Fury Calls (5 page)

“B
lake…” Meghan cradled his face, pulling him back into the now, but he reared away at her touch, feeling dirty from the memories. Feeling unworthy and angry.

“I don't want your pity.”

She snatched her hand back and tension crept into the lines of her body. Narrowing her eyes, she examined him sharply, her gaze now filled with hostility at his rebuff. It beat the sympathy he had seen there just moments before. He needed no one's sympathy to lift his shame.

“What do you want, Blake?”

To make amends, he thought. Since the day he had sired her he had known that he had to make it up to her, but at first her rage at him had been so great that none of his actions had reached her. When they had all been
taken captive two years ago by a mad scientist, he had protected her even at the risk of his own life. That had defused her anger somewhat, but he had known that it wouldn't be enough to put things right between them.

As he took note of the tight lines of her body and the disapproval stamped on her face, for the first time it occurred to him that he might not ever be able to square things between them.

“What do you want?” she pressed again, but he wasn't ready to answer her. Not when he was so unsure of the reception his confession would receive.

“It's late. I'll see you home,” he said. As he turned and walked out into the night, he thought he caught sight of something at the far end of the service alley.

“Did you see that?” he asked, as Meghan walked out beside him.

As she peered over the edge of the metal railing, he noticed a flash of something large and white-haired hopping away from the Dumpsters.

“Well, did you?” he repeated, but Meghan shook her head.

“I didn't see a thing.”

Blake bounded down the steps and hurried to the end of the alley. He stopped short at the sight of the feet poking out from between two of the smaller garbage cans. Meghan bumped him from behind, caught unaware by his abrupt stop. As she saw the feet, she mumbled a curse beneath her breath.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

But she immediately countered with, “Where you go, I go.”

“How I wish that were true, love,” he mumbled, too low for her to hear before hesitantly edging to the garbage cans and shifting them aside to fully reveal the body lying on the ground.

“Sweet Jesus,” he said, peering down at the remains of the male vampire. His throat had been ripped out so savagely, Blake could see the vertebrae of his neck, gleaming a sickly pink white in the light of the moon.

“Not again,” Meghan whispered, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Blake shot a look at her. “Seen this before, have you?” He bent closer to inspect the body, but as he did so, the smell of the blood pulled at his demon to come out and feed.

He heard a growl from behind him and looked up. Meghan was also transforming.

“Control it, love. There's nothing here for us tonight,” he said, calling back his own demon. Judging from the lack of blood on the ground beside the corpse, this vampire had been drained dry.

“We need to get Ryder and Diego,” she said as she raced back toward the restaurant.

“That's right. Call in the cavalry, 'cause there's no hero here,” he muttered to no one. Then he rose and searched out the area around the garbage cans.

The slightest scent, like some kind of spice, teased his nose as he walked away from the garbage cans and toward where the alley opened onto the street. At that opening, he sniffed deeply, smelling the scent again, but he couldn't recognize the aroma.

Peering from one end of the street to the other, he
searched for anything out of the ordinary or the source of that aroma, but there was nothing in sight. Whatever had savaged the dead vampire was obviously long gone.

He headed back toward the restaurant, sparing but a glance at the body as he passed.

Whatever had done this killing had been one major nasty, he decided.

 

“So you say you saw—”

“Something big and white-haired hopping away,” Blake finished. “Hippity hop, like the Easter Bunny.”

Diego glared at him and then glanced at Meghan.

She shrugged. “I didn't see it.”

“Did you hear or feel anything out of the ordinary?” Ryder asked, laying a hand on her shoulder in order to comfort her.

Meghan hadn't been able to forget the feeling from the night the two vampires had killed each other. That preternatural pulse that had beat against her vampire senses had indelibly registered in her brain. She hadn't felt anything like that energy until they had been right on top of the body. Then there had been the remnant of…evil. Slimy, like an oil slick against a pristine shore.

“I felt…something wicked, but not supernatural wicked, I don't think. Mortal malevolence maybe, but that doesn't make sense, does it? This was a vampire attack, right?”

Ryder dropped his hand from her shoulder, paced back and forth for a moment before facing Blake. “Neither of you fed from this vampire?”

“Not a drop left in the poor sod.”

Diego shook his head. It was clear he had been ripped from either rest or something more pleasurable. His shirt was wrinkled and didn't quite match the pants he wore. Diego was always sartorially splendid, and Meghan suspected that he and his lover, Ramona, had been otherwise engaged when she had called him.

“Diego?” she prompted now, growing concerned that neither of the older vampires nor Blake seemed to have a clue as to what had happened to the dead vampire in the alley.

Blake clearly sensed her upset. He had taken no action to calm her, sensing she might rebuff any overture he made. He had been standing across the way from her, sandwiched between the two other men, almost as if they wanted to keep him from her. He finally stepped from between them and came to her side. Touching her forearm tentatively, he said, “Don't worry, love. We'll figure out what nasty did this.”

Meghan thought about the rumors that another, stronger demon had been responsible for causing the earlier deaths. “Could it have been the same demon that made those two vamps feed to death?” she asked.

“Unlikely,” he said, and Ryder and Diego echoed those sentiments.

“This killing is distinct, Meghan,” Diego offered.

Ryder jumped in with “Different M.O.”

Blake chuckled. “Little woman is rubbing off on you, Ryder. Maybe you could get her to give us some FBI assistance.”

Hesitation crept into Ryder's features and his body
grew taut with irritation. Meghan wondered at his anger, but then Blake quickly added, “No joke, Ryder. Diana has the kind of experience we need around here.”

Diego surged forward and got right into Blake's face. “There is no ‘we' around here. It's us and you.”

“Right. Sorry, mate. Forgot I'm just the hired help, but thanks for setting me straight. Seeing that you don't need me anymore…” He shot her a quick, pained look before sauntering off with a cocky bounce in his step, but she recognized he was forcing it for the benefit of the two older vampires.

As he neared the door, he tossed out over his shoulder, “I'm feeling a might peckish. I'm going to go grab a bite somewhere that understands our kind.”

With that he surged out the door and was gone from sight even before the door could close behind him.

Meghan advanced on Diego as soon as Blake had vanished into the night. She didn't much care for Blake, but she also didn't like to see anyone abused. “That was mean.”

He arched one tawny brow. “Mean? He's lucky I didn't rip his throat out when—”

“He gave up Esperanza to that scientist creep? You seem to forget that
I
was the one who gave that creep the info about your lair and that
Blake
was the one who helped save us.”

Shoving her hands onto her hips, she pivoted to face Ryder. “And what's so crazy about his suggestion that Diana help us? She is Little Miss Save the World, isn't she?”

Ryder's stance grew even more rigid. Nearly every
muscle in his body tightened and from the slight bleed of neon vamp color into his eyes, she realized he was royally pissed off. With a low growl in his voice from the emerging vampire, he said, “Diana is…She doesn't need the pressure of this right now.”

Did he think that she couldn't physically handle the strain? Meghan thought.

Facing the two men, arms still akimbo, she asked, “So we've got three dead vampires and an Evil Energizer Bunny running around, according to Blake. What do you suppose we should do about that?”

Diego quickly answered, “Ryder and I will consider what we should do next.”

She was being dismissed. It didn't sit any better with her than it had with Blake. “I understand, Diego. It's you and then it's just me.”

She didn't wait for his reply. She was a mite peckish too, she thought with a chuckle, and sped out the door into the night.

N
ormally Meghan would feed once she got back to the posh Upper West Side apartment Diego had loaned her after he had moved to his lover's downtown digs. While under his protection in her early vampire years, Meghan had lived in one of his guest rooms, but with his absence, he had given her full run of the place and was generous enough to still occasionally stock the fridge there with a fresh supply of blood bags.

She had no desire to feed alone tonight.

The sense of satisfaction she had felt in the kitchen earlier had fled, giving rise to the sadness that had lurked there as well.

Sadness about the undead state of her life and the loneliness that came with it. Vampires didn't normally form many close relationships. She was lucky to have
fallen in with those who did, although even then the friendships were inevitably tinged with power struggles. It was just a vampire's way.

Much like it was a vampire's way to hunt and feed.

She didn't much care for it. Hated it, in fact. So instead she chose to visit the Blood Bank for a nip of something fresher, as she suspected Blake had done.

As she flashed some fang to the bouncer at the door and strolled into the club, she realized that little had changed in the years since her last visit. She then realized Blake was sitting at the same spot where she had first seen him: at the end of the bar, his blond hair a glaring anomaly amongst the darkness in the club. It dragged up painful memories and anger, but she forced down those emotions.

She had been angry for so long. Maybe far too long, she considered, feeling the weight of loneliness pressing down on her. She sensed that if only for a moment, the man sitting at the end of the bar could bring a smile.

She approached where he sat, shuffling an empty glass from hand to hand, much as he had been doing almost four years earlier when he had first caught her eye.

With barely a glance in her direction, he mumbled, “Slumming it, princess?”

“I'm sorry about what happened before.” She plopped herself down on the empty bar stool beside him.

“No reason for you to apologize. You didn't do anything.” He picked up his hand and motioned for the bartender, who glared at him until Blake reached into his pocket and tossed some cash on the counter.

Some things never change, she thought, but then quickly regretted the thought. Blake had changed, or at least he was trying to, as much as she didn't want to acknowledge that. It would be easier to keep on hating him if she didn't.

“Maybe not doing anything is enough to apologize for,” she said as she grabbed Blake's money and handed it back to him. Reaching into the pocket of the denim jacket she wore, she pulled out some cash and laid a twenty on the bar. “My treat.”

“There's no treat in drinking alone,” he challenged, and as the bartender came over, he took the liberty of ordering. “Two O negs. Freshest that you have.”

Meghan didn't particularly like satisfying her hunger in public, but the last thing she wanted was to go into one of the back rooms to feed. She was sure she couldn't handle that. Even returning to the club had been difficult.

As they waited for the bartender, Blake swiveled toward her on his bar stool. “If there's anywhere we might get information on the roadkill we found earlier tonight, this is the place.”

“So it wasn't just 'cause you were peckish,” she teased.

When the bartender brought over the tumblers filled with warm blood, Blake picked up his glass and took a sip, showing a reserve she couldn't muster. She was just too hungry. With a large gulp, she sucked down a good amount of the blood and immediately experienced the rush of its power through her body.

“Easy, love. This is heady stuff. You don't want to lose control,” Blake said in low tones intended for only her ears.

Meghan sucked in a breath and mustered the com
posure necessary to suppress the demon that wanted to escape now that she'd had a taste of the blood.

Blake smiled and nodded his approval. He could feel her demon calling to his, rousing his desire to share their demons' passion. Shoving away his own vampire, he motioned to a spot across the way where Foley was chatting with a stranger in a too-familiar way. As the stranger—an extremely attractive Asian man—passed a hand across Foley's face in a gesture more common to lovers, he said, “Seems like our Foley is playing both sides of the field.”

Meghan tracked his gaze. Her eyebrows narrowed as she considered the two men and their intimate pose. “Foley never set off my gaydar.”

“Mine either, which makes me wonder who that is.”

He drained his glass and slammed it on the counter. Then he jumped off the bar stool and quickly strode across the length of the room, weaving his way through those on the dance floor, Meghan close behind him. When he neared the two men, he sensed the thrum of undead power, but it was an unfamiliar kind of energy. Off somehow. Threatening just by virtue of its oddity.

Instead of proceeding closer, he stopped, quickly turned and slipped his arm around Meghan's waist, surprising her although she seemed to know better than to make a scene. He urged her into a slow dance, one hand braced against the small of her back.

“What are you doing?” she hissed in his ear, her body tight against his until he relaxed his hold and she put a little distance between them.

“There's something not right about Foley's Asian friend,” he said, shifting to get a better view as they danced.

“I don't feel—”

“Close your eyes and release your vampire, but only a little,” he urged and surprisingly, she did as he asked.

She closed her eyes and the power of her vampire grew, enveloping him in its force due to their proximity. As the spill of her energy intensified, he eased her closer until their bodies were pressed together and their energies merged thanks to his blood flowing in her veins.

At the press of his body against hers, Meghan moaned and opened her eyes. The deep emerald color had disappeared, and they now glowed with the brilliant brightness of the vampire.

“Blake, I don't want this,” she protested, a rumble from low in her throat tightening his body with desire.

“Do you think I want to feel this way about someone who hates me?” he said, but despite his words, he pressed one hand against the small of her back. Laying the side of his face on hers, he cradled her head, his movements as gentle as he could make them, aware that her feelings for him were always on the edge of anger and a wrong move could doom the moment.

With the music still slow and beating, with a bass sound that vibrated through their bodies, he invited her into the dance, shifting his feet. His hips joined to hers, urging her to move in time. He took care in the way his hands slowly relaxed their hold and the way a stroke against her back became a caress against the damp skin where her shirt had ridden upward.

The rumble came again from deep within her, and she bent her head to his neck. He felt the graze of her teeth there, and a ripple of longing shot through his body before she slowly pulled away.

“This is crazy,” she said, clearly battling her own need.

“Is it, love? Don't you remember how good it was?”

“Was it? Hard to remember since I ended up dead,” she said, and ripped from his arms. She raced off before he could stop her, but he knew one thing even as she did so.

She remembered just how good and bad it had been.