Authors: Karen E. Taylor

Crave (10 page)

BOOK: Crave

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“Fine.” Still looking through the clothes, I finally pulled out a short black skirt, a pair of pantyhose and a red silk blouse, with a deep v-neck, full sleeves and yards of ruffles. “These will do.”

I dressed and as I went into the bathroom to put on my makeup, the phone rang.

“Should I answer it?”

I stepped into the doorway. “Well, yes, Mitch, why on earth wouldn't you?”

He shrugged. “Lots of reasons, probably. It might be Victor summoning us into his presence. It might be Vivienne trying to arrange for our lessons. It might be Larry Martin wanting to gloat about his escape.”

“I suspect Victor is done with us for the evening. And Larry wouldn't call, not this soon. And if it's Vivienne,” I grinned at him, all the bad feelings I'd had about her had been loved out of me, “tell her you can't come out and play right now.”

He smiled back. “Yeah, I am sort of played out right now.” He picked up the phone and I went back into the bathroom, to finish the attempt to bring a normal color into my complexion. “Hi, Chris,” I heard him say, “I tried to call you about an hour ago.” He paused a minute. “Well, we were on our way out, but we could probably meet you in an hour or so. Hold on a second, okay?”

I heard Mitch set the receiver down on the wooden nightstand. “Deirdre,” he called and I came back into the bedroom, “Chris would like to meet us at the pool hall a little later on. Think we can make it?”

I nodded. “That would be nice, Mitch.” Then I looked down at my short skirt. “But I'll need to change my clothes again.”

“Why?”

“Can you imagine me bending over the pool table in this?”

His eyes flashed at me. “Yeah, I can.” I felt myself blush at his look of arousal and his knowing smile. “And yeah, you'll definitely need to change your clothes again.”

Chapter 12

I
put on my last pair of jeans, pulled on a pair of calf-high boots and we left the room. Mitch gave me a questioning look. “Should we lock it?”

“From creatures who can change into winged beasts or wild cats or a puff of smoke? It seems sort of useless.”

“Yeah, well, if you put it that way, I guess you're right.”

We left through the back entrance to the Imperial. Mitch stood on the sidewalk and sniffed the night air. “Garlic sauce,” he said, with a strong note of regret in his voice, “steak and potatoes. Damn, I'm hungry. And I miss food, I miss the process of eating. I'd give everything I have for a plate of fettucine.”

I sighed, an expression of relief rather than sadness. This was the first time Mitch had ever sounded sorry for what I'd made him into. His lack of regret had bothered me more than I cared to admit.

“I'm sorry, Deirdre, I didn't mean that to sound resentful.”

“No, that's not it, Mitch. I miss food too, even now after all these years. I can remember a cake my mother used to bake. It's one of my earliest memories.”

“That's interesting. You hardly ever talk about your life before.” He put an arm around my shoulders and we started to walk down the street. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Not really, Mitch, only that there's no use in it. Those days are gone, the people I loved then have been dust for decades. And talking about them won't change matters, won't bring them back. So when I remember, I try to forget.”

“I see.” We walked about a block before he spoke again. “So tell me, if I had died after Larry attacked me, is that what you would have said about me?”

I stopped, reached up and touched his cheek. “Mitch, my love, had you died I would have mourned you for all eternity.”

“Good.”

I linked my arm in his and we started walking again, slowly and in the general direction of the pool hall, but with no particular destination in mind. I imagined that we looked like nothing more than two ordinary lovers, enjoying each other's company, taking a stroll in the crisp night air. It was a sweet illusion and one that I knew was more useless than old memories. I could feel tension build up in the arm I clasped, could sense Mitch's eyes sweeping the nearby streets and alleys for likely prey. As I myself was doing.

We found what we were looking for about three blocks away. A couple of kids in their mid-twenties, lounging in an alley entrance, passing around a bottle of cheap wine. They were dressed almost identically, in black leather and chains with the same spiked-up hair, dyed in streaks of various colors. At first I thought they were both boys, but as we got closer and heard their voices, I realized that one was a girl. They were discussing in loud tones a movie they'd seen.

