Taste of Grief (Just One Bite #3) (5 page)

"Are you fucking insane?" she blurted, her eyes
flicking frantically back and forth between the blood and the bleeding man.

Adrian leaned casually against the counter, his arms crossed
to better grip his wrist. "No, but I will be pissed if you let it sit
there and go to waste. Drink up. It won't bother me, if that's what you're
worried about." He pushed the goblet closer towards her on the counter
before settling back against it once more. "Then maybe we can go back into
the parlor to finish our conversation."

Diandra moved closer, one inch at a time, until she snatched
up the goblet and drank it down eagerly. Her face was flushed with anger and
embarrassment, and tears rolled silently down her face. She vividly remembered
how she'd tried not to drink the blood when she received her first delivery.
She'd cried then, too. My, how we've come full circle, she thought tiredly,
licking her lips and wiping her burning eyes.

"All right," she said. "All right, we'll
talk. Just please, go into the parlor and give me a minute to myself,
okay?" She turned her back on him, hands digging into the kitchen counter.
Her new keen hearing picked up the sound of his retreating footsteps. Only then
did she let herself sob.

A few minutes later she hurried towards the parlor, not even
attempting to move at a slower, more human speed. What was the point, she
thought, now that he knew? As she left the kitchen and moved down the short
hallway, RaeLynn had burst into tears- deep, heartrending sobs that brought
Diandra instantly to her side. She scooped the crying child out of her playpen,
completely ignoring the still-bleeding Adrian where he once more sat in the
overstuffed pink chair. She tried to hush the baby, but she would not be
consoled. She screamed and kicked, pointing emphatically at the floor. Sighing,
Diandra lowered Rae to the floor, puzzled as the tears stopped and she started
crawling towards the housekeeper. Reaching her goal, she plopped onto her
little backside and put her arms up, begging him silently to pick her up.

"I don't get it," Diandra said, a touch of
frustration threaded through her words. "Why does she follow you like she
does? Why is she all about you when she doesn't even know you?"

Adrian shrugged one shoulder as he answered. "I don’t
know any more than you do. Children are often drawn to me. I suppose it's the
earth magick- they feel it and recognize it for what it is. My aura is a good
one, a clean one. I wouldn't dare soil it with black magick, or even gray. Can
you…?" He gestured towards the baby who was still waiting patiently to be
picked up.

Diandra reluctantly placed her daughter in his lap, and he
settled his uninjured arm around her for support. RaeLynn leaned back against
his chest, her eyes locked on the towel which was sticking to his other arm.
Neither adult noticed when she placed her hand against the towel, her little
brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly Adrian gasped, and the baby smiled and
clapped her hands.

"What's wrong?" Diandra asked anxiously. Perhaps
he'd done more damage to his arm than she'd known, and she worried they'd have
to take a trip to the hospital to have it examined. At least they weren't far
if that was the case.

"I don't know," he whispered, a strange look
crossing his face. He removed the towel, his body tense in preparation of the
pain he'd feel when pulling it away from the wound. His wrist was the maroon of
old blood, smeared all around from the pressure of the towel, but there was
nothing underneath. His wrist was unblemished, the skin unbroken- only the
spilt blood remained as evidence of the self-inflicted injury.

Diandra's face closed, going carefully blank as he made eye
contact with her. "Were you pregnant during your change?" he asked
bluntly. The mask slipped and her surprise showed before she carefully rebuilt
her expression once more. Adrian grinned down at the happy baby. "Yes,
you're something special, aren't you RaeRae?" He kissed the baby's curls
gently, so tenderly, that Dia found herself melting despite herself.

"How did you know?" she asked in return.

Adrian looked up, a smile still hovering on his lips.
"She was touching my arm. You didn't heal my wound, I can't heal myself-
it had to have been her. But unless you turned an infant- yes, it happens- I
knew you had to have been pregnant with her when you were changed." He
shrugged again as though that should have been evident.

