Assassins Bite (16 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Time shuttered. I dropped next to my brother. His eyes slid closed. I pressed both hands to his wound. Liquid pulsed warm and slick against my palms. His breath hitched.

“Help!” I pressed harder. Dirk's pulse fluttered, frantic. My hands trembled. “Someone, please. Hurry!” Dirk's breath rattled.

The door opened. A dark shadow filtered into the room.

Relief cascaded through me. Blackthorne was here. “Help me!”

He was instantly at my side. I lifted my hands to show him the wound. The blood had slowed to a leak and I was stupid enough to hope that meant something good.

Blackthorne paled. “Sunny—”

“Fix him. You're a vampire, right? Can't you lick it closed or…or…?”

He simply shook his head.

Around us the rampage went on. My brother was lying here in his own blood and the stupid fucks were fighting.

I leaped to my feet and shouted, raging against the insanity. “Stop it! Police!”

In response, a trucker threw one of the Lestats into me. I flew toward the door. Blackthorne snared me midair and set me aside. Seizing the Lestat by the collar, he looped the vampire like an Olympic discus thrower and released him to sail into the wall.

Then, that long knife
shooping
out, Blackthorne glided into the room, vampire parts flying around him like tossed salad.

Within moments the room was still with horrified silence.

“Officer Ruffles,” Blackthorne dropped crisply into the silence, “said stop.”

My chest exploded with contradictory feelings. Gratitude that he'd seen my anguish and tried to fix it, resentfulness that I couldn't do it on my own, and amazement that he'd cared enough to see what I'd needed and made it happen.

Underlying it all was shame. He'd made it happened. That's what I should have done. Killed the bloodsucker at my brother's neck when I had the chance. But I hadn't had a shot.

You did have a shot. Through Dirk. If you'd taken it, none of this would have happened.

Everyone in the room—everyone left—was staring at me. Watching me, waiting to see what I'd do.

I backhanded tears from my face, reached for my training, and used Jonesy's best growl. “This public disturbance is a disgrace. I should arrest you all.”

Eyes widened.

“But if any of you know how to help…if there's anything you can do for Detective Ruffles…” I glanced at my brother. He looked smaller. Defenseless. I choked back a sob.

“There's nothing to be done,” a trucker said. “He's gone.”

Black despair speared me.

“You could try turning him,” the resexptionist said suddenly.

It took me a moment to remember she had a name, Kitty, and I was even more ashamed of myself. “I don't understand.”

“He could rise again, as one of us.”

“One of you…you mean make him a vampire?” Breathing suddenly hurt. My brother wouldn't be dead? Guilt goosed me.
My fault…
“Yes. Okay. If it'll give him a chance, let's do it.”

“Sunny, wait.” Blackthorne took my face in his palms and searched my eyes. “It's risky. Very few make the transformation. Those who do risk rising insane. And no matter what, he'll never be the same man.”

I searched his black gaze in turn. “But you can help him, right?” Somehow I knew if he was involved, everything would be okay.

He frowned at me and his lips parted but no words came out. Whatever I was asking of him, it was more, much more than I knew.

I'd ask it, for my brother. “Please?”

He sighed—then nodded. “We'll take him to Strongwells. They owe me a favor.” His gaze was warm with compassion. “You may want to look away.”

“No. It's my brother. I need to be here for him.”

“Brave heart.” Blackthorne scooped up Dirk's bloody body. He said to the truckers, “We're taking a sleeper cab.”

As we left, the Dawn employees, human and vampire alike, were cleaning up Lestat bits and pieces. Kitty competently swept dismembered arms into an oversize dustbin while a trucker sprinkled stuff from a barrel labeled “Hemoglo-B-Gone” onto the pools of blood.

In the truck, Blackthorne loaded Dirk onto the narrow bed in back of the seats as I figured out how to belt myself into the passenger side. He slid into the driver's seat, hit a garage door open button and started the engine. As the garage door rose he rolled out.

We lumbered through the parking lot onto the street. From the throaty roar, he was pushing the engine, but it seemed an eternity before we got across town. The cab was silent except for the motor's bawl and my rasping breath. Finally we squealed to a stop at the curb in front of the apartment building. He scooped Dirk from the back and leaped out. I jumped out behind.

The front door slammed open revealing Bo Strongwell, his face a battle mask. “Stay back, Mr. Butler. I smell intruder.” His mask melted the instant he saw me. “Sun-Hee…and Blackthorne?” Then he saw who Blackthorne carried. “What the fuck?”

