Bitter Bite (2 page)

Residual rage over being turned, probably,
he mused, grateful once again that
he’d resisted the urge to create more monsters like himself. He’d been turned
by a bitter, young female vampire who’d managed to get herself ashed by the
time he’d figured out what had happened and learned to control the blood-rage.
He’d been mostly alone ever since. He sighed, and let his anger dissipate. He
needed to get moving if he wanted to accomplish all of his tasks before dawn.
And
I still haven’t found anything to eat. That must be rectified as soon as
possible.
Controlling his need for
blood became more difficult the hungrier he became. The young ones always
forgot that most basic lesson.

He smoothed his jacket and headed out of the alley. He’d go to the
bar a few blocks away. There were always a few people willing to bare their
necks for him in a club. He rolled his shoulders and altered his walk so he’d
seem younger, then ducked into the flow of pedestrian traffic on the main
street. Friday nights were usually crowded in any city, and this one was no
exception. He passed closed shops and dodged a few tipsy twenty-somethings
before he finally reached the door to the club he’d noted earlier.

“Is it busy tonight?” he asked the bouncer as he showed his
driver’s license.

The man shrugged. “Same as usual for a Friday night.” The silver
rings in his ears gleamed beneath the flashing neon sign on the door. He shone
a light on Alaric’s ID then grunted. “That’ll be ten bucks.”

Alaric’s eyebrows rose at the price, but he silently handed the
man two fives, then tucked his wallet back into his jeans. “A bit expensive,
hmm?”

“It’s a Friday night. What’d you expect?” The bouncer looked past
him as the cluster of drunk partiers Alaric had dodged earlier staggered up to
the front of the line. “Fucking figures this would be the one night Gideon is
late,” he muttered under his breath.

“Gideon?” Alaric asked.

“My replacement,” the bouncer said.

“Ah.” Alaric smiled perfunctorily. “Hope he shows up soon.”

“He’d better, or I’ll kick his ass.” The bouncer reached past
Alaric for the next person’s ID. “You can go on in.”

Alaric nodded and pushed open the heavy door. Loud music and
strobing lights greeted him, and he realized he’d managed to land himself in a
gay dance club.
Not that it matters. I
like hot men as much as I like sweet women.
Shrugging indifferently, he
shoved through a mob of young, sweaty bodies and waded onto the dance floor.
Finding dinner wouldn’t be difficult at all. Male or female, they all tasted
the same: delicious.

Chapter Two

Hannah stared at the man who’d pushed past Eric at the door. She
almost dropped the wine bottle she’d just uncorked when he slid into the mass
of people and out of her sight. Even from her station behind the bar she could
tell he was different. Taller. Stronger than the usual men who came to Club
Trinity. His long dark hair and blue eyes drew more eyes than hers
.

Mmm
. She chewed on her bottom lip as
she forced herself to get back to work.
If
only I had the guts to follow my heart.
She smiled professionally at the
cluster of young professionals in front of her as she deftly poured three
glasses of red into the club’s signature glasses.
Though it’s not like I need another guy to crush on. I’m already stuck
on Gideon. And besides, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is probably gay, because
duh. You work in a gay bar and he’s out there mingling with no sign of
discomfort.

“That’ll be twenty-five bucks,” she said, wiping off the wood
where she’d spilled a few drops. The wine spread into the white cloth like
blood. It had freaked her out a little, when she’d first started working as a
bartender, but she’d long since gotten over that particular trigger.
The past is in the past
, she told
herself firmly.

“Here you go,” the blond in front of her said, slapping thirty
dollars onto the surface. “Keep the change.” Before she could thank him, he and
his friends were gone. She rang up the drinks, pocketed the extra gratefully, and
then went back to mixing margarita pitchers. There’d be orders soon enough for
the bar’s specialty cocktail and she liked to stock up when she could.

A few minutes later, she stopped for a breather and grinned when
she saw her fellow worker tossing peanuts into the mass of bodies gyrating on
the dance floor. Every so often a dancer would flinch when one of the nuts
caught him on the arm.

“You’re going to get someone in the eye if you keep doing that,”
she said, poking Eric in the arm. She wiped at the crumbs he’d spilled. “And
he’ll go down and take half the dance floor with him. And then we’ll get sued.
And lose our jobs.”

Eric laughed. “Melodramatic much, Hannah?” He swiped at the
counter with a cloth, scattering the crumbs she’d just corralled.

Hannah rolled her eyes and let it go. Eric would do what he wanted.

“I saw you looking for Gideon earlier.” Eric leaned an elbow onto
the surface he’d just wiped and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Hannah scowled. “No.” She poured a glass of water and slid it
across the bar to him.

