To Love and Serve Page 4

  Especially when the woman looked like this one.

  Barely out of her teens, she sashayed through the Blood Bank, whipping up the puerile interests of both men and vamps. Blond, curvy, and perky, she was a college freshman’s wet dream. A living Barbie with a bright, eager smile and amazing emerald-colored eyes.

  For a second he fantasized about going down on her himself. Until she reached the bar and slipped onto the knee of the bleached blond vampire he’d spotted when he first walked into the club. As the vampire eased his arm around that slim waist and nuzzled her ear, the Slayer noticed his intricately carved wedding ring. When the blond Barbie covered the bleached vamp’s hand with hers, the gleam of a matching golden ring winked in the dim light of the bar.

  Married undead? He barked out a loud laugh. They must think they were still human.

  Barbie vamp rested her head against his, a brilliant surfer blond against the shocking-white shade. Such a touching gesture for creatures that lacked hearts or souls.

  Together they turned to listen to Foley, the owner of the bar, and Diego, the vampire elder he’d identified a few days ago. Diego said something that seemed to drastically sober the group and had the peroxided vamp tightening his grip on his wife’s waist. How sweet.

  He wanted to throw up.

  Still, with such a trio of powerful vampires at her side, she would be hard to take. Maybe later, when the panic he was about to unleash on their undead world distracted them.

  Tonight he’d have to find someone else.

  Skirting into the shadows along the edge of the nightclub, he nursed his beer and planned.

  Half an hour passed. Barbie and the towhead vamp headed for the dance floor, leaving behind Diego and Foley. Diego negligently lounged at the bar, half-leaning on the counter in a deceptively casual pose, but his attention was alert and centered on the crowd.

  By now the Vampire Council would know of the Slayer’s handiwork and be on the lookout. They could sense a slayer who got too close, and he wasn’t prepared to take on a vampire with such immense power. Not tonight, anyway. Especially with so many other immortals around for support. He would wait until Diego was alone and the fight fairer, if there ever was such a thing with the immoral vermin.

  Taking a big gulp of the beer, he noticed a nearby booth open up, hurried over, and slipped onto the bench. The angle of the booth partially obscured his view of Foley and Diego, but that hid him from their sight, as well.

  As a redheaded waitress came to serve him, he detected the pulse of undead energy when she bent to lay a coaster on the scarred tabletop.

  “Another pint, love,” he said, faking a British accent. American women loved the Brits. Plus, it would throw everyone off his scent. It was always wise to plan for the unexpected, his momma often told him…before a vampire devil ripped her throat wide open.

  He sat back to assess the crowd and to ingratiate himself to the waitress. She would likely be one of the last to leave. Perfect. If he played his cards right, she might even agree to meet him outside.

  He watched her put in his order, contemplating what he would do to her later. Suddenly, the vibration of powerful undead energy snared his attention.

  A brown-haired, impossibly handsome man had entered the club. With long, rangy strides he swaggered to the bar and greeted Diego, Foley, and the vamp couple who had returned from the dance floor. The man’s nearly black eyes glittered with anger, and a mouth that would be generous if he smiled was a stingy slash across his face. With a flip of his hand, he ordered something from Foley and then dropped onto a bar stool.

  Diego asked him something, but the man vehemently shook his head, and the elder laid a hand on his shoulder.

  He wished he could hear what they were saying, but it was too risky to get closer.

  The vampire waitress came over and set his pint before him. Luckily, she was too young in vamp years to sense he was something other than human. Too naïve to recognize what he wanted from her. He pasted on an engaging smile and she returned it eagerly, her blue eyes glittering with interest.

  He might not be as handsome as Diego or the man who had just entered the club, but he was no slouch.

  He laid a ten on the table, raised the glass, and teased, “To a face that makes my knees weak and my heart flutter.”

  The barest hint of flush raced across her pale skin, and she tittered her thanks. Easing the bill back toward him, she said, “This one’s on me.”

