Blood Lust (11 page)

Inside the cottage, the smell of coffee percolating in the kitchen and something decidedly cinnamon-related drifted out to the entryway. A couple of comfortable-looking red leather couches stood in the middle of the room, with a table fountain burbling away, not unlike the brook outside. Soft jazz played in the background.

“You’re a doctor?” Charlee asked, noticing shelves of medical books. She’d thought Greta was taking her to someone better than a doctor. Not that she necessarily agreed with the assessment that someone else could be better than a doctor in this situation.

“Medical researcher,” Dayne replied.

Charlee noticed Greta’s brows arch upward and knew there was something she wasn’t being told, but decided not to press the matter.

“If you’ll come with me to the lab, I can run a few tests so we can figure out what’s going on with you and how we might be able to remedy it.”

“Don’t memories just come back on their own when someone has amnesia?” Charlee asked.

“It depends on what’s causing the amnesia.”

She followed him down a hallway and a sloping, winding path until they were underground where she was surprised to see a fully-outfitted lab. He must be serious about research. Probably privately funded.

There was a medical examining table, more books, charts, and a few machines. Along one wall were computers and refrigerated cases with vials of unrecognizable liquids with little labels on them. Fluorescent track lighting hung from the ceiling, illuminating the light green walls.

“Nice lab,” Greta said, giggling.

Charlee’s brows knit together, not getting the joke. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Dayne rolled his eyes and directed Charlee to sit on the table. He donned a white lab coat and scrubbed his hands in the sink, then returned armed with a needle.

“I’m going to draw some blood and run a few basic tests.”

“Aren’t you going to X-ray my head?”

He looked uncomfortably over at the machine Charlee assumed was for X-raying heads. “CT scan, but it depends on what the blood work shows.”

After he’d filled a vial with her blood, Charlee and Greta went up to the main part of the house and out to the garden, leaving Dayne to work.

Lush blooms dotted the entirety of the stone-encased backyard. In the absence of trees, the sun streamed down without obstruction, sparkling off the water in the birdbath showcased in the center. It was like another world.

The two of them sprawled on beach towels with coffee and cinnamon rolls. They talked about Dayne until he returned, causing both women to blush like guilty adolescents.

“Greta, I need to speak with you privately.”

Charlee looked up. “Is something wrong?”

She wondered what awful thing he could have found in her blood.

“It’s fine, Charlee. I just need to borrow Greta for a minute.”

Greta excused herself and the two of them moved just inside the door. Charlee waited until their voices got louder, and she couldn’t resist going to eavesdrop. She slipped to the edge of the garden and hid behind a spray of greenery arranged in a large stone urn beside the door.

“You are not involving him,” Greta hissed.

“Please be rational. I know you don’t trust him, but I’ve known Anthony for many years. This is his mess to clean.”

There was a long pause, then Greta let out a loud sigh. “Fine, but I hate it. When will Evil Dead get here?”

“I can’t call until after sunset, but then . . . ”

Charlee leaned forward too far and the urn toppled over. She raced back to her beach towel and tried to look innocent.

Dayne poked his head out the door. “Charlee, are you okay?”

“Fine.” But her mind whirred with possibilities. Who was Anthony, why didn’t Greta trust him, and what kind of mess had he made?

Anthony chuckled as he stepped out of the black Mercedes and felt the wards encircling the cottage. The magic didn’t feel foreboding to him, but welcoming. A thick fog of darkness he could get lost in. He guessed not many vampires had been near the Wickham house or Dayne would have plugged the security hole by now.

The sorcerer hadn’t been forthcoming on the phone. He’d just said he needed Anthony there immediately and that it was of the highest importance. He rolled his eyes.

Humans.

Wickham might have a longer lifespan than the rest of them and a few extra perks from the magic, but he still thought like a human. Everything was life or death and potentially world-ending for them. When you’d lived as long as Anthony had, you stopped listening to dire warnings of doom. These things usually had a way of working themselves out.

And ’lo, the world still stands. Funny how that worked out.

The only reason he’d come out to Deliverance country was curiosity. He assumed there was still poison in Greta’s blood and he’d been called to drink again. His memories of the previous night were chaotic at best. Despite the temptation of her blood, if that was what Dayne needed, he’d have to find himself another vamp.

Starting now, Anthony was adopting a strict just say no policy. It was too close to the tournament to be so careless. He’d worked too hard. He wasn’t risking a full century for one more drink of therian blood, pleasurable though it was. When he became the coven’s king, he could have the stuff shipped in. Hell, he could have a personal stable of therians if he wanted.

Greta opened the door, and he couldn’t wipe the leer from his face fast enough. She drew back, frightened. His jaw clenched at her reaction, far less amusing tonight than normal.

He dragged his gaze over her body. “You look fine to me. No horrible side effects from last night, I presume.”

She glared. “I was against you coming here. And it has nothing to do with me.”

Dayne came up behind the brunette and opened the door wider, gently moving Greta to the side. “Do come in. We can speak downstairs where it’s private.”

Anthony nodded and crossed the threshold.

The door to the garden opened and Charlotte entered the room, a guarded expression on her face. Anthony reached out his senses to read her, upset by the confusion and anxiety she projected. He clearly hadn’t done a very good job with it. Was the woman he’d known lost for good after what he’d done? Perhaps a part of the brain couldn’t forget. He ground his teeth together.

“This is the psychiatrist that’s going to help you,” Dayne said. “I need to speak with him privately. We’ll be back in a moment. Anthony, shall we?”

The vampire had only been there two minutes and already he could tell he wouldn’t like where any of this was heading. Psychiatrist? Was he kidding?