Diandra watched him as he snuggled with her child. The love
was evident between them. She opted to tell her story. She took a deep breath
and began. "I was widowed when I was 28…"

Lizbeth was tired from yet another late shift. Another day,
another drug overdose to investigate, she thought to herself as she tossed her
briefcase on the desk in her office and headed for the parlor. She kicked her
shoes off as she went, enjoying the feel of the hardwood floors beneath her
bare feet. She heard laughter before she even reached the archway, both male
and female, and her pace quickened. She stopped before entering, surprised to find
Dia and Eamon sitting on the loveseat, Adrian in the armchair, and RaeLynn
entertaining them as she bashed toys on the floor.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "Did someone
forget to tell me about the party?" Her tone was light, teasing, and the
stress of her work day just rolled off her like water. Her day was always made
better by coming home, and the friendship and camaraderie just made it all
better.
 
She ignored the wine bottle and
goblet waiting for her on the table, snatching the beer from Eamon's hand
instead.

"Hey," he protested, and Lizbeth laughed, pushing
his arm to the side as she took a deep swig from the bottle.

"Easy, vamp boy. If you're thirsty, grab the wine. I
want a beer. Besides," she said with a grin, "I bought it to begin
with."

Adrian smiled, raising his own beer bottle to her in salute.
"And it's good beer, too. Enjoy your wine, Eamon."

Everyone laughed as Eamon pretended to pout before he poured
a glass of wine and took a large gulp. Diandra shook her finger at him in
admonishment. "This is good wine. We sip, not guzzle."

Eamon goggled at her, eyes full of mock horror. "In
that case, I need another beer. You can guzzle beer." He strutted to the
kitchen, flipping Lizbeth off without turning around as she called for him to
bring her another.

Diandra smiled at Lizbeth. "How was your day?"

"Apparently not as good as yours, baby. I'm just glad
to be home."

Adrian cleared his throat. When he had Lizbeth's attention
he winked at her and said, "You should be glad- there's dinner in the oven
for you. I kept it warm so it'd be ready for you when you got here. Its chicken
pot pie- I hope that's okay."

Lizbeth stared at him before nodding. "Considering
that's my favorite comfort food, yeah, that's just about perfect. Thanks,
Adrian."

He just shrugged. "It's no big thing." Without
another word he got up and headed for the kitchen. Lizbeth raised her eyebrows
in question, and Diandra shook her head. The silent question was answered when
he returned a moment later, a mini pie plate in one hand, two bottles of beer
held in the other. He set both down in front of Lizzie with a smile.
"Enjoy."

Lizbeth glanced at Diandra, and then turned to Eamon.
"What went on here today?" she asked as she started eating.

Adrian was the one to reply. "Nothing too major,
really- Dia and I came to an understanding after she drank my blood."

Lizbeth had been in the middle of sipping her beer- she
sputtered, choking on that sip. Dia was at her side in an instant, rubbing and
patting her back ineffectually. "She did what now?" she gasped out
when she was able to speak.

Adrian filled her in on what happened in a casual tone.
"But it's no big deal. I've dealt with vamps before. What can I say? I
make a good meal in more ways than one."

Lizbeth was stunned at his casual talk of vampires.
"Back that truck up and run it over me again, huh?"

He smiled. "I've fed vampires before. I don't have to
worry about blood loss. Somehow my body reproduces all I need as long as I
don't get drained completely. If I lose the majority of my blood I'm down for a
couple hours, but it certainly won't kill me. And somehow I've not been turned.
I guess maybe because I haven't been close to death." He took a swallow of
his own beer before continuing. "I normally scar, but that's not a big
deal, either. This time they'll be no scar because RaeRae healed me."

Lizbeth's body jerked in surprise where she sat on the floor
by RaeLynn. "Well, I guess the cat's entirely out of the bag now,
huh?" Diandra shrugged, looking a bit guilty. "I suppose things are
really going to change around here now. No more hiding, baby," she said as
she reached out to Dia. "At home now you can be yourself."

"That may be the case but don't get too cocky,"
Eamon interjected. When he had everyone's attention, including RaeLynn's, he
continued. "Inside the home it is fine to be yourself, but you must be
careful outside. And Diandra, that was more than careless. How could you let
yourself run out of blood? Did you think that since you had a better handle on
yourself that you could go without, maybe live off of food like you were still
mortal?" Her head hung low, shame evident in her posture. He relented
slightly. "I know you're good, but none of us are that good. You need it
to survive, and you need it to be strong. If you were to go without for too
long, at the very least you'd weaken. If you were any other immortal, what
you'd done would probably have killed you, or at least pushed you to insanity,
murder, or both. You must find a blood source of your own, and quickly."

