Serafina and the Silent Vampire (5 page)

Blair strolled on toward the central bar and ordered a malt whisky by the simple expedient of nodding casually at the bottle beside the barman. As he looked around, a rather pretty young lady in red caught his eye and smiled. Blair smiled back from habit, accepted his whisky, and reluctantly broke eye contact in order to stare out the barman instead. It usually worked. Believing he’d been paid, the barman turned to his next customer, and Blair sipped his whisky.

Right now, he had a choice. He could grab a quick bite of the interested girl across the bar before all hell broke loose over the corpse in the corner. Or he could remove the corpse before it was discovered, as if it was his pissed girlfriend, and thus hide the evidence and avoid the ensuing panic that would so fuck up his comfortable feeding habits. The latter might be more sensible, but it went against the grain to clean up some other bastard’s mess, and doing so wouldn’t prevent the next mess.

He glanced at the girl in red, who managed to watch him from under her lashes while talking to her friend. Yes, definitely interested. And God knew he was hungry. On the other hand, he couldn’t let this shit carry on. This was
his
city, and he was damned if he’d tolerate interlopers. It was dusk. Just the time a new vampire might risk the open.

He drained his glass, gave the girl a rueful wink, and strode out of the pub. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the cry go up. Someone had found the stiff.

Since there were a lot of people about and it wasn’t quite dark, Blair didn’t take the crow’s route over the rooftops. But walking fast through the streets and running down the steps and through Waverley Station, he made good time to the C & H building where Jason Bell worked. If the little shit wasn’t there, he’d try the father’s house again, risking the garlic and crosses plastered so liberally about the premises.

In spite of himself, Blair grinned at that. He liked the girl’s style, although he didn’t care for the idea of such a strong psychic poking around the hitherto hidden vampire world, whatever her connection with the strange vampire-cohabiting man in Roseburn.

The safety of the vampire community depended on secrecy, and in the centuries of his existence, Blair had encountered very few human intrusions, even less threatening ones. The most recent had been forty or so years ago, when a group of curious young men had set themselves up as vampire hunters. Having made a few kills in Vienna, Toulouse, and London, more from luck than skill, they’d discovered Blair in Edinburgh, at his lowest ebb. They’d had no idea what they were dealing with, but Blair, sensing a lazy way out of his own insufferable boredom, had let them follow him from the stone folly of Calton Hill to his home. He’d even left the door open for them.

Despite their ineptitude, they’d have killed him eventually. Only Ailis, his maker, had appeared from nowhere, and Blair had had to fight after all to protect her. Ailis had been pleased by that, so pleased that when three of the four men lay dead, she’d hit him with her demand. That he look after the vampires here while she traveled in the Pacific.

Like most things Ailis did, it had been part selfish and part caring. She’d forced a purpose on him while leaving herself free to do as she liked. And in time, sorting out the odd territorial dispute and instilling occasional discipline in vampires who threatened the community through indiscretion, he’d got back a modicum of peace and comfort.

Until this fiasco.

Ignoring the front of the big glass office building, Blair went around the back to the underground car park. He noticed a rather beaten-up old Citroën parked close to the barrier, facing the main road, as if the driver, a respectable middle-aged lady who looked plain wrong in such a vehicle, had just driven out of the car park and was waiting for someone.

Blatantly, Blair hopped over the barrier and strode inside. He smelled human. Despite the lateness of the hour there were still several people in the building. But, ignoring his rumbling stomach for now, he leapt high onto the steel rafters in the ceiling and made his way from there closer to the door that led to the office interior.

He spotted
her
right away. The psychic, Serafina. In dark jeans and the same leather jacket she’d worn last night, she was leaning her delectable rear on the bonnet of Jason’s white sports car and gazing toward the internal door. She’d obviously had the same idea as Blair.

Blair took one more silent leap across the rafters until he was as close above her as he could get while still being able to watch her and crouched down.

****

PC Alex McGowan was the first policeman on the scene at the Hard Knox pub. He knew the place, and it was generally crowded. Clearly, a large proportion of the clientele had done a runner when the body was found. While his partner spoke to the bar manager, McGowan approached the body.

There could be no doubt that the girl was dead. Her eyes were open and staring, and he’d rarely seen a fresh corpse that looked more the part. But he went through the motions, lifting her wrist to feel for a pulse.

“Did anyone see what happened?” he asked, dropping her dead hand. “Was anyone with her?”

