Guardian's Hope (3 page)

There were few real vampires in the world and
they suffered for their curse. Most of the Paenitentia who turned
vampire were killed outright, usually by close friends or family.
Those allowed to live were kept locked away in attics or basements,
becoming more insane with their thirst until they died of
accelerated aging. Some escaped and from their few short years of
terror and bloodlust came the legends. Otto was the only one he’d
heard of who had beaten the odds and that was because of Grace.

Some Paenitentia, especially the younger,
enjoyed a night or two at these vampire wannabe hangouts. In a
place like Bloodsucker’s, a member of the Race didn’t have to worry
about keeping their fangs in check. He didn’t think Col or Dov
would be interested in a place like this, but they’d never stayed
out for three days either. It would only take a few minutes to
check and it shouldn’t be hard to spot two matching blonde
goliaths.

The place was a madhouse. Nico squinted his
eyes against the strobes flashing over the dance floor. Two blew
out a second apart. A pitcher of beer flew across the room. He
wanted no part of this. Looking over the heads of the crowd, he saw
no sign of the twins and was turning to leave when he saw her. She
was crying and floundering in the sea of dancers while they
laughingly pushed her from one to another. He knew immediately by
her dress she didn’t belong here. The crowd was being vicious and
cruel, but this was human business and therefore none of his. He
turned toward the door and just as quickly turned back again as
another anguished cry rose from the crowd.

With an annoyed huff and shake of his head,
Nico strode to the center of the crowd and shoved aside the nearest
offenders, sending them careening into the tables behind them. He
lifted the woman into his arms, one arm around her shoulders and
the other under her knees. His fangs flared and he hissed a warning
at the man nearest him who staggered back, arms outstretched.

“Whoa, man, we were just having a little
fun.”

Nico bent until they were nose to nose.
“Maybe I’ll come back and you can have a little fun with me.” He
smiled when the would-be vampire blanched and sweat broke out on
his brow.

As he reached the door with the woman still
in his arms, a waitress ran up to him and held out a coat and a
shoe.

“They’re hers. I couldn’t find her purse.”
She held the door for them and winked as he passed through. “And
honey, you can come back and rescue me any time. Name’s Nora.”

Nico nodded his thanks. Once outside, he set
the woman down and propped her against the wall of the building.
She kept shaking her head as if trying to clear it and swayed
dangerously when she tried to stand on her own. He helped her into
her coat and she leaned against him covering her eyes with her
hand. The pins that held her hair coiled at the base of her neck
had come loose and the knot of dark red hung askew.

“It’s all right,” he whispered while he
rubbed her back. “You’re with me now and no harm will come to you.
I promise.” He held her away from him while he reached for the
handkerchief he kept in his pocket. She used it to wipe her eyes,
then brought it to her nose but changed her mind and handed it
back.

He refused it. “Go ahead and blow. It’ll
wash,” and after she had, “Come, I’ll take you home.”

She held out her hand to stop him. “I can
walk,” she said and took a step, staggered, and went to one
knee.

“No,” he chuckled, “I don’t think you can.”
He scooped her back into his arms.

“You can’t carry me. I’m too heavy.” She
slapped her hand ineffectually.

“I can and you aren’t. My car is just around
the corner. Tell me where you live and I’ll see you home.” She
moved her head to his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Hope,” she said and smiled sadly. “Hope you
don’t grow any bigger. Hope you can find a man bigger than you are.
Hope he’s rich so he can feed you. Hope you don’t turn out like
your mother. Hope, Hope, Hope. That’s me, Hope against Hope.” He
thought she might start crying again, but she giggled. “Hope they
all go to you-know-where. I should put a quarter in the potty mouth
jar for that, but I won’t. I’m feeling rebellious.” She giggled
again. “Everything is spinning, spinning, spinning. I must be
sick.”

Something hard knotted in his stomach and his
grip tightened as he held her closer to his chest. Who said those
things to her or are they things she said to herself? It wasn’t his
concern. “Close your eyes and see if the spinning stops. You’re not
sick. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I can’t be drunk. I don’t
drink.” She pointed a wavering finger at him. “Lips that touch wine
will never touch mine.” Her head fell back and she looked up at
him. “My lips have never touched wine. Have yours?”

