Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt (13 page)

Selim stood still and let his awareness spread from the perch high over Sunset. His perceptions roamed over the neighborhood, drawn to moving hot spots of lust and hunger. Yes, they were out there, all of Los Angeles’s population of loners, drawn to the double aphrodisiac of fear and blood. Selim considered the simple expedient of spending the evening killing all of them. He had promised them a Hunt, but he hadn’t said who would be the prey. Primitive peoples thought that eating the heart of an enemy made a warrior stronger. It was true.

He looked speculatively at Sterling. A little torture would be in order to distract and excite the strigs. The boy’s silent screams would make an excellent lure to draw them in. Then again, he thought he could get to like the kid. Selim decided he’d rather find Geoff Sterling a good home than rip his heart from his body. Besides, he wanted to get to Siri. He needed to see that she was safe, and killing the other strigs would take too much time.

“It was just a thought.”

“What was?”

Selim shrugged. “Never mind.”

He nudged Jager with his foot. It was Kamaraju who should be lying there dead, instead of the companion he’d let hunt long before he was ready. But Kamaraju hadn’t broken any Laws. Skirted them, gained the contempt of many, but he hadn’t done anything that wasn’t allowed by the code set down by the Strigoi Council.

“Jager never had a chance on his own,” he pointed out to the young vampire. Better to offer instruction than violence. “I told you that how long you’d been a companion was irrelevant. That’s not true. When you have a lover,” he warned, remembering Sterling’s interest in the actress, “keep her as long as you can.”
If you don’t kill her, that is,
he added to himself, remembering the decision Sterling had to make.

Geoff Sterling nodded. “Jager and I used to talk.” He didn’t go so far as to claim that he and Jager were friends. Strigs liked to pretend that they never had anything to do with each other. “He went crazy,” Sterling said. “Kept trying to get Kamaraju’s attention.”

And Kamaraju loved it, Selim knew. He and the nest leader were going to have to have a talk about that. But he had other things to occupy the rest of his evening right now.

There was a saying Siri had quoted to him once. Something about how friends help you move, good friends help you move bodies. Sterling wasn’t a friend. He was wearing a long, draping leather coat, impractical for even the coolest desert nights, but stylish. It would do. Selim held out his hand. “Give me your coat.”

Sterling looked disgustedly at the bloody body on the catwalk. “Shit.” He didn’t argue, though, just stripped off the coat and handed it over.

“Thanks.”

Selim bagged Jager’s remains in the coat. The makeshift shroud would be enough to keep any blood from trailing on the ground. He then hefted the body over his shoulder. He glanced at the ground below the billboard
and jumped. It was a faster and easier way than taking his burden down the spindly access ladder. Hell on his knees and arches when he landed, though. At least he was wearing a decent pair of Nikes to help take the impact. It was little comfort to know that the fall would have killed a human. He wasn’t human; he was a hungry Enforcer with a curious young strig on his tail. He snarled at Sterling when the boy landed lightly beside him. Sterling grinned at him. It was a gesture of cheerful enthusiasm rather than a threat display. Which was good, since Selim was in no mood to play alpha games.

“I have to get to Siri.”

“You need help with—”

“Go home, boy.”

Sterling took the hint. He went. So did Selim, trotting under shadows to where he felt Siri waiting, blocks away.

There was valet parking in this lot, but the young men who worked in the place didn’t notice Selim as he went past the booth at the entrance. Maybe they caught a faint scent of blood on the air, but they didn’t see anything. Selim walked directly to the back row. There were many Mercedes among the neatly parked rows of cars, but only one of them had its trunk open. Only one had Siri standing apprehensively next to it. After he dumped Jager inside, Selim slammed the lid and turned to the woman cowering by the side of the car. All right, maybe she wasn’t cowering, but her shoulders were hunched and her arms were crossed defensively over her stomach. Her face was pale, but for a bruise forming on one cheek. Her dress was torn. Anger flared in him at the sight of her exposed flesh.

