A Vampire's Soul (19 page)

Oh crap, this night just kept getting better and better.

T
he arm Katja was hanging on to seemed familiar, but I couldn't place the man at first. I was too busy trying to work out why he would have been in the trunk of the car, and I got the feeling that riding there had not been his idea. I could only surmise that, for whatever reason, Katja hadn't wanted Laycee—and, by extension, me—to know about him.

“I've brought an old friend to see you, Little One,” she said, smiling at me.

An old friend? What old friend? The only people Katja and I had in common were Aleksei and Gabriel, and the person at her side wasn't either of them. But there was something familiar about him, only at first I couldn't place it. And then it came to me. On our first date Gabriel had taken me to the movies, and afterward Aleksei and Katja and another guy had been waiting for us in the parking lot. Aleksei had needed to talk with Gabriel, and Katja had put the moves on me. The only thing that saved me from complete humiliation had been the other guy. I remembered thinking at the time he had the wholesome all-American look that clothing designers love to use in their advertising campaigns. But he didn't look anything like that now.

“Oh my god!” I gasped, putting a hand to my mouth as he came closer. Laycee went one better and covered her nose as well.

It was the middle of the night, and the temperature had dropped enough that frost was already making the POS look like it had been attacked by a bunch of ten-year-old girls armed with glitter sticks. It should also have been cold enough to mask the smell of rot and decay. I've driven the county highway enough times to recognize the stench of decomp when I smell it, and the pathetic creature shambling alongside Katja reeked of it. He was rotting on the inside. My stomach churned, but despite feeling nauseous, I forced myself to look at him.

The Kansas farm boy had been replaced by a shadow of his former self. Sunken eyes and sallow skin were exaggerated by weeping sores at the corners of his mouth. The World War Two pilot's jacket was now torn and smeared with filth, as were his pants. I had thought his uneven, stumbling gait was due to some sort of injury, but it was because he wore only one boot. His other foot was bare and looked as if something had been chewing on it. Surely not him?

I think he recognized me because as he came closer, he raised a hand to smooth back his hair. The soft brown mop that had once brushed against my cheek was now a clump of greasy, matted strands, and I could see bald patches on his skull where it had fallen out. As his hand continued to move, I saw his nails were long and encrusted with filth. They reminded me of talons.

The ripe, fetid odor grew stronger the closer he came and, unable to fight it any longer, Laycee leaned over and decorated a freshly planted tub of red and white chrysanthemums with what had probably been her supper.

“Sorry,” she said, her hands shaking as she wiped her mouth with a tissue she'd pulled from somewhere. I risked a glance in her direction, and the look she gave me said she was okay. Needless to say, Katja was not affected in the slightest. She could have been out for a stroll in the park with her beau.

Oscar . . . his name was Oscar.

They both stopped moving a few feet away from us, and Katja whispered something in Oscar's ear. It wasn't until I saw him struggling to open his mouth that I realized what she had told him to do. Without thinking, I grabbed Laycee by the shoulders and pulled her around so she faced me.

“For the love of God, Layce, do not look at him!”

An order such as that would set off a knee-jerk reaction in most people. It was an open invitation to do exactly what they were being told not to do. Laycee, however, could have given Lot's wife a lesson in disobedience.

Behind her, Oscar had managed to get his mouth open and drop his fangs. It had been a struggle and I could only imagine the difficulty was due to his terrible condition. Staring at him over Laycee's head, I could see his fangs were as diseased at the rest of him. The tips had been broken off, leaving ragged points; these and the remainder of his teeth were a sickening yellowish brown. His mouth reminded me of a wall that has broken glass set in the concrete to deter people from climbing over it. With his fangs in such an awful state, making a smooth strike into a vein would be pretty much impossible for him. He would need to chew through flesh and muscle in order to find what he needed. I knew, because I'd asked. Curious about the mechanics of how Gabriel's fangs dropped and retracted, he'd run the tip of my forefinger lightly over his gum, letting me feel the slight swelling where his fangs were housed.

“But how do they come out?” I'd asked, looking up at him from my still euphoric post-sex position on the kitchen floor.

