They Come by Night (31 page)

She woke up the next day to find it was night, and everything she’d been familiar with had changed. She was a vampyr.

And the vampyr who had turned her turned out to be the biggest fucking psycho on the planet.

Now that she was a vampyr herself, she saw what he really looked like—not the handsome, dashing, sexy man who’d first swaggered up to her and offered to buy her a Bloody Mary. It was more like that guy in the portrait. What was his name? Darren? Daryl? Dorian? Yeah, that was it.

She scowled. This was Rhiannon née Jane Jones’s life—undeath—now. Fucking,
fucking
unlucky.

S
HE
’
D BEEN hunting. God, she loved it. There was supposed to be a law or something against feeding from normals, but fuck that. Nuking a plastic bag filled with cow’s blood was like having one of those TV dinners her mother used to make. They’d tasted like cardboard, and she’d hated them; she hated blood in a bag even more.

Feeding from sabors was supposed to make that more palatable—word was it was the sweetest blood on the planet, and she’d always had a sweet tooth. If it made the plastic aftertaste of bagged blood acceptable, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Okay, her heart no longer beat, but whatever. So far de Vivar had refused to give her permission to find a sabor and see for herself, the fucking jerkbrain. And what cheesed her off even more was, according to another vampyr law, she had to have his okay.

Well, screw that. She’d have gone out and found a sabor for herself, only she had no clue where to look for one, and de Vivar wouldn’t tell her.

The normal started looking over his shoulder. He must be sensing someone was stalking him, and Rhiannon grinned. He’d never suspect she could be a threat, not with the way she was dressed. She’d found the cutest little outfit in the mall when it was open late around the holidays. He’d take one look at it and start salivating to get at her.

She licked her lips and was about to begin her approach when a voice seemed to whisper in her ear, “Rhiannon, I want you.”

She shuddered. Up until this point she’d had one thing to be grateful for: de Vivar had shown no desire to fuck her. Had he suddenly decided he wanted a taste of blonde?

De Vivar wasn’t here, of course. He’d be in that creepy space of his, with its hard couches that looked like benches, the dark paintings hung on the walls, and the candles that kind of lit it up. Jesus, this was the twenty-first century. Couldn’t he get with the times and have electricity installed? She missed television, and she’d seen the bossest flat screen in Best Buy.

And he wouldn’t let any of the vampyrs he’d turned move into places of their own. They all had to live in the crappy caves under his mausoleum. Cells, he called them. Damned straight that was what they were.

She’d never asked for this. One of these nights she’d look up the vampyr king and spill the beans about de Vivar. But until that time….

She gave a last, lingering look at the normal, then went to de Vivar’s pad as fast as she could.

He was alone.

“Yeah?” She braced herself, expecting him to tell her to strip.

“I have something for you to do for me.” He held up a photograph. “Do you see this young man?”

Relieved he didn’t want to screw her, she kept the obvious response—
I’m not blind, of course I see him!
—behind her teeth. She took it from him and studied the image. Gray eyes, light brown, almost blond hair. Not bad-looking either, except for the lines between his brows that made him look perpetually teed off.

“Do I get to feed from him?” She was hungry. Because de Vivar had summoned her, she hadn’t been able to dine on the normal as she’d planned.

“No.”

Well, shit. “What am I supposed to do with him, then?” A sudden thought occurred to her and she gaped at him. “Do you want me to pimp for you?” Mostly she went her own way, but she’d heard some of the vampyrs talking about how they’d had to ensorcell normals and bring them to de Vivar for him to feed on. He liked them scared, but she’d always found if they were turned-on, they were so much easier to deal with. Plus tasty. She gave a mental shrug. Different strokes for different folks.

“Of course not!” He scowled at her. “Your task will be to make him do my bidding.”

There was actually a normal he couldn’t get to obey him? But de Vivar liked everyone to believe he was God’s gift to vampyrs, and no way was she going to touch that.

“So what is your bidding?”

“He is to gain entrance to his brother’s house.”

And de Vivar couldn’t get him to do this himself?

“They have been estranged for many years.”