“I’m going too,” Greta said.

Anthony zoned out while Greta and Dayne argued about the rudeness or lack of rudeness of leaving Charlotte alone. He absently regarded the redhead, becoming increasingly irked as she edged farther away from him.

This was all Dayne and Greta’s fault. He indulged briefly in a fantasy of snapping their necks, but was brought back to reality as images of how it would affect Charlotte entered his mind. If he wanted her back to the snarky smartass who told him off, killing her friends in front of her probably wasn’t the way to go.

He was drawn back to his surroundings by the dull thud caused by Greta tapping her foot on the carpeted floor. He couldn’t read her, but her body language projected everything he needed to know. Her arms were crossed over her chest, while her lips sat in a determined line.

“I have other things to do tonight,” Anthony said. “I don’t see why we can’t just discuss whatever needs to be discussed right here.”

Both Greta and Dayne looked at him aghast as if he’d suggested slicing up a puppy and cooking it over an open flame.

“We’re sorry to leave you alone,” Dayne said, directing his attention to Charlee. “It’s incredibly rude.” He speared Greta with a glare.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, oblivious to any subtext.

Anthony winced, knowing he made her nervous, and she just wanted him out of the room. He turned and headed for the basement, wanting to get the discussion over with as soon as possible so he could escape the suffocating blanket of Charlotte’s fear.

When they reached the underground level, Dayne bolted the door behind them and took a book from the shelf. He chanted for a moment then turned his attention back to Anthony. “The room is sealed; it’s safe to talk. I had hoped Greta would stay upstairs with Charlee.”

Greta glowered at both of them.

Anthony sighed. “Whatever little psycho-drama you all are acting out here, kindly get on with it. I have things to do. You know I’m one of the favorites to take over as coven leader, and I don’t need these petty distractions. I’m not available anytime you can’t handle something on your own. I’m not your personal vampire on call.”

“This isn’t my problem,” Dayne said. “It’s yours. Greta brought Charlee to see me today because her memory has been wiped.”

“Clearly not well enough,” Anthony said, still resentful Dayne had put him in this position to begin with. “She fears me. She never feared me before.”

“Maybe she should fear you,” Greta said.

Anthony hissed, baring fangs.

“Enough,” Dayne said, stepping between them. “Her memory is completely gone. She doesn’t even remember her own name. Greta tells me she had to get it from a card in her wallet. I used her blood for a spell; it led me to you. You’ve done it, and now you have to undo it.”

Anthony had a vague sense of what had happened the night before; how he’d almost killed her, the guilt, wiping her memory. He supposed he might have done the memory wipe a bit more forcefully than was necessary, but he hadn’t been himself.

“I can’t undo it,” he said.

Greta poked a finger in his chest, “Well, you better figure it out, buddy, or I promise I will find a way to unmake you.”

Anthony retreated a couple of steps. “When did the kitty get claws?”

Dayne smiled. “I suspect she always had them. You will need to figure out what to do about the girl.”

Vampires routinely took and manipulated memories. Millions of people all over the planet who didn’t believe in their existence had been fed on. Many of them more than once. Every human had a different flavor, and most vampires had favorites they fed from multiple times. Unless the human was kept with them, they were never the wiser for it.

Vampire fangs could kill, but vampire saliva healed at a rate impossible outside magic. After feeding and sealing the wounds, there was no trace of physical evidence. After wiping the memory, there was no evidence at all. But no vampire had ever returned a memory. As far as Anthony knew, it wasn’t possible.

Sure, he could implant false recollections until she had a more-or-less intact memory from her perspective. But it wouldn’t be hers, not her actual life. Though he’d been inside her mind, read it and manipulated it previously, Anthony had never watched the full movie of her history. What he didn’t know, he couldn’t replace.

“I’ll talk to a couple of vampires older than me and see if there is a way to bring them back, if you’ll keep her here with you. I’ll be back in a few days.”

This was going to take away from the time he could be using to prepare for the tournament. His taking leadership wasn’t preordained. The coven was large and spread over several states, and many vampires were coming in from out of town, some of them fierce competitors.

“She can’t stay here,” Dayne said.

“Why in the hell not?”

Greta poked Anthony in the chest again. “Because, moron, she believes he’s a medical researcher. He put a big glamour over the magic dungeon here and kept it going long enough to draw blood and get Charlee upstairs. Now it’s gone. He’s barely holding onto the glamour on the rest of the house that covers up the magic books.”

Anthony growled. If the therian poked him once more, he was going to unmake her. “Well, she can’t be left unsupervised.”

“Why not?”

“Linus would take her.”

Dayne understood, but Greta didn’t. Anthony figured Dayne would fill her in later if he cared to. Linus was one of his rivals and older by a few centuries. He would arrive soon for the tournament and had a particular interest in mistakes and failed experiments. Anthony wasn’t aware of another vampire having taken a full memory before, but if his rival found her, he would take her for his collection.

Linus had a menagerie of girls whose memories hadn’t been properly erased, girls with permanent scars because an inexperienced fledge hadn’t healed them properly, girls who’d been tortured by sadistic vampires who didn’t clean up after themselves. The list went on. It was his collection of other vampires’ messes. He got off on making these women live in a state caught between grateful and terrified.

If Charlee was running loose, Anthony’s signature could be found just as easily as Dayne had found it. Easier in fact. A vampire only had to taste a human’s blood to instantly glean a full mental history of his or her previous experiences with their kind.

“Then I suggest you move her in with you,” Dayne said.

“Absolutely not,” Greta said. “He’s already done enough

damage. I thought he was just going to come over here, reverse it, and leave.”