Adrian cut in before Diandra could speak. "But now she
has one. I'm her blood source. She can bleed me when she needs to- either by
cutting me or biting me- and RaeRae can heal me after. It's not a big deal,
really."

Eamon glared at Adrian, his body vibrating with barely
restrained anger. "Oh, and just what is a big deal? You blow in like manna
from Heaven, the answer to everyone's prayers, and all you ever say is that
it's not a big deal. So what qualifies? What's a big deal to you,
warlock?"

Adrian jumped to his feet, anger making his voice hard, but
managed not to raise his voice. "Do not call me that, Eamon. That means
truth twister or deceiver, and I don't lie. I'm a witch, that's all."

Lizbeth interjected, breaking the tension between the men.
"I always thought a male witch was a warlock, and a female was a
witch."

"That's a common misconception. In modern times that is
often the way it's said to be, but in the old religion to be a warlock was to
break an oath, lie, cheat, or somehow wrong someone. I was raised to follow the
old beliefs, not the more modern ones, so to call me a warlock is to besmirch
my honor." Adrian calmed himself down as he explained himself to Lizbeth,
but he still would not look at the other man.

Eamon exhaled loudly. "I was angry, but that was
uncalled for. I know your people, and I know the old meaning of that word. I am
sorry." He extended his right hand in a gesture of peace.

Adrian smiled and took his hand. "I understand, and
it's forgiven."

"Good," Eamon said. "Then can I have some
tuna?"

Lizbeth's cell phone pulled her from a deep sleep, a generic
ring tone that she used for work. It was loud, annoying, and perfect for waking
her when duty called in the middle of the night. She reached for the phone with
one hand and a notepad and pen she kept in her nightstand with the other. Glancing
at the clock, she saw it was only 3 a.m. and let out a groan before flipping
the phone open to answer. "Snyder."

"We've got another overdose. Meet me there,"
Alexar said. It was short and to the point, as most conversations with him
were. He gave her the address and hung up before she could reply. Shutting her
phone, she got out of bed and hurried to get dressed. Figuring she'd more than
likely go right in to the station from the scene, she made sure to dress
appropriately. She finger-combed her short, tousled hair and left a quick note
for Diandra before heading downstairs. Lizbeth snatched up her suitcase and car
keys and left quickly but quietly.

She stopped at a nearby gas station that had pretty decent
coffee. She filled a 24-ounce go-cup with her favorite blend, loaded it up just
the way she liked, and waved to the man behind the counter. He knew she was a
cop and he always gave the cops free coffee. Right now that sounded like the
most perfect thing on Earth.

She finally made it to the crime scene- a tiny strip mall,
looking as bleak and desperate in the darkness as Vegas would look without the
neon. She shuddered and laughed at herself for that corny thought, but it was
only 3:30 in the morning and she wasn't fully awake yet. She got out and made
her way to Alexar where he stood out front chain-smoking. He flushed, as he
usually did when caught with a cigarette, but he straightened his spine and
tossed the butt to the side by the bushes. Lizbeth snapped on her gloves as she
got closer, bypassing Alexar to head straight for the body. She called,
"What have we got?" over her shoulder on the way.

Alexar Thompson fell into step with her, running his fingers
through his salt-and-pepper hair as he answered. "Just like the last two.
Anonymous phone call, body left at the rear delivery door of a place of
business that's closed for the evening, apparent cocaine overdose."

Lizbeth steeled herself for the scene, as she always did.
However, these deaths were always sterile. The body bore one fresh injection
site- that was all there was to see. Sometimes the victim voided their bodies
in death, but most of the time they were clean. The victims all suffered fatal
heart attacks from too much cocaine in the syringe. They were all new users- no
track marks anywhere on the body, no history of drug use at all that they could
find in the background checks they conducted. One victim had been arrested for
possession of marijuana while in college, but that was the only sign of drug
use among the victims.