After a moment, someone said reluctantly, “There was a man with her when she first came in. Her boyfriend. They were all over each other. I thought she was drunk. When she zonked, her boyfriend just buggered off as if he’d given up hope of getting his leg over this night and left her to find her own way home. Unless—”

Unless he’d killed her. Without any hope, McGowan searched for the pulse at the base of her neck. There wasn’t one, but as he gazed at his fingers, something else caught his eye. He shifted her head a fraction and saw two tiny holes in her neck. Just like those he’d seen on Jason Bell.

His breath caught. “Pat,” he called to his partner. “This body has to be watched the whole time until CID gets here.”

****

To Blair, Serafina MacBride looked bored and pissed off. But still sexy as hell. Leather had never looked so good on a woman. Her piquant, almost elfin beauty contrasted alluringly with her stark, ugly surroundings. The toughness of her expression and her short, no-nonsense haircut were belied by the enticing vulnerability of her soft, expressive lips. Her eyes, far too deep a blue for that dark hair coloring, looked watchful, intelligent, and secretive.

Blair stared at her long, enticing neck, listened to the steady beat of her heart, and imagined the pumping of her sweet, heady blood into his mouth. He gazed at her breasts, the outlines of which were only half hidden by the black leather of her jacket, as they rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing.

His own stolen blood quickened, pounding through his body to the parts that, dead or undead, led a man astray. He inhaled her distant scent, like long-forgotten summer flowers, which made everything worse as he envisioned screwing her in a sun-soaked field of wild blooms…

Aye, right.
So he’d settle for darkness and a bed. Or a hard floor. Or a wall…

Hastily, Blair reined in his wayward imagination once more, but he was torn. He meant to go inside and scour the mostly empty building for Jason Bell. But his more immediate urge was to jump down and seize Serafina’s strong, lithe, and adorably feminine person in his arms, press her close into him, and drink from her warm, alluring veins. He wanted to feel the fighting tension in her die away and be replaced with pliable submission, and then stir to excitement and passion…

Truth be told, he’d been aware last night that a quick drink and a grope with this woman wouldn’t be enough—although he’d have settled for that to begin with. Something about her reminded him how long it had been since he’d spent a whole night drinking and fucking. Couldn’t beat it.

On the other hand, he couldn’t actually imagine her buying that right now. Or ever. She glared at her watch, then slid her hips off the car as if she’d made a decision. Blair poised himself to jump. And Jason Bell walked through the door.

Serafina froze, presumably with surprise that her quarry had finally emerged just when she’d just given up on him. Blair paused and waited.

“Jason,” she called. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jason Bell, in conventional suit and tie, raincoat over one arm and briefcase in hand, stared at her in what looked like bewilderment. As if he didn’t remember her—which he probably didn’t, just yet. On the other hand, he knew blood when he smelled it, and presumably he’d been smelling it without drinking any all day. Unexpectedly, Blair felt the stirrings of excitement. It had been years since he’d had to fight for his supper, but Serafina was well worth the wait and the effort. Not that it would be much of either now. A fledgling was not a tough opponent. Jason was toast.

However, before he could jump, every sense he had shrieked and held him still. Because he smelled other vampires—three more, one gliding through the internal door, the others striding through the car park. And because Jason spoke. Aloud. Using his lips.

“That’s funny,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you too.” He moved fast, probably too fast for most humans, and certainly too fast for Serafina to mistake it as anything other than a threat. She sprang into action and kicked out, much as she’d done at Blair last night, only this time, she made more of an impression. Jason fell on his arse, still looking bewildered.

Blair grinned.
That’s my girl.
Her head twisted round, her dark blue eyes wide and startled as they darted, searching, as if she’d heard him. She didn’t need the distraction, for in truth she was hardly out of the woods yet. The other vampires were closing in fast, and Jason was rising from his rear end for another shot. Serafina backed around the car, glancing toward the exit and clocking the vampires blocking it off. For the first time, Blair caught a flash of fear in her eyes. Tough she might be, but she knew she couldn’t take on four men and win. What she probably didn’t know was that she didn’t have a prayer against four vampires. Or even against one of these newcomers, who’d been around the block a few more times than Jason.

Blair relished the tougher fight for his supper. He jumped.

Grabbing Jason, he threw him at the vampire behind him, then leapt on the nearest approaching from the exit, slammed his chin upward, and bit straight into the jugular to get some nourishment before breaking the bastard’s neck with a satisfying snap. The vampire fizzed into dust, and Blair spun to face his friend, who was already running for the exit as if all the fiends of hell were after him. They would be, just as soon as Blair had dealt with the others.

