Blood Song (3 page)

Stop it!
he hissed at his brain, constantly warring between his two natures. He closed his eyes, and locked down his raging blood lust.

He scooped her into his arms, grabbed her purse, and scanned the area to make sure no other humans lurked about. Satisfied they were alone, he followed her scent up the narrow path to the group of houses tucked away on the side of the mountain. It was pure luck that nobody had heard the woman’s screams. But he moved quickly, just in case rescuers were on their way.

It was a short trip to her two-story Victorian. Her fragrance permeated the area around the house. He assumed she must walk the path often in order for the aroma to be so strong. The house smelled of herbs, coffee, flowers—and her.

He climbed onto her front porch and jiggled the knob on the front door. Locked. He instinctively tightened his grip on the handle, intending to use his vampire strength to shatter the deadbolt, but then—at the last second—he thought better of it. No use drawing unwanted attention to his visit.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s see what other options are available,” he whispered, then walked them around the back of the house and tried that door. Also locked. “I’d congratulate you on being so security-minded, gorgeous, but right now it’s a pain in my ass.”

He needed to do something quickly before one of her neighbors spotted him. Looking up, he scanned the windows on the second floor and smiled. “Now we’re talkin’. You left your bedroom window open a crack. That’ll do just fine. Hang on now.” He shifted her limp form into a fireman’s hold over his shoulder and effortlessly scaled the back of the house until he reached the window. He shoved it open, stepped inside, then dropped her purse he’d been carrying on his arm like a fashion accessory onto the floor, and headed for the bathroom.

It suddenly occurred to him that he could have fished her door keys out of her purse, but he hadn’t even considered doing that. “Ethan! You don’t always have to do everything the hard way! Use your brain.”

Clearly, he couldn’t put her to bed with so much blood everywhere. Not if he wanted her to wake in the morning and
not
call the police to report an assault. What could he do about the bite marks the revenant had left on the woman’s neck? His saliva might not close the wounds left by another vampire. But one thing was sure: Alexander would be angry if the police got wind of any alleged “vampire attacks.”

He flipped the light switch, and the spacious room filled with a soft glow.

“Okay. What’s the best way to get you cleaned up, my lady?” Ethan asked his unconscious companion. He noticed an old-fashioned, claw-foot bathtub surrounded by a Harry Potter shower curtain. “Which do you prefer? Bath or shower?” He leaned in, as if to listen more closely. “What? A shower, you say? Because it’s easier to wash the scum out of your hair? You read my mind. That’s exactly what I was thinking. And, look here. You even have one of those hand-held shower heads. This is our lucky day.” He frowned and made a disparaging noise. “Geez. Here I am, talking to myself. Playing pretend with a zonked-out human. What kind of nutcase does that?”
Maybe it’s true that vampires lose their minds after a few decades. I doubt if there are any assisted living places for the bloodsucking version of dementia. Of course, I could always walk into the sun. True-death wish, anyone?

He gently balanced her over his shoulder and pushed the plastic curtain out of the way. Then he turned on the water, adjusted the temperature and removed the shower nozzle, laying it on the bottom of the tub.

“Well, Damsel in Distress, I’m ready if you are.” He pulled a chair from the corner and sat her on it, holding her shoulder with one hand while he unbuttoned her silver blouse with his other hand. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try my best to be a gentleman.” He slid the fabric down one arm, then the other, and dropped it on the tiles. “Of course, vampires lie, so you can’t really believe anything I tell you. Let’s say that when I was alive I didn’t do anything awful. I was respectful of women.”

He lost his focus for a few seconds as he appreciated the picture she made, sitting there in her lacy white bra. He lifted the long, golden, blood-clumped hair away and reached behind her to release the hooks. Her round, full breasts sprang free as if they’d been held captive. Pink nipples stood at attention.

He licked his lips.