  “I appreciate that kindness, love. It’s tough being a stranger in a new city.”

  “I could tell you weren’t from around here.” She noticed his attention on the group by the bar. With an indignant sniff she said, “Wanna-bes.” Vampires who wanted to be human, he knew, but didn’t want to let on that he understood. He had to pretend to be a clueless mortal.

  “They think they’re the cool kids?” he said with disdain.

  She chuckled. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Always hated their kind. Think they’re better than us.” He snagged his drink and raised it. “Here’s to us regular folk.”

  She smiled again. “Regular folk like us.” It was a shame he had to stake her later. She really was cute. She beamed at him and hurried away to tend to another customer.

  He sensed the sadness beneath her happy exterior, and wondered briefly if she’d chosen her undead life or had been a hapless victim.

  It didn’t matter. Regardless of how her life as a vampire started, there was only one way for it to end.

  At the point of his knife.

  Chapter Six

  Ryder gulped down half the glass of O-negative Foley had placed on the counter a second earlier.

  “Easy, boyo. That stuff’s not water, you know,” Blake said lightly, obviously trying to relieve Ryder’s mood. Just as his business partner, Diego, had done earlier with the brotherly clasp on his shoulder. Though Diego was older than Ryder, and a member of the Vampire Council, a few years back they’d opened a high-end restaurant together in SoHo. He was a good friend.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Meghan asked, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.

  Ryder wanted to vent and rage about how much he craved to turn Diana, to keep her with him no matter what she wanted. But it was a sensitive topic, especially for Blake and Meghan. Blake had lost it and turned Meghan three years earlier. Although it had eventually worked out for them, Ryder couldn’t see a happily-ever-after with Diana if he did the same thing—without her acceptance, it was as sinful a violation as rape.

  “No. I’m fine,” he said, but the threatening growl in his voice said otherwise.

  He polished off the last of the blood to strip away the taste of his lover on his tongue and of the feel of her smooth skin against his lips. The smell of her…

  Another low rumble escaped him, and his body shook from the force of his need.

  “Easy, Ryder,” Diego urged, a sound like distant thunder in his tone.

  Ryder glanced at his friend and saw a telltale gleam of neon. His other vamp friends were also morphing, the demons within them awakening at his barely controlled blood lust and the waves of power spilling off him.

  He sucked in a long breath and tamped down the beast. In response, his friends restrained themselves, tucking their demons beneath human veneers.

  “You need a good fuck and a feed.” Foley dropped a set of big brass keys on the worn counter of the bar. The Blood Bank had back rooms that offered an assortment of toys and privacy for adult fun.

  Ryder shoved the keys back. “Thanks, but no.” What he needed was at home, only he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be welcome right now. Maybe in a few hours. Hopefully by then she’d have calmed down and he’d have his demon leashed.

  “Trouble with the missus, is it?” Blake asked, earning a painful elbow from Meghan.

  “If Ryder wanted to share, he would. Right?” she said, but her eager face pleaded with him to do just that.

  “I almost turned her tonight by accident. She st
opped me just in time. She’s so terrified of what she’ll become if she’s turned. What she’ll do as a vampire.”

  Blake nodded. “I tore out my sire’s throat the moment I was turned. His bodyguard’s, too. For months, I fed on whatever crossed my path, until I learned to control my hunger. Even then, it wasn’t enough to keep from hurting someone I cared about deeply.” He looked at Meghan, sorrow in his gaze.

  “I understand, Blake,” Meghan whispered.

  Diego offered an uneasy shrug. “We all handle it differently. Some better than others.”

  “Rumor has it you put an end to the Inquisitor who tortured you near to death,” Blake pressed.

  “Do you ever not have diarrhea of the mouth?” Foley muttered.

  Ryder gripped his empty glass. “I need her with me. I don’t want to be alone again.”

  “But at least you understand why she’s afraid of the demon. Heck, even I wanted to kill when I was turned,” Meghan said. “And Diana’s had a tough time in the past.”

