Bring On the Night (25 page)

I held back a shiver, remembering the way Travis had suffered and almost died when his maker was killed by Shane (with my help). If Monroe died now, it would probably kill me.

“Why did your maker leave?” I asked Noah.

“I failed him. I would not kill. Not on purpose.”

“Because of your religion.”

He bowed his head in a semi-nod. “If you want to call it that.”

“What do you call it?”

“A way. A path. One that may lead to wisdom, if I and I will it.”

I and I
—one of the Rasta terms for God. “Do you think Monroe is gone for good?”

“Hard to say.” He stared out the window toward the porch, where Regina was still interviewing Sandy.

“Why did Monroe leave me? Did I fail him?”

Noah eyed me over the rim of his glasses. “How could you fail him? You have done nothing.”

I rested my cheek on the back of the seat. “I exist.”

“As they say, it’s not you, it is him. Give him time, he’ll come back. He has a job.”

“But what if he doesn’t come back? What will the station do? What will I do?”

“We will all survive.”

“Monroe didn’t have to make me. It could have been Spencer or Jim or Regina. If he didn’t want me, why did he
sign my VBC form?”

“Perhaps he didn’t know how hard it would be, to kill and resurrect.”

“Have you ever done it?”

Noah shook his head. “I do not kill.”

“On purpose.”

His eyes turned down at their corners as he averted his gaze. I hurried to change the subject.

“How come I wanted to bite Sandy so much, but not her husband?”

“The man is not a donor and does not want to be. Non-donors smell different to us.” He drew a smooth brown finger across the side window. “Think of the flowers. Some of them have scents that attract bees or butterflies, and some don’t.”

“That makes sense.” I chuckled. “Get it? Sense? Scents?”

Noah lifted one corner of his mouth, indulging my new obsession with wordplay.

I continued, sans lameness. “Shane knew Jeremy was a willing donor the first time they met. Jeremy didn’t even know vampires were real, but he wanted to be bitten.”

“A fervent donor can make us thirsty even if we’ve just fed.” He picked up my travel mug and shook it. “There are still a few sips.”

I took it with less reluctance than usual. The bank blood was a million times better than nothing.

Regina opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

Noah handed her the keys. “Any information?”

“Pretty much what her husband said. Monroe never showed up for their donor date.” She started the car. “But at least now we have help looking for him. Sandy’ll check out all Monroe’s favorite bars tonight and ask if anyone’s seen him since Saturday.” She put the car in reverse and tossed a
sheet of paper into the backseat. “Do we have time to visit another donor?”

Noah looked at the sheet, then at the dashboard clock. “It’s not far over the border into Pennsylvania. We’ll make it no problem.”

Regina gunned the engine, and we lurched down Sunshine Way. “Mason-Dixon line, here we come!”

As we headed out of town, I finished my meal with my face pressed against the window’s cool glass, my eyes fixed on the low hills of the eastern horizon. In two hours, they would be dark silhouettes against the pale blue light of dawn. My skin seemed to shrivel at the thought.

By then I would be underground, safe from what would be the second in an eternally long line of missed sunrises. Maybe if I hadn’t taken this path, I’d be lying in a hospital bed right now, recovering from chicken pox, staring out a temporarily dark window, waiting for a delicious breakfast of lime Jell-O, stale toast, and rubbery eggs.

I would never know.

Will You Love Me Tomorrow

I stayed in the car while Regina and Noah took turns interviewing the next two donors, who had even less information than Scrumptious Sandy. They hadn’t heard from him since their last appointments, which had been two and three months ago, respectively.

“What if he wants to come home but can’t?” I asked them as we turned down the station’s long gravel driveway. “What if someone’s holding him?”

“You mean captive?” Regina snorted, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Just because you’re always at the center of a hostage crisis doesn’t mean that’s what happened to him.”

“Monroe is too strong to capture,” Noah pointed out. “No one could take him alive.”

“And you’d know if he died.” Regina thumped her fist against her chest.

I remained silent for a moment, knowing how they would react to my idea. Finally I said, “Maybe we should ask for help in finding him.”