The romance novels had it right about vampires and sex. He’d heard that the very old vampires eventually lost interest in the horizontal bop, but the rest of the undead were always primed and ready for a toothsome seduction scene. For bloodsuckers, it didn’t get any better than sucking on a fat vein while pumping in a warm, wet sheath. Of course, it went without saying that their companions had the best sex of their lives.

Unfortunately, in some cases, it was also the last sex of their lives. Vampires weren’t known for self-restraint.

He realized his fangs had descended again, and he shook himself to break the self-induced spell.

“Damn. Help me out here, blondie. Stop looking so desirable so I can hose you down before I give in to my base nature.” He tugged off her jeans and panties and sighed. “Ah, blonde everywhere, I see.” Then he transferred her from the chair to the bathtub. Her boneless body slid down the porcelain.

He tested the water temperature and mentally debated whether to use soap and shampoo, and clean her properly, or to squirt her with water to get rid of the worst of the carnage. He had no doubt it would be dangerous for him to put his hands on her.

“The hands-off version, it is.” He lifted the showerhead, pointed the spray at the dried blood on her hair and body and squirted away the evidence of her rendezvous with a newly risen night walker.

When he was satisfied with the job, he turned off the water and snagged a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around her shoulders, he lifted her out of the tub before turning off the light. He walked them into her bedroom, held her with one hand while pulling down the covers, then deposited her on the soft mattress.

“Mission accomplished.”

He leaned down, brushed a stray clump of hair from her face, and burst out laughing. “Oh, crap. I’m sure that’s not how your eye makeup is supposed to look. I managed to change you from Cinderella to Alice Cooper with my clumsy spraying.” He snickered. “You probably don’t even know who Alice Cooper is. Are there any musicians these days who paint black lines around their eyes and down their faces? Probably not. Fuck. I’m so stuck in a time warp. Wait right here while I go and find something to clean you up with.”

Returning with tissue and face cream in hand, he bent over her and cleaned away the offending mascara.

“There. That’s better.” He cocked his head. “Sort of. But good enough for now.” His gaze shifted to the two fang holes in her neck. “Shit! I almost forgot.” Although he would’ve enjoyed using his tongue to apply saliva to the wounds, he decided to play it safe. He wasn’t trustworthy around humans at the best of times. He sucked his index finger into his mouth, wet the tip, then worked the moisture into the woman’s skin. He’d never asked his master what to do in such circumstances, so he was in unknown territory.

Like magic, the holes began to close, the angry red edges already fading to pink. “Fuckin’ A! It worked. At least something went right tonight.”

Satisfied that one obstacle had been overcome, he tugged the towel from underneath her and used it to dry her hair. Then he rummaged through the drawers of her dresser, looking for sleepwear. He had no idea what women wore to bed anymore. She didn’t seem like the type to sleep naked, so he pulled out a silky, skimpy, red nightgown and held it up for inspection.

“Oh, yeah. Now that’s truly inspirational. I’ll have to remember this
dress up
game for the future. I might have discovered a new hobby. If Alexander doesn’t find out, of course. He has no sense of humor.” He slid the gown up her curvy body, straightened the straps on her shoulders, and stood back to appreciate his creation.

His blood lust tackled him, stronger than before. Playful demeanor gone, his fangs descended again.

“Shit.” He balled his fists at his sides. His mood darkened. “How old will I have to be before I get a grip on my urges? I hate these primitive feelings, these ugly needs. I fucking don’t want to be this thing. I’d rather be really dead.” Anger and sadness churned in his gut.

He reached down and grabbed the covers, pulled them up to her chin, then stepped away to explore the bedroom and calm himself. Distraction, that’s what he needed.

It had been four decades since he’d been killed, and he still hadn’t dealt with his rage.

“You should get the hell outta Dodge, Ethan,” he said to himself, knowing he was stalling. He didn’t want to leave.

The room was colorful and feminine, bright hues adorning the walls and curtains. She had a particular fondness for deep red, which reminded him of the addictive substance pulsing through the veins beneath her ivory skin. He stiffened, swamped once again by the urge to drink, and he struggled to shake it off.

No. I can fight this. I will not lose control. I won’t forget everything I was.

