Twilight Hunger (17 page)

Morgan gasped, her eyes fixed on his corded neck as he drew the blade away and a scarlet strand of blood unwound from the puncture wound, trailing over his skin. She licked her lips. The scent of it touched her nostrils, and a feral lust twisted in her gut. His hand was in her hair, at the back of her head, pulling her closer, but she didn't need it. She knew what she needed.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, closed her mouth over the wound and sucked the blood from his body. She drew on the opening, her tongue darting to catch any drops that escaped her hungry lips. She lapped at him there until he pulled her away, pressing one hand to the wound in his throat. For one insane moment she fought him, pressing closer, clawing at his hand, trying to steal more of this drug she craved. She
could have ripped his throat open with her own teeth in that moment, like a wolf. She could have killed him.

He held her off easily enough. But when she looked into his face, she saw the same bared teeth, the same breathless hunger, the same feral gleam lit his eyes. My God, he wanted to devour her in exactly the same way. Like an animal. Like a predator.

He flung her toward the bed, lunged out onto the balcony and vanished over the side. Morgan lay where she had landed, half on the bed, half off, panting. Her body was alive, tingling, her heart beating loudly and strongly. She didn't feel weak any more. She felt alive, more alive than she had in years.

This, she realized, must be a glimmer of what it felt like to be…to be what Dante was. To be a vampire.

She wanted it. Suddenly she wanted it with everything in her. She wanted to be a vampire. And she wondered if she would be, now? If drinking his blood would make her what he was.

 

Dante made his way to the house Sarafina had told him about with all due haste. He found her there, pacing, waiting for him, but he only muttered a terse greeting before moving past her into the basement. She had tossed some blankets into a pair of crates to make do.

She was on his heels instantly, of course. “Where have you been? What's kept you, Dante? Jesus, is that
your
blood I smell?”

“A minor accident.”

“There's no such thing!” She gripped his shoulder to stop him, but he kept moving anyway, climbing into the box she'd prepared for him, pulling the lid over himself. She caught the lid in her hands to prevent him covering
himself fully and ranted on. “You know how easily we can bleed out, Dante. What the hell happened to make you so careless?”

“I had a run-in with our scar-faced vampire hunter,” he told her. Because if she ever knew the truth, she would explode. And nothing, not even her bond to their kind, would protect Morgan from Sarafina's wrath. She was incredibly possessive. Not only of the slaves she kept, but of him. He was her only family. That meant a great deal to Sarafina.

“The scarred man? He's in town?”

“Yes. So be careful.” Dante gave the cover another tug. “The sooner I sleep, the sooner the rejuvenation process can heal my wound, 'fina.”

Sighing, obviously still filled with questions, Sarafina se cured the lid over him. He found the latches that had been affixed to hook from the inside, and he hooked them. Then he listened while Sarafina made her bedtime preparations and climbed into her own box.

He lay very still, closed his eyes. Waiting. Sleep was a long time in coming, though. Even when it did finally sweