In the Blood (2 page)

“No.” Her automatic response was more curt than she would have liked. “I moved here about three years ago.”

She dropped her gaze to her wineglass. White. She didn’t know whether to be surprised it wasn’t red because of his strange fetish or unsurprised that it matched the decor. “So, Viktor, my friend Julie tells me that drinking blood really turns you on?”

He nodded and sipped his wine, unembarrassed by his peculiar tastes. “I paid Julie a thousand dollars a visit. In return, I drank her blood. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Do you want it to?” It was always best to know what got the client off at the start. “Is that part of the thrill?”

“No, of course not.” He set his glass down. It was still full. “I would not wish for you to do something…distasteful. If you are truly comfortable with the idea, then the job is yours. I would need an assurance that I could see you every week.”

Every week? Even if the guy was a little freaky, she could get past it for four thousand extra dollars a month. “I don’t think that will be a problem. So, what happens, do you…bite me? And then we do it? Or we do it and then…”

“No. I do not like to bite. It is not in causing pain that I find enjoyment.” He reached into his jacket and produced a single, gleaming razor blade. “Julie preferred to cut herself, but I can do it, if you find it difficult. Some do.”

So, she wasn’t his only supplier. She wondered how many girls he had lined up for this job and thought she should point out how vastly unsafe such practices were. She held her tongue. A man like this, with his expensive suits and palatial apartment, could afford clean tricks. “I think I’d rather do it. Don’t take it personally, it’s just that I don’t know you well enough yet to trust you with a sharp implement.”

He laughed softly, and her stomach jumped in response. She could feel his gaze on her like a wave of heat searing to her bones. A client had never affected her this way before. She gulped down half her glass of wine, personal rules be damned, and tried to get her head on straight. A flush crept up her skin like a fever, burned through her like fire.

“Come here.” His softly spoken command sent electric shocks of arousal through her veins, and she rose on trembling legs. She stood before him, looking down as he studied her face, time swelling around them until she was sure she would scream just to break the tension. He gestured and said, simply, “Sit,” and she found herself in his lap, the taut muscles of his thighs pressing into the backs of her legs as he pulled her to lie against his chest.

“The razor,” she had the presence of mind to say and, before she could panic at the potential danger of the situation, he pressed the flat of the blade into the palm of her hand.

“Don’t cut yourself,” he warned, his lips moving like a phantom chill over the skin of her throat. “Not yet.”

It shouldn’t be like this, she warned herself. It was her job to remain in control, to give a man his fantasy. It was her job. And still, as he tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder, stroking her throat with his long, gentle fingers, she wanted to surrender that control, more than she’d ever wanted anything.

His hand dropped to her thigh, where the red fabric of her skirt rode up and he helped its ascent. His mouth fastened at her neck, teeth grazed her skin. His hands bunched on her skirt, raising it higher, fingers sliding over the red silk of her panties, now soaked to her skin. She moaned and writhed against him, pressing back against the unmistakable hard ridge of him beneath his trousers, and he whispered against her ear, “Now. Do it.”

The words shocked some sense into her, and with numb fingers she brought the blade to her neck. His hand caught her wrist. “Not unless you want to kill yourself,” his dark voice scolded, and he brought the hand gripping the blade to her wrist. “Here. Not deep.”

She shook so badly he had to help her. The sting of the cut pulled a surprised cry from her, but the pain disappeared under the shocking cold of his mouth as he fastened it to the cut.

The room darkened before her eyes. Had she cut too deep? Would he notice before it was too late? She tried to speak, but the darkness came over her too quickly, far too quickly to be bleeding to death. She knew what that was like, to be on the edge of death. This was not the same, though it was just as terrifying. She was falling, farther than the floor, and the monsters were on her.

Only this time, they were real. Their teeth, their claws.

Her screams.

“Cassandra?” Viktor shook her shoulders gently. “Cassandra!”