“We need your help.” Blackthorne's voice was thick, as if he was fighting some emotion.

“But he's…” Bo glanced at me.

“Sunny is willing to try conversion.” Blackthorne pushed past Bo, twisting to get Dirk inside. “I'm willing to help.”

“You're
what
?” The disturbed expression on Bo's face reinforced there was more to this than I knew. He closed the door behind us. “Conversion is iffy—”

“You think I don't know that?” Blackthorne spun with a snarl. “I stood over the graves of hundreds of kids. Waiting.” He visibly reined his temper in. “You know a way to better the odds.” It wasn't a question.

“Only a little. And you won't like it.”

“I don't have to like it. I just have to do it.”

Bo shook his head as if he couldn't believe this. “Basement, then.”

They took off vampire-fast. I followed, but they were going so quickly that by the time I reached the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs they'd already disappeared.

Literally. No one was in the basement. I rushed past a lane of washers and dryers to the far wall. My shoulders relaxed when I made out a gray door which had blended so seamlessly with the cinder block wall I hadn't realized it was there.

I cracked the door. The rich smell of earth greeted me.

Yikes. Vampires…and catacombs…and coffins? I swallowed hard and stepped through.

The hallway floor was concrete, the walls glowing with the subdued light of recessed LEDs. Eight perfectly normal doors notched the hallway. All were closed except the third door on the left.

Normal doors, normal light. This wasn't a graveyard. Probably. I willed my feet to move.

I peeked through the open doorway. The room was normal, television, beer fridge, shelves with books, CDs and DVDs indicating an entertainment room of some sort.

But the floor wasn't normal at all. It was carefully raked soil.

My brother lay on the dirt, skin too pale against the dark earth. Bo unbuttoned Dirk's shirt while Blackthorne knelt at his head and prepared to do…something.

He looked up the instant I entered. “Sunny. Go back upstairs. You can't see this.”

“It's my brother. It's my…”
My fault.
“I'm staying.”

“No. There are secrets and there are
secrets
. You can't see this.” He pointed at the door. “Leave or we won't do it. And it has to be done now.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else he doesn't rise. Or he rises, but without his mind intact.”

If I hadn't trusted Bo and Blackthorne, I'd have insisted. But I did trust them. The urgency made me spit, “Fine. But let me know the instant he needs me.”

Compassion touched his black gaze. “I will.”

Mrs. Cook found me pacing upstairs and settled me at the kitchen table. A mug of hot tea appeared in front of me, wafting chamomile and honey, but I paid it no attention.

The moment Blackthorne entered I jumped to my feet. Wordlessly, he swept me into his arms. I stood there, just for a moment, absorbing some of his strength.

“Dirk?”

“We've done what we can for him. He's resting comfortably.”

I peeked up. “Then he'll turn?”

“Yes. Strongwell keeps cautioning we won't know for another couple nights, but even he says signs are good. I've done a number of these. I know Dirk will be fine.”

“Thank God. What did you do?”

He shook his head. “I can't tell you.”

“But I know about v-guys—”

“This is secret beyond even that.”

I leaned back and looked at him, really looked, for the first time. He was pale, his face drawn, almost lined. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. He was an easy conversion. It could have been a lot worse. But I'm going to get some rest now too.”

“Okay. I'll go let Mom know—”

“Sunny, no. You can't tell anyone what happened. When Dirk returns, we'll want to integrate him back into his environment as seamlessly as possible. The less alarm raised, the easier that will be.”

It hit me with force; Dirk would be forever changed. My fault. I burrowed deeper into Blackthorne's arms. “Will he be able to come home or will he have to live in a nest with his maker or something?” That struck me. “Will he be tied to Magnum?”

Blackthorne hesitated. My heart sank.

Then he hugged me firmly. “No. Fledglings have a bond to the vampire who made them, but rest assured, even if Dirk would've fixated on Magnum, I've taken care of that.”

I peeked up again. “How?”

He looked away. “It's complicated.”

But I'd already seen the truth in his eyes. Whatever he'd done, it had been harrowing and personally demanding, grueling or painful or both. I clung to him harder, trying to say with my tight arms the profound thanks I couldn't put into words.