He forced himself to move, to shift his attention, and strolled around the perimeter, studying the artwork. Noting the musical instruments displayed in one area, he picked up an acoustic guitar and strummed a chord. The corners of his lips quirked at the sound, and he replaced the guitar and sniffed the air, appreciating the soft smells hovering around an unlit scented candle. A deck of Tarot cards lay spread out on an antique table. He pulled a card and laughed: the Devil. How appropriate. Photographs of the woman performing in various settings were displayed everywhere, along with diplomas from well-known universities. He leaned close to read the inscribed name: Grace Blackburn.
Her name is Grace
. He paused in front of a framed newspaper article about the opening of her sound healing studio on the Pearl Street Mall a few years earlier. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she must be a singer and musician.

Music. I used to be pretty good at performing, myself. It was the greatest joy of my life. In fact I once hoped...

He immediately stomped on that useless thought—mentally crushing it like a nasty bug. Nothing would be gained by dwelling on the past. The person he used to be was destroyed. His existence had changed in the blink of a fang and he had to face reality. Anything else was too painful.

After exploring her room, he found himself still strangely reluctant to leave. He tugged a wicker rocking chair from the corner to the side of her bed and sat, watching her sleep, determined to show himself that he could control the beast inside.

If she knew what sat in her room, she’d run screaming.

Something about this mortal woman made him feel oddly peaceful. Now that he was calm again, he could pick up a subtle vibration coming from her, a relaxing energy that seemed to emanate from her skin, as if her actual physical body gave off a pleasant hum he could perceive with his vampire senses. How unusual. Did her close encounter with the newbie alter her in some way? Had she lost more blood than he thought? He reached out and touched her neck, thinking he might find it cold. Instead, she burned hot. Heat radiated from her, and he leaned in to revel in the sensation. As the warmth penetrated his cold skin, he began to feel dazed and drowsy, reminding him of times when he’d smoked too much high-quality ganja. He thought how great it would be to crawl into the bed with her and sleep.

What? What the hell’s wrong with me? I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I die at sunrise.

His mind spun. Here he was, sitting beside an unconscious human without drinking from her. Why was he pushing his luck? He didn’t know how strong his willpower was—how long he could maintain contact with his old ethical ideas. What was his problem? Why was he acting so weird with this human? Why didn’t he get up and leave?

Even as he asked himself those questions, the strange lethargy overtook him again. A pleasant sensation surged through his body.

Despite the sweet and innocent expression on her face, he remembered the sight of her sensual body and decided she definitely qualified as a grown-up woman. Her beautiful, still-wet blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, giving her an ethereal, otherworldly appearance. Pale skin shone translucent and perfect. Full, soft-looking lips aroused his body. He wondered how they’d taste.

That thought jolted him back to sanity, and he leapt quickly from the chair, and bent over the slumbering human.
Something’s wrong. I’ve got to get out of here while I still can
. He cleared the lump that had formed in his throat and spoke, layering his voice with vampiric hypnosis. “You will sleep through the night, experience only pleasant dreams, and will wake in the morning remembering an uneventful walk to your home the previous evening. Everything is normal. You will feel relaxed and happy about your life.” Why not give her a little boost for her trouble?

Without thinking, he inhaled her aroma and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Goodnight, Grace.”

What the hell, Ethan? You are so screwed up.

He shoved the chair back into the corner, grabbed her bloody clothes from the bathroom, crawled out the window and shut it behind him. About to jump from his perch, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. One of Grace’s neighbors waited while a dog took care of business. Ethan clung to the window frame watching, impatient to make his escape.
Damn!
Weren’t any humans afraid of the dark anymore? No matter how quickly or silently he moved, the woman would notice him. She was within sight and hearing distance of his planned exit route, so he had to wait. Finally she bent to retrieve the dog’s gift, and turned in the other direction. Silently, he dropped to the ground, scrambled along the flowerbed next to the house, then ran with vampire speed back to the lair where his undead companions waited.