Scorched (10 page)

He wanted Constance even more than he’d ever wanted Geneva. Not good. Constance was far more dangerous because, once safe from her teeth, he wanted to know why she was alone, why she hadn’t bitten anyone before, and why she’d picked him as her first. Curiosity meant getting involved.

Oh, right, as if I have time to get emotionally invested in a hungry vampire
.

At moments, she’d seemed so heartbreakingly sad. And then there was that smile. That melancholy smile could slide under any guy’s tough, manly man shell and go straight for the marshmallow center. Once he was vulnerable, he’d lose the edge of cool logic that made him a good detective. Then he’d make mistakes. Like getting his soul sucked out.

Forget it
. The job came first. Dead bodies and paperwork . . .

But that wouldn’t fly as an excuse this time.

I’m not a cop anymore
.

The realization hit him afresh.

They’d fired him because he was a freak. Because he’d made that thinking-with-his-dick mistake once already.

Mac buried his face in his hands, an unruly mix of emotions digging a hot ache in his chest. Shame. Despair. Anger. Regret. Disgust.
Demons destroy. I used to be the guy with the badge who saved people.

As his emotions raced, he could feel a restless throb of power growing inside him, pounding with every beat of his pulse. He lifted his head, instinctively bracing his hands on the edge of the couch. Heat swept through his body, a sudden, scorching fever. Sweat stung the cuts and scrapes Bran had left on his flesh.

Strong emotion made the demon infection flare up, as if it fed off the extra energy. He lifted one hand and examined it in the dim light. He was solid, not crumbling to demon dust. That was a good sign. It sucked when that happened at random moments, like standing in a supermarket checkout line.

Mac closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, fighting for calm. The throb spread through his blood, following the nerves like a tide. Not painful, not nauseous like it had been during his first infection. Now it was a flush of excitement, as if someone were running through the hallways of his body, flicking on all the lights as they went. As if all his cells were standing at attention.

Last year, when Geneva had Turned him, every organ had hurt like hell. This felt completely different. Mac didn’t know if that was good or bad. He sprang to his feet, pacing the room.

Maybe it’s not the demon at all. Maybe you picked up a whole new monster flu in the Castle
. For all he knew, he had giant squid disease and would start sprouting tentacles at any moment.

Crap.
He needed a better supernatural immune system. Geneva and her demon cooties should have been enough to inoculate him against anything else out there.
So then what is this? You’re a detective. Detect, already.

The problem was that he’d barely been able to think since the whole demon trip started. It was like his mind was a puddle, and some giant’s boot had stomped in it, scattering his thoughts to the four winds.
Pathetic. Think like you’re solving a case
.

That meant backing up, starting again from the basics and looking at the evidence with a cool, unemotional eye. A little hard, considering what was at stake. If his demon side got the upper hand, he’d be looking for someone’s life and soul to eat. Many someones. He’d be his own worst nightmare, and he wouldn’t care one little bit.

Grimly, Mac got up and went into the small second bedroom that served as his office. The desk was buried in paper, but he yanked open the drawer and rummaged until he found his notebook and a pen. He missed his partner. He missed the labs and computers and camaraderie that solved cases. He’d been reduced to the simplest tools: paper, pen, and brain.
Then make do
.

The notebook was black and hinged at the top, the same kind he’d used when he was working a case. Just holding it made him feel better. He walked back into the living room, now turning on a light. He sat on the couch again, flipping the notebook open to a fresh page. He started writing.

It was a halting, stumbling start, but it was something. As he wrote, the throbbing energy running through him sharpened his mind, seemed to help him take control of his ideas. For a moment, he felt like his old self.

He didn’t like the fifth item. It made the whole line of reasoning grind to a halt. Perversely, just because he’d been a demon, that didn’t mean he was an expert—but he refused to believe that Destination: Demonville was inevitable.
Time to put on the research shoes
.