He kissed the top of my head. Ran his palms over my shoulders, back and arms, rubbing warmth and life back into my skin. “He'll be all right, Sunny. I made sure of it.” Again there was that grim tone, as if he'd wrestled Dirk back to life based on sheer grit and burning willpower alone.

I caught sight of the clock. After midnight. Whatever he'd had to do, it had taken hours to do it. “Thank you.” I said it from the depths of my heart. “Can I see him?”

“Not yet. Why don't you go home? Try to rest.”

“I can't. Mom will ask…” I straightened from Blackthorne's embrace. It took all my courage and will to leave that safe haven. “She'll ask things I can't answer. I need to keep busy. I think I'll go to work. Tell Elena what happened. Write my reports.”

I left. The moment I went through the door my shoulders slumped, missing Blackthorne's warmth, his strength. I was an independent woman but I missed him like I'd miss a part of myself.

I kept a lookout for Eloise. But no black sedans motored by, and no bat-marked minions jumped out from between neatly trimmed box hedges.

So when I mounted the steps to the police station, I thought I was free.

Naturally, that was when my nape hairs rose.

Chapter Eighteen

I said to the night air, “Why did you follow me?”

“Why do you think?” Blackthorne appeared beside me, hands in his pockets.

“I thought you were resting.”

“I changed my mind.”

I sighed. “Look, I'm a cop. I don't need your protection.”

“Maybe.” He considered me. “You're looking to keep busy, right?”

“Ye-es.” That was no change of topic. I recognized a trap when I heard it.

Sure enough, he said, “Prove you don't need protection. Spar me. If you win, I'll know.”

“A cop fighting a criminal? PR nightmare. Besides, you don't look so good. You should go rest.”

“First, I'm not a criminal for another six days. Second, we can spar in private at Miyagi's
dojang
. Third, I took a few minutes for some…refreshments. I'll be good for a while.”

“Do I want to know what you mean by refreshments?”

“Probably not.”

I sighed again and looked at the cop shop doors. “Well, as much as I'd like to kick your ass, Miyagi's is half an hour away and I have to do my reports. After that I have to go on patrol. I don't have a couple hours to burn, walking to the
dojang
and sparring you.”

“Half an hour.”

“What?”

“It'll only take the time to spar.” He picked me up—and set off so fast I squeaked
again
. It took me a minute of wind-in-face exhilaration to recalibrate my vocal cords to yell at him gruffly, “Put me down!”

“As you wish.” He set my feet on the sidewalk—in front of the Miyagi School of Martial Arts.

“You're sneaky.” I turned on him to tell him “no”, in no uncertain terms.

“Sometimes.” He gave me a faint smile. “Tonight I'm just fast.”

I stared up into his black eyes, and it hit me—our verbal sparring had made me forget my anger and shame and fear for a moment. Physical sparring might be exactly what I needed to work off my emotions, at least for now. I'd probably be living with the shame for the rest of my life.

So instead of saying no, I nodded. “Okay, let's. When I win, I want you to promise to let me fight my own battles.”

“And when
I
win…” he bent until our noses touched, his eyes glittering black with an intent that made me shiver, his breath billowing across my skin until I was flushed and a little sweaty, “…I want you to…to…” He straightened. “I want you to call me Aiden.” His forehead ruffled ever so slightly, as if he was surprised and maybe a little confused by his own request.

It surprised me too. From that hot, pregnant moment, I'd expected him to name sex as his prize. Somehow that small thing, me using his first name, was more intimate.

“
If
you win.” I sneered it to offset the strange fragile state his request had put
us
in.

It fell flat. He only continued to stare at me, his eyes a night sky holding forever.

Then he backed off and sneered in return, “
When
I win. What are you waiting for? Scared?”

“
Pfft
. I have to change first. Don't want to get my clothes dirty with your flop sweat.”

In the
dojang
's lobby, a full-length oil painting of my martial arts teacher, Mr. Miyagi, greeted us. It could've been a separated-at-birth pic for Pat Morita, but my teacher was actually Miyagi Park. He'd taught Taekwondo in Meiers Corners for as long as I could remember. Nowadays he also taught hapkido, weapons fighting, and a Baby-and-Me kickboxing class.

I kept a
dobok
, a loose workout uniform, in a locker downstairs. I changed, considering just who I was about to spar, and came up with the germ of a plan. I tucked my badge into the front of my belt and my gun in back.