“I’m afraid they have.”

“That’s too bad. You have very nice lips.”
Her eyes widened. “Did I say that out loud?”

Nico laughed. “Yes, but I choose to ignore
it. You won’t remember it tomorrow anyway.” He set her on her feet
while he unlocked and opened the door, then settled her into the
seat and buckled the belt. “Tell me where you live.”

He watched her from the corner of his eye as
he made the short drive to her house. Her eyes were closed and her
head was thrown back against the seat. She was smiling, a far away,
dreamy kind of smile. She was younger than he first thought. It was
the clothes that disguised her age. Her skin was the color and
texture of cream, her lashes dark against the flush of her cheeks.
He wondered what her hair would be like uncoiled and free of the
pins.

“You’re home,” he said gently when he turned
off the car. “Come on; let’s get you into the house.”

When they reached the door, her hand slid
into the neck of her sweater and emerged with a key dangling on the
end of a shoelace. He laughed and shook his head at her school girl
security measure.

The house was in need of a paint job but the
inside was neat as the proverbial pin. He settled her in a
comfortable chair and turned on a lamp across the room where a
phonebook was open to the yellow section and under Bars &
Grills. All those up to Bloodsuckers were crossed out with pen.

“Thank you,” Hope said, her voice still
slurred. “You’ve been so kind and I don’t even know your name.” She
brought her fingers to her temples. “I’ve never felt like this
before.”“The name’s Nico and you’ve never felt like this before
because you’ve never been drunk before.”

Hope pouted in concentration and shook her
head in denial. “I told you, I don’t drink. I’ve never tasted
alcohol in any form. Father wouldn’t allow it. All I drank in that
awful place was iced tea; plain old Long Island iced tea. So
there.” Her head bobbed to emphasize her point.

Nico threw back his head and laughed. “How
many of those plain old iced teas did you drink?”

She frowned. “Two, three, four? No. Three. I
think.”

He shook his head at her innocence and still
laughing, ticked off the list, “Vodka, rum, tequila, gin, triple
sec and cola with a dash of lemon. Long Island Iced Tea is a mixed
drink. You practically ran the bar with your first sip. Where do
you keep your aspirin? You’re going to need it in the morning.”

“Oh no,” she said, laughing. “I’ve already
sinned enough for one night; drinking liquor, consorting with
sinners, bringing home a gorgeous stranger… oops, I didn’t mean to
say that, well, the stranger part was okay, but not the gorgeous
part. That would be forward and while I may be a lot of things, I’m
a respectable young woman. So to answer your question…” She cocked
her head to the side as if considering, then looked up at him and
giggled. “I forgot the question.”

“Aspirin?”

“Aspirin? Oh yes! I mean no, I can’t have you
going in my bedroom to get aspirin from the nightstand. There’s
been enough bad behavior on my part already.”

He smiled to reassure her. “I don’t think any
of this was your fault. That has to count for something. You…”

She stood abruptly, her face alarmed. Her
hand went to her mouth and her stomach heaved.

“Shit.” He scooped her up. “Bathroom?” She
pointed up the stairs.

They made it just in time. He held her hair
and rubbed her back and when it was over, he washed her face with
the washcloth by the sink. Her skin was as soft as it looked. The
sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose drew attention
to her eyes, a rich almost emerald green. It was a beautiful face,
fresh and clean. He sat her on the low stool in the corner and
removed the pins from her hair. It fell to her waist in soft waves
of russet red. She tilted her head back and sighed with pleasure
when he ran the brush through to remove the tangles. When he fixed
the toothbrush, she obediently used it while he went to turn down
her bed. A white flannel nightgown hung from the bedpost and he had
a momentary vision of what a man might find beneath its voluminous
folds, but he thought it would upset her if he tried to dress her
for bed, so he only removed her shoe and tucked her in fully
clothed.

She hadn’t said a word since their flight up
the stairs. Now, she looked up at him with those big green eyes and
asked, “Am I still drunk?”

He chuckled softly. “Yes, you probably
are.”

“Will I remember you in the morning?”

