The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (7 page)

Taking a towel from the back of a nearby chair, she wiped the sweat from her brow and draped it across the back of her neck. Leaning against a small table placed against the wall, she took a long drink from a bottle of cold water before swiping the bottle across her forehead. Her breathing and pulse rate slowly returned to normal. Only then did she become aware of the aches and stiffness in her muscles, remnants of the sewer brawl.

Just thinking about yesterday afternoon left her with a cold feeling because it had been a damned close thing. Too close. Even worse, it was the third time in as many weeks that she had stared death in the face and smelled the stench of its breath. In some instances, literally. The first instance involved the female master who overpowered her in the Metro and would have turned her if Drake hadn’t burst in and pumped it with two magazines of holy water bullets, driving it off. A week later, she came even closer to death when the same female master bit her during the battle at Wolf Trap. Thankfully, the holy water she had dabbed on her neck repelled the master before it could do any harm. Alison could not decide if these near misses resulted from her being tired and careless. Or maybe her luck was running thin. Either way, if things continued along this path, she would be dead within a month. Or worse, would be a vampire herself.

That thought terrified her. Not the dying part. As a former cop and a hunter of the undead, she had no misgivings about facing death. It came with the job. It bothered her to face an enemy with much greater power and cunning than she could ever hope to possess. An enemy with no morals. An enemy with no qualms. An enemy who derived its power and strength from its very lack of humanity. The vampires’ total disregard for anything human gave them a marked advantage. Alison hated not being in control. Not being in control meant the odds were good that at some point she would wind up letting down Drake when he needed her most.

Pushing herself from the table, Alison made her way to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. She turned on the water, set the temperature to hot, and adjusted the faucet to pulsate. As the water heated, she stepped over to the sink and pressed the PLAY button on the CD player. Terri Clark sang about wanting to do it all. As the upbeat tune played out, Alison stared at her reflection.

A strong, confident, smart, and, if she dared say so herself, damn good looking stared back at her. She had saved dozens of lives from the undead, including Drake’s on many an occasion, and dispatched scores of the undead back to hell. Thanks to Smith and their anonymous benefactor, she lived comfortably, better than she ever would have while with the Boston Police, and had no financial concerns. Not a bad life.

So why did she feel so unfulfilled?

Alison knew the answer. The lack of fulfillment centered on her relationship with Drake. She cared deeply for him. No, she loved him. So far that affection remained only emotional. As much as she wanted to share Drake’s bed, she never had the courage to act on that desire. Partly because Drake never gave her any indication that he felt the same way. Partly because she knew that sex would irreparably change the nature of their relationship, and not necessarily for the better. Drake saw Alison as a good friend and a partner, and a hell of a vampire hunter. If they added physical intimacy to the equation, that dynamic would change, and Drake would look at her as a lover rather than a partner. She knew damn well that a distraction like that would get them both killed sooner or later.

Besides, Drake was dating Jessica. Just the thought of the two of them together drove her mad with jealousy. Or maybe envy. It really didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change the hurt she felt seeing the two of them together. She knew Drake the longest. Knew more about him than anyone else. Yet, when he chose a lover, he chose Jessica over her. It wasn’t fair. She deserved to share the intimate parts of his life, not Jessica. It should be Alison making love to Drake. Her name he called out in passion. Her face should be the last one he saw before he went to sleep at night, and the one he woke up to in the morning.

Damn, it hurt.

As Alison stripped out of her exercise clothes, Terri Clark continued to sing about settling down with the love of her life and rocking little babies to sleep at night. Those words struck a chord. She wanted more out of life than an endless war against an evil that could never be defeated; a war in which she, Drake, and Jim needed to win every battle against an undead enemy that grew exponentially. Alison wanted to get married, have babies, raise children, and grow old with the man she loved. Normal aspirations for most women, but ones she knew she would have to forego as long as she remained a hunter. In those moments when Alison was brutally honest with herself, she couldn’t believe she had survived this long.

Alison suddenly found the song aggravating, and jabbed the STOP so hard she knocked the CD player over. She stepped into the shower. Steaming hot water pounded her skin, heating and massaging her muscles, relieving much of the physical tension. It did little good for her emotional stress, though. For that, she would need to make an unpleasant decision.

Alison would never have any semblance of a normal life as long as she remained a hunter. And Drake would not abandon his calling until every vampire had been eliminated, which seemed unlikely. To leave this profession meant leaving Drake. Though not an easy decision to make, she had been contemplating it since the attack on the Metro. She was not quite ready to walk away from her chosen career, from her sense of responsibility, and from the man she loved. When… if… she did, she knew a part of her would always regret that decision.

Yet another part of her knew that if she did not act soon, she would not live long enough to have any regrets.

*     *     *

The elevator announced
its arrival on the thirteenth floor with a ping. To Drake, it sounded like “Welcome home.” When the doors slid aside, he stepped out into the elegantly-carpeted hallway and made his way to his apartment two doors down. It would be good to get home and relax. It had been a long day. After Smith left, he and Alison had spent the next six hours planning the assault on the nest and making an inventory of what they would need. Then he dropped by Jim’s apartment to check on sure the kid, followed by dinner at the Italian restaurant the next street over, and home.

As Drake entered his apartment and locked the door behind him, a familiar rustling from the other room greeted his arrival. Drake crossed the foyer into the living room and turned into the den just before the balcony. Van Helsing sat in the corner of his cage, his lop ears lifted in attention, waiting. Upon seeing Drake, van Helsing binked, the small twisting hop that indicated happiness, and raced back and forth. Drake unlatched the cage door and placed his face near the opening. Van Helsing stuck out his head and affectionately nudged Drake’s nose with his own, then sniffed Drake’s lips.