I ran back upstairs, almost eager. Eager to show him I was his equal or better. Eager to bury my kicking toes into his rippling abs, pound my fists against the muscled hillocks. I flashed an image of us sparring nude and screeched to a halt, swallowing my sudden influx of saliva. I had to get rid of that distraction, fast.

So though there were only the two of us and I'd thought about skipping it, just inside the doorway I bowed, an action done ten thousand times. It automatically purged all thoughts of the outside world, spilling them out my tipped head and onto the floor.

When I straightened I'd left everything at the door but for one thing. Beating Blackthorne. Striding into the room, I was a fighting machine.

Blackthorne's back was to me, examining the posters on the wall, but he knew I was there. I stopped, hands cupped at the base of my spine.

He turned, a smile curling one side of his mouth. “So. Think you can take me, cop?” He fell into an easy fighting stance then waved two fingers beckoningly at me. “Bring it.”

It was an invitation to rush him. I hesitated. He was taller and bigger and I'd be insane to take him up on it. Punch to punch, his mass ensured I'd lose. And his reach was far longer. With a normal man my strategy was get in tight to survive. But a vampire was too fast to use that tactic.

He tickled the air. “Scared, cop?”

I swore as though he'd gotten under my skin and ran straight at him, letting him think he'd provoked me into a rash attack.

A smile touched his lips. He thought I'd be easy.

Just outside his kill zone I slid to a stop. Confusion flickered in his eyes before they shuttered.

Good. My only chance relied on surprising him, throwing off his rhythms and expectations.

I threw my badge at him.

His forward hand snapped up, catching it easily, although not his usual vampire-instantaneous. Whatever he'd done for Dirk had cost him. “Unanticipated.” He tossed it in his hand and the smile lit in his eyes. “But I still have one hand free.” He tickled the air again. “Come get me, mouse.”

I drew my Glock.

He shifted instantly to the balls of his feet, clearly ready to dodge a flurry of bullets.

I threw the gun at him.

He caught it with his other hand. “Also unantici—”

I rushed him. His hands were full and I was counting on that to keep him from punching me. He could've dropped the gun or badge but the gun's safety was off and I didn't think he'd chance it. Hopefully the decision to drop one but not the other would lock his brain for the split second I needed.

He could've also curled his fingers around either gun or badge and punched me, but I didn't even consider that, subconsciously trusting him not to ever truly hurt me.

To my relief, he held on to both gun and badge. But he didn't freeze. When I jabbed, he slid right to avoid it. My jab missed.

I could've launched a right cross, but any new technique would give Mr. Suprahuman time to evade or counter.

So I torqued the jab into a roundhouse back fist.

My left knuckles plowed into his mouth. His teeth and bones were concrete. That punch hurt me like misery with agony frosting—but it snapped his head back.

Win.

He straightened, blood trickling from a gash to his sexy lips. I was momentarily mortified, until he wiped a thumb across his bloody lip, gash already healing, and grinned. “Point. Now it's my turn.”

Yikes. I'd wounded him; the question wasn't whether he'd annihilate me in return, but how bad I'd have to beg for mercy.

I whipped into fighting stance and opened my awareness as far as it would go.

His left leg eased back into a reverse fighting stance. His left shoulder twitched. Left cross coming.

Block? No, my arms were toothpicks compared to his, his biceps as thick as my thigh.
Thigh.
I kicked up my right leg to meet him.

But instead of punching, he slid right. It was a fake. And my leg was up in the air. I'd have to land, but he'd attack the instant I was most vulnerable, when my leg came down but before I was grounded and could launch an effective counterattack.

My only option was not to land. I continued the roundhouse leg-block up higher into the air, throwing my body into a step-on-air spin, and hooked my left leg up, around and down.

My heel caught him in the back of the head. Momentum assisted by gravity would do damage even a vampire couldn't ignore.

But he rolled with it, minimizing the impact, and sprang back, just fine. Damn, he was good.

Now, as I landed, he'd do his worst. I could only hope he pulled it at least a little, because this close I wouldn't be able to dodge even a slowed Blackthorne and I only had toothpick arms to block.

Still, I twisted as I landed and jabbed up a right-leg sidekick. I was no Bruce Lee; without being able to prepare the kick it would barely make an impact. But maybe it would distract him enough so that his attack wouldn't be quite so bone-shattering…

No blow hit. No pain. In fact, no Blackthorne. My foot punched air.

I landed forward and glanced cautiously around my guarding first.