“You did that,” she said, in a small, tired voice. “When you grabbed me from behind.”

“Oh.” That didn’t make it all right. She’d been threatened, in danger. It didn’t matter who had caused it. He held out his arms, and Siri rushed into them. Hunger gnawed at him, so he didn’t dare let himself kiss
her. It would lead to his dragging her into the backseat and having her, letting her taste him. All his pulse points throbbed at the thought of Siri’s teeth sinking into his flesh; of her mouth sucking, drinking deeply.

He held her for a few moments, taking and giving comfort, fighting the rush of need. A faint stain of Jager’s blood was on her dress when he stepped away. He turned toward the car. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive you home.”

She looked at him strangely. “You can’t drive.”

“I can drive. I just don’t like to.” He took her arm. She was shivering, still unsteady. He gently guided her into the passenger’s seat of her precious dark red Mercedes. She sank into the seat and put her head back as he started the engine.

“Anything you want to tell me?” The question came out of him in a far too casual tone. He winced at the suspicious sound. He might as well have asked, so, who’s the blond?

Siri didn’t move. Didn’t open her eyes. “No,” she answered, even though she had to feel the prick of his jealousy.

“Fine.” He put the car in gear. “You can sleep while I drive.”

They didn’t talk on the trip out of Los Angeles. Siri put her hand tentatively on his a few times as he shifted gears. He wasn’t sure if she was looking for reassurance or worried about his driving. He didn’t ask. She didn’t say anything until he pulled up in front of her house and got out to open the passenger-side door for her.

“You could come in.”

“With a body in the trunk?” He glanced at the rear of the Mercedes. “I don’t think so.”

She followed his gaze and sighed. “You have to dispose of it, don’t you? Will you be safe? Do you know where to—?”

“I’ve had practice,” he reminded her. He wished he could keep her out of this. He always had before. It was a shame that real life wasn’t like the movies. It would
be very convenient if vampire remains simply turned to ash. Of course, if they did that, what would Enforcers have for dinner?

He escorted Siri to her door, made sure it was locked behind her, then drove the Mercedes somewhere safe and secure. He made a call to Mike Tancredi on the way. Siri would have a brand new Mercedes delivered to her the next morning by one of Mike’s slaves.

“She’s deep in denial.”

“She’s holding onto her humanity,” Valentine said. “That’s good.”

“Why?”

Yevgeny’s sneer of disgust did not amuse her, but she let it go. She reached around where he sat, perched on the edge of her kitchen counter, and poured herself another cup of coffee. “It’s none of our business,” she told him. He held his mug out, and she tipped steaming espresso into it. He took a long sniff of the coffee’s aroma, then drank from the mug in silence, without even thinking that she was being a hypocrite.

She asked, “What else?”

Yevgeny put the mug down, then slid off the counter to stand next to her. He was a very big man, and she was a very small woman. His size hadn’t been what attracted her to him. She didn’t normally have any interest in big, hard-bodied palomino stallions. It wasn’t his looks that kept him fascinating. Companions came in all shapes and sizes and sexes. There had been a eunuch once . . . long ago. She hadn’t been able to get his manly bits to grow back, but she’d loved him anyway. His company had been rather restful, come to think of it. She didn’t want to think about long ago, but how did one help it?

She concentrated on Yevgeny, loving him, feeling his love for her, strong still, despite all the anger and necessary frustration. What she loved in this beautiful man was the strength of his gift.

“We used to call it the Curse,” she told him,
answering questions that had been in his mind so long he’d stop thinking them consciously.

“What? You mean the gift?”

“Psychic ability, psi, telepathy, empathy, precognition, premonition, the sight,” Valentine said. “Whatever the sense is that most humans don’t have. Call it what you like. We saw it as a brand, a mark of sin. We believed that every human born with psychic ability was a child of the Goddess, just like us.” She touched his cheek. “You were born with our version of original sin. We believed that you deserved to suffer the same punishment as us. But that was a long time ago,” she added. “I don’t believe in that religion anymore.”