“You’re looking for a treat, aren’t you, boy?”

Van Helsing’s ears rose at the word “treat”. Drake reached up to the bag on top of the cage and took out three raisins. Van Helsing stood on his hind legs, sniffing the bag through the top of the cage. Drake placed one raisin between his lips and leaned into the cage. Van Helsing stuck out his head, grabbed the raisin between his teeth, and chewed noisily. They performed the same ritual with the other two raisins.

With snack time over, Drake picked up van Helsing. Supporting the rabbit in his left arm, with his right hand Drake petted his head and massaged his ears. Van Helsing clicked his teeth happily, a rabbit version of a purr. After several seconds of such attention, van Helsing began to squirm. Drake placed his companion on the floor and gave him a gentle pat on the butt. Van Helsing took a few steps, binked again, and raced off into the living room and down the corridor.

Drake smiled. He always found it amazing how an eight-pound rambunctious bundle of fur could make him forget about his problems. Van Helsing was the one aspect of his life unfettered by complications.

Heading into the kitchen, Drake made van Helsing dinner from a bag of pre-mixed greens. The simple pleasures of a simple life. A part of him envied van Helsing. No cares, other than getting fed on time, which could be a hit-or-miss proposition given Drake’s line of work. No life-and-death struggles with the undead. No living in the shadow of constant danger. No worries about whether he would survive to see another sunrise. And no feelings of guilt about whom he loved. No complications at all.

Unlike his own life. Being a cop in Boston had been complicated enough, and over time it had taken its toll on Drake’s health and morale. He couldn’t have expected anything different considering he faced an endless stream of gang-related violence, pedophiles, junkies, rapists, and every other dreg society could vomit up. Yet all that paled in comparison to the Night Stalker, the investigation that completely changed his life. What he originally considered a particularly vicious serial killer turned out to be a vampire on the prowl. Granted, it took him awhile to accept the reality that vampires existed. When he finally did come to terms with the reality, he and Alison tracked the thing down and eliminated it, but not before they burned out the Old South Church, ruining their careers and reputations in the process. Despite having saved the city from evil incarnate, the mayor and police chief were preparing to hang out Drake as a rogue cop who exceeded his authority. He would have ended up in jail, or a mental institution, had not Smith and the anonymous benefactor he represented intervened on his behalf. Smith arranged for all charges to be dropped, then offered Drake and Alison a job tracking down a nest of the undead in Washington. Smith promised to furnish them with anything they needed in return for eliminating the nest, which at first sounded like a fair enough proposition. At least until Drake realized that the Washington nest was unusually large, almost twenty snuffies at any given time, including two powerful and vicious masters.

The female master was the most vicious and powerful vampire he had ever encountered. Every run-in they had with her nearly proved fatal. Unfortunately, she escaped from Wolf Trap. As long as she remained among the undead, she posed a constant threat. They needed to track her down and destroy her before she could rebuild the nest, which was why the hunters were going back to the row house in two days.

A gentle nudge against his ankle brought Drake back to the task at hand. He looked down to see van Helsing sitting at his feet. When dinner did not magically appear, van Helsing gently nudged Drake again with his nose. Drake emptied the bag of greens into a plastic soup bowl and knelt down to feed his companion. Van Helsing stood on his hind legs and wrapped his front paws over the rim of the bowl, trying to speed up the process. He yanked out a chunk of radicchio and began munching before Drake could set the bowl down.

“You must be starving.” Drake tried to massage van Helsing’s ears, but the rabbit pushed his hand away with his head. Knowing when to take a hint, Drake left him alone. Heading into the living room, he poured himself a tumbler of Baker’s Bourbon and took a Macanudo from the humidor, then strolled out onto the enclosed balcony. A minute later, he sat comfortably sprawled in a lounge chair, sipping on the bourbon and puffing on the cigar.

In the four months they had been battling the undead in Washington, the hunters had earned themselves a respectable tally. Thirty snuffies and one master eliminated, which almost compensated for all the collateral damage his hunters caused and the notoriety they gained with local law enforcement. At last count, at least three jurisdictions in the Washington-Maryland-Virginia area waited for the hunters to screw up big time, to get themselves in so deep even their anonymous benefactor would not be able to help them. That number would grow before they were through. Most important, from Drake’s viewpoint, they had not killed any innocent bystanders. The reason for their success boiled down to one factor—the people around him.

Alison had been a godsend, ever since she had been assigned as his partner back on the Boston Police. Their first assignment had been the Night Stalker case. Alison remained loyal to him throughout, during both the hunting down and killing of the undead, and during the witch hunt that followed. The mayor and police chief offered to drop all charges against Alison and to let her stay on the force if she testified against Drake. Hell, Drake even advised her to take the deal, telling Alison that he would not hold it against her. Rather than take the easy way out, Alison resigned from the force and followed him to Washington to continue the hunt. Since then, she had been his best friend. His business partner. His comrade in arms. Everything, except his lover. He had contemplated the possibility before. There was definitely an attraction there, at least on his part. Alison was beautiful, confident, and could hold her own in battle against scores of undead. If she made love with the same intensity she showed when fighting, the sex would be fantastic. Deep down, Drake realized that acting on those impulses would at best harm that relationship, and more than likely get them killed. As much as Drake would love to spend a night with Alison, he did not need a lover as much as he needed someone he could rely on in battle. Someone whose instincts and combat skills were constantly honed. Sex would complicate everything. Besides, Alison was ten years his junior, which wouldn’t be fair to her. She would still be relatively young and energetic when he began his long descent into old age.