“Isn’t that what you’ve always preached mortals are for?”
“This is different!”
“I know!”
They were silent for several minutes. “What the hell do I do, Kit?” Justin asked at last.
“For want of a better solution, be a friend to her while you’re here and we’ll take care of her when you go.”
“It’s going to be damn hard.”
Kit nodded. “Can’t deny that, but think of the old adage about half a loaf being better than no bread.”
“Then I’d better feed long and deep before I see Stella again,” he paused. “Kit, I’m scared I’ll hurt her, take too much.”
Kit shook his head. “You won’t hurt her. Trust me.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get Dixie and go feed.”
Justin left Dixie and Kit where they’d landed in the middle of Schiller Park and set off towards Stella’s. He pictured Kit and Dixie strolling hand in hand as they walked up City Park Avenue towards their house. It was impossible to envy them and not feel ungracious. Heck, after what they’d both gone through, he didn’t begrudge them one iota of their happiness, but it cut him to the core to realize he hadn’t a hope of that with Stella.
He shrugged. He hadn’t lasted this long by maundering over can’t-haves. Dixie was right. Amazing how a vampire barely past fledging could be so wise. He could make things better for Stella, and then leave her and Sam in Kit and Dixie’s care.
Justin ran at vampire speed though the night streets, keeping to alleys when he could. As before, the sudden switch from affluence to the rim of poverty shook him. Some houses showed stalwart efforts to keep front gardens neat and porches swept, but others were tending to dilapidated and a few were fast on the straight road to slum. Stella and her son needed to be out of here.
Stella! Just thinking about her sent his mind and body into overdrive. At least he had his hunger under control. He’d fed not an hour ago from a street person down by the river. Justin wanted—no, needed to be close to Stella. He set off at a run in the direction of her house and almost plowed into a youth leaning against a corner. After that, Justin slowed but stayed in the shadows. He was just a hundred meters or so from Stella’s but the streets seemed unnaturally busy for this hour of the morning. In the block ahead he noticed several cars parked, one drawing away as he watched. The others waited, engines idling. Justin leaped up to the fence to his left and climbed up the side to the house. From the roof, he’d have a better view.
The dilapidated house he’d thought deserted earlier, wasn’t. Several men stood by the open front door and from time to time, went inside and then walked down to one of the waiting cars before it drove off. Every so often, someone went into the house and stayed. Drugs! It was the most likely possibility, all within hailing distance of where Stella and Sam lived.
Not for much longer!
Could he do this single-handedly?
Unfortunately not and still have strength to face Vlad tomorrow afternoon—although that prospect didn’t depress him the way it had a week earlier, before he’d met Stella.
Maybe he couldn’t obliterate the drug house yet, but he could cause a little judicious mayhem. Justin climbed down to the ground. Amazing really how many times he’d done this and never been noticed. Mortals rarely looked above eye level.
Characters he’d identified as lookouts manned the three corners that approached the house. Two of them openly carried guns. Justin measured the distance between them, watching the third carefully, and noting he kept his hands in his pockets. Keeping his weapon and hands warm, perhaps.
Not for long.
Silently vaulting the fence to land right behind the first, Justin yanked the gun out of his hands and ran at vampire speed. Before the punk’s shocked yell got the others’ attention, Justin had the second weapon and was racing to the third man. That one he had to shove to rip off his jacket, but he had all three disarmed and disoriented. Bundling the weapons inside the jacket as he ran, Justin leaped over the first fence and up into a tree that, praise Abel, just waited to hide him.
An almost bare tree gave little cover but it was off the ground and from there it was an easy leap to the nearest rooftop, which gave a grandstand view of the confusion below. In response to the shouts, a good half-dozen mortals poured out of the house and parked cars sped off with tires squealing. If nothing else, he’d disturbed this night’s trade.
Once he got back from Chicago he’d shut up their shop permanently.
Meanwhile, he was stuck with three weapons that no doubt could be traced to umpteen crimes. Kit’s disposal method seemed in order…but then Justin noticed the brick chimney at his elbow and grinned to himself. Remembering a scene from a film years earlier, he took the first gun, snapped off the trigger and an inch or two of the barrel and dropped it in the opening. He jumped from house to house sending a fragment down each chimney. At a good guess most hadn’t been used in years and his contributions would join the debris of soot and old birds’ nests. The coat he tossed over a telephone line, where it hung like discarded washing. He’d been tempted to donate it to a tramp sleeping in one of the alleys but decided, No. Too risky for the recipient. The jacket would be recognized with its logos and badges, gang colors he guessed.
He dropped the last gun fragment three houses down from Stella’s. The general confusion hadn’t spread this far so he climbed down and crossed the street, opening her gate and walking up her path towards the pumpkins and the cardboard witch. The front door light was still on, so he slipped into the shadows and climbed up the side of the house.
He found a bathroom window ajar.
And he had her invitation to enter.
He was inside in seconds. Listening, all he caught were two heartbeats. Smiling to himself he opened the door and crossed the landing to the faster heartbeat. Sam was fast asleep, the black velvet cape spread across the foot of his bed.
Stella was in the next room. Her head against the pillow, one arm over her head, the other across her chest, her hand resting between her breasts. She wore a blue-and-green-checked flannel nightgown, the sexiest sleepwear he’d seen in his long life. The soft fabric outlined her breasts, which rose and fell with her breathing.
He wouldn’t taste. He’d taken more than enough for one day, but he had to touch. He reached out to the soft flesh under the brushed cotton. She was warm and living and he was desperate for her and was condemned to friendship! He ran his fingers over her cheek and down her neck, gently nudging aside the fabric at her neck. His mark had all but faded. By morning it would be gone. And so would he.
But he was coming back.
He bent closer.
Her eyes snapped open.
“Justin!” she said, frowning up at him.
“Hush,” he said, passing his hand over her forehead and willing her back to sleep. Her eyes closed but her lips parted as she gave little sigh.
It was her parted lips that undid him.
He bent his head. Her lips were warm and sweet and soft, a million times more tempting than in his wildest dreams. He pressed gently and they opened like a welcome. She responded with a light touch but a certain one, moving her mouth under his as if reaching for more. He sensed her hunger, the need for physical loving and longed to give all she needed, to have all he yearned for.
He contented himself with a kiss.
He lifted back just enough to trace her lips open with his tongue. Her breath came faster as she lifted her head. He slid his arm under her shoulders, opening his hand to support the back of her head. His fingers burrowed, ruffling her short hair as he lifted her close.
Their mouths fused, joined in their mutual need. As his tongue