“Uh huh. Deny it all you want to, girl.” The neon strobe lights
glittered on his silver earrings as he shook his head. “I saw you staring at
the door earlier. He was late getting to work.” He paused to take a sip of his
water. Hannah ignored him. Eric tipped his glass and swallowed half of his
drink, then he gave her a sly grin. “Why don’t you just ask him out already? All
this pining is driving me crazy.”

She frowned, thinking of the man with the long hair. “Who?”

Eric snorted. “Gideon. Who else?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She flushed. It was getting hot in here,
like usual on a Friday night. Even the cold weather wasn’t enough to combat the
heat rising from hundreds of sweaty bodies.

“He’d probably say yes, you know.” Eric downed the rest of the
water and slid the glass back over to her.

“He’d probably say no,” Hannah replied, filling the tumbler with
seltzer this time. She added a twist of lime and pushed it back. “He used to be
my teacher. He’s fourteen years older than me. He’s probably gay.”

Eric grabbed the glass and went back to chucking peanuts into the
crowd. “No harm in asking. He might even say yes.”

Hannah’s stomach seized up at the thought. Eric had no idea of the
harm that asking Gideon out could cause. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t
date.”

Eric frowned at her, sipping at his drink. “You’re too young to be
so uptight, Hannah.”

“Who said I’m uptight?”

“Have you ever dated anyone?” Eric plucked out the lime twist and chewed
on it.

Hannah grimaced.
As if I’d
bother. Most guys are assholes, present company excepted. Look at what a winner
my dad was. Not.
 
“No. I don’t have
time.”

“Hell, if you’re afraid of sex, I’d be happy to help you out with
that.” Eric swallowed the lime peel.

“Uh, what?” she asked, confused. She’d seen him getting hot and
heavy with a random twink in the back hallway more than once. “I thought you
didn’t bat for the girls’ team?”

“I had my share of fun when I was younger, and I’d be happy to
help out a friend.” Eric’s teasing expression slid away as he leaned closer.
“Seriously. I hate to see you so alone all the time. If it’s a sex thing, I can
help you with that. I care about you and I wouldn’t hurt you. I know what I’m
doing.”

Hannah was already shaking her head. “Thanks, Eric. That’s sweet,
but I’m okay. I’m happy the way I am.”

“You’re a virgin.”

Her face went hot. “So what?” Damn, she regretted admitting that
to him several weeks ago. She was never drinking any alcohol again. Ever. “That
doesn’t mean I’m unhappy.”

“You’re twenty-one and you work at a gay bar. You need to get off
the diving board and try swimming a little in the great big sea of boys,
Hannah.” Eric finished his seltzer and set the glass down emphatically. “Boys
can be fun. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve played with enough of
them.”

But I don’t want a
boy
, she thought,
imagining Gideon looming over her. He was tall and muscular, and his hazel eyes
had been turning her insides to goo since high school, when he’d been Father
Keegan to all the girls.
I want a man
like that.
Unbidden, her mind popped the glimpse she’d had of tall, dark,
and handsome into the forefront of her thoughts.
Blue eyes aren’t bad either,
she mused, then flushed harder. Shit.
“I don’t really need the drama, Eric,” she said aloud, desperate to end the
conversation.

Eric made a face. “Fine. Wallow in your misery all by yourself
instead of indulging yourself with Eric the Great. I’m better than a vibrator.
I’ve even got references.”

Hannah laughed. Eric was one of the few decent men out there.
“Thanks, Eric. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said dryly, then turned back to her
bottles. She had drinks to mix and no time to dwell on what could never be.

* * * *

The next evening, Alaric knelt down again in the same little
alcove in the same church he’d been visiting on and off for the last fifty
years. He reached for a match and lit it, wondering what in God’s name he
thought he was doing. He shouldn’t have come here again so soon. It wasn’t safe
for him to linger in one place for too long, but he hadn’t yet found the
creature he hunted. He held the flame over a candle and let his mind wander.
Sometimes he understood things better when he allowed his predatory instinct free
rein. The votive caught, and he sighed as he pinched the end of the match.

There are too many years in my head,
he thought, sifting through his more
recent memories. Darkness, as always. The scent of humanity in this city. The
moon, turning away as dawn skirted the horizon and he found a secure place to
sleep for the day. Eventually, a single face drifted to the front of his mind,
like smoke across a mirror. It surprised him.
The man with the dead mother? Why
him?
Silence greeted him, not that he’d expected anything else. He
concentrated, trying to organize his thoughts better, but instinct could only
do so much.

