Blood Groove (22 page)

Leslie nodded, continuing to stare at her.

Danielle turned the light on in the bathroom and shut the door. In the harsh illumination her pale body looked filthy, smeared with grime and blood. She turned so she could examine the wounds to her rear end, and saw that the bruises had faded quite a bit; how long had she been out? The actual bites were small and scabbed over, with no red streaks indicating any kind of infection.

She turned on the shower and, while she waited for the water to warm up, allowed herself to remember what had happened to her. The obvious truth, that she’d been assaulted by teen vampires, was too ludicrous for words, Occam be damned. Clearly these kids
thought
they were vampires, or enjoyed pretending to be, and they’d attacked her as if they really were. But vampires were fairy tales. The strange, overwhelming attraction she’d felt could’ve been simply the effects of the marijuana on her squeaky clean, and no doubt repressed, psyche.

Finally she stepped into the water. She turned it as hot as she could stand it, then began scrubbing from the top of her head down. She shampooed three times, then lathered up with disinfecting soap from work and rinsed her body until she felt less like a piece of rotted garbage. The puncture wounds stung, but did not reopen or bleed. If anything, they seemed to be closing up with surprising swiftness.

She stepped out, toweled herself dry, and brushed her short hair back from her face. She wiped the mist-covered mirror and saw the dark circles under her eyes and the red splotches all over her white skin. Still, she did not look too badly battered now, and if she continued to heal as quickly, she would be fine. She’d get herself checked for diseases, of course, but since she had not actually been raped, the chances of transmission were slight.

She let out a deep, long sigh. Maybe this would turn out to be nothing but a well-learned lesson. She began to feel giddy, realizing her unbelievable luck.

She pulled on her blue terry-cloth robe. It felt sumptuous against her skin, and she felt a flutter deep inside at its touch.
That
was weird, being turned on by just a bathrobe. The feeling passed, and she wrote it off as some delayed aspect of shock.

When she opened the bathroom door, the light fell across Leslie, who remained in the same spot on the bed. She looked up at Danielle with a puzzled, frightened expression, but said nothing.

“Sorry for snapping at you,” Danielle said as she went to her dresser. “I saw some crazy stuff last night, and I think I just barely avoided the ol’ ‘fate worse than death’ our moms always told us about.” She pulled out a pair of her baggiest, most comfortable cotton panties and pulled them on. “Guess I should pay more attention to my smart friends like you, huh?”

Leslie neither moved nor spoke. Her eyes were wide with
what looked like terror, yet she said nothing. “Are you all right?” Danielle asked.

“I can’t move,” Leslie said in a flat monotone voice.

Chills ran down Danielle’s spine. She knew that tone, because it had been the very one she had used when under the influence of those . . . those
people
. She swallowed hard and had to take a deep breath before speaking. “Leslie . . . are
they
here?”

“No,” Leslie answered. “No one’s here but you. You told me to shut up and wait here. It’s all I can do.” Her full lips trembled, and her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears.

Danielle stood very still as she absorbed this. She looked away from Leslie, took a deep breath, and said, “Leslie, stand up.”

Leslie scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. She did nothing else, her hands dangling at her sides. In the silent room, her rapid, panicky breathing was as loud as a furnace.

Danielle was suddenly at war with herself. Her decent side, the one that made her a responsible adult human being, told her to free her friend, apologize for her actions, and seek medical help. Whatever was happening wasn’t natural, and she had no guarantee it wasn’t also fatal. Yet the rush of power was intoxicating, more than the marijuana had been, more than any alcohol. Had surviving the previous night’s assault somehow gifted her with this ability? She felt no compulsion to drink Leslie’s blood, but the thought of
controlling
her . . .

No!
her conscience demanded.
Leslie is your friend, has been for years, she came over to help you, you can’t treat her like this
.

Danielle licked her lips. Leslie’s fear was turning to anger, although it showed only in her eyes. Her hands swayed slightly as she fought to exert control over her body.

Just then, the phone beside the bed rang. Danielle picked it up and said, in a trembling voice, “Hello?”

“Boss?” Skitch said. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“I heard you’d been . . . that you had some trouble. Are you all right?”

He sounded so worried it almost made her smile. “I’m fine,” she said. She imagined Skitch in the lounge at the morgue, hunched over the counter as he spoke, his scrub pants firm against his fine tight ass. She’d listened to the other women at work talk about how cute he was, and for the first time she realized she agreed with them. Now, if she controlled a hunk like
him
. . .

Then she did smile. It couldn’t hurt to try.

“Skitch,” she said carefully, “are things busy tonight?”

“No, haven’t had a call. Why?”

“Come over here. Be here in fifteen minutes. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he answered, in the same marvelously flat tone. Then he hung up.

Danielle put down the phone. A photo of her mother stood beside it, and she carefully placed it facedown on the nightstand. Then she turned to Leslie. “We’re about to have company. Another friend.” She stepped right up to Leslie, who still did not move or speak. A single tear ran down her dusky cheek. Softly Danielle added, “I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

“S
OMETHING HAS HAPPENED
,” Zginski said. He stood outside on the loading dock, looking up at the stars. The nearby city’s glow erased all but the strongest of them. He had sent out a mental command for Lee Ann to return to the warehouse, and she’d had plenty of time to do so. She lacked the willpower to resist, so circumstances must have interfered.

Fauvette stood beside him, watching him the same way he did the sky. “What do we do?” she asked.

Zginski scowled. “I should have had the woman tell
me
where she lived and not just Lee Ann. Now that we have need of her scientific expertise, we have no way to reach her.”

“Your error?” Mark asked.

