The Hunt (16 page)

“Did she?” Vivian’s face freezes as she focuses the full intensity of her emerald eyes on me. “What were her demands?”

“Err… she only asked for a taste of victory.”

“Hmm… Now are you going to tell me about the werewolf and human blood I smell down here?” I fill her in on the rest of the morning down here in the permafrost-level basement. “What are your intentions toward Chelly?” she asks while raising one elegantly-shaped eyebrow.

She can smell the events as clear as I can relate them, so I refrain from denying my personal activities with her employee. “I’d like to exchange blood with her and take her as a companion.”

Vivian walks over, perching one rounded hip on the desk before gazing down on me. “I think your timing is good.” Inside, I bristle at her high-handed assumption that my private life is open for discussion. But, Vivian is just looking out for her own. “I approve the new tie—if she is willing.”

I tilt my head in acknowledgment of her requirement and in thanks for her largess. The politics involved in a seethe are complex, to say the least.

“Now,” she continues, in deeper thought. “We need to arrange a meeting and discuss Emiko. Her role in this hunt changes hour-by-hour and I fear members of the Tribunal, in some deeper scheme, are using us. Call your seethe-mates and arrange things, please? Let’s aim for one o’clock.”

Vivian’s entire demeanor changes in a split second. Her expression reflects a fierceness I don’t often see, and if I’m honest, one I’d rather not see directed at me for any reason.

“Yes, ma’am. Consider it done.”

I do as bid, telling everyone to meet here, and finish up by placing my last call to Paul. He was happier than I’ve seen him in months when he and his wife emerged from the back room over an hour ago. He headed up to cook, stating something about getting his mojo back.

“Paul the magnificent, here.”

I snort before I can stifle the urge. “Meeting in the conference room in two hours.”

“Gotcha, big guy.”

Bob moans low in the background, “Damn that’s good.”

Paul

“See you then,” I say with a smile
as I click the phone off. “Really? It tastes okay? You wouldn’t lie?”

“Nope. No reason to. It’s the best sauce I’ve had in months. Stephanie can’t quite get the same combination of flavors as you do.”

Inside, I feel elation. I’m following the same tried-and-true recipes I’d memorized years ago while working in Los Angeles. For some odd reason, they all taste as they should now, and not how they have been since my change. “Interesting,” I say while sniffing the jar of crushed red peppers in my hand. “These smell slightly different than the ones in my collection.”

“Your collection?” Bob asks between dipping yet another chunk of bread into the simmering pot.

“Yeah. Chefs often have their own spices—some of them even pre-mixed in private. You recall that ‘Bam!’ guy a few years back, right?” He nods and I continue, “Lots of famous chefs do it. Sell the formula to their combinations and launch their own line of products.”

“You ever dream of that?” the husky groundskeeper asks while grabbing another dinner roll.

I shake my head in the negative, as I stir the pasta in a large pot of boiling water. “Nah, the spotlight isn’t for me. Especially now after…”

Understanding dawns on Bob’s face. “After you became a dad?”

I laugh, slapping the grounds keeper on the back. “Gotta love you, man.”

Bob shrugs. The timer sounds on the microwave and the pot-bellied man rummages on the metal shelf behind us for a colander. “The pasta’s done. I’m having a bowl.”

The urge to give in and taste the sauce overwhelms me, the rich smell of tomatoes blends seamlessly with the heady bouquet of fresh Italian seasonings. Before thinking too much about it, I scoop a small amount onto a clean spoon and sample my endeavors.

“Perfect,” I say.

Bob looks at me with a note of alarm crossing his features. “Should you have done that?”

Spasms ripple across my middle and my stomach heaves. “Probably not.” I rush to the nearest trash can in anticipation. Trying to still my clenching organs, I take a deep breath and attempt to think of something else other than puking. It lasts for a moment before I hurl the sauce back up.

The retching wracks my frame, engraving, yet again, a very important lesson on my brain:
No solid food
. Thankfully, the spasms subside when the sauce is expelled, my earlier blood meal already digested.

“Dude man, I don’t think that was a good idea.”

I wipe a shaking hand across the back of my mouth. “Gee, Bob, you think?”

He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder; my momentary indignity of heaving turns into a bonding moment among buds.