Serafina was sidestepping and swiping at the attacking vampire, the one who was not Jason. Jason himself had flung himself into his white sports car, presumably to drive off. As Blair advanced, the vampire spun, growling, to face him instead. The blows were quick and furious—too fast, probably, for Serafina to see. Although Blair felt them, his own were more effective. He crashed his opponent into the nearest car and broke his neck for speed while the screeching of tires told him Jason was fleeing the scene. When he whirled in the dead vampire’s falling dust, he saw Serafina staring about her in shock, as if still looking for her attackers.

Then her gaze landed on him.

“Blair,” she whispered.

So she’d discovered his name. He smiled. “The very same.” But he’d no time to chat. Or, after fighting for it, to enjoy his supper. The scent from the fleeing vampire was vanishing fast, and if he was to have any hope of discovering their lair, he had to leave her. Again.

More tires screeched. A Citroën was backing erratically into the car park at high speed as the sports car drove out of it. At least the barrier had gone up. Blair understood. The middle-aged lady driver was Serafina’s not very effective minder.

“Your chariot has arrived,” he observed and winked. “Later.” And since the cat was well out of the bag, he leapt for the rafters and ran.

Sera found that calming Elspeth down actually helped in dealing with her own shock. “Yes, I saw Jason,” she soothed as they drove down Leith Walk. “That was him speeding past you. I guess he didn’t want to chat.”

“But those other men? They looked so threatening!”

“Yes,” Sera admitted. “Threatening and weird…”
And not men at all. Surely not men. Dead men…
“And Blair was there,” she said hastily. Blair, as sexy in jeans as in a kilt, his haunting dark eyes suddenly hard, murderous, terrifying… She caught her breath. “Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem to like them either.”

“Where did they all go?” Elspeth asked, bewildered.

“Vanished into the night,” Sera said vaguely. “Don’t worry; we’re quite safe now.”
Are we? Is anybody safe when such creatures exist?
The image of Blair flashed into her head once more, jumping from high above to land as lightly as a cat before striking, seizing and gouging with monstrous callousness, drinking… Aloud, she added, “Glad you showed up when you did, though.”

Elspeth smiled, genuinely glad to have been useful.

“Come on,” Sera said. “Let’s go to your house, and then I’ll drive myself home.”

In the end, she stayed and had a bite to eat at Elspeth’s. The receptionist’s abode was surprisingly neat and tidy. Whatever Elspeth let go, it wasn’t her house. Glancing at the photograph on the mantelpiece of a younger and happier Elspeth with her smiling late husband, Sera understood the loneliness and boredom that had led her to drink. She couldn’t blame the older woman for letting it get out of hand. Ruefully, she acknowledged that Elspeth was more than a “good deed” to her; more even than a friend. She was a living warning.

Although at least Elspeth had the years of a happy marriage to look back on. Sera couldn’t imagine even having that. She despised most men as liars. And she freaked out the few who weren’t, as soon as they got close enough to discover her gifts. Even Tam, who fancied her rotten, ran a mile from her now. Until last night, he’d merely been wary.

Sighing, Sera thanked Elspeth for dinner and rose to leave. “You
are
going home?” Elspeth asked anxiously.

“Oh yes,” Sera said serenely.

Of course, she had no intention of going home. She drove back to the C & H building, climbed onto the car-park barrier, and touched the side of the wall that Blair’s foot had glanced off in his stunning, heart-stopping run. Feeling slammed into her, knocking her off her precarious perch. But she smiled as she landed on the ground.

****

Weirdly, it seemed to get easier as she went on, as if getting closer to him made his “scent” stronger—that feeling that was peculiarly Blair stood out like a fiery beacon among all the other peculiar stuff out there. She knew him now from the Bells’ garden and from the car park. This time, she’d get to him. There weren’t quite luminous footprints on the pavement along York Place to guide her, but it began to feel almost as easy. Although there were long gaps, as if he’d done one of his amazing jumps, or even, God help her, run along the rooftops, she always picked him up again. Her feet, her whole body tingled when she stepped where he had stepped, brushed against a railing or a lamppost that he had touched. Her pace quickened down Dublin Street, along with her heart rate. Triumph amounted to smugness.

Damn, I’m good.

Until she stood under a street lamp on the pavement of a cobbled New Town street, staring down between the railings outside a large, terraced building, at the window of a garden flat. There were no lights on, but he was in there; she could feel it so strongly it
had
to be truth.