  He was grateful for her support…and her honesty. For so long he’d spurned his fellow undead, not wanting to be like the cold, violent demons he’d encountered. It was only after meeting Diana that fate brought him together with vampires who would become his friends. Those who had learned to curb their dangerous desires, as he had.

  Aiming for a change of subject, he shot an inquiring look at Diego. “What are you doing here on your night off?” Diego was at their restaurant most nights, but normally spent Monday with his now-vampire wife.

  Diego shifted closer to his friends. “There’s trouble, and the Council asked me to come down and handle it.”

  Foley also leaned forward. “I found a body in the alley out back.” He made a slicing motion across his throat. “Neck slashed down to bone. Staked through the heart for good measure.”

  Blake arched a platinum-tinged brow. “Slayer-staked?”

  “It seems that way. But why nearly take his head off, too?”

  Blake frowned. “Overkill. Which makes me wonder if it wasn’t just some other immortal who was pissed off at the vampire.”

  “And wanted to make it look like a sanctioned slaying?” Ryder asked. Slayers tried to keep their existence as secret as vamps did, but every now and then rumors would fly about a slayer–vampire conflict. Nasty rumors. In all the time Ryder had been a vampire, he’d never run across a slayer. He hoped he never would.

  “That’s one theory,” Diego confirmed. “The vamp’s in storage here in the basement until the Council can convene and examine him. In the meantime, I’m supposed to find out all I can and report back.”

  “And then what?” Ryder pressed.

  Diego’s shoulders rose and fell. “Chances are it was something personal.”

  And presumably the Council would not feel the need for action. But something sat uneasily in Ryder’s gut. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make their kill look like the work of a slayer.

  He motioned for Foley to refill his glass. “Seems to me a pissed-off immortal would just tear out someone’s throat and leave it at that.”

  “Is that what you feel like doing right now? Tearing out someone’s throat? Or maybe draining them dry?” Blake’s prodding earned him another sharp poke from Meghan.

  “I might,” Ryder growled. “If I got my hands on that scum who shot Diana two years ago, I’d tear him to pieces without a second thought.”

  The rogue CIA agent who had wounded her the night of the raid might not have killed her outright, but he’d set the stage for her very slow and painful death. Unless…

  Ryder drove away thoughts of the “unless” and picked up his fresh glass of blood. The first serving had driven away the need to feed that being with Diana had awoken. With any luck, the second would keep it from awakening again when he went home.

  Foley rested his elbows on the bar. “Ryder has a point. Any self-respecting vampire would settle a fight with fangs and fists.”

  Diego nodded. “I know, but for now there’s not much the Council can do, other than investigate.”

  “What happens if it was a slayer who did the kill?” Meghan asked, the deep furrow across her forehead marring her pretty features.

  The unease in Ryder’s gut increased as Diego hesitated and shot him a worried look. “We have a pact with the slayers. From what we know, this kill wasn’t sanctioned.”

  Ryder asked, “What if it was a rogue slayer?”

  Diego looked grim. “We haven’t had need of a parlay with the slayers in over a century.”

  “And you’re not eager for another, I gather?” Ryder guessed.

  “It’s an uneasy peace we have with them. Anything that upsets that balance is bound to bring trouble.”

  Blake shook his head in disgust. “Seems to me you’re scared of a fight.”

  The heat of Diego’s fury wafted over them from his elder power. “Meghan, tell your little man to mind his manners. The last war with the slayers cost us half our elders and hundreds of lesser undead like you.”

  “And nearly exposed us to the humans,” Foley jumped in.

  Diego slugged back a bit of his drink. “That’s why we reached a pact. The slayers might want to see all of us gone, but if we were wiped out…”

  “There would be no need for their existence, either.” Meghan sipped from her glass.

  Wine, not blood, Ryder realized. He doubted Meghan would ever be truly comfortable with her undead status. He pushed out a breath.

  And neither would Diana.