“Yes,” Zginski agreed, seething. He despised his own mistakes more than anyone else’s.

Fauvette leaned close and said softly, “Would you be willing to accept some help?”

“In what way?”

“Well, I fed from Lee Ann, too. I have the same connection. If you show me how to use it, maybe the two of us together can get her attention.”

“I am strong enough,” he said. “Something is actively preventing her, I’m certain.”

“Maybe, but if not, this might make the difference. If I’m wrong, no harm done.”
Except
, she thought,
that I’ve learned one of your tricks and some of your limits
. But she kept her expression open and guileless.

Zginski pondered this for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Come with me. The rest of you, please excuse us.”

“Oh,
now
he says please, when he wants to be alone with the white girl,” Leonardo said. Olive smacked the back of his head and pulled him into the warehouse. Mark met Fauvette’s eyes for a moment, then followed the others into the building.

Zginski led Fauvette into the grass, so that they stood in the open beneath the sky. He faced her and took her hands. The moonlight cast dark shadows beneath his eyes and cheekbones.

“What I am about to share with you will bind you and I more than you may wish,” he said gravely. “I do not know the full ramifications of it, because I have never done this before. It is a ritual that exists in the tales of our kind told deep in the European mountains.”

“Then why do it now?” she asked before she could stop.
Just shut up and learn
, she berated herself.

He smiled. “Because there is a quality about you, Fauvette, that intrigues me. This will also allow me to examine it more closely.”

“What quality is that?”

“Your belief in an objective right and wrong.”

She shrugged. “That’s just my momma’s doing. She made sure we were all well churched.”

“Whatever its source, I wish to know more. And this way I will.”

Before she could ask any more questions, he suddenly
lifted her into his arms and sank his fangs into her neck. He pressed her head against his own jugular, and instinctively she bit him as well.

   Danielle gazed down at Skitch, who grunted with the effort of lifting her with his pelvis. She straddled him, and had discovered another amazing facet to her new ability: she was able to keep Skitch from climaxing indefinitely. He’d been hard for two hours now, despite his best efforts. He looked up at her and gasped, “God, I’m exhausted. How long have we been at this?”

She bent and rubbed her breasts against his face, enjoying the scratchy stubble. The bedroom reeked of their activity. “I’m the boss, I give you permission for overtime.”

“It’s just . . . maybe this wasn’t too bright, since you
are
my boss, and me being married and all.”

Danielle closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as an orgasm shuddered through her. Skitch grunted and drove up into her, desperate for his own, but she held it in check until he fell back, breathless, keening in disappointment. “Shh,” she whispered, “just keep doing what you’re doing and I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“Is this going to make work awkward?” he said, his hands closing around her breasts.

She casually slapped them away; she was no one’s property tonight. “Nothing will be awkward,” she assured him. “I’ll take care of everything.”

She realized she was thoroughly exhausted, having not eaten for nearly two days. She rode him for a few more minutes as he strove to reach his own release, almost laughing at his desperation. Then she put a hand on his lips and said, “You want to get off, baby, is that it?”

“Yes!” he practically shouted.

“I don’t want you coming in me, I’m not on the pill. But I have a place for you.”

She turned toward the bathroom door. As if summoned by an inaudible bell, Leslie emerged and stood in the dim light. She was naked, her skin gleaming and her Afro catching the illumination from the streetlight. She stared at Danielle with a weary, defeated expression.

“Leslie, you remember Skitch, don’t you?”

Leslie nodded.

“Skitch will do anything you tell him to,” she said. “Won’t you?”

Skitch looked at Leslie uncertainly. “Ah . . . I don’t know, Danielle, I mean, she’s black.”

Danielle slapped him across the face, so hard his head snapped back and bounced off the pillow. “Are you so picky right now?” she said, then raised herself off his erection with a tantalizing, slow movement. He groaned, the slap instantly forgotten, and by the time she stood up he was futilely masturbating.

“Leslie,” she said dreamily as she stood and stretched, “tell Skitch what you want him to do to you.”

Leslie was as helpless as Skitch, although she at least understood that somehow Danielle was responsible. “No,” she whispered.

Skitch’s arm was a blur, and he grunted with vain effort.

Danielle stood on tiptoe to kiss the taller woman lightly on her cheek. “I know he’s white, but I also know those stories about black men aren’t true. I see their bodies all the time. And he’s very enthusiastic.”

Leslie shuddered, her resistance gone. She met Skitch’s eyes and said, “Move over.”

He scooted aside, and she reclined on the bed. With no preliminaries he crawled atop her, positioned himself, and rammed into her, drawing a cry from them both. He pounded
her into the mattress as Danielle watched, fighting not to giggle at his white ass between those dark brown thighs. They quickly found their rhythm and began fucking in earnest.

Leslie had an orgasm almost at once. Then she wrapped her legs around Skitch and grabbed his face, forcing him to stop. She whispered something Danielle didn’t catch, and then Skitch, moaning as if in pain, disengaged himself from her, slid down her body, and lowered his head between her legs. She moaned, eyes closed, hands caressing herself.

Danielle curled up in the only chair and watched this with fascination. She knew of cunnilingus, of course, but had never experienced it, and during her time with Skitch had never thought to tell him to do it. Leslie tossed her head on the rumpled bed, her dark skin shining with sweat.

Then, at the moment she experienced another orgasm, she met Danielle’s gaze. Danielle saw a mix of rage, helplessness, and undeniable pleasure in Leslie’s eyes, as well as something that brought her up short—betrayal. No matter how good it felt, Leslie
knew
it wasn’t right. And deep down, so did Danielle.