His voice pulled her violently back to reality even as it echoed through her nightmares. Had she heard a voice in them before? It took her a moment to realize that she still sat in his lap, his arms strong around her as he looked down at her with eyes wide in concern. Red stained his lower lip, and he hurried to wrap a handkerchief around her wrist. She smoothed her hair back with one hand, her head pounding like she’d just woken up with the worst hangover of her life. She pushed herself away and stood, trembling for a different reason now. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“You were screaming.” He followed her—he probably would never want her in his home again, and she didn’t blame him—up the stairs to the foyer. “Are you all right?”

Screaming? That was a new symptom she’d have to tell Dr. Holden. “I’m fine! I just…I want to go.”

“You should wait,” he said, though he helped her into her coat with trembling hands. “I am afraid Anthony has gone for the night, so there is no car to take you home—”

“I’ll get a cab.” She searched for an elevator button on the sleek black walls. “Let me out of here!”

“Cassandra,” he began, but he did not finish. Instead he opened a panel on the wall and called the elevator. “I sent Julie’s payment to the club. Shall I do the same for you?”

Her money. Damn it. She hadn’t done the job, not to her satisfaction, certainly not to his. “No, I couldn’t accept it. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It would not be fair to send you away without payment,” he countered.

“Fine,” she whispered. Anything to get her out of here, away from this guy who seemed stranger every second. Anything to get home to the pills that wouldn’t help her and the nightmares that at least kept their hands to themselves.

Before she could stop herself, tears slid down her face and it was too late to hide them.

“Cassandra, don’t go.” His haunted eyes pulled at something in her heart, but the monsters flashed through her mind again. The elevator doors opened and she raced inside. She did not want to look back, but something pulled her gaze to the doors. Viktor stood, the shadows on his face deepened by the light overhead, making no move to follow her. He did not look away, even as the doors slid closed.

A tremor went through Cassie, one that did not stop shaking her limb from limb, even after she’d run from the building and into the cold New York winter.

Chapter Two

Viktor stood at the living room windows, watching the sun rise over the skyline. From his vantage point he could look over the row of buildings surrounding the park and view the way the sunlight unfolded like a golden blanket over the hidden green jewel of the city. He usually enjoyed this morning ritual, but today he hated it. He hated knowing that she was out there somewhere, alone and afraid, and he had not done what he’d needed to do to reassure her.

He had seen her sorrow the moment he’d tasted her blood. Horrific visions of blood and twisted metal, memories of unimaginable pain. And Minions. She knew of them, their blank faces devoid of humanity, their spirits fueled by violence. If she hadn’t left, he was not sure he could have made love to her anyway. Knowing the pain she was in, tasting her fear, it would have damaged his humanity, not restored it.

He tightened his grip on the crystal glass in his hand and it shattered, raining droplets of unfinished blood to the floor.

“Shall I clean that up for you, Mr. Novotny?” Anthony already moved to wipe the blood off the black marble before waiting for a reply.

“You’re such a considerate jailer.” He chuckled. For the past thirty years, Anthony had shadowed Viktor’s every step in the guise of being an incredibly solicitous personal assistant. Most of the time, he fulfilled his role very well, but Viktor knew the man gauged his every step, determining if today would be the day he had to sink a stake in his back.

Viktor let the man believe that he would be physically able to accomplish such a feat. “And how are my friends at the Conclave?”

“Dedicated to wiping out your entire species. I sent them a glowing report regarding your…longevity. You may wish to step back from the window, sir. The light is getting very close.”

Repressing a heavy sigh, Viktor flipped the switch on the wall that would lower the blinds. Anthony followed him to the bar, where Viktor wiped his bloodied hand on one of the pristine white bar towels. He tossed it into the sink, knowing Anthony would come back for it later and fret over it the entire time it sat untended. “Do not mention Cassandra to the Conclave. She has nothing to do with them.”

“Doesn’t she?” Anthony shrugged. “If you insist. I find what you’ve told me of her visions rather suspect.”

“She is not one of us, nor will she be.” An almost painful determination tightened his muscles at the words, as though he were tensed to take action. He should not have told Anthony about her vision. Viktor cursed himself for his stupidity. “I do not know how she knows of Minions, but I will find out. Perhaps a simple hypnosis will cure her of her memories.”

