Blood and Kisses (2 page)

She shook her head to banish the stray thought. There were far more important matters at hand.

It was no surprise he recognized her. He knew her from the mark branding her cheek. Her family had worn the mark of the Champion for hundreds of years. And she knew him from his voice, though they’d never formally met. Despite their mutual enmity, or possibly because of it, the witch and vampire communities made it a point to keep tabs on each other.

“Mr. Damek,” she said finally, her voice a husky whisper. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and his features were now visible. His skin was dark for a vampire. The lines of his face fascinated her, and she let herself drink them in, the lean planes of his cheeks, the sensual lips, the almond shape of his obsidian eyes. She could stare at him forever.

Time stopped. Lost in the intensity of his gaze, she forgot everything. The desperation that had driven her fell away, replaced with need. The need to give herself over to him, to exist only as a part of him. She sank deeper into the mire of the connection between them. Her heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that inspired it to race. She licked her lips, unable to look away.

His gaze locked on her throat, and she realized he could hear the soft shirr of her pulse. A flame blazed in his eyes. The need to feed?

She shifted and identified the hard length pressing against her inner thigh. Her eyes widened and air rushed into her lungs as she suddenly remembered to breathe. Conscious of her body in a way she’d never been before, she inhaled his scent. Spice with a hint of musk filled her nose, and the desire to rub her body against him washed over her.

What am I doing? Vampire magnetism
. No doubt the cause of her body’s uncharacteristic response.

Suddenly aware of her position astride his hips, and the knowledge he was no doubt privy to the shameless reaction of her body, her face went hot.

She scrambled to her feet and stepped into the light. “What kind of game are you playing? I could have hurt you! Why did you sneak up on me?” She spoke more harshly than she’d intended. After all, she needed him.

His help, she corrected. She needed his
help
.

“Hurt me? I don’t think so.” He smiled, and she wanted to smack him.

In a heartbeat he was up, sharing the harsh pool of light spilling from the streetlight, his shadow thrown over her like a black velvet cloak. He moved like a magician, with a swift powerful grace intended perhaps to distract—or ensnare.

“And sneaking? No.” He shrugged. “Getting the lay of the land before introducing myself to a beautiful woman? Yes.”

Was he
flirting
with her?

His eyes glittered, carved jet in the light. “And when you know me better, you’ll discover I never play games.” He reached out and stroked back a dark swath of hair she’d purposefully left out of her ponytail to soften her mark. The touch was almost a caress, and Thalia quashed the startled gasp that rose like a helium balloon from her chest. She stood frozen, allowing the intimate gesture, her heart rapping inside her chest. He lowered his gaze to her cheek. “Especially not with the Champion.”

Thalia flinched as he used her title again. Really, she had to get over this ridiculous reaction. She was lucky he was being so polite. Many vampires would have simply called her “witch” or used the “P” word.

He shoved his hand in his pocket. “And please, call me Gideon.”

She bit her lip. His presence fostered a wild rush of desire tinted with equal parts fear and awe. She struggled to mask her unease. Acting like a cat in heat or a frightened rabbit would hardly impress him. “Let’s go where it’s a little quieter.”

In the distance, she could hear a train passing over the highway
.
Its syncopated cadence seemed to chide, “Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea” as it sped into the night. She pushed the thought away. It was far too late to turn back. She took a deep, steadying breath, scooped up her bag, then gestured down the street, toward the pedestrian bridge that forded the chasm sculpted long ago by the Genesee River.

He tilted his head, his gaze latching on hers as if searching for something. Finally, he nodded.

No more than a regal inclination of his elegant head, but Thalia breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief. Whatever his reasons, it appeared he was willing to listen.

The warm, mid-June night held only a hint of breeze. An ornamental iron railing guarded the bridge. Streetlights provided small oases of light in the desert of shadows. Thalia located an empty concrete bench near the center and headed toward it, trying not to look at the man by her side.

He walked like a tidal wave, flowing with sinister purpose, immense, forceful, inevitable.
Crushing
, a tiny shred of reason insisted, but she ignored that, too.