“But seriously, this sauce is excellent. What do you think the difference is?”

“Having not sampled my earlier attempts, it’s hard to say. How about we try another dish?”

While preparing the ingredients for a hearty meat lasagna, hoping to use some of the big cauldron of sauce I didn’t eff up, I notice movement beyond the counter. A newcomer has entered the dining room. It’s the only vampire not out on the hunt – Vikram.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” I call from my place behind the serving island.

His slight frame jerks and he whips around in his seat. The distinct waft of incense and strong spices assails my nose. “Oh, yes. Thank you. I’ll take a
masala chai
if you have it, with
sweetened
condensed milk?”

My gut clenches at his request for spiced tea. Guess over the years you build up the ability to digest anything remotely resembling a solid, and condensed milk lies right on the border in my opinion. While the thought of mixing sustenance into the tea and creating a god-awful drink revolts me, I do my duty and ask, “With blood, sir?”

The question seems to agitate him and he shakes his head sharply.

“Yes, sir. I’ll have it ready for you in ten.”

He nods and then stares out the window into the hot tub grotto, lost in his thoughts.

After the kettle boils, I steep the tea and pour the thickened milk into a tiny creamer carafe. The sickly sweet aroma of the milk clogs my nasal passages, threatening to bring another heave from my stomach. I clamp down on my senses, trying to rein in my reactions so I don’t embarrass myself and puke all over a guest. I’m betting it might get me removed from kitchen duty faster than my recent bad cooking will.

“Here you are, sir,” I say with smile, hoping I don’t look as green as I feel.

Vikram doesn’t even spare a glance my way, just nods while I place the tray on his table. Quirky fellow. I take my leave and head back to the kitchen, eager to get back to making my lasagna.

Bob sits in a stool near my workstation, a scrap of paper held in his meaty hands with a blunt pencil poised above. “Mind if I take notes on what you add? I’d like to learn how to make it.”

My heart swells at the compliment he’s unknowingly given me. “I’d be honored. Just don’t sell it and take all the credit.” I toss him a wink to show I’m joking and set to work.

Performing the task of layering the boiled noodles, cheeses, various cooked ground meats and sauce, brings me back to the simple joy of cooking. The spices fly as I get into a groove, calling each step out in turn to the rapt Bob. Maybe I can balance all the things from my past with this freaky new undead existence—well, all except for the normal sampling of dishes.

“Smells good,” a gravelly voice sounds from the direction of the dining room. I look up and meet the hazel-eyed good nature of Vivian’s servant, Jon. “I think you may have finally got it right, you blood-sucking fool.” He grins from ear to ear. “Good job, Paul.”

The cascade of pride I feel has me hoping I don’t eff up my next time on shift. “Thanks.”

“What’s with the creepy thin guy?” he whispers, possibly attempting to not offend the guest with his observations. “Smells like he bathed in a vat of patchouli.”

I smile, realizing he’s nailed the same scent I picked up before. “Meditation?” I raise my shoulder, “I don’t know.” Vikram must hear us, but he’s still staring out the window, his tea untouched.

“Save me some of the sauce you’re making, okay?” He cranes his head over the counter and spies the lasagna, too. “Oh, and a dish of that as well?” Jon doesn’t head into the main building much to eat and on the occasions when his visits used to coincide with my shift he would usually request a take-away serving.

“It’s the least I can do when you lent two of your dogs to Bunny and the kids for the week. They love the company and I’m grateful for the added security while the rogue is loose.”

“No problem, man. You’d do the same for me if the situation were reversed.”

I nod, not sure what protection I could have offered him when I was an overweight cook, except maybe save him from getting drunk in the resort bar by drinking his beers for him. Now that I’m undead, there are a slew of new possibilities on how I could help him if he ever needed it.

Jon leans his neck to one side and series of pops sounds in the room. “Damn. I’m stiff. I need to get some rest soon.” He glances at his watch. “Shit, it’s still well over an hour ‘til we meet.” He cracks his neck on the other side. “I’m off to try and chill for a bit.”

The powerful man lopes off with a farewell nod of his head and meanders back through the dining room.

“So how long do I cook it in the oven and at what temp?” Bob asks, as if Jon never even stopped by. He’s studious in his note taking; I’ll give him that.

