Crying for the Moon (3 page)

Blood and the remnants of raw meat dripped onto the porch.

The young cat was on it in a flash, lapping up the spillage while Alex watched. After a moment’s hesitation, he set the plate down beside the cat.

Gleaming eyes glanced up at him before the cat moved over to the plate and began licking it clean. A loud purr reached Alex’s ears. He straightened, still holding the knife, watching with amusement while the cat ate.

“You wouldn’t give me the time of day before, but now I’m your best friend, eh?”

The cat ignored him. Alex wasn’t surprised. He’d spotted the young tom off and on ever since he moved in, but this was the first time he’d ever been able to get a good look at the cat. It was ostensibly a tabby, but the stripes blurred to the point of being almost like ticking instead. It had the coloring of a wild rabbit more than a classic, striped tabby. Its gold eyes were striking in an otherwise plain little face. The first time Alex had seen the cat, it had immediately slunk off into the bushes on making eye contact with him. As the days passed and he’d continued to ignore its presence, the cat had deigned to move when Alex came in and out of the back door, treating Alex with cool disdain.

He’d begun talking to it out of sheer boredom.

The cat would lie up under the bushes and watch him when he weeded the flowerbeds behind the house, and it had taken to shadowing him when he spent one long afternoon cleaning out the gutters. Alex liked to sing his favorite arias to pass the time while working. At first, the cat darted off into the fields behind the house, but now it would lie on its side nearby, flicking its tail with its eyes closed to half slits, always just out of reach.

It was nice to have the company. Alex knew he could have called on Nick and the others at any time, and he intended to invite them over at some point, but a part of him needed this time alone to figure out who he was again. Without Victor’s influence. Without being defined by the Life. Though he’d grown up in the Life, he knew there had to be more to it than simply feeding and sex. He wasn’t sure that there was anything of depth or substance to him anymore, and that was disturbing. Surely, someone who had walked the Earth as long as he had should have more to show for his existence than mere ennui.

The cat finished cleaning the plate and began winding itself around Alex’s ankles. “Beat it,” Alex said, as he started back toward the door. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make yourself scarce by the next full moon.”

A noise startled them both and Alex looked out into the yard, where a large raccoon had emerged from the bushes. It paused at the sight of Alex on the porch, lifting its head to smell the air tentatively. The little bastard probably wanted his trash. He’d had to clean up the yard several mornings in a row before he’d purchased the new can with the locking lid. He was about to say something to run the animal off when a low, threatening growl reached his ears.

He looked down to see the tabby crouched in a menacing stance, ears flat against his skull, an eerie noise emanating from his body in a manner that sent a little shiver down the back of Alex’s neck. Before he could speak, the cat had launched himself off the porch at the raccoon, despite the fact it was twice his size. He landed on the raccoon with such force he bowled it over. When they both regained their footing, the fat raccoon ran at full speed toward the forest, the angry cat chasing it all the way.

“You little son of a bitch,” Alex said aloud to the night. He couldn’t help but admire the cat’s audacity. He hoped the cat couldn’t tell.

Chapter 2

I
N
PATENT
disbelief, Alex turned the faucet back off and on again. Still, no water came out.
Damn it all to hell
. Alex threw back the shower curtain on its makeshift rod and stepped out of the old claw-foot tub, moving swiftly toward the sink. The water trickled out of the faucet when he tried it, but quickly trailed off with a splutter. Cursing, he shut the faucet off and snatched up a plush, red robe before storming out of the bathroom.

What now?
What hadn’t gone wrong with this dilapidated house ever since he’d been so misguided as to buy it in the first place? For starters, it was the coldest goddamned house he’d ever lived in, and that was saying something, seeing as he’d lived in St. Petersburg before the invention of central heating. He’d discovered early on that the previous owners had believed in making do or doing without, and that this thrifty attitude toward housekeeping had resulted in some creative fixes about the place, not the least of which included wiring. It was a wonder the place hadn’t burned down years ago. As it was, Alex had learned the hard way that certain appliances could not be plugged in or used at the same time. The estimate the electrician had given to rewire the place was staggering. As financially comfortable as he was now, until he established himself in this new identity, his funds would have to last him a while. For the moment, rewiring was on hold.

He’d nearly fainted with shock at his first electric bill as well, which was doubly annoying because he was so damn cold all the time. Fortunately, there had been a small amount of wood left stacked in a woodpile by the garage. Only he’d almost smoked himself out the first time he tried to light a fire; something had obviously built a nest in the chimney, and he’d had to hire a sweep before it was safe to use the fireplace again.

What he’d thought was merely ugly wallpaper in the downstairs bathroom had turned out to be the sort of plastic sheeting with sticky backing that people use to line their cupboards, and the removal of it had left the walls tacky with glue. He’d had to coat the walls with a heavy white primer before he could even begin to paint, and the whole process was significantly delayed by having to pause to pick hair and lint out of the glue before he did so. The paint he’d purchased, with the soothing name of “Summer Wheat,” had turned out to be nothing like the pastel yellow he was expecting. Instead, his bathroom now looked as though he’d painted the walls with a fluorescent highlighter. The color was incredibly aggressive; he flinched every time he entered the room and turned on the lights.

Now, with Nick’s pack coming over in a few hours for dinner, the failure of his water supply was going to be a big problem. Not only could he not take a desperately needed shower—he couldn’t fix dinner either. Damn it. He didn’t want to serve pizza again. He got the distinct feeling that food might be a bit hard to come by for Nick’s group, especially if the alacrity with which they’d accepted his invitation to dinner was any indication. He knew that Nick and the others were hardly picky when it came to food, but it was a matter of pride for him. Food might not have any great appeal for him personally, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain his friends properly. He recalled the elaborate dinners he’d attended in centuries past, before Victor. Before Victor had become so insistent on living completely rooted in the Life.

Not to mention, he really needed a shower. He’d been sanding the floors in the upstairs hallway all day, with the idea of laying down a coat of polyurethane the next day, and he was itchy with fine dust. Who the hell could he get to come out on a Saturday evening to fix the plumbing? What if it wasn’t the plumbing, but something dire, like the well itself? He suddenly had visions of what an expensive well replacement would do to his financial reserves.

He hurried into the kitchen, hoping that, for some odd reason, the problem was limited to the upstairs bathroom. Though the kitchen faucet gurgled when he turned the tap, nothing came out.
Fuck.

His glance fell on the small business card tucked into the window frame over the sink.
Tate Edwards, DVM
. Alex chewed at his lower lip. Well, the guy did say that he had helped the previous owners around the place before. Maybe he could tell Alex about some simple fix over the phone. Reluctantly, Alex removed the card from the window and went in search of his cell phone.

It took him a while to find it and, when he did, he realized the battery had almost run down. He searched for the charger and plugged it in, all the while waffling uncharacteristically about even making the call in the first place. The last thing he wanted to do was appear as though he were making friendly overtures toward his neighbor. Only the strong desire for a shower and the conviction that Tate was probably out for the evening allowed Alex to place the call. As the phone rang, he shifted on his bare feet, shivering a little. He’d be Damned before he found himself in the local megalithic discount store, buying bedroom slippers, however.

Tate picked up on the third ring. “Hello. This is Dr. Edwards.” He sounded brisk and professional.

“Dr. Edwards.” Alex responded in kind. “This is Alex Novik, your neighbor.”

“Hey, Alex. How’s it going?” Tate’s voice warmed suddenly, the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

“I hate to bother you.” Alex ignored the question, sticking to the necessities. “I seem to have run out of water. I was wondering if you might know what could be wrong.”

“What’s that? You’re breaking up. I’m on the road. Hang on. I might lose you.”

“Oh! Never mind,” Alex said hurriedly. “It’s not a big deal.” He was unexpectedly disappointed that Tate did indeed have plans, and he was annoyed at himself as a result. He was about to hang up when Tate spoke again.