“Okay, so who is he?” She tapped the photo against her palm.

“His name is Matthew Crist. He spends the odd evening at Donnelly’s Pub. He’ll be there tonight.” De Vivar gazed off into space, the twist to his lips anything but pleasant. “He needs a friend. That’s going to be you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Introduce yourself to him. Tell him your name is April.” He held up another photo. “Make sure when he sees you, he sees this. Not a hundred percent but close enough he’ll want to believe you’re her. Nudge him along. Perhaps darken the lights a bit. If you fail….” His gaze lingered on her talisman as he let the words trail off, and she had no trouble filling in the blank. Damn him. “Oh, and tone down your clothing. If you go in looking like a whore, he’ll never buy it.”

She forced a smile. “You bet.”

Fucking bad luck.

S
HE WAS wearing a pair of jeans with black legwarmers, a fuzzy black beret tilted at a saucy angle, and a short fur coat, also black. She liked the clothes of the ’60s, but these were pretty cool too.

After leaving her pad beneath de Vivar’s mausoleum, she’d stopped for a quick bite, and once she’d wiped the normal’s memory, she went on her way. That was one of the vampyr things they were all good at. Their existence could depend on it.

It didn’t take her long to find Donnelly’s Pub, and she opened the door and let herself in. The interior was already dim, which allowed her to concentrate on the matter at hand. There were lots of things she could do as a vampyr, but turning down the lights kind of felt like a waste of her talents.

One thing she valued was her heightened senses. She had no trouble hearing the bartender when he leaned forward and whispered to the guy on the stool, “Ya gotta take it easy, Matt!”

So that was her target. She sauntered to a stool next to his and undulated up onto it.

The bartender gave a low wolf whistle. “Well, hello there, sunshine! What can I get for you?”

She flashed him a bright smile, even though she knew his reaction was purely perfunctory. From the time she was fourteen she’d been able to tell if a guy wanted her or just wanted his friends to think that. This guy was definitely of the latter variety.

“How about a Bloody Mary?” That had been her drink of choice back in the day, and she hadn’t had one since Halloween, 1969. If she went easy on it, maybe she could convince her insides it was real blood.

“You got it!” The bartender stepped back from the bar and began grabbing up various ingredients.

Rhiannon opened the small purse that swung from her shoulder. It contained things she didn’t need but a normal would carry. She took out a small compact and a tube of clear lip gloss. The mirror in the compact wouldn’t show her reflection, so if she tried applying the bloodred lipstick she’d favored before she was turned, she’d look like a clown. This was the best way she could draw attention to her mouth. Guys had always loved when she’d wrapped her lips around their dicks, and girls… well, they’d liked the way she sucked their nipples and tongued their clits.

She missed sex. Sure, she had it with normals, but for some reason it wasn’t the same. She’d heard it was superhot between two… or more… vampyrs, and the only vampyr she’d met who interested her didn’t seem to return that interest.

Oh fucking well. She’d better get on with the job.

She parted her lips and smoothed the gloss over first the upper lip and then the lower one, stealing a glance above the compact to see the man sitting beside her apparently fascinated with her mouth. She waited until his gaze rose to hers, and then she slipped the thought into his subconscious that she resembled the mysterious April. A slow, sensuous smile curled her lips.

“Hello,” she said in a breathy tone.

“April?”

“Why, yes, how did you know my name?”

“April Valentine?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” She made a moue of regret.

He smiled and shook his head. “Of course not. You’re so much prettier!”

“And you’re a charmer.” He was kind of cute. There was something about him….

“I just tell it like I see it.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

“My name is Matthew.”

“Thank you, Matthew.” She pushed just a little. The April chick had a dimple at the corner of her mouth, and as far as this guy was concerned, so did she.

The bartender put her Bloody Mary in front of her, and she reached into the purse.

“Larry, I’m buying the lady’s drink.” He put the money on the bar. “Would you care to join me in a booth?”

“I’d like that.” She slid off the stool and let him take her arm.