He frowned, then tensed when the door to the vestibule opened.
Risky
to stay here,
he told himself, but he didn’t move. Instead, he inhaled and
closed his eyes in resignation when he recognized the flavor of the man walking
toward him — the man with the dead mother. His cock stirred, but he ignored it.
Sex wasn’t important. Almost nothing was important to him anymore, except for
the hunt he’d been on for the last one hundred and fifty solitary years.
Why
are you waiting for this man instead of heading to the next city? You know that
Brosius is not here. You would have sensed his stink by now.

“You again?” the man said, kneeling down next to him.

Alaric smiled faintly, disgusted with himself, and opened his
eyes. “You joined
me
here. The fault lies with you, does it not?”

The man snorted. “That assumes there’s blame to assign.”

“There is always blame enough to go around in this world,” Alaric
murmured. “It sticks to us all, like ash after a fire.” He lit another candle,
and then another, ignoring the enigma perched beside him. He would find out
what he wanted to know eventually. Most younger vampires would’ve already
resorted to mind tricks, but Alaric preferred to wait and see what happened
before wasting energy.

“You’re supposed to pay for those candles.”

Alaric paused, the lit tip of the match flickering. “You’re
assuming I haven’t already put coins into the box, my dear.” He glanced over.
Hazel eyes stared at him. He sensed a wariness that hadn’t been there the
previous evening. He blew out the flame.

“Did you?”

Alaric considered lying, but what would be the point? “No.” He
slid the matchstick into its jar and dug in his pockets. When he came up with
two quarters, he held them out to the stranger. “Happy?”

The man pursed his lips, then scooped up the coins and clenched
them in his fist.

Interesting,
Alaric thought when the man didn’t immediately drop them into the donation box.

“You’re better off giving these to some charity. Or tossing them
into a mall fountain,” he said, unexpectedly pressing them back into Alaric’s
palm.

Alaric held still as the man’s fingers slid across his wrist.
Consort,
his instincts murmured, shockingly. He pulled back abruptly, more roughly than
he’d intended. “Why not give them to the church? I’m using their candles. Burning
their matches,” he said, struggling to control his voice for the first time in
centuries. His long-dead heart fluttered in his chest as he inhaled again,
trying to convince himself he was imagining things. This grouchy man couldn’t
be his
consort.
He’d given up hope after five hundred years as a
vampire. Consorts were for the young. The weak. He had no use for someone like
that. Not anymore.

The man looked away. “God doesn’t need your money. Neither does
the church.”

Alaric sat back on his heels. “What’s your name?”

The man’s gaze was fixed on a point past Alaric’s shoulder.
“What’s yours?” he countered.

Despite his frustration, Alaric couldn’t control his smile. He’d
walked right into that one. “I am Alaric Normand.” He shoved the coins into his
pocket and held out his hand. A full-on handshake would tell him definitively,
one way or another, if this man was truly his destined mate. Anxiety twisted in
his gut for the first time in hundreds of years.

The man looked at his hand, then pressed his lips together and
lifted his arm as if steeling himself for some terrible task. “I’m Gideon
Keegan.”

The moment their palms touched, Alaric’s entire body flashed hot.
He tightened his fingers, instinctively sifting the man’s genetic code through
his skin. A distracting flare of arousal shot through him, but he forced
himself to concentrate. Memories assaulted him, like a deluge of recordings on
fast-forward. He couldn’t follow them all, of course. He mostly absorbed
impressions, not perfect memories, though there were a few moments that stood
out. Violent memories. Trauma. This man had lost much in his life. Alaric
sympathized. He’d lost so much over the centuries that his humanity had long since
disappeared from his personality. He let his mind relax and the images slowed
even as the blood-rage rose in him. He grimaced and gritted his teeth until the
urge to bite, to
take,
faded. When he opened his fingers, only a
fraction of a second had passed. Gideon stared at him, a frown creasing his
forehead.

“Are you all right?” Alaric asked him huskily, curling his fingers
closed tightly. This man was his consort, but something was wrong. Something
essential was missing from the connection. He wished to God they hadn’t touched
each other. He felt hollow, and from what he’d been able to glean from the few
lucky consorted vampires he’d known over the years, meeting one’s consort was
supposed to completely eliminate the hole at the center of one’s existence.
Clearly,
they lied,
he told himself bitterly, not surprised. Everyone lied. It was
the universal constant of life.
And
death.
Anger rushed through him, hot and thick and edged with blood.

“I’m fine,” Gideon said, his gaze sliding away. “I thought I heard
something.”

Bells,
Alaric thought, remembering the sound from his childhood. “Hmm.” He spoke more
to himself than to Gideon. He needed to get out of here before he did something
he regretted. Hunger licked at him, violent and dark. He needed blood. He
needed to find Brosius and make him pay for what he’d done. He couldn’t afford
to get hung up here, wandering around the city pining after a human.
Consorts are for young vamps. Not for me.