Forbidden (The Preternaturals) (7 page)

The few he wasn’t able to read looked up at him sharply, suspicion in
their eyes like they knew he’d tried to penetrate the privacy of
their mind. He smiled at one such man apologetically and moved on.
There was no telling what he was.

It wasn’t hard to find sinners in a place like Las Vegas. Hadrian
couldn’t move two steps without tripping over one. But he was
looking for dinner, too. He didn’t just want to find guilty
souls—he wanted pretty ones who smelled nice. He wasn’t about to
sink his fangs into a man.

Perhaps other vampires felt differently, but Hadrian’s previous chastity
caused him to see a subtextual sexuality in everything—especially
the ritual of feeding. He wanted to gorge on the experience in all
its sensual hedonism. There was no time for a tryst tonight, but
feeding felt like foreplay. Had Angeline brought him a man for
dinner, he might have turned his nose up at the meal, not prepared to
be that adventurous yet.

A crowd formed outside The Riviera where Dean Martin headlined. It was
the tallest hotel so far on the strip. So much change was happening.
It made Hadrian philosophical. What would it be like to watch change
and growth and creation and destruction come and go? Would everything
begin to feel like the past year in Las Vegas had? The Dunes and The
Moulin Rouge had opened within a day of one another, and The Riviera
only a month before that.

He bumped into a woman walking swiftly with her head down. Her thoughts
told him her shift had just ended and she was tired of waiting for an
escort to her vehicle.

She looked up. “Oh, Father Hadrian. Would you mind walking me to my
car?” A blush tinged her cheeks at being caught out like this.

He looked at her more closely. “Mary? Is that you?” She hadn’t
been to Mass or confession in months. She wore what she usually wore
when he saw her at church: wrist-length gloves, heels, a full
billowing skirt. No one would ever mistake her for a prostitute in
innocent pale blue.

But Hadrian knew.

“I can’t believe you remember me.”

An awkwardness descended between them until Father Hadrian held his arm
out for her to loop her hand through—like a gentleman. His
gentlemanly scruples were one thing that had died the night he had,
but he hadn’t yet fallen out of practice.

Mary started to babble. “I keep meaning to come back to church. They
just always have me working all these odd hours, and when I’m off,
it’s hard to find someone to watch my boy. And it’s just too late
at night to bring him to church.”

“I understand,” he said. As they walked and she babbled on, Hadrian
only half listened. He was more interested in what she wasn’t
saying, what she really thought. He was interested in the file after
file of information on her true feelings, desires, and intentions
hidden inside her mind. He sorted through these files as they walked,
gleaning everything he needed or wanted to know. The thing that
shined brightest was her love for her son and her need to care for
him no matter the personal cost to herself.

A few doors in Mary’s mind seemed locked to him, perhaps thoughts and
feelings even she didn’t have access to, but what he’d seen was
more than enough.

They stopped at a green Chevy Styleline Special.

“Thanks for walking me and listening to my chatter. It’s almost like
confession except that we’re not in church.”

“Indeed.”

When they reached the car, Hadrian lingered. He brushed her hair away to
touch the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat. He licked his lips.

Mary sensed the undercurrents, and her mood shifted. “W-what are you
doing?”

“Absolving you.” He smiled at how creepy that must sound, what she must think
he expected her penance to be out here in this dark and deserted
parking lot. But he didn’t let her wonder for long. His fangs
descended.

She opened her mouth to scream but he locked his gaze on hers and said:
“Shhhh. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re worth saving, but I
want you to change your ways. Understand? No more selling your body
to men who don’t deserve you. You’re smart. You should have a
real job somewhere. Or find a good man at church. If you need help,
come to the church and ask.”

She smiled and nodded.

“Good girl.” Father Hadrian struck then, his fangs penetrating the column
of her throat to get to the warm, rich blood beneath. Honest guilt.
Somehow he knew this would be his favorite flavor. As he fed, he drew
her guilt and pain out along with her blood. He stopped before her
pulse slowed and sealed the wound.