He didn’t care. He didn’t want her excuses. He wanted what he wanted. His indifference hurt her. “It is your fault.” His tone wasn’t even accusing. It had become too rote for that.

He was right. It was.
So what? Get over it, Yevgeny.
It was better not to humor him. She took her coffee and went to her desk.

Yevgeny sulked in the kitchen for a while, but eventually he followed her. He perched on the edge of the desk. Yevgeny wasn’t much for chairs. Valentine kept typing while silence drew out between them. There was no comfort in their silences anymore. Mostly, the silence was a long-distance one these days. She should never have called on him for help. It had just been another excuse when she told herself she couldn’t do this without him.

“How’s it coming?” he asked at last. “Your script?”

“Good,” she answered, though she wasn’t certain that was true. She kept changing the story. “I think I’m finally on to something. You’ve been a big help.” She looked at him instead of the computer monitor. “No, you haven’t.” She put her hands flat on the wrist rest in front of the keyboard. “Tell me more.”

Instead of complying, he got up and came to stand behind her. While waiting for him to say something, Valentine went back to work. After a while, she grew
anxious. Not at his stubbornness, but because all writers are insecure, neurotic creatures.

“What do you think?” she asked as Yevgeny read over her shoulder. She dreaded his answer, since he was the most honest critic she’d ever known. She both loved and hated that about him. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down a little. She scrolled the screen up a few times as he read, and she waited.

“Istvan?” he finally said. “That’s going a little too far, isn’t it?”

“He’s a good boy.”

Yevgeny snorted. “He’s everyone’s worst nightmare.”

“I’ve never approved of what was done to him.” She didn’t reward Yevgeny’s curiosity with an explanation. She did add, “He never liked me, of course. He never liked anyone.”

“He still doesn’t. I can’t believe you’re using Istvan.”

“I’ll probably change his name,” she said and shook her head in disgust. “I’ve already had enough trouble with the hero’s character not being a blue-eyed white guy. Of course, my dream casting’s Nic Cage for the villain.”

“I think you’re missing the point, Valentine.”

“And you’re stalling.” She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “Did you miss me that much?”

He bent to kiss her forehead. “Of course.”

A wave of affection flooded her, but she didn’t let it overwhelm her. “Nobody’s biting anybody tonight.” She’d felt a chase earlier, the first one in years. She was interested, excited, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t suppose Yevgeny knew the details of what had happened. It didn’t matter. She’d draw it out of Selim’s mind in the morning.

“Bitch.”

How true.
“Tell me something I want to know. You said you’d help me.”

He withdrew from her, sat back on the corner of the desk. “You ordered me to help you.”

“I asked nicely. You didn’t have to.”

He laughed. “I had to. I had to see you,” he added grudgingly.

“I didn’t answer your calls,” she mimicked. She swiveled the chair face him. “I didn’t let you come to me. It’s better, and you know it.”

“I want to be with you.”

She laughed softly and stroked his thigh. He tensed beneath her touch. “I know what you think you want.”

“Need.” He gritted out the word. The pain he felt was in his mind and very real.

“You’re just infected with all the psychic energy being put off by the others. It’ll pass,” she reassured him. “It did last time.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “The last time, you took me on vacation. Somewhere boring in Utah.”

“You said you liked the skiing.”

“You said you enjoyed the film festival.”

She shrugged. “We both lied. You should get away this time. No,” she agreed before he could say it. “It’s too late. You’ve caught the scent.”

“So have you.”

She looked at her computer. “I have my own coping mechanism.”

“I need to Hunt.”

Valentine shook her head. “It’s not going to happen. Do you hear me?” Her voice was hard as iron. She remembered an age of iron. And one of bronze before that. She put the authority of all her years in her words. “I forbid it.”