“Cover in foil first. Then fifty minutes at 350 degrees. Take the foil off and let it brown a little near the end.”

Out if the corner of my eye, I notice our guest staring in a new direction. Something appears off with him, but I can’t tell what. I think I’ll mention it to Vivian when the seethe gathers. Vikram slinks from his table and heads out after Jon.

The calm of the empty gym engulfs
me as the door swings shut. The heavy scent of patchouli fills my head, effectively closing my sensitive nose down. This must be where Vikram spent most of the past day. Can I do this? Can I try and calm the longings I feel for Vivian with a little peaceful chanting and meditation?

A snort escapes me before I reach the eternal flame positioned on the far side of the room. Centuries of monks and entire nations do this—it can’t be too hard, right?

I settle cross-legged at the edge of the exercise mat in front of the flickering lick of fire. The view out the windows of the snowy grotto enhances the feeling of isolation amidst the bustle of the hotel. I search in vain for some posted directions or such; Vivian has a penchant for writing exact instructions down for every piece of equipment on the property.

I find nothing and assume this meditating gig has somehow escaped her meticulous cataloging of data. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing. The luscious image of Vivian fills my thoughts and I steer them away to something more base. The green forest leaps front and center, the memory of lush earth and wild plant growth swirls through my mind.

Running through the woods with my pack encompasses my entire being. The stray hint of a buck, the musk of a bear, smaller vermin crisscrossing the trails…. The sheer joy of running full tilt into a setting sun with the knowledge we have all night ahead of us, wraps around my heart and elevates it from the stress of this week.

My pulse slows and a sense of peace fills me.

Huh, if this is all meditating is about then I can do it at home. Must be my greater mind ability combined with the wolf making me a natural. I chuckle before realizing this is probably not what true meditating is. How in the hell do you turn your mind off? Where is my happy, woodsy feeling of a moment ago?

Smooth hands latch onto my neck from behind and I’m pulled roughly against a cooler body. Instinct kicks in and I twist to the side, narrowly missing the open maw aimed at my throat.

“The pup wants to play, does he?” The words rasp past saliva-tipped fangs. Vikram absent-mindedly wipes his chin with the back of a hand while stalking toward me.

The small Indian man has the strength of the undead behind him, and judging by the glint in his eye, I’d say a new addiction to Were-blood to contend with as well.

“Hold on there, little buddy,” I say with my palms out in a halting gesture. “You know who I am, right?” He doesn’t seem to register my words and lunges to grab me.

Air whisks by as I shift to the left, throwing my weight forward into a roll. Coming out of the move, I turn to face the vampire. His expression looks like no one is home.

“Dude, if you’re hungry let’s get you some blood in the kitchen. I’m Vivian’s servant and she doesn’t share, trust me.” I don’t include that I’d sooner rip his throat out than let him feed from me
—
no need to be rude.

His perfect, bronzed features transform as he closes his dark eyes slightly and inhales deep. An eerie calmness descends over him for a moment and it looks like he’s snapping out of the crazy haze he’s in.

I take a deep breath and relax my stance a bit. Holy shit, that was close. I can’t believe I’ve had to fend off two Were-blood loony vamps in less than twenty-four hours.

Vikram’s eyes snap open and he dives through the air at my legs. The skin pulls back from his once-calm visage and his mouth drops open in a deadly hiss. I lash out with one booted foot and clip him mid-air, sending him off track and crashing into some gym equipment.

The old vampire rights himself and locks eyes on my throat. “You smell good, wolf. I can’t resist.” He stalks closer and I move to my right, putting the Universal machine between us.

“It’s the blood addiction, man. You’re not yourself. Shake it off!”

He ignores me, charging with his head down. I dart to the right, but he reaches out with one hand and grabs my plaid shirt. A loud rip sounds through the gym as the material gives under the force. Nails rake my side and the smell of werewolf blood fills the room.

Diving to the ground, I slide under a weight bench and come up near the dumbbell stand. I grab a ten-pounder and spin around, anticipating the frenzied vampire will be right behind me. The force of my turn gathers momentum and the weight slams the slight figure in the shoulder, sending a sickening crunch of bone through the air.