  …

  B.R. —Before Ryder—Diana had spent many a late night at her desk at the FBI’s New York field office on Federal Plaza. Fighting the bad guys had been her one and only goal in life. Doing the right thing, as her father had urged her as he lay dying in her arms.

  A.R. —After Ryder—she’d bring her work home to the office in their apartment, not wanting to waste a single moment that could be shared with him. Their big maple desk ran along a west-facing wall of windows, providing plenty of space and light for her to spread out her papers. She loved to sit at the desk during the evening hours, relishing the city views. Soaking up its activity, even late at night—the city where she’d chosen to serve and protect.

  Eagerness to get back to work filled her, temporarily driving away the upset caused by the incident with Ryder. She picked up the thumb drive the ADIC had given her, slipped it into a slot on the computer, and opened the files. She decided to print it all, so she could lay everything out and pin the relevant bits to her bulletin board. As the printer churned away, she wondered why Jesus had asked for her help. The agents working the case were competent and experienced.

  She’d been following the gruesome killings, which had been splashed all over the news. It reflected badly on the NYFO, but worse, it inflamed the unsub’s ego, making him seek even more attention with the killings.

  In this case, she had a feeling the serial killer was just getting started. As she examined the crime scene photos, she winced at the violence. And yet, there was a stark beauty to them, as if the man enjoyed the killing and the staging. Far too much. He was bound to make a mistake eventually, but so far that hadn’t happened. The agents working the case had yet to develop a profile. Not good.

  She knew now why Jesus had asked her unofficially to review the materials—buried somewhere in the details was surely a clue no one else had found yet.

  A clue Diana might see because she understood the violence in the heart of the unsub more than her coworkers ever could. In the year after her father’s death, rage and aggression had filled her heart against the system that had freed the scumbag who killed her father. But also against herself, for not being able to save him.

  The counselor had called it survivor’s guilt.

  She had no name for it, only bone-deep anguish that she’d tried to numb with drink and reckless hookups with strangers. Anything to forget about what had happened, and to help her handle a father’s burden for justice.

  Somehow she’d surv
ived that year, and all the ones after. It had taken a great deal to learn the vast difference between justice and revenge. Even longer to reconnect with her friends and family, and climb out of that deep abyss of pain and rage.

  She’d almost gotten back to normal when Ryder came into her life. Loving him and being a part of his life stole her sense of balance all over again. She lost her temper too quickly at times, was often a hair’s breadth from striking out and seeking revenge. Ryder worked hard at keeping his violence in check, managing to be kind and gentle with her and the others in his life. She was afraid if she gave in to the darkness that dwelled within her, physically or emotionally, she would become someone he couldn’t love. Wouldn’t want to be with.

  She couldn’t imagine an eternal life without him. Ryder had never associated with vampires before he became involved with her. Even then, the vampires who’d become his friends were the ones who hadn’t forgotten their humanity, who behaved with thought and compassion.

  If turned, could she hold onto to her humanity and be like Ryder and his friends? Or would she be like the others? Would the pain and rage come back and consume her?

  “Holy shit!”

  Diana whirled toward the office door. Her brother, Sebastian, stood there, his face pale, a shaky hand braced on the jamb.

  “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” His horrified gaze was locked on the crime scene photos tacked to her bulletin board.

  She rushed over and urged him out of the room, closing the door behind them. She walked him into the living room and onto the couch. “What’s up, bro? It’s kinda late for a visit.” He lived in the same building, just one floor down, but didn’t generally drop by at all hours.

  Now that the initial shock of the photos had worn off, he tilted his chin up and his hazel eyes glimmered with annoyance. “You know Mom is going home soon. You’ve barely been down to see her during the month she’s been here.”

  No, she hadn’t. Despite the ten-plus years since her father’s death, facing her mother was still difficult. The rational part of Diana’s brain said there was nothing she could have done to save her dad, but another part wondered if she’d truly done enough. Then there was her shameful behavior afterward.