He'd been more than happy to demonstrate, and I watched the razor sharp points slice through the gum tissue to create an opening through which each fang could descend.

“Doesn't it hurt?”

Gabriel smiled, somehow more satisfied, it seemed to me. Even his dimple looked pleased with itself. Was this what taking my blood had done to him?

“No,” he said, looking down at me. “As with any incision, my body starts to heal itself almost at once, so there's no open wound, no chance of infection, no pain.”

Amused by my fascination, he'd demonstrated again... and again.

Seeing Oscar's jagged fangs, I could only imagine how painful it had to be for him to drop them. Trying to make an opening in his gum line with uneven, broken-off tips had to feel like he was cutting his mouth with a dull, rusty knife.

“What's he doing?” Laycee asked, looking up at me. She took her hand from my arm and made a crude gesture. I nodded. Better to have her think Oscar had his cock out and was jerking off than to see what he really had out.

Leaning toward him, Katja whispered in his ear. He nodded, a movement that was filled with the most incredible weariness. I had no idea how ill he was, but he looked like he was sinking fast. As I watched him begin the painful process of trying to retract his fangs, I wondered what was wrong with him. Did he have the vampire equivalent of AIDS or something? I sifted through all the information I had stored away from my Vampire 101 lesson with Aleksei and Anasztaizia, recalling a discussion about the pivotal role blood played in a vampire's development.

The beautiful Magyar had told me that blood was necessary to ensure a vampire's health and overall well-being. It ensured that the regeneration factor in their bodies kept working and protected them from disease, which explained why so many vampires were able to survive both the Black Death in the Middle Ages and the Great Plague of London in 1665.

The open sores and chewed foot, coupled with the overall condition of his mouth, all led me to the same terrible conclusion. Oscar hadn't been feeding. He had once been handsome and strong. Now he was a pathetic shadow of his previous self. I didn't care that Katja was capable of tearing me limb from limb with no provocation whatsoever. My gut told me she was responsible for his pitiful condition.

“Oh my God—you've been starving him, haven't you?”

I flung the accusation at her, almost daring her to deny it. She didn't. Instead she acted as if I had never spoken.

“Do you want to know how I met Oscar?” she asked, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“You really are a sadistic bitch,” I told her, furious with her complete disregard for the vampire next to her.

“It was in Hawaii right before the bombing of Pearl Harbor,” she continued. “He was a pilot in your military. You wouldn't believe how handsome he was then, and you can imagine my delight when I discovered he could be turned.” She sounded positively gleeful.

“So why do this to him, Katja?”

“Hmmm, what?” She raised an eyebrow and looked at me, and then spared a glance for the once handsome pilot. “He broke the rules and had to be punished.”

“What rules?”

She began examining her nails. I swear I've never seen a female so obsessed with the state of her cuticles.

“My rules. You caught too much of his interest, Little One.”

I was stunned by her words. Oscar and I had met only that one time, and I doubt we were in each other's company for more than ten minutes. Hardly enough time to make an impression, unless you were Scarlett Johansson, which I most assuredly am not. I wondered which had pricked Katja's vanity more—the fact Oscar had spoken to me or that he'd put his hands on me. With her ego, just his looking in my direction might have been enough.

“Of course,” Katja said, holding her hands before her and checking the polished perfection of each nail, “his deterioration has progressed somewhat faster than I anticipated.”

“What's wrong with him?” Laycee asked, surprising both of us by joining in the conversation.

It had been my intention to warn Laycee not to say anything, but I was gratified to see the fear in her eyes now reduced to a more general wariness. Besides, telling Laycee to ignore a conversation was pointless. She had a tendency to speak her mind and the consequences be damned. I held my breath as Katja reached out and caught a handful of Laycee's platinum hair, running her fingers over the tresses. She dropped it with a look of distaste, rubbing the tips of her fingers together, as if she'd touched something dirty. It was a deliberate insult, designed to provoke Laycee's temper, but my girl was smart enough to recognize she was being taunted. Keeping her thoughts to herself and her mouth shut was proof enough fear wasn't going to make her do anything stupid.