Besides, the closed curtains appeared to be black, like the ones in her vision of him.

Now what the hell did she do?

Did she walk in there like the lone, too-stupid-to-live heroine of a bad horror film? Did she wait for backup? Like who? Even if he was prepared to help her, Tam hadn’t exactly been a lot of use against the bastard last night. Remembering the sickening thud of her own feet on Blair’s impervious body and the speed with which he’d seen off her attackers in the car park, she knew physical protection could not help her. What she hung on to, somewhat desperately, was that he alone of the creatures she’d encountered tonight had not attacked her. Right now, he was all she had to explain what the hell was going on.

In the end, she dragged her phone out of her bag and hastily texted Jilly and Jack, giving the address and her request to get down here and contact her when they arrived. There was no need to tell them what to do if she didn’t answer.

As she stuffed the phone back in her pocket, she walked down the dark steps with thundering heart.
Horror film, here I come…

****

Blair sank his teeth into the girl’s throat and drew her blood into his mouth. It wasn’t uncontaminated, but it was good enough. And she was enough in thrall to enjoy it and to stay all night, as he wished.

Frustration at losing the vampire’s scent had added to his sexual frustration, and he’d been on his way to his favorite up-market brothel before he remembered they’d banned him because someone had finally remembered he never paid. And so he’d picked up this girl outside a bar, charmed her, and brought her home instead. Normally, he didn’t do such things, but the fantasy of having Serafina in his bed all night had stuck with him, and this girl, with her short, dark hair and slim body, looked enough like the psychic to attract his attention and his lust.

Perhaps his behavior was a trifle obsessive, but after the annoyances of the last few days, he felt inclined to indulge himself. He might have a superb night. And if it was merely mediocre, he might stop lusting so hard after Serafina.

The girl, whose name was Tess, gave a mewl of pleasure, twisting her head in ecstasy and pressing into him. Blair took one more draw and sealed the wound for now with the touch of his fingertips before he let his hands run all over the girl’s body. She was more than ready. And so was he. He drew her toward the bed and was assailed by another scent.

The scent of the girl he was thinking of while caressing this one. Imagination, surely. He caught Tess’s busy hands on the fastening of his jeans, holding them still while he sniffed the air.

Serafina. Without doubt.
How the…?

Pushing Tess off, he strode to the window and peered through the crack in the black velvet curtains.

She stood in the dark street below, on the edge of a circle of pale light from the nearby lamppost. She was holding on to the railing, gazing downward at the entrance to the basement flat.

Bloody hell. How did she do that?
Torn between admiration and annoyance, it took a moment before he realized exactly how much of a threat this made her. She’d tracked him across the city. Forget lust; the girl was trouble. And she was walking down the steps to his front door.

Hunger galloped, and yet he found himself laughing softly as he turned back to the bewildered Tess. “My dear,” he said, taking her hand. “Something else has come up.” But of course, she didn’t hear him, just saw his smile and rubbed herself against him like a cat.

Because it amused him, Blair used the power of his mind to open the door of the garden flat. It was a neat trick, and hopefully, it would upset Serafina’s nerves, if nothing else. Then he folded the eager Tess in his arms and bit her again, for strength as well as luck, taking enough this time to weaken her and make her more conducive to sleep. When she lost consciousness, he laid her out on the bed for later, and, with an intoxicating blend of anticipation and danger firing his blood, he walked downstairs to greet his nemesis.

****

Sera approached the flat warily, every sense screaming in alarm—especially when the door swung silently open without obvious reason. She’d have laughed at the cliché, except that, already steeped in the presence she’d been tracking, his sudden closeness overwhelmed her, and she had to stop and breathe deeply, forcing herself to focus on whatever dangers might lurk inside—or even leap out of—that ominously open door.

With relief, she remembered she could cope with powerful presences, however menacing, if she didn’t concentrate on them too hard. There was no need to track him now; he was definitely there, even if no one was visible in the dark hallway beyond the door. Nudging a loose stone with her toe, she edged it into the corner of the front doorframe in the hope it would stop the door closing completely. She might have to make a quick getaway.

He’d obviously seen her, so it seemed sensible to behave as normally as possible. She tapped on the door and called, “Hello?”

There was no response. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold and felt for a light switch. As a feeble illumination sputtered into life, she couldn’t resist a quick glance over her shoulder, half expecting the door to slam shut behind her. It didn’t.

The hall was wide and bare; she could just make out stairs at the end, disappearing upward into total darkness. Interesting… Did he have both floors or this whole section of the building? More importantly, where the hell was he?