She focused straight ahead. She loved this area, but tonight had no time to enjoy the heady weather or savor the beauty of the dramatically lighted waterfall or the delicious aromas drifting from nearby restaurants.

Back across the gorge, she could see people dining on well-lit, open terraces. Fashionably dressed, they ate, and drank and laughed, their lives so alien to her it was as if they performed in a play.

As they neared the bench, Thalia broke the silence. “There’s been a murder.” Her gaze flicked up to graze his face.

His expression was as closed and unreadable as the decorative bricks that surfaced the bridge. “Murders happen every day. This one is different because...?” He sank down on the cement bench and looked in the direction of the falls. Bright, orange-tinted light bounced off the exotic planes of his face and should have flattened his features, made him seem normal, ordinary. Instead, it caressed his countenance, highlighting his preternatural beauty.

Thalia sat next to him, leaving several inches between them. Despite the distance, she imagined she could feel his shadowy aura brushing hers. She shivered. Fear or desire?

It didn’t matter, both were equally forbidden.

Swallowing again to clear the sudden blockage in her throat, she pulled a slim, manila folder out of her amber-beaded bag and handed it to him.

He opened the folder to reveal a color photograph of a body. A young, blonde woman sprawled, naked, by the side of a road. “And naturally you assume it’s a vampire.” The dark honey of his voice held a rough edge.

“For one thing, she was almost drained of blood—”

“Could be a delusional human—.”

“This for another.” She leaned over and pulled a second picture from beneath the first, forcing herself to ignore the electric current that raced through her at the brush of his arm against her shoulder. The photo showed a close-up of the woman’s face. Her pale blue eyes were open, frozen as if looking through a window into a world of unearthly beauty. Her wide mouth was stretched into an ecstatic smile.

“Drug overdose?”

Thalia eyed him impatiently. Her desperation overpowered her caution. “Is that what you really think?”

He closed the folder with a crisp flick of the wrist. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll take care of it.”

“Will you?”

He stood, his body eclipsing the light from the nearby streetlight, giving her the odd sensation she’d suddenly shrunk. “The vampire code forbids us from taking a life, especially while feeding. I am the oldest vampire in the community. I’ll take care of it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Oh?”

“The victim is, was, my cousin.” Thalia straightened, proud of the hard-fought steadiness of her voice.
Good. No hint of tears.

“A Poi...a witch?” His voice rang with incredulity.

She leapt to her feet, body stiff, fists clenched. “No. My cousin was not a
Poisonblood
, as you people so kindly call us. If only she had been. At least this would be over.” Tears burned in her eyes for a moment, but she forced them back. There would be time to grieve later. “She was a petty. Not a speck of magic ability. I came to you for information, that’s all. I’ll handle the investigation. I’m the professional.”

“You may be the Champion of the witch community, but what makes you think you could bring down a vampire?” He moved toward her, crowding her with his muscular body.

She took a fortifying breath. “Pettys have successfully hunted vampires for centuries. There’s no reason a witch shouldn’t be just as successful.” She’d come this far. She refused to be intimidated now. Especially not while the scrap of paper bearing his name burned in her purse. Found with Lily’s belongings, it’d led her to him.

And even if he were innocent, she needed him. He was the most respected—most feared—vampire in Rochester, and without him, the vampire community wouldn’t give her the time of day.

“Those so-called successes included just as many innocents as miscreants.”

Damn, she loved the old-fashioned way he talked.
“I’m a trained private investigator. There will be no mistakes.” She strove to imbue her words with confidence.

“Damn right, because if you try to investigate this without me, I’ll do more than make sure no one in the vampire community will talk to you.” An unholy blaze kindled in the depths of his eyes.

Thalia hid a shiver.
Not so old-fashioned after all.
“Okay,” she said, burying the surge of triumph and relief flowing through her at the fruition of her plan. “It’s settled then. We’ll work together.”

The insidious little voice that had put words to the rattle of the passing train changed.
Be careful what you wish for
, it whispered.
Be careful what you wish for.

The watcher waited as the Champion and the Butcher parted company. When they were out of sight, he slipped from the shadows and followed the woman. A faint smile curled his lips. When this little game ended, he would have unimaginable power, and she and his ancient foe would both be dead.