Laws of the Blood 1: The Hunt (7 page)

“Oh. Sorry.” Sterling looked at Selim as he spoke, but the word was aimed at Gary.

Finding a well-mannered vampire in need of a good home beneath the posing and silly getup gave Selim hope for the boy. The strig pulled up a chair and took a seat without noticing how obedient he was. Selim turned his attention from Sterling to concentrate on the more important part of the evening. “Is he here?” he asked Gary.

The slave nodded. “Following Miriam. I saw his car follow hers away from the house. I wish you hadn’t told her to lure that creep into the mall alone.”

Miriam was small, a good-humored intellectual who lived in a world of ideas and clever conversation. She was shy, as many of their kind were. Selim could see how the members of her family could be concerned at the idea of her being out alone with a sicko stalker on her tail. He didn’t bother reassuring Gary that she’d be fine. He ate another french fry and waited.

Gary took the hint. “Joe’s at the east entrance of the court now. Andrew’s in the north. Miriam said she’d come in through the south. What do we do once he gets here?”

“Miriam and Andrew will know.”

Selim knew exactly where each member of Miriam’s nest waited. Andrew was hungry and surprised at the intensity of it. Joseph had never been more excited in his life, but he had no idea why. He thought it had something to do with righteousness, with justice, with protecting his lady. Curiosity was almost as strong in Gary as his urge to protect his mistress. Miriam was the most in control of the group. A fine sense of irony edged her hunger, and the hunger was overlaid with the need to protect her people. She wanted to get this over with and get back to her normal life. Her stalker was happy,
gleefully obsessed with having the woman he wanted so vulnerably within reach. He was too focused on Miriam to notice anything else. The few humans still in the food court were alert to danger, on some primitive, subconscious level. Selim was reminded of nature programs he’d seen on television, the sort that showed wary herd beasts scattered across the Serengeti as hyenas stalked prey around them. Beside him, Geoff Sterling’s sulky anger was giving way to restlessness and growing arousal.

Selim picked up some more ketchup-dipped potatoes. “Want some of these?” He asked the strig.

Sterling looked around at the scattering of humans. One of them met his gaze for a moment, then hurriedly departed the food court, leaving an untouched meal and an overturned chair behind. Sterling covered his mouth with his hand when he looked back at Selim. “Yes,” he growled around a mouthful of fangs.

Selim stared him down. “More than you want Moira?”

Sterling shook his head. He closed his eyes, his hands knotted into fists to keep them from shaking as much as to hide the claws.

“We’ll see.” Selim stood as Miriam entered the courtyard. He put his hands on Sterling’s shoulders to keep him in his chair. “Watch and learn,” he said. “Then we’ll talk.” He didn’t ask the boy to calm down. From this point on, it wasn’t going to be possible for any of them to be calm. He even found himself running his thumbs slowly up the sides of Sterling’s throat, all too aware of the warm pulse of blood just below the skin.

Gary jumped to his feet. Joseph and Andrew moved into position at their entrances to the food court. Several nervous humans looked frantically around, adding spicy flashes of fear and uncertainty to the mix—a condiment, like ketchup on the french fries. Miriam’s glance swept quickly around the area, coming to rest on Selim. The stalker trailed in behind Miriam at a leisurely pace.
Everything was now in place. Selim gave Miriam the briefest of nods.

The Hunt began.

Of course Siri knew where Selim was; she always knew where he was. That wasn’t what drew her away from the linens department at Macy’s and sent her running toward the food court. It was hunger, overwhelming hunger, and not her own. Hunger and a vision. She was used to having visions, she just hated having them in public. One moment she was discussing Ralph Lauren sheets with a bored salesclerk. The next—
Miriam moved.

The man was behind her, then she was behind him. Miriam put her clawed hand on the man’s shoulder. When he turned, she laughed. The man went pale; primitive fear shot through him. Miriam let him go, but not before briefly burying her claws in his shoulder. “You belong to me now,” she said. The scent of blood was in the air. A small red stain welled up to mark the man’s white shirt. He backed a step as she touched her tongue to each of her claws, fastidiously tasting the man’s life. “Run,” she suggested as he stumbled backward, knocking over a chair.