There was only one person who’d ever tried to help. She had books, resources, and a boatload of magical power. Feeling suddenly hopeful, Mac wrote:

Then he frowned. It looked good on paper, but that idea sucked. Mac flipped the notebook shut. His stomach felt like a bag of nightcrawlers, writhing with uncertainty. Holly’s stupid magic house had tried to bash him to pulp the last time he’d dropped by. And he really wished he hadn’t tried to eat Holly’s soul the last time they’d met. That made things so awkward.
Damn, damn, damn
.
Bad dates always come back to bite you in the ass.

He sucked in a breath, clenching his teeth again. Once, there had been sparks between him and Holly. A sudden twinge of mirth disrupted his brooding.
Caravelli will absolutely hate it if she agrees to help me. Serves him right for chucking me in the Castle
.

He pictured the vampire’s unhappy face. Now
there
was an upside to this whole fiasco.

A
she Carver scowled as the tall, fair-haired vampire stalked away. Slowly, her eyebrows lifted. The view was noteworthy. She could see why Holly was physically attracted, especially from the rear view. What she didn’t get was how her own sister could be so stupid.

Ashe tore herself away from where she had no business looking and studied Holly instead. She hadn’t been home for over fifteen years, and Holly wasn’t a kid anymore. Ashe had been expecting someone weak, in the thrall of a vampire’s venom. Instead, Holly was a perfect Carver: powerful, smart, and in charge.

Something, truth be told, Ashe was still working on.

They were two sides of the family genetic coin. Holly took after their mother: short and dark, with delicate features. Ashe was tall, fair, and athletic, like their father’s family.

Holly would know that mostly from photographs. Ashe remembered her parents all too well. Dad standing right where Holly was now, talking to Mom, who’d be working at the counter, making sandwiches . . . the memory sunk into Ashe like the fangs of a steel trap. Or a vampire. For a moment, she wished she’d stayed away.

“You don’t know a thing about Alessandro,” Holly snapped the moment the front door banged shut.

Ashe jerked back to the present. “Fang-boy. What’s there to know?”

“Alessandro’s different.” Holly held up her hand as Ashe drew a breath to protest. “He’s my Chosen. It’s an old legend. When a human loves a vampire completely and with free will, that vampire is freed from the blood thirst.”

Oh, please
. “Then what does he eat? Doughnuts?”

“Chosen vampires can feed energetically. From the bond with their human.”

Nausea skewered Ashe. “They feed on hot sex?”

Holly blushed.

“Oh, ick.” For a moment Ashe knew she sounded like the teenager she’d once been. Weird how a person reverted the moment they went back to the family home. “Gah!”

“We’re . . .” Holly sat down again, clearly struggling for words. “We’re happy. It’s working. Alessandro’s more human than other vampires. Humanish.”

“Do you know how messed up that sounds?”

Holly’s look turned sharp. “I’m trying to explain. You don’t have to like it.”

Ashe had heard enough. “Give your head a shake. Get real. Get rid of him.”

“No.”

“I’m speaking for Mom and Dad.”

Holly stared at her for a long, hard moment. “They’re dead. They don’t get a vote.”

The words were meant to be brutal. “I know,” Ashe said quietly. “I killed them. I owe it to them to make sure you’re all right.”

Holly looked away, backing down. “They died in an accident.”

“I cast an egotistical, idiotic spell to give Mom and Dad car trouble so that they didn’t come home to find out I’d left you alone that night.”

“You were sixteen. You wanted to go to a concert. That’s normal teenage crap.”

Surprise rung through Ashe, clear as the strike of a bell. Holly had forgiven her.
She shouldn’t. Maybe she was too young to really get what I did.

Ashe hammered home her point. “I used powerful magic I had no business touching. I made their car crash. The aftermath nearly destroyed your powers.”

“And it destroyed yours. You took off. I know the story. That’s history. We both have to move on.”