“Remember what I said, but forget you saw me tonight.”

She nodded, glassy-eyed as he helped her get into the Styleline and shut
the door behind her.

“Drive safely.”

She seemed lighter and happier as she started the car and drove away.

Hadrian felt high, both on the blood and on the power he now possessed—the
ability to make a difference in lives even if it wasn’t with
sunshine and rainbows.

“Excuse me?” a woman said as he strode down the strip. “Would you happen
to have a dime for the phone booth?” She pointed at a new glass
booth about a block away.

Hadrian felt around in his pockets, and came out with a shiny thin dime.

“Thank you! You’re a life saver.”

He smiled. “Don’t mention it.” Too sweet for his tastes.

A while later, he came across a con artist in the Dunes hotel and
casino. She was a femme-fatale type, all black stockings and dark red
lips.

He stayed a distance away, watching, waiting for his moment. An issue of
Life Magazine had been abandoned on one of the tables. The cover
featured two showgirls from the Moulin Rouge hotel, their ruffled
skirts pulled up to show much of their thighs. They wore yellow
feathers in their hair. The headline read: “Las Vegas—is boom
overextended?”

A few days ago, Hadrian would have said yes, but the city had gone from
too many people to a buffet in his perception.

“Pretty girls,” a man nearby said, observing Hadrian’s interest in the
cover. “Saw ‘em last night in person. They’ve still got new
copies of that issue for twenty cents a few doors down from here.”

“Thanks,” Hadrian said, as the guy moved past him.

Father Hadrian put the magazine down and turned his attention back to his
prey.

She stood beside a roulette table and took a cigarette from her bag.
Hadrian slid in, lighter in hand. He always kept one in his pocket
for lighting candles around the church before Mass started. She
smiled indulgently, sizing him up as she leaned into the flame. She
appeared to like what she saw.

“So, how’s tricks?” he asked.

“Pardon me?” She drew her head back as if she’d been slapped. “I’m
not a prostitute.”

“Of course not. That would be honest work compared to the cons you’ve
been pulling.” He took her by the elbow and eased her away from
witnesses as he spoke, his tone low.

“Are you a Fed?” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone was
eavesdropping on their conversation.

He pointed to the Roman collar. “No. I’m a priest. Did the outfit
not give me away?” It was clear she’d thought he was dressed like
that as part of an undercover operation.

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me. Is this a
bit?”

“Come with me,” he said, unfazed by her tantrum.

“No. Get your hands off me. If you aren’t a cop I don’t have to talk
to you.”

Hadrian gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. “Come. With. Me.”

Her expression became sweet and open. “All right. Whatever you say,
Father.”

Leading her outside, he took an inventory of her mind. Her list of crimes was
impressive. Small cons, long cons, a couple of jewelry heists and a
murder under her belt—someone who had gotten in her way. She didn’t
seem to feel guilty for any of it. But he needed to be sure.

In a deserted alleyway, far from witnesses, he interrogated her. “If
you’d like to confess your sins, I’m open to hearing them.”
Even though he already knew. He was careful with his wording to be
sure he didn’t coerce her to do anything she wouldn’t have done
anyway.

Her eyes lit with condescending mirth. “That’s all right, Father. Why
don’t you go back to church where it’s safer? The company around
here seems a bit dangerous for you.”

“Does it? Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’m more
concerned about you. I’m only trying to save you. Do you feel
remorse for your sins?” He held her gaze, peering inside her mind.
Whatever she said out loud wasn’t what mattered. It was what was
inside that counted. But she didn’t bother lying.

“I sleep like a baby.”

“What about the murder?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know about that? Who the hell did you
say you were?”

“My name is Father Hadrian,” he said, his tone turning more menacing by
the minute. “Tell me, are you sorry about the murder?”

The woman’s anger rose, flowing off her like hissing electricity. “The
dumb bitch shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”

“That’s all I needed to hear. I’m afraid you aren’t worth saving.”