“His donors are helping,” Regina said.

“I was thinking more along the lines of professional help.”

She slammed the brakes. I sailed forward, smacking my chin on the back of the driver seat.

Regina turned to face me. “Don’t even think about calling the Control. If they declare him a rogue vampire, they’ll be the ones locking him up. We may never see him again.”

“But if he’s in danger—”

“He’d rather die than be in the hands of the Control. Got it?”

I nodded, though I didn’t get it. I’d seen the damage done by zealous, unsanctioned hunters who scorned the Control’s “cooperation before coercion” precept. For them, it was more like “torture before kill”—the vampires were trapped, starved, burned, and finally staked when they became as weak and fragile as moths. The Control cracked down on these antivampire vigilantes, so to me, the agency seemed like the lesser of two evils.

Regina’s icy glare told me that any argument to that effect would be useless. She turned forward and drove faster than ever. When we got back to the station, a familiar black sedan was parked outside.

Regina hit the brakes too hard again. “Speaking of pigs.”

I picked myself off the floor where I had landed during her abrupt stop, deciding to keep wearing a seat belt after all. “Let’s hope he’s here to help.”

We went in through the back door, which led to a long hallway to the lounge. My nose told me who else was there, and hope quickened my pace.

“Shane…”

I opened the lounge door to see him standing near the opposite wall, glaring at Colonel Lanham. With one eye.

“Ms. Griffin.” From his seat at the card table, Colonel Lanham nodded at Regina and Noah. “I need to speak with
these two privately.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Oh, can’t we please stay to hear the bureaucratic bullshit?”

“No.” He turned back to me and Shane, who reached out to draw me close to him.

“Any luck finding Monroe?” Shane whispered in my ear.

“No, but I almost got fangs.”

Lanham pulled a padded envelope from his briefcase as the apartment door closed behind Noah and Regina. “I have a proposition,” he said.

I sat at the opposite end of the table from him. Though I didn’t want to bite Lanham, it was a struggle to maintain my composure. I needed mind over matter, to save Shane’s face—literally.

“What do you want from me?” I asked him glumly. How many more years would he add to my contract? Would he switch me from the Immanence Corps to the Enforcement Division? Just because I was now physically strong didn’t mean I had any desire to dispatch my fellow vampires.

But I would’ve done it. I would’ve been a Control toilet cleaner—the best damn one they’d ever seen—if it meant healing Shane’s wounds.

“Not you.” Colonel Lanham looked at Shane. “You.”

Shane’s remaining eye widened. “What?”

“We want you to work for us.”

Shane started to step back, then seemed to catch himself. “No way. After what I went through in that hellhole rehab center of yours, I can’t believe you’d even ask.”

Lanham folded his hands over the padded envelope, which I assumed contained a sample of my human blood. “I have something you need.”

“I don’t need two eyes to live. And I’m not vain, so don’t
try that tactic.”

“You’re not the one who has to look at you.”

Shane put both hands on my shoulders. “She doesn’t care either. She’s not shallow.”

“Perhaps not. But she is capable of substantial guilt, especially for a sociopath.”

I kept my gaze on the package, waiting for the chance to steal it in the event of a distraction.

“Think about it, Mr. McAllister. Now that the two of you could have a long life together, do you want to burden her with a constant reminder of a simple but costly mistake?”

Shane took his hands off me and shoved them in his pockets. “We don’t even know if the blood would work.”

“Trust me. It will work.”

Lanham’s confidence told me they’d already used it in experiments, or maybe even administered it in the field. I wondered how much they charged for this Anti-Holy Wonder Salve (apply internally).

“Trust
you
?” Shane scoffed at Lanham. “That’s a good one.”

“Then trust this contract.” He leaned over to reach into his briefcase, taking his hand off the package.

I pounced.

As my hand hit the padded envelope, Lanham grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him, flipping me onto my back. His elbow crooked around my neck. I gaped at the ceiling as something sharp pressed against my chest.

“Don’t move,” he said, as calmly as if he were requesting cream with his coffee. “Either of you.”