He fell over the chair. Black plastic shattered beneath him, throwing up knife-sharp shards. He sprawled onto his back, and Andrew was beside him. The young vampire helped the man to his feet. Andrew slashed the man’s arm as he pulled him up. More red on white. He looked from one vampire to the other and his mouth opened to scream. Selim was inside his mind by now. No sound was allowed to escape. Not here. Not yet.

The man looked around for help, and though people watched the scene, no one rose from their tables to help or to run. Those who had the strength to get out already had. Those that were left were slaved to Selim now, held tight, as witnesses to the carnage. Sometimes vampires just
had
to put on a show.

Andrew tossed the man a long wedge-shaped piece
of broken plastic. It looked like an ancient obsidian blade. No reason for the prey to be helpless. What was the fun in that? The man tossed the plastic aside and pulled a small gun from an ankle holster. Andrew and Miriam exchanged a happy glance.

“Of course he has a gun,” said Miriam.

“Don’t you just love L.A.?” Andrew responded. “Such a well-armed city.”

“Good boy,” Miriam told her prey. He pointed the gun toward her face. His hand shook as she took a step closer to him. Her voice was full of sultry suggestion as she added, “Show me you know how to use that thing.”

Miriam was no more than two feet in front of the prey when he squeezed the trigger. Of course she was behind him by the time gun was fired. The bullet smashed a gouge in the cement fountain. None of the humans in the court reacted to the gunfire.

The victim didn’t try to turn the gun on Andrew. He dropped the weapon and ran toward the east exit of the food court. Joseph headed after him, human matched against human. Miriam and Andrew lingered, poised like a pair of eager hounds, their attention on Selim. After a few heartbeats, Selim decided that their prey had a good enough head start. He nodded, and the vampires gave chase. A few moments later, frowning at Miriam’s insistence on ignoring custom, Selim allowed Gary to follow the rest of her nest toward the killing ground.

The vision was gone as she reached the entrance. Siri saw Selim haul Geoff Sterling to his feet as she entered the food court. The nest of vampires was gone, but the energy lingered. Danger, fear, power, and anticipation all mixed into a heady, erotic perfume. Siri had never been more aroused in her life. She trembled, not with fear but need, as she approached Selim. Siri was drawn to him by a frenzied hunger that went deeper than the connection they already shared. It was all some part of the Hunt, though she couldn’t put any coherent definition on what was going on. Other than the fact that she wanted to strip naked and fuck Selim blind and wasn’t
sure she’d be able to stop herself from doing just that, no matter how public they were. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, not that she ever wanted to anyway. Right now, though, he was the most potent, beautiful creature she had ever encountered. And after she fucked him? Damn, but she was hungry. And thirsty. She hadn’t tasted him for a long time, and right now, she wanted to drink him dry. She wanted to sink her teeth into those long, stringy muscles of his and—

Her fangs ached at the sight of him.

“Wait a minute. I don’t have fangs.”

A shiver went through Siri. Realization brought her to a shocked halt a few feet away from Selim and Sterling. Maybe she was still caught in the vision. Or maybe the world just was a weirder place than she already knew it was. She glared at Selim, still wanting him, but that was normal. “Just what the hell,” she asked her lord and master, “is going on here?”

Selim was very aware of Siri’s presence but fought to ignore her. Not because he wanted to. In fact, he wanted exactly what she did. To push her clothes aside and bury himself in her. To take her as hard and fast and furiously as she could stand while he drank her damn near dry. But he denied himself, and he denied her. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not tonight. It was her question—beloved, caustic, as inquisitive as ever Siri demanding answers—that saved him from temptation one more time. He didn’t answer her, but the evidence that she had some measure of control helped him keep his. Besides, his work for the evening wasn’t done yet.