Ashe had been over and over this moment in her head. The one where she tried to make things right. She leaned forward, her mouth dry with the soot of burned-out emotion. “I screwed up back then. I’m sure as hell not going to screw up now. You’re in trouble. I can do something about it.”

The clock ticked. Ashe could hear the small house noises—pings in the radiator, a creak of the floorboards as the cat chased shadows. Those should have been comforting sounds, but they somehow wound the tension in the room even tighter.

“I’m not in trouble,” said Holly. “And I’m not your redemption.”

Ashe took a deep breath. She wanted to snatch Holly from her chair and shake sense into her, but this wasn’t a problem she could solve with force. For starters, Holly was a powerful witch, whereas she was a husk with no active magic.

Ashe changed tactics. “What about a family? Surely you’ll want kids?”

“Who knows?” Holly shrugged.

Oh, Goddess
. “Surely you’re not thinking of adopting?”

“Down the road, maybe.”

“Crap, you’re serious. A vampire baby daddy?”

Holly shrugged again. “Why not?”

Ashe felt a surge of panic, but stomped on it. Vampires couldn’t father children, and no vampire male would tolerate someone else’s young. Holly was tragically deluded. Delusions like that could destroy a woman. He might kill the kid.

“Damn it, Holly!” That was what Ashe hated most about the monsters. They always looked like something familiar, until the mask slipped and showed the evil beneath.

As in the case of a sixteen-year-old girl who murdered her parents with a spell. She saw one of those masks in the mirror every day.

 

Brooding was an occupational hazard for a creature of the night. Alessandro disliked indulging the vampire stereotype, but there he was. He leaned against the T-Bird, smoked, and scowled into the darkness. At least he was wearing battle leathers and weapons. That gave the moment some cachet.

Ashe was still inside the house, talking to Holly. Sharp though his hearing was, Alessandro could only hear the rise and fall of voices—sometimes angry, sometimes not. A glance at his watch told him that almost an hour had passed.

He took a drag on the cigarette, watching the glow brighten as he inhaled. He’d started smoking to mask the scent of human blood when he walked in crowded places. Now it gave him an excuse to stand outside, staring at the front door Ashe had all but literally slammed in his face.

He was a hunter. He knew how to wait. Alessandro crushed out his cigarette, the sound of his boot on the driveway pavement a loud, gritty scrape. It was a quiet neighborhood this late at night, only the occasional rustle of a raccoon or cat breaking the silence.

At last the front door opened. Ashe clumped down the front steps, red and white helmet under her arm. Alessandro straightened, instinctively shifting his weight so that he could move quickly if needed. The urge to defend his territory burned fever-strong. It didn’t matter that this was Ashe’s house. He had put down emotional roots for the first time in hundreds of years. He would win this battle.

Their gazes locked with an almost audible clash.

Ashe gave a low laugh. “You look like the schoolyard bully, loitering in the dark.” It was eerie how her voice had the same timbre as Holly’s.

“If you leave now, I won’t put that comparison to the test.”

“Oh, I’m leaving—for tonight,” she said coolly.

Alessandro remained dead still.
Nothing’s ever that easy
.

“Don’t rejoice yet. I’m staying in town. My sister and I have a lot of catching up to do.” She yanked the zipper of her jacket closed another inch.

“Leave Holly in peace.”

“I’m not the bloodsucker here.” Ashe flicked her hair back over her shoulder. “Holly fed me a pile of crap about how you never bite her. I’ve heard that line before.”

It was true. Holly’s magic had released him from that burden, but Alessandro said nothing. Ashe would never believe him, so why waste his breath?

She went on, anger thick in her voice. “Last week I took out a nest of fifteen vamps that had kidnapped half the city council’s children. That was Calgary. The week before that it was a horror show in Duluth. A dozen kills: six vamps, six werewolves terrorizing half the city.”

Alessandro narrowed his eyes. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“I could take you out between breakfast and coffee.”

“And I could kill you where you stand, but I’ll take up sunbathing before I ask Holly to choose between her lover and her sister.”