“He wasn't whining, Danny,” the girl said, taking a swig of the foul-smelling drink, “he was sensitive. He didn't know what he was getting into at first, and then afterwards when he decided he didn't like it, it was just way too late.” She sighed, took another sip and passed the bottle to her friend. “But he's a hunk, anyway.”

Danny took a drink and belched loudly. “Nah, he was a fuckin' whiner. But, that other one, man, Judy, was he ever cool.”

Mitch laughed as we walked up to them. “Hey, kids, seen any good movies lately? And how would you like to find out what that all is like for real?”

I was startled by his open statement; it was unlike him to talk to his victims first. It seemed cruel, somehow. But I bit back my reprimand when I thought of the way I used to feed before we began to hunt together. I was hardly in any position to criticize his methods.

He looked down at the girl and leaned over to take her chin into his hand, bringing her face up so that she could look into his eyes. Her body followed and she stood, staring at him in admiration and awe.

“Hey, old man,” the boy said, jumping up and pulling a switchblade from his pocket, “quit screwin' with my babe. Jude, you don' wanna mess with this old shit.”

But Judy wasn't listening, she'd been caught in the tantalizing quality of Mitch's gaze. He led her down the alley and into the darkness.

“Hey,” the boy said again and tried to follow them. I grasped his wrist and held him there.

“Judy will be fine, Danny, there's no need to get upset.” I twisted his hand slightly and the knife dropped to the sidewalk. “And,” I said, staring into his eyes, “there is no need for your weapon. Is there?”

“No,” I felt his resistance fall away. “IâI guess not.”

I smiled at him, exposing my sharpening canines. “Then let's join them, shall we?”

“Okay.” He allowed me to take him to where Mitch and the girl stood. Mitch's mouth was on her neck and she grasped his arms tightly. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling, almost humming her pleasure.

“You're for real, aren't you?” Danny's eyes widened as he watched Mitch feed upon his girlfriend. When he swung his head back to me, I nodded.

“Yes, we're real. It's a shame that you won't be able to remember after we leave.”

“Because I'll be dead?” Surprisingly, his voice held no fear of this circumstance. Perhaps, the wine he'd consumed affected his judgment, I thought, or perhaps it was just his age speaking. Whatever the reason, I regarded him almost in the same light as he did me, as if we were two alien creatures meeting on common ground.

As indeed we are, I thought and laughed, reaching over to touch my palm to the top of his hair; it felt exactly the way it looked. “No, you won't be dead. Trust me.”

His eyes worshipped me. “I do. I love you.”

“Thank you, Danny.” I pulled him to me and pierced his neck. His blood tasted clean and young and he pressed himself up against me as I drank, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me close. I could feel the heat of his skin through the leather, feel him grow erect, feel him tremble.

I drew on him slowly, enjoying the warmth of the blood entering my mouth, flowing down my throat and through my body. He shuddered, his grasp on me weakened and I sighed, knowing that I should stop. Still I drank, one more mouthful, one more swallow. When I finally took my mouth away and licked the wound on his neck, I stepped away, and held him out at arm's length.

He opened his eyes. “That was way cool,” he muttered in a shaky voice.

“I am glad you liked it.” Truly an alien species, I thought with an inner laugh. “Now, Danny, look at me and forget. Forget that this happened. You were drinking wine and you passed out on the steps.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “that was some pretty nasty swill we was drinkin'. Thanks for waking me up, lady. This ain't such a good place to fall asleep in.”

Mitch came over to where we stood, his arm wrapped around Judy's shoulders. “You two should go home, now,” he said forcefully, letting go of Judy and giving her a small push in Danny's direction, “it's late and the streets can be dangerous. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, come on, Jude, let's get home.” They twined their arms around each other and stumbled down the alley and onto the street, without even stopping to turn around and look back. We had been completely forgotten, or had merged somehow in their minds with the movie they had been discussing before our arrival.

Mitch and I watched them leave and exchanged a quick contented smile. “That was almost too easy,” he said, taking my arm again, “if this trend continues we could get fat and lazy.”

We walked slowly for another few blocks without speaking again; both of us still so wrapped up in our after-feeding euphoria, that there seemed to be nothing to say. I could feel new life and vitality spreading through my veins and when he smiled I could tell that it was the same for him. At one point he stopped and took me into his arms, kissing me hard and insistently, the taste of the girl's blood still strong on his tongue.

“There are times,” I said softly, echoing Larry's earlier sentiments, “times like these, when this existence is worth all of the pain, all of the hunger. And being able to share it with you, my love, is a pleasure beyond anything I ever thought possible.”

“Yeah.” He kissed the curve of my jaw and held me up against him, as if he were afraid I would disappear. Then he checked his watch and whistled. “Do you know we've been out here for two hours?”

“Has it been that long?”

Mitch shook his wrist, held the watch up to his ear and brought it back down again, looking at the dial in disbelief. “Yes, it really has. And we're very late to meet Chris. You want to take a cab?”

I laughed. “Sure. I guess that's the end of romance for tonight.”

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, as he stepped to the curb and flagged down a taxi. “The night is still young and I think we've done pretty well in that department so far.”

Chris was waiting for us in the near-deserted pool hall bar with three empty beer bottles lined up in front of him, and a fourth, half-drunk in his hand. He slipped off his barstool unsteadily as we entered, returned Mitch's hug enthusiastically and shook my hand.

“Hitting it a little hard tonight, aren't you, son?” Mitch looked at the bottles pointedly.

“Yeah,” Chris's voice sounded sulky. “Maybe I am. What of it?”

“Nothing.” Mitch shrugged and stepped up to the bar, motioning to the bartender. “You're of legal age. And it's your life, not mine.” Chris gave him a startled look, expecting, I supposed, more of a lecture from his father. Mitch grinned at the man behind the bar. “Two more beers, please, George. And run a tab for me, if you wouldn't mind.”

George clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure thing, Detective. Long time, no see. Where've you been? Chris here was telling me you got married.” He gestured with his thumb at me. “This the lucky lady?”

I walked over to him and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I'm Deirdre.”

“You look kind of familiar,” George said, squinting slightly through the dimness of the bar. “You been here before?”

“Once or twice,” I replied, taking the bottle he offered me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He gave me an admiring glance and turned to Chris. “You know, buddy, as far as stepmothers go, I'd say you made out okay. She doesn't seem all that bad to me. Quite the contrary, actually. Your dad's one lucky bastard.” He laughed, loud and boisterously. I was instantly reminded of Pete back in England, realizing with a sudden rush of homesickness that I missed him, and that I'd promised to call him when we arrived.

“Got any tables free, George?” Mitch picked up his beer and took a long draught.

The bartender shrugged. “Take your pick, the joint ain't exactly jumping tonight.”

“Well, then,” Mitch slapped me lightly on my backside, “let's get going, woman. Seems to me I have a score to even up with you, a reputation to uphold. Last time we were here you managed to beat me by a close margin.”

“Close margin, my ass, Dad,” Chris laughed, “she skunked you. Royally. And you know it.” He shook his head. “And I'll bet you she does it again.”

“Oh, I don't know about that, Chris. Maybe I've gotten better since I've been away.”

“Wouldn't count on it,” Chris said.

I winked at Chris. “I'm afraid, Mitch, that you are going to have to prove that. And be prepared to put your money where your mouth is.”

I was rewarded with a genuine smile from Chris, and the three of us left the bar to play pool.

Ten games and two hours later, Mitch conceded defeat with a laugh and placed his cue back on the wall rack. “You'll at least admit that I've improved, won't you? I almost won that last game.”

“Another century or two, Mitch, and you might even stand a chance of winning. But yes, you have improved. Your reflexes are much faster than they were.”

“Yeah, it's a nice side effect. Like being able to drink as much as you want without that happening.” He gestured to where Chris was slumped over a table, sound asleep. “I guess we'd better get him home,” he looked at the clock on the wall, “and then get back ourselves. It's getting late.”

“Yes.” Putting away my pool cue, I dusted the chalk from my hands. “The nights are getting shorter. And time seems to pass so quickly that the seasons blur into one another.” I stretched my arms over my head, arched my back and yawned. “I think I'm getting old. I tire so quickly these days.”

“Well, it's been a rough two days, you know.”

I laughed a bit, then grew serious. “And there seems to be no relief in sight. I wish we'd never come back.”

“I know what you mean,” Mitch went to Chris and shook him. “Up and at 'em, sonny boy. Time to go home.”

BOOK: Crave

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