Selim focused his attention on Sterling. The strig’s control was flimsy at best. An erection pushed against the tight crotch of his leather pants; his claws and fangs were at full stretch, too. His eyes were changed, effectively blinding him in the artificial light of the courtyard. Selim pushed the boy closer to the darker area by the fountain. Siri followed. He held Sterling easily, despite the strig’s efforts to follow the Hunt.

Not your prey,
he warned the strig’s inner vampire.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said aloud. He shook Sterling a little. “Calm down.”

Sterling’s wide gaze focused on Selim’s face. “How?” The word was a howl of frustrated pain.

Selim patted him on the shoulder. “See. You’re feeling better already.”

“Where?” Sterling pushed ineffectively against Selim’s chest. The younger vampire was taller than Selim, his heavier build disguised by his androgynous getup, but he was—younger. Selim was immovable. “I need—”

“One like that,” Selim finished for him. “Yes, I know. You and the other strigs. As to where Miriam’s nest is right now . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment to get a better view. “They have their human cornered in the storage room of Victoria’s Secret. I wonder if Miriam planned it that way as a romantic interlude for her and her young men? Never mind. What happens now isn’t any of our business.” It would only be his business if Miriam’s household didn’t clean up afterward, but Selim was sure he could trust her nest to leave everything neat and tidy behind them once they were done. He pushed Sterling down to sit on the edge of the fountain. “I need two things from you,” he told Sterling. “Two, and then I’ll let you play, too.”

Selim watched approvingly as Sterling worked hard to get himself under control. It took a few minutes, but eventually curiosity got the upper hand over need. “Two things?” Sterling asked, voice rough. He wiped sweat off his forehead, then through his slicked-back hair. His eyes looked closer to normal as he glared at Selim. “What?”

Siri came up and took Selim’s hand in hers while Sterling calmed down. Selim didn’t really want Siri to hear this conversation, but he didn’t have enough stamina to deal with her, Sterling, and the Hunt. He sacrificed secrecy for controlling as much as he could. It felt good to have her close by. Besides, Siri found out everything eventually, anyway.

“One,” he told Sterling, “I want a liaison for the
Hunt with the other strigs. You’re it,” he said, not bothering to give the boy any choice in the matter. If Sterling was smart, he’d realize that the only way he would be allowed a taste of the kill was by cooperating. For the second thing, Sterling did have a choice. “About Moira. You want this actress?”

Sterling didn’t hesitate. “I want her.”

Selim nodded. “Fine. Now all you have to do is decide whether she’s going to be your companion or your prey.”

“I
T
’
S VERY HIGH
concept,” Valentine explained. “Think
Get Shorty
 . . . with vampires.”

“Okay, I see that,” the man sitting on the couch across from her answered. He leafed through the script pages she’d given him to read. He sounded less than enthusiastic. She knew he’d only come to her home because of the chance to say he’d actually met the writer who was so reclusive she didn’t even allow her name to appear on the title credits of the hits she’d scripted. His name was Art Rasmussen. He like to boast that his name was Art, but he wasn’t interested in art. That was fine with Valentine. She was trying to get a movie made.

“You have some good stuff here,” he told her. “Story’s not quite there yet, is it?”

His instincts were good, whether he believed in art or not. She glanced at the script. “I’m still working on it.”

There was a CD playing quietly on the stereo, David Bowie’s
Diamond Dogs
as background music on continuous replay. She’d had this need to listen to
“We Are the Dead”
just as the doorbell rang. She’d let the music keep playing as they talked. She’d been in movies too
long not to think that one of the problems with real life was the lack of a soundtrack. This was her fourth such meeting with production executives, the second one this evening. Even though she was playing each meeting as though it were part of a structured act in a script, she was still getting nervous from being around so many people. She thought she was doing a pretty good job of keeping her nervousness under control, of staying focused on her objective.

You really ought to get out more, Valentine,
she told herself. She noticed that her hand shook as she reached to pick up the blue ceramic mug she’d set next to the pile of script pages on the coffee table.
No, I shouldn’t.
She took a sip of coffee, then focused her attention on Art Rasmussen. She caught his gaze. “Talk to me,” she said as
“Future Legend”
began to play again.