His unseen presence oppressed her, causing every hair on her body to stand erect, every nerve to zing with alarm. Dust danced in the dim light. She peered at it, imagining it formed a looser, woollier version of Blair’s lithe shape.

Then, frightened that he’d catch her unaware, staring at nothing, she flicked her gaze around to the doorways on either side, and at the second, her heart gave a long, sickening lurch.

He stood just outside the farthest doorway, leaning one shoulder against the white, wooden frame. She blinked to clear her vision. She was sure he hadn’t been there on her first sweep, but he was certainly there now, wearing the same jeans and plain black T-shirt as earlier in the evening. Tall, lean, annoyingly good-looking. His dark eyes were steady, his face betrayed no expression, and yet his voice, though eerie and disembodied in her head, seemed to be amused.

“I feel I should say, ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ but the truth is, I haven’t.”

It shouldn’t have taken her breath away. “You’re psychic,” she blurted.

“Ah, no.
You
‘re psychic. I’m just dead.” Still, his lips didn’t move.

She scanned his eyes, one to the other, looking for something, anything, to support the denial that seemed impossible after tonight. “Not noticeably,” she managed.

He straightened, and she had to force herself not to leap backward in alarm. “Undead is such a stupid expression,” he observed. “Like ‘mostly dead.’”

He gestured with his hand for her to enter the room before him.

Sera hesitated. All her life she’d been dealing with things she didn’t understand. Of those, the paranormal things had never been the ones to hurt her. This being, however, whoever and whatever he was, gave off danger signals more powerful than she’d ever encountered in any environment. She had no idea how to defend herself against his kind of threat.

He said, “The little sticks work.”

“What?”

“Wood. Pure, natural wood through a heart that doesn’t beat.”

Nervously, inside her jacket pocket, she stroked the point of the stick she’d felt so foolish leaving there last night. “I can’t make up my mind whether you’re stupid or overconfident,” she managed, just a little feebly.

“Or lying?”

She sighed. The threat, whatever it was, surely wasn’t imminent. With the speed she’d witnessed in the car park, he could have grabbed her easily already if he’d wanted to. Under his unblinking gaze, she moved toward him, trying to squash the sense of walking to her doom, and passed him into the room. He didn’t move any farther aside to accommodate her, and her shoulder brushed against the hardness of his chest. He leaned forward, bending his head as if to catch her scent. Every tiny hair on her neck, on her whole body, sprang up in awareness. She gripped the sharp stick in her pocket, ready to do some kind of damage with it.

And then she was past him unharmed and into the room.

The thick, black curtains were indeed those she’d seen in her vision. The room was lit by electric lamps with what looked like genuine Victorian shades in faded purple and red and blue. An equally faded rug adorned the polished wooden floor. An old sea chest stood under the window, the only furniture in the room apart from one winged sofa, at which her host gestured with another elegant wave of his slender, long-fingered hand.

Sera wasn’t used to feeling unsure of herself these days. She didn’t like this sense of not being in control. So she flung herself onto the sofa to show she wasn’t afraid and went on the attack.

“How much did you hurt Tam?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “The big guy? Not much.”

“But you killed Jason Bell.”

His eyebrows rose. “On the contrary, I didn’t even touch him.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

He didn’t trouble to respond, just continued to gaze at her until she asked the question she was really there for. “He
did
die, didn’t he?”

“You know he did.”

She heard her breath shudder. And yet she’d known it already. He could be yanking her chain in some massive, pointless conspiracy with the Bells, but by now such an accusation didn’t even seem worth bringing up.

Instead, she focused on his still face. “Can you really not speak normally?”

He strolled toward her like some large, prowling cat. “After two hundred and fifty years, this feels perfectly normal. Although it’s a novelty conversing at all with someone who’s alive.”

He folded himself onto the sofa beside her, and her muscles tensed. She refused to follow her instinct and move farther away. Instead, with an effort, she observed, “You told me you couldn’t speak because you were a vampire.”

He inclined his head, patient but distracted. He was gazing at her throat.

“And now you want me to believe that Jason Bell is a vampire?”

“You know he is.”

She sat farther back, willing his menacing gaze away from her jugular. “And yet,” she pointed out, “he spoke. Quite audibly
and
visibly. Using his lips.”

At least it raised his eyes back to her face. “And yet,” he agreed, “he did. That is one of the many oddities of this situation. Until then, I’d never encountered a vampire who could speak.”