“You may try. I will act according to my vow to the Conclave, Viktor.”

Viktor nodded, not wishing to rehash old enmity. “See to the deal with Whitehall and Barnes. They insisted on a lunch meeting at their downtown offices.”

“They think they’ll put the crazy shut-in at a disadvantage.” Anthony shook his head and chuckled. “Will there be anything else before you retire?”

“No, thank you.” Though he should have seen to his other hunger, he needed to be left alone with his thoughts. He could not examine them freely while Anthony was there, reading every emotion that crossed his face. While the Conclave monitored his every move, waiting for the day he would lose his humanity and become a Minion, he walked a fine line.

When Anthony had gone, Viktor crossed the living room to sit in the chair he’d occupied the night before. Closing his eyes, he felt Cassandra’s firm body beneath his hands, heard her soft moans as she had given herself over to him completely. The memories enflamed him, but he could not concern himself with carnal desires now, even at the cost of the sliver of humanity such an indulgence would have brought him. Not with so many unanswered questions, and an innocent human life hanging in the balance.

How had Cassandra known of Minions? No human who encountered them should have survived. He knew that well enough…

Brushing aside memories best left unvisited, he concentrated on the woman who needed his help. The woman he could not get out of his mind, who seemed inextricably connected with the ghosts of his past. He cursed his stupidity aloud and stood, reaching into his collar for the ring he wore suspended by a chain around his neck. The moment his fingers closed on the slender band, his mind calmed. He credited Melina’s spirit with the transformation. Momentary though it might be, it provided a welcome respite from the darkness that pulled his humanity away by shreds.

A shock ripped his tranquility from him. The gentle aura that Melina’s memory brought to him was so familiar, he hadn’t questioned its presence the night before. But it had been there when he’d fed from Cassandra.

His heart seized, and he flattened the ring to his flesh. It was not possible. He probed his memory for any thought he might have had that would have conjured such a feeling, but his mind had been fixed on Cassandra, on her body and her blood and the lust that had raged through his veins as he’d held her. Shamefully, Melina had been the furthest thing from his mind.

In the back of his mind, he still felt Cassandra. The act of feeding forged a connection, one she would be wholly oblivious to, but too keen on his end to ignore. Her confusion and despair were palpable, and he blamed himself. If he had only known—

There had been no way to know, he reasoned, shutting down the guilt that would do him no good now. Usually once he’d fed from a human and made love to them, the rush of humanity he’d acquired blocked that predator instinct to sense his prey. But since she’d run off without completing the feeding, all he could do was wait until she came seeking answers, and make sure she didn’t do anything foolish in the meantime.

Cassie called in sick to work. In the past, she hadn’t been able to shake the dreams made up of teeth and fangs and scenes from the accident. Now, the monsters and memories stalked her in the daylight, joined by the burning imprint of Viktor’s hands she could still feel on her body.

She’d tried calling Dr. Holden, but ultimately hadn’t been able to tell him the whole story. How would it have sounded? “I met a man who makes my nightmares worse. He makes them real. And yes, I am ready to go to the asylum now.”

But there was no other explanation for what had happened. Touching him had made her nightmares materialize out of thin air. No, not touching him…being touched by him.

No other client had ever brought her to her knees the way he had. Maybe that was scarier than her nightmares.

Sitting up in her bed, she reached for her bottle of pills and swallowed two, then screwed on the cap and set them in their place on her nightstand. She got to her feet and hurried across the cold, wooden floor to the bathroom. The studio apartment was small and usually drafty, but it had become the only place in the world where Cassie felt safe. Her twin bed just fit in the bay window, and she woke most mornings to multi-colored light streaming from the suncatchers and prisms she’d hung. Her small television perched on the ledge of a bookshelf, and a second-hand desk served as a dresser and vanity. The rest of her clothes stuffed the little closet and one cupboard in the tiny kitchen. It was small, but it was her sanctuary. Now, she didn’t feel safe.