Neon lights from a neighboring building flashed through the narrow window high on the wall, obscuring her features in garish, almost cartoonlike pink shadows. Her shirt was open, her breasts exposed. They didn’t sag much to either side, he noted. Instead, they proudly displayed an unmoving quantity of silicone beneath the taut mounds, too large for her waiflike body.
What would she look like in forty or fifty years? A grandma with Playboy-size implants. He stifled a chuckle and his fangs disappeared completely back into his gums. Humor always had a calming effect on him.
He didn’t want to consider that increased cravings for blood and energy were the first signs a vampire was reverting to the uncontrollable blood urges of his ancestors. No, he wasn’t a damn revert, nor was he in the beginning stages. He’d never killed a human and he wasn’t about to start. He may be a screwup in other ways, but there was no way he was giving in to that. Besides, if anyone suspected a Guardian was reverting, tests would be done and he’d be hauled in front of the Council. The sentencing would be swift, the punishment harsh. Regular members of vampire society got a long stint in rehab. Guardians weren’t so lucky.
Even though it happened more than a century ago, every detail about that night in the catacombs beneath Paris stuck in his memory like black ink on a fresh piece of paper. It was there if he chose to think about it. The moist stillness in the air. The sound of water dripping in one of the adjacent passageways. Hushed whispers echoing off the stone walls. The shuffle of feet as they made their way in the darkness to gather around the man held in chains.
Traitor, someone hissed.
A disgrace to your family.
You’ve endangered all of us.
Then the screams began.
Jackson shuddered. He was a young Guardian in training at the time. But even now, he didn’t want to think about what had happened to the agent who’d reverted and killed several humans, so he forced the memory out of his head.
The Governing Council was more civilized, or so they said. But once you witnessed something that brutal, that unforgiving, it was pretty damn hard to forget.
This was just a temporary hiccup. He’d muscle through it and be fine. What he needed right now was a little more yin to go with his yang.
She tugged at his triceps and made a little sound of protest. It wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t want him to go, but he reached for his coat, anyway. They never wanted him to leave, especially after knowing what his body jewelry could do for them. He enjoyed being someone’s addiction, liked to be needed, no matter how temporary or superficial.
“You’re not going already, are you? But we haven’t—”
“What you need is sleep and a healthy dose of sun tomorrow.” Good luck with that, though. Chances were, in Seattle at this time of year, that golden orb wouldn’t be making an appearance anytime soon.
“The sun? I don’t get it.”
“Just promise me, okay, sweetheart? Rain or no rain. You’ll spend time outdoors.” He considered telling her to take a vitamin-D supplement, but decided that’d sound too weird.
“Um, sure.”
As soon as his boots hit the floor, he leaned over and brushed four fingers over her forehead. “Sex with me was unlike anything you’ve experienced before,” he said, implanting a memory suggestion. “The only thing you’ll remember about me is that I’m an amazing lover and tonight was—” he searched for the appropriate dramatic word “—in-fucking-credible.”
Her eyelids fluttered briefly as the thought took hold. When she opened them, her lashes hung over her eyes in that unfocused, just-had-sex look. “God, that was mind-blowing. The best I’ve ever had. You’ve got a real monster behind that zipper.” Even her voice was thick and raspy.
“Why, thank you.” There had to be a special place in hell reserved for guys like him.
Techno music blared even louder as he entered the hallway, the sound waves tangible on his skin.
In the dim light, Mitchell Stryker was leaning against the painted brick, arms folded, mouth pressed into a tight line, but he couldn’t hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes. Oh, yeah, he could look as pissed off as he wanted to, but Jackson knew better. The guy had a serious case of envy.
Jackson pulled the door shut behind him. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“Dude, you’re on a roll tonight.” Mitch brushed a blond forelock from his face.
“What can I say? When you got it, you gotta use it.”
Even though vampires were naturally more sexually active than humans, any idol worship of Jackson’s sexual habits made things a helluva lot easier. No one suspected he had off-the-chart energy needs and that it wasn’t sex he was after—at least not all the time. They simply thought he was always horny. Who was he to argue?
Doing a little shuffle step, Jackson snapped his fingers and pointed at Mitch. “You seriously need to get laid, my friend.”
Mitch straightened up and adjusted his leather coat with a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Why do you say that? Not that I’m arguing with you or anything.”
“If you have to ask, you’re worse than I thought. You’re way too uptight, banging on my door and shit. You need to be banging something else and let me do my thang.” Jackson elbowed his buddy. “Need some help separating a little filly from the herd out there?”
Mitch shoved him back and laughed. “Don’t you worry about me. I can manage just fine, thank you very much. Speaking of managing, looks like your thang got a little wild in there.” He indicated Jackson’s lip.
Jackson flicked his tongue out and tasted blood. Mitch probably assumed it was the woman’s but he didn’t bother to set the record straight. It wasn’t as if a sip now and then was against the law.
“Is that the second or third one tonight?”
Alarm bells went off in his head. He didn’t want Mitch to think he was taking blood every time he had sex. He shrugged, tried to act casual as he rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.
Not long ago, he could stretch it out for two or three days before the energy cravings got too powerful to ignore or the need was triggered by something he didn’t expect. And decades earlier, like most vampires, he’d been able to go for weeks at a time without blood. Something inside him was changing, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know why. He’d need to be more careful next time.
“Didn’t you get it on with that curvy redheaded chick when we got here?” Mitch continued. “I saw you guys stumble out all lovey-dovey, your hands all over her.”
He sauntered down the hallway, an extra spring in his step. Goddamn, that chick’s energies felt good. “Couldn’t help it. Got a thing for redheads.”
Mitch laughed behind him. “And blondes and brunettes.”
“Hey, I’m all about equal opportunity. Democracy and shit. I like to spread the wealth evenly among the people. It’s only fair.”
“Sounds like communism to me. Listen. Dom called. He … um … tried calling you directly, but you didn’t pick up. He needs your sweetblood report. Says it’s a week late and that you’re making him look like a lazy ass to Region unless he gets his numbers in soon.”
Jackson stopped and pulled out his cell.
Five missed calls—all from his field team leader. Damn. He must’ve been more engrossed back in that room than he thought.
“How many sweetbloods do you have on your list?” Mitch asked. “If you want, I can do a few of the drive-bys.”
He