that what happened when you were faced with no alternatives?

For an instant, she considered her own mortality. How would she live her life if her days were numbered or if she knew her independence would soon be gone? One thing was certain. She sure as hell wouldn’t be working for Xtark.

“Are you just coming back from the doctor’s office now?” She knew Carter had weekly visits to monitor the progression of the disease. Why wasn’t he working remotely, the way she did most of the time? Surely it would be easier for him working from home.

Seeing what life was like for him made her feel pretty lousy for being frustrated about her job. He put up with a lot more on a daily basis than she did. Just getting to work had to be a bitch.

“The very place, yes.”

She didn’t want to turn into one of those people in the lunchroom who griped about everything. In fact, this morning, one of the CSRs who looked too young to have even graduated college yet had laughed at Carter after he left the room. She’d said it was disgusting how his shirt wasn’t long enough to cover his muffin top. Arianna had quickly retrieved her yogurt from the refrigerator and left them to gossip on their own. She wished she’d told the young woman to grow up, that Xtark wasn’t like her sorority house where members were chosen simply because they shopped at Nordstrom. Carter was a computer genius who not only was one of the lead designers of Hollow Grave, but also built Xtark’s popular online forums. If it weren’t for him and what he’d done for the company, that young woman probably wouldn’t have a job.

But she hadn’t said anything. Seeing him now emphasized how shallow and mean some people could be. And she should’ve known better. Growing up as the girl who saw shadows move, who tried to tell everyone that monsters did exist, hadn’t exactly made her popular. More like an outcast who was made fun of until she’d learned to keep her mouth shut. Carter, however, didn’t have that choice. Next time, she vowed to speak up and defend him.

When they got to his office, she hesitated, looked around. “Can I talk to you a sec?”

“Sure.” They stepped inside and she closed the door.

“Do you know if there’s a way to find a lost phone? You know, some kind of GPS device that can track down its whereabouts?”

“Yes,” Carter said as he pulled his desk chair out and sat down with a heavy sigh of relief. “But the app would need to be on the phone before it was lost or stolen.”

She cursed under her breath.

“Why? I take it you lost your phone?”

“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy not having it. I suppose if it doesn’t turn up in the next few days, I’ll have to get a new one.” She rubbed her neck. Her throbbing muscle aches weren’t getting any better, either. “Normally I’m not very forgetful, so it’s really frustrating.” Although they were alone in his office, she lowered her voice, anyway. “Hey, I don’t know if you’ve been following Paranormalish lately, but I was interviewing one of the boys involved in the disappearance of the high-school student near the Devil’s Backbone.”

“Sounds vaguely familiar.”

“I know you set up my cloud account, but to be honest with you, I’ve totally forgotten how to access it via the computer. Although the interview wasn’t great, I did take a few photos that I think people will be interested in seeing. Believe it or not, the kid looks just like Tai Simmons. The interview sucked, but I figured I’d post a picture or two and get some good laughs.”

“T-Si?” Carter scoffed. “You looking to expand your readership into the teen-girl segment of the population?”

“I know,” she said, laughing. “But it’s the only hook I can think of, since we didn’t go out to the disappearance site. It’s not like I’ve got any appropriately ominous photos to share.”

Carter laughed and started scribbling instructions. “So, did you find out any additional information on what happened?”

She cast a quick glance at the door to make sure it was closed tightly. Even though she had been the one to bring up the subject, it still made her nervous talking about Paranormalish at work. And especially after this morning’s announcement.

“I didn’t learn much more than what I knew before.” She rehashed a few of the details with him. “The thing that nags at me, though, is that the boy disappeared on the same night that Krystal went AWOL. I know it sounds far-fetched, but I can’t help wondering if there’s a connection somehow.”

“Krystal?”

Hadn’t she told him her cousin was living with her and what had happened? She could’ve sworn she had. “You know the girl I’ve written about on the blog, the one who went missing for a few days then mysteriously showed up back home with no recollection of her whereabouts while she was gone?”

“That’s Krystal?” He handed her the paper.

“Yep. My cousin. I just couldn’t tell readers that. She’d only been staying with me for about a week when she suddenly didn’t return home one day. I, like, freaked out. I’m surprised you don’t remember. I was a basket case.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had problems of my own,” he said tersely.

Although taken aback by his tone, she decided to just ignore it. “I was worried about her, but I didn’t know if she was being a wild, irresponsible teenager or if something really bad had happened to her.”

“What about her parents?”

Arianna shrugged. “She doesn’t know her father, and her mom has some serious substance-abuse problems. That’s why she came to live with me in the first place. My aunt was going into rehab and Krystal had nowhere to live for a while. I got a call from the State saying she’d be put into a foster home unless I could take her. She’s doing a home study–type high-school program, so she didn’t have to quit school to move over here.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, but they figured she was a runaway and would turn up at some point. Still makes me mad thinking about it. I searched everywhere, checked her phone records and computer to see where she last was headed, but everything was a dead end. I had just about given up hope when several days later, she turns up as if nothing had happened.” Not exactly. Krystal arrived home, gaunt and exhausted, but at least she was alive. After eating like a horse, she slept for almost a full day.

Carter looked confused. “She doesn’t remember anything?”