Vikram hunches to the side and uses his right hand to push the injured shoulder back into place. “You’ll pay for that, dog. I’ll drain you while you live, squirming beneath me as you beg for your life.”

Lashing out with my fists, I land a series of blows to his head and torso. The vampire takes it, cackling the whole time. In a last-ditch effort to get past him to the door, I grab the front of his shirt and throw him bodily across the room. I don’t stop to see where he lands, but dodge through the exercise machines as fast as I can for the exit to the hall.

Where is Vivian? Can she sense I’m in danger? What the fuck is up with that mind link shit? Open a door in my head? I never did learn how to do it. I mentally scream her name through my mind, not sure if I’m doing it right and not caring.

Vikram lands on my back, taking me down to the rubber mats in one fell swoop. The stink of patchouli fills my head as the sting of pain slices down my back.

“How about we try flaying this one first? Maybe I can suck the strips later to get out the last of the juicy blood.”

“Vivian!” Pushing back with my hands, I gain some space off the floor and manage to roll in an attempt to dislodge the bloodsucking maniac. The space between the machines is not enough room and I wind up trapping the vampire between my back and the cables and weights of the leg press.

Hands latch around my throat as I stretch to reach one of the metal cables. “You’re more trouble than I’d like, doggie. Perhaps losing some air for a bit will slow you down and let me enjoy this experience.”

His hands lock around my throat. As my airwave constricts and I feel the blood pounding in my face, my hand closes over a sturdy metal cable and I wrench it loose. The room grows darker as I sling the line behind me, looping it over the crazed vampire’s neck. His grip loosens on my throat and precious oxygen fills my lungs, hopefully staving off unconsciousness for a bit longer.

I close the loop by bringing the end into one hand and tug with all my strength. A wet hiss issues next to my ears right before the pressure on my neck vanishes. Nails rake the flesh on my hand as I flip over and straddle the small vampire.

“Enough, you crazy fuck!” Clasping tighter to the cable, I twist while watching his eyes bulge. “Don’t make me kill you.” I scream for Vivian once more in my mind. Where is she? Can she hear me at all?

A sick smile blooms on his enraged visage. Sharp fangs protrude over his bottom lip, casting a demented darkness to his once handsome face. “I’ve lived longer than you for a reason,” he rasps. Vikram stops clawing at the cable and grabs the shredded flannel covering my chest, heaving me over his head toward the open mats in front of the windows.

The breath whooshes from my body on impact, and I hear the sound of the cable whipping back over the machine. This time, the vampire straddles me and starts beating me about the head with closed fists.

Crap! I should have popped the head off the fucker when I had the chance.

Raising my arms to cover my face and neck, the realization hits me that Vivian may not come and neither may anyone else. If I don’t handle this vamp on my own I may not live much longer. I’ve delivered my share of ass-kicking over the years, but I’ve never killed a vampire on my own, nor fought with one so blinded by addiction.

The punches turn into open-handed tearing, and my forearms and chest alight with the fiery pain of deep, bleeding gashes. Blood drips, landing on my face and the man shows no signs of stopping.

Bringing my knee up, I slam it into his lower back, which throws his rhythm off. One hesitation is all I need. Another hit to his back pushes him forward a bit. I lower one hand and grab his cock and balls through his loose pants. Squeezing with every once of strength I have, I feel a stomach-churning squish in my palm, while a scream rips the air above me.

Vikram’s new distraction allows me to throw him off and roll to the side. The energy burned up in this short fight combines with my blood loss to take its toll. My legs give out as I try to rise, forcing me to crawl in the direction of safety. If I can just make it to the door, I can raise an alarm by shouting for help.

Hands latch onto my sides, digging deep furrows into the already-damaged flesh. “You think any injury you dole out can stop me for long?” Without waiting for an answer, the slight man whips me across the room to slam into the wall near the door.

I slide down, stunned. Pain spreads from every part of my body as I struggle to fill my lungs with air. I can now say with utter surety I know what it feels like to be a squeaky toy for a dog.

I raise my hands in one last attempt to ward him off. “Don’t do it man,” I say as he stalks to my prone position. “She’ll kill you.”
Vivian! I need you!

“Let the bitch try.”