That was the problem with de Vivar. He believed in brute force, when a deft hand did the trick so much better. She’d plant the notion in Matthew’s mind that he needed to contact his brother. Yeah, there was no love lost between them, but the longer Matthew fought against the… suggestion, the stronger it would become, until finally he’d have no choice but to surrender to it.

This was going to be a cinch.

II

“Y
OU SENT for me, Juan?” Rhiannon sauntered over to him.

“
Master
!” he snarled. When was she going to learn to address him with the proper respect?

“Yeah, what you said. So whatcha want?”

He ran his eyes over the blonde vampyr and let his fangs show, satisfied when she backed away in fear. He’d turned her in a moment of boredom some decades ago. Whatever had possessed him to visit San Francisco, of all cities?

He shook his head. It wasn’t important. What was important was convincing the Crist whelp he was firmly on his side. For some reason it had proved to be more difficult than de Vivar had anticipated, and so, thinking for once a woman might be what was needed, he’d sent Rhiannon—foolish name for a foolish wench.

“How are things going with Matthew Crist?” he growled. Sending her to work her wiles—such as they were—had been a necessity. He had come to realize that for some reason, the more he pressed Crist to obey him, the more the saborese resisted. Rhiannon was correct when she said her powers of ensorcelling were weak at best, but with de Vivar’s backing hers up, Crist would do whatever he wanted.

“There’s been a hitch in your plan.”

“Oh?” He let his eyes turn red.

“Hey, not my fault! He got called for jury duty.”

“You couldn’t… persuade him to forgo it?”

“No. His number had been selected before I found out about it. It’s a murder trial. Some poor schnook is taking the blame for the dead normals who are turning up.”

“
What?
”

“JK. Just kidding.” She offered a weak smile

He frowned at her, pleased when she backed farther away. He didn’t need to hear
mierda
like that. If he were rege, it wouldn’t matter, but since he wasn’t, it was all the more important the sabor become his.

She studied her nails. “Actually, there is a bit of a problem. Matt’s proving to be more stubborn than I’d expected.” De Vivar’s eyes flashed red again, and she held up her hands. “Hey, don’t blame me. I’ve never come across a normal who could withstand me.”

“
Puta estúpida
,” he growled. “He is not a normal!”

“I am not a—Wait a second. If he isn’t a normal, then what is he?”

¡Joder!
He hadn’t meant to reveal that. “
Sin importancia
.”

“English, Juan.”

“¡
Maldita sea
!” He slammed his hand down on the arm of the sofa, and she jumped at the sound. “I turned you, you stupid little slut, and you will show me respect!”

She lowered her eyes and dropped to a crouch before him. “I’m sorry, master.”

That was the way to keep his vassals in check. Pleased with her response, he decided he would delay destroying her until another night.

“Rise.” He turned away from her. Another plan was needed. He tapped his forefinger against his lower lip.

Ah! Of course!

Sufficient time had passed since the rege had fed from the sabor
—
de Vivar had been keeping that house under surveillance—and he knew the sabor would be growing desperate to have a vampyr come to him. That pleased de Vivar inordinately.

“Have you ever fed from a sabor?”

“No.”

At least that was the correct answer. He’d never given her permission to seek out a sabor, and if she’d done so of her own accord, he would have crushed her talisman between his fingers with exceedingly great pleasure.

“Would you care to feed from one?”

“Yes!” She should know better than to show such enthusiasm, and he nodded in satisfaction when she quickly restrained it. “I mean… that would be so cool.”

“Very well. In that case you may seek out Tyrell Small.” He would have Rhiannon proceed with his latest plan.

“Thank you!”

He seized her wrist. “You will not take more than a few sips from him.”

She pouted but didn’t attempt to struggle. “That hardly makes it worth my while!”

“Nevertheless, you will obey me.” He squeezed her wrist, pleased when she flinched, and then released her.

“Yes, master.”

He glanced at her sharply. Was she mocking him? She was spending entirely too much time in Antonia’s company. But she was smoothing down the white fur jacket she wore.

“You will also insert in his mind the command he is to grant admission to his home to the next vampyr who comes to call.”

“It’ll be a snap.” She demonstrated by snapping her fingers, clearly affronted her abilities were doubted. Not that he cared.