Hadrian let his fangs flash in the lamplight. He didn’t bother adding a
suggestion for how she should react to him. He wasn’t seducing her.
He was separating the wheat from the chaff, cleaning up the streets.
As a human, he never would have played God in this way, but the demon
side refused to follow such quaint moral rules. After all, those
methods hadn’t been nearly as effective as those he now employed.

She started to cry and backed away, her hands raised. Her voice turned
placating. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Will you
hear my confession? I promise I’ll change. I’ll come to church
every week.”

“Too late for that now.” Hadrian pulled her to him and sank his fangs
into her throat. She tasted of rage and fear with an added dash of
sociopathic spice. A bit rich for day-to-day feeding, but not bad for
a treat.

She struggled in his arms, beating uselessly against his chest as he
drank. Eventually the fight went out of her; her breathing became
more labored and then stopped along with her heartbeat. Father
Hadrian healed the mark on her throat and dropped her.

On his way back to the casino, he enthralled a passing thug with a gun,
planting the suggestion that the woman was alive and he should go
shoot her. With a bullet in her head, no one would think anything
else about the issue. He whistled on his way back to church, thinking
that man was lucky Hadrian would only feed from women, because the
sins pouring off him were monumental. And Hadrian doubted he was any
more remorseful.

Now it was Angeline’s turn.

***

Hadrian returned with a spring in his step, his sadness over what he’d lost
replaced with excitement over his new mission. His happiness was cut
short when he caught his sire standing in the middle of the church, a
guilty and panicked look on her face. He’d been seconds from losing
her.

He didn’t think, he just commanded. Even a second of contemplation
would be enough for her to get away from him. “Stop right there.”

She’d looked away as if that would stop his order from stealing her will,
but it didn’t matter. When she stopped, he knew his power still
worked. They were linked by blood. He didn’t need eye contact.

Instinctively he strode to her, grabbed her wrist, and put it to his mouth,
drinking her blood to strengthen their connection.

He growled as he tasted the new power. Familiar power. The witch. Was
that how she’d broken his hold? But that was impossible. There had
been many yards and a solid oak door between the witch’s corpse and
where Angeline had been. Something wasn’t right. Maybe Angeline had
a taste before he’d risen. That had to be it.

“Just let me go.” Her voice was weary and defeated, not believing he
would stoop to releasing her. It was simply what she was supposed to
say in this situation.

“You know I can’t do that.” He still wasn’t sure of his motives.
Though he drank up his new powers as greedily as the wino had
partaken of cheap alcohol, he was still angry with her. He was angry
there was so much out there he hadn’t been equipped to fight and
angry that becoming a priest and isolating himself from the rest of
the world as much as he had still hadn’t worked to protect him from
evil.

The most condemning part was that he wasn’t sure he could blame the
demon for making him as he was. There had been a sharp seed of
darkness in him from the start, something he’d always pushed down,
hiding behind holy actions. He’d kept the darkness buried in the
crevices of his soul, but the vampiric blood had flipped the switch
to activate it.

His grip on Angeline’s wrist was punishing, even though such show of
force was unnecessary. His mere order for her to stop was enough. The
fear rolled off her. Whatever she’d done to momentarily gain the
upper hand wouldn’t come to her rescue again, and she knew it.

Before he could question her about the witch, a child walked in the back
door. She wore a simple white dress that was far too big for her. The
clothing was spattered with blood. Fang marks marred her throat, but
they faded before his eyes.

How was that possible? What human could self-heal like that?

“Angeline! What did you do?”

She cowered at the anger in his tone. “She begged me. She put her vein
right in my face. What was I supposed to do?”

Hadrian rolled his eyes. If she expected him to believe that…

“It’s true,” the girl said. “I hoped it would work this time, but it
started the cycle over again. She’s not strong enough or old
enough, either.”

“You thought what would work? What cycle?” Hadrian said, growing more
confused with each nonsensical phrase that passed through the girl’s
lips. Something tickled the back of his mind, something he didn’t
want to admit could be possible. But he knew that golden hair and
those features, though they’d been on a grown woman, not a child.
Hadn’t they?