I held my breath, certain that inhaling would drive the
tip of the wooden stake through my blouse and into my skin.

Two feet away, Shane raised his hands in surrender. He’d been on the verge of attacking Lanham to protect me.

“Back off,” I gasped, staring at the ebony stake that shone as smooth and polished as Lanham’s scalp. I’d never seen a stake tip so needle sharp.

As soon as Shane reached the far wall, Lanham rolled me off the table in one smooth motion. When my feet touched the floor, he let go, then tucked the stake back in his—well, actually, I have no idea where he kept it. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

I straightened my shirt, keeping my eyes on Lanham’s expressionless face.

“Now.” He leaned over to his briefcase again, this time releasing the package even longer than before, as if to test us. My fingers didn’t even twitch—on the outside, at least.

Lanham brought out a folder and opened it to reveal three copies of a contract like the one I’d signed two and a half years ago. “All terms are negotiable, so let’s begin.”

“I don’t have time for another job,” Shane said. “I’ve got WVMP—”

“Every other night, for three hours.”

“Plus my satellite radio gig.”

“Which is weekly. That leaves eleven free days a month.”

“Being a DJ isn’t just the time spent on the air.”

“David is willing to hire voice talent to take over your production work.”

Shane’s nostrils quivered in a sure tell. He hated recording promo spots for the station or commercials for whatever product our advertisers were hawking that week. He died a little inside each time he had to plug the latest lawn tractor—as if he’d ever had a lawn.

He looked away, at the door to their apartment. “No. I’m not a species traitor.”

“Is that what you think Ms. Griffin is? A species traitor?”

“Of course not. She joined when she was human, and she did it for me.”

“Then perhaps you can return the favor.”

Shane’s posture stiffened. Lanham had clearly struck a nerve, reminding Shane of the sacrifice I’d made.

“Would you excuse us for a few minutes?” I asked the colonel.

“Absolutely.” He stood, leaving the contracts on the table but not the blood. He stuffed the package back in his briefcase and carried it upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

Shane didn’t move from the wall or even shift his position. “Don’t try to talk me into this. I already have a job.”

“You can’t do your current job without two eyes. Not if you ever plan to leave the booth.”

“I can wear a patch to public appearances.”

“A patch’ll be torn off sooner or later. People like to get close to you.”

“So I’ll tell the truth—I got burned.”

“Human burns don’t scar like that.”

Shane gave a harsh sigh and lowered his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “There must be another way to get your human blood. It’s bad enough that you’re part of that soul-sucking agency.”

I saw my ace in the hole, as if spotlights shone upon it and trumpets blared on either side. “If you join up, you can keep an eye on me, make sure I remain unmolested and uncorrupted.”

He jerked his head to look at me. I put my hands behind
my back in a poor imitation of innocence.

“Fuck.” He shoved himself away from the wall and started to pace.

I sensed he needed time alone to come to grips with it all, and that any more pushing would be counterproductive.

I shifted toward the door. “I’m famished after being around all those donors, so I better—”

“Go ahead.” Concern flitted across his face, diluting the anger for a half second. “I’ll be along.”

I was in bed dozing off, empty cup on the nightstand, when the door opened. I sat up quickly to see Shane.

He gazed straight at me with two perfect, pale blue eyes.

My lips started to curve into a relieved smile, but it faded at the look on his face.

“It’s done.” He turned away, slid off his shirt, and threw it over the back of the desk chair. His jeans followed but not his boxers.

I scooted over to make room. He got into bed without looking at me, then turned away and switched off the light.

With my back pressed against the wall, I waited for him to shift to face me. He gave his pillow one last punch and settled in with a sigh.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” I touched the back of his shoulder, which felt still as stone. “I screwed up, and you had to pay the price.”

“We’ve been through this already.” His voice was smooth and tight. “It was an accident, remember?”

I waited a few moments before asking, “Did Lanham tell you about the Immanence Corps?”

“He thought it would be a good match for me.”

Now I wouldn’t have to leave Shane behind to do my job. We could fight—or investigate or whatever it is the
Immanence Corps does—as a team. Together.