“Nope. Even now she doesn’t. It’s like an alien abduction or something, where all this stuff is done to you, then they return you home with no memory of anything ever happening.”

Carter was writing on the scratch paper. In addition to various geometric designs and the number ninety-two—the year he graduated from high school, maybe?—he had written Krystal’s name in block letters, though he spelled it with a C. As he continued to listen, he added rows and rows of stripes to each letter. Who knew he was such a doodler?

“And when I realized that the high-school boy at the Devil’s Backbone disappeared on the same night as Krystal, I couldn’t help but wonder if the two events were connected somehow.”

He stopped writing and let his pen rest on the paper. A large, red ink spot formed under the tip like a spreading bloodstain before he lifted the pen and looked at her. There was something in his expression that she couldn’t quite read. “But there’s a big difference. She came back. He didn’t. If they were connected events, that doesn’t make sense. Either they’d both return home or they’d both stay missing.”

He could go ahead and think the two events weren’t related. It wouldn’t do anything to change her opinion that they were. Two kids roughly the same age didn’t just go missing on the same night. There had to be something more.

“Yeah, but I still can’t shake that feeling. Over the years, I’ve come to trust my instincts and my instincts tell me there’s more to this story than we know. Which leads me back to those pictures.”

“Oh, the pictures. I’d offer to pull up the account from here, but—”

“Yeah, I know. Big Brother is watching.” She tucked the scrap of paper into a pocket and turned to go. “Thanks, Carter. You’re the best.”

THE UNMISTAKABLE ODOR of rotten meat wafted through the crowd and Jackson felt a rush of I-told-you-so. Before they got here, Mitch had protested going to the Pink Salon a second night in a row, but Jackson had needed energy on the sly and this was as good a place as any to get it.

He whipped his head in the direction of the smell and held up his fist, signaling silence.

“Darkblood pair. Eleven o’clock.” The words, barely audible, hissed out of his throat.

On the far side of the dance floor, past the elevated cages with stripper poles, two figures dressed in matching trench coats rounded the corner in unison and stopped in front of a booth where several youthling couples sat with two obviously clueless human males. Clueless, because if they had any idea about the true nature of their party buddies or the goal of the new arrivals, they’d hoof it out of here.

“Looks like the cockroaches have come out of hiding, after all.” Then, slipping into the West Texas accent of his youth, he added, “Let’s go have us some fun.”

Loosening his coat to make his weapons more accessible, he elbowed his way through the long line of scantily clad drunk people waiting to dance on one of the elevated platforms. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Even those who had their backs to him stepped out of his way. A dozen steps later, he hesitated.

He should probably let Mitch do this. Although the guy had spent years teaching at Council headquarters, he hadn’t been in the field much. A club takedown would be a good, real-world experience for him.

He turned to his partner. “Wanna handle this one? I’ll ride shotgun.”

The guy’s baby blues lit up with excitement. “Hell, yeah.”

“Know what to do?”

“I’ll shove a silvie into their—”

“Whoa. Hold on there, Slick. First of all, do you have a second knife?”

Mitch extended his hand, exposing the tip of a barely used, Agency-issue blade strapped to the inside of his wrist under his sleeve. “Got a couple of bullet dispensers though, including—” he patted his pocket “—my baby Beretta and a bad boy I’m dying to use in the field.”

“Nope. No heat, only silvies. Here, take one of mine.” Jackson slipped him a silver alloy stiletto—one of his backup blades, not his good one. No one touched his dragon blade. “And don’t use it inside the club. One wrong slip under a rib and they’ll charcoal in front of all these witnesses.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you scrub them if that happens? Do a mind wipe?”

“I’m good, but I ain’t that good.”

Even newly energized, Jackson wasn’t able to do the amount of head-fucking it’d take to wipe the memories of all the club goers. It’d take four or five Guardians at least. Maybe down in one of the UV-intense regions, where human blood and energy tended to make vampires more aggressive and their skills more pronounced, but not in Seattle, where almost every human host was vitamin-D deficient. Mitch hadn’t been working in the field all that long and he’d recently spent time in Australia with Dom, so he’d made the assumption that things worked the same here. Not true.

Besides, this wasn’t that kind of operation. Although he had to admit, it would be fun in a Wild West shoot-’em-up sort of way.

“If you do have to fork one, go low in the belly or give ‘em a kidney shot from behind. Just don’t nick a heart. We’ll finish them in the alley.”

They quickly worked out a plan.

“Okay, let’s rock,” Jackson said.

Mitch melted into the crowd and Jackson eased around the perimeter of the dance floor toward an exit at the back, never dropping his eyes from the Darkblood pair. He palmed his knife, flicked open the blade with a click and waited in the shadows near the door. Mitch approached the table from the other side and sidled up behind the two DBs. They stiffened. Several long seconds later, they began to shuffle toward Jackson, obviously being herded at the points of Mitch’s knives and his persuasive way with words.

Jackson moved deeper into the shadows, trying simply to blend into the darkness, not meld with it. There were too many potential human witnesses around for him to just disappear. But when he stepped backward, he bumped into a young mixed couple making out—a human female wearing a skimpy sequined halter top and thigh-high boots, and a young male vampire in a letterman’s jacket.

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.”