His smile died. “No, you probably won’t.”

“That’s too bad,” she said sadly. Her chest
heaved in a long sigh and she closed her eyes.

“Yes, it is,” he whispered as he pressed his
thumb into her forehead just above the bridge of her nose and sent
the wave of energy into her mind that would make her forget they’d
ever met.

Chapter 3

“Hey Nardo, you ever get anything on that
house where Col was attacked?” Canaan stood in the doorway and
surveyed the bank of computer screens along one wall and the boxes
of equipment piled against the other. “Bet you’ll be glad to move
to the Back Room once the renovation’s finished.” The Back Room
referred to their current den. Once the new gym was complete, the
den would be moved to the current gym which really was the back
room of the house. Nardo could then move his computers and
surveillance equipment into the larger quarters.

“Yeah, gets a little claustrophobic in here.”
He tapped some keys and the screen changed. “The house was owned by
guy named Leonard W. Abramowitz. I screened him. Had a few run-ins
with the law in the long ago. Nothing major and nothing at all in
the last fifteen years. Seems old Leonard earned his living off a
website, The Naughty Nighty, selling sex toys and other items for
your sensual delight. Seemed pretty lucrative.”

“You’re speaking in past tense and how do you
know it’s lucrative?”

“No flies on you, my lord.” Nardo grinned. “I
speak in past tense in reference to the dearly departed. Leonard W.
Abramowitz, age 76, died on December 2
^nd
. I back checked
with the coroner’s office. Cause of death: heart failure, but get
this, the body was found in a vacant lot and was badly mauled by…
are you ready for it? Possibly dogs.”

Canaan frowned. “Demon.”

“I’m not taking that bet.”

“December 2
^nd
. You already had him
on record.”

Nardo sighed and ran his hand over his nose
and mouth. “Yeah, but I try not to look at the names. Gives me the
creeps, you know.”

Nardo had designed a program to track deaths
and disappearances in the city as part of an effort to track the
demons that were responsible for some of them. It was their job as
Guardians of the Race to track and kill demons. When on patrol,
they tracked by smell, but Nardo’s computers had proved useful as
well.

“I know. It’s easier if they’re only
statistics. So what about the money?”

Nardo’s face brightened. “I jacked into his
computer. Want to know his password?”

Canaan laughed. “No, but you’re dying to tell
me.”

“Erectile Dysfunction. Ain’t that a hoot? Guy
was no dummy. Took me forever to figure it out.” He tried to look
modest and failed. “Found a copy of his will. Left everything to a
Hope Parsons. Got nothing on her, but if she’s out there, I’ll find
her. Just give me some time.”

“Do what you can. I want to know how she’s
connected to the demon and his bitch. Manon thinks she’s a Daughter
of Man and Grace wants her found. We’ll see.”

*****

“Well, Mr. Smith, what brings you to my
humble establishment? Obviously, it isn’t the entertainment or you
wouldn’t need to see me. Hmm?” Tyn sat behind a battered oak desk,
eying the bartender from Bloodsucker’s with speculative eyes. He
liked the man, as much as he could like anyone and the human had
proven useful in the recent past.

“Someone was asking about her.” Mr. Smith
shoved the photo across the desk and waited for Tyn to pick it
up.

Tyn only glanced at the picture. It was
enough. He opened the drawer to his right and considered the
contents for a moment before he removed a fifty dollar bill.

“Who?” he asked, as he offered the bill to
Smith. His other hand remained hidden beneath the desk to hide the
emerging claws. His face betrayed nothing of what he felt.

“Some big red headed bitch. Frumpy clothes.
No paint. Looked like some old maid from the movies.”

“Did she give a name? Did she say why she was
looking for her?” Tyn rubbed his chin the way he’d seen humans do
when they were thinking.

“No. She just hung out and got shitfaced.
When the crowd started playing with her, some guy took her
outside.” He smoothed the fifty flat against the desk and eyed the
still open drawer. “Got something else though.” He reached beneath
his jacket and removed a woman’s small black bag. “This was on the
bar. She left in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to give it back,”
he smirked and then frowned when Tyn removed another fifty from the
drawer.