“Oscar is still considered to be a new vampire,” Katja said conversationally. “He needs to feed at least once or twice a month. If not”—she paused, and waved a hand in his general direction—“this is what happens.”

I thought, for a moment, that everything was going to be okay. Laycee, I was certain, would form the opinion that illegal substances had Swiss-cheesed Katja's brain. The word
vampire
was a euphemism for something more offensive, something that I would be able to explain to her later, when this was over. But the minute I saw the look on her face, I knew that wasn't going to happen.

“A vampire? You're fucking with me, right?”

Looking like Trailer Park Barbie is one thing, behaving like other people's idea of Trailer Park Barbie is another. And that includes using vulgarity. Laycee only ever uses the F-bomb when she is severely stressed. A frown marred Katja's smooth brow, quickly followed by a look of disbelief.

“She doesn't know about Gabriel?” she asked, directing her question at me.

I shook my head. First Sebastian and now Katja. Why did everyone question my ability to keep a secret? Had Lois Lane told anyone that Clark Kent was really Superman? And don't tell me she didn't know. She wouldn't be much of a reporter—or girlfriend—if she couldn't work that one out!

It was a waste of time lying.

“Is that why you had her turn her back?”

“Yeah, that's why.”

“And you never told her about Gabriel?” The idea seemed to amuse her more than anything else.

Laycee interrupted in a pissed-off tone. Like most people, she hates being talked about as if she isn't in the same room. “What's going on, Rowan, what don't I know about Gabriel, and is Euro-Trash on something?”

I was so used to hearing her refer to Gabriel as Eye Candy, that the use of his first name threw me. It sounded so strange hearing it in her voice that I thought for a moment she was talking about someone else. I opened my mouth to speak even though I had no idea what I was going to say, but before I could utter a syllable, Katja's banshee-like shriek drowned out everything. I clapped my hands over my ears, staring at the dumbfounded look on Laycee's face.

“No! I'm not
on something,
” Katja snarled, grabbing hold of Laycee's wrist, “but I am going to let you in on a secret your wonderful friend has been keeping from you.”

Giving Laycee's arm a sharp jerk, Katja began dragging her to where Oscar stood. I stared, horrified, as he opened his mouth, amped-up salivary glands making him drool on himself. Realizing Katja's intention, I screamed at her.

“No, Katja—don't do it!”

It was enough to make her stop, and Laycee, taking advantage of the momentary halt, began trying to jerk herself out of Katja's iron grip. It was useless, of course, but that didn't mean Laycee was going to give up. Unable to break free of her grasp, she turned her attention to Katja's vise-like fingers and tried prying them open. A furrow appeared between the exotic vampire's perfect eyebrows. I had to stop Laycee before Katja got pissed enough to really hurt her.

“Laycee, stop it! Remember what I said about being stronger than she looks? Believe me, you'll end up hurting yourself before you hurt her.”

Turning her head, Katja gave Laycee a smile that was all shiny white teeth. My screaming had been in vain. Instead of compelling Oscar to drop his fangs, Katja now dropped hers. I watched the color leach out of Laycee's face and saw her eyes become huge blue saucers of incomprehensible fear. I wished more than ever that I hadn't made Sebastian leave. Not because I thought he could overpower Katja. I doubted angels were physically stronger than vampires, but he might have been able to give me some idea of what to do next. And if not, I was reasonably sure we'd reached the point where seeing his wings would be a lot less shocking than seeing a vampire's fangs. And infinitely preferable. Whether Laycee would have believed her eyes was another matter, but I think she would have enjoyed looking at Sebastian. Yeah, I'm sure she would.

“Katja, you've gone to a lot of trouble tonight, so what's the game plan?” I spoke fast, hoping to penetrate her brain and turn her focus back on me. “We both know why you needed to get me out of my house, and now that's happened, what are you going to do next?” She turned her head and looked at me. The expression on her face was a little nonplussed, as if my asking was the last thing she expected. “You do have a plan, don't you?”