He was standing just outside my kill zone, a delighted smile on his face. “Nice! You think ahead a move or two.”

“Thanks.” I noted he'd put down the badge and gun, and started to plan my next series of attacks.

Which were totally derailed when he stomp-checked me, front foot slamming the floor, freezing me a split second.

I breathed through it, tried to be ready for anything…

He misted. My gaze ping-ponged around the room. Where was he?

The next thing I knew steel bands wrapped me, pinning my arms against my body.

Blackthorne appeared before me, attached to the bands. I was in his embrace.

I struggled to loosen his hold while I raised my heel for a good stomp of his instep. He countered by lifting my feet off the ground.

And then he was kissing me.

For the few seconds I was still in fighting mode, he didn't do anything aggressive. He didn't put his tongue into my mouth—I'd have bitten it—and he didn't set me down, so I could only kick his bent legs. Shins and flexed knees weren't nearly as vulnerable as locked knees or fragile insteps and he held me too tight to get a knee in his groin. I couldn't do any real damage…his heat and taste seeped through and I relaxed in his arms.

He continued safe kissing a bit longer, as if he thought I was faking the relax. Would've been a good move too, but I'd already moved past competition to total cooperation, his dark taste better and more effervescent than champagne.

Maybe even better than beer.

Better than beer?
Oh no. This was serious.

He slid me down his body, set me on my feet and loosened his tight hold. Letting me decide whether to fight or run away or continue letting him kiss me.

I reached out with my tongue and swiped his lips.

He laughed, a surprised chuff. Other than that he continued to stand there, lightly kissing me, letting me make up my mind, but it'd been made up long ago, before the sparring started and actually long before that, but I wasn't thinking about that now.

So there'd be no mistake, I grabbed his ears and reared back to nail him in the eyes with my gaze—then yanked his head down for a kiss that was not him-doing-me but us-doing-each-other, sparring on a much more pleasurable level.

He groaned and opened. Tongues tangled. Jaws worked. Teeth nipped. Hands grabbed. I found myself hoisted. My arms wrapped his neck. His fingers bit into my butt. My legs wrapped his lean hips. With better leverage, I tongued his tonsils. With his better leverage, he scrubbed my hips against an already sizable bulge. It ballooned bigger.

Need flooded me at the evidence of his excitement. When he swirled hips against me again, his burgeoning cock pressed into very wet cotton-poly, releasing the scent of my arousal, so strong I could smell it. We both groaned.

He dropped me to my feet, holding me with one hand as I swayed.

I barely found my balance. “Blackthorne—”

“Aiden.” He grabbed a katana from the weapons display—and cut me out of my uniform top. He was very ninja about it, the blade whisking, a few brief tugs and then my top and bra falling off in pieces. I stood there, awed, while he gazed at me, eyes burning with desire.

He dropped the katana, swept me into his embrace and fell with me to the floor, his body between my bent legs, his arms protecting my back as we landed. If I'd thought he'd had leverage before, it was nothing compared to now.

The first thrust of his hips ground me into the carpet. The ridge behind his zipper had raised the fly almost to its edge and he drove it with breathtaking precision against my swelling clit. I gasped. Sparks flew. My groin caught fire, spreading heat through my pelvis. He thrust again. Pulse racing, I grabbed his muscled shoulders and angled my hips for maximum fireworks. He set up a steady rhythm and I met him thrust for thrust. Our clothes, already damp and heading for wet, tugged at first, then slipped. I was panting into his face and he was breathing heavily back, his fang tips extending between his lips, growing steadily longer.

My heart hammered and each doubled thrust ratcheted me closer to the peak of Mt. Climax. “Harder,” I urged him. “Faster.
More
.”

His eyes shaded red—and dropped to my throat.

Sharp anticipation sheared my gut. I kicked my head back in a gesture older than time.

“I'll bite you.” His rasping breath made it a plea. “Drink your essence.” His fangs grew even longer.

“Yes.” The sight of those canines…oh
yes
. My need, deep and throbbing, doubled. “Do it.
Please.
”

His eyes closed, and for a moment I thought he hadn't heard me. Then he breathed “thank you” like a prayer and gently lowered his mouth to the crook of my neck. His breath heated the sensitive skin. His careful control contrasted so sharply with the pounding he was giving my wet, cloth-covered pussy, it was actually more arousing.

I trembled. Waiting. Anticipation soaring.