“It’s no biggie. I’m just on my way home from the store. The reception’s not that great in places on this road, though. Did you say the water is out?”

“Yes.” Alex spoke louder for good measure. He often forgot that humans didn’t hear as well as he could.

“Did you change the water filter this month?” The sound of Tate’s voice garbled as the signal broke up and then strengthened again. Alex could just make out the words.

“Filter? What filter?” No one said anything about a filter when he moved in. Or did they? That was starting to sound vaguely familiar.

“The one in the basement. You have a system that filters out the sediment in your well water. You need to replace the cartridges every month or else it clogs up. Did you notice a decrease in water pressure first?”

Damn it, he had, but he hadn’t paid any significant attention to it. “Okay, so this thing is in my basement? And I have cartridges? There are directions, right?” Alex hated the fact that he sounded like an idiot, and he mentally winced when Tate laughed.

“Look, I’ll be passing by in a few minutes. It’ll be easier to show you than to explain over the phone. You want me to stop on my way home?”

Alex hesitated. “Yes,” he said reluctantly.
This is a bad idea
, his brain argued. He ignored it.

“Right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Tate ended the call without saying goodbye.

Alex realized he had only a few minutes to get dressed, and he hurried back upstairs to throw on the clothes he’d been wearing before. He didn’t bother with underwear; he pulled the burgundy sweater over his head and stepped into his jeans, noting in the mirror that the thin, V-neck sweater let his nipples show. He carefully zipped his fly, aware that his nipples weren’t the only thing showing just now. He felt the odd little rush of excitement that preceded a prowl on the town and he sternly squashed it.
Water, not blood
, he reminded himself. He shoved his bare feet into his loafers and returned downstairs.

When he answered the door, it was apparent that Tate didn’t have any particular plans for the evening. He was dressed in the same manner that he’d been when Alex had met him before, only this time it was a heavy, gray sweater over jeans, the knees of which were white with wear and starting to fray. At least the hiking boots weren’t muddy this time.

Tate carried with him a small grocery bag. “Ice cream,” he explained. “I need to stick it in your freezer so it doesn’t melt. Graeter’s. Black raspberry with chocolate chunks. You should try it sometime. The local store started carrying it, which was a very bad thing for me to learn.”

“No problem. Freezer’s this way,” Alex said. Ice cream. It was odd the things that started to sound good when he spent less time in the coffin. It had been years since he’d had any ice cream, and he bet the pack would have enjoyed some too. Well, he never claimed to be Martha Stewart. The idea of the domestic diva as a vampire amused him, and Alex smiled briefly as he led Tate down the hall.

“Like what you’ve done with the place,” Tate said admiringly as they made their way toward the kitchen. Alex felt a little burst of pride, knowing all the hard work he’d put into refinishing and repainting, and he chided himself for his stupid reaction.

“Thanks,” Alex said shortly. “Basement’s this way, through the kitchen.”

“Yeah, I know.” Tate’s grin was infectious and Alex found himself smiling back. Ice cream safely stowed, Alex reached the basement door first and opened it, heading down the steps into a near-Stygian darkness until he belatedly realized that Tate might need a light. Before he could remember where the switch was located, Tate had followed him down the stairs with a quick, light step.

Tate halted just at the foot of the stairs, stopping before he ran into Alex. The room had a few small windows at ground level that let in a weak gleam of sunlight, heavily filtered through a layer of dirt and grime. Presumably, Tate was letting his eyes adjust to the gloom, or perhaps he was waiting for Alex to turn on a light. Tate’s body radiated heat in contrast to the damp, cold room, and Alex couldn’t resist. He opened and closed his mouth quickly, releasing an ultrasonic burst of sound that perfectly located and bounced off of Tate’s form just as he was moving toward the far wall. For an instant, Tate’s body was just as clear to Alex as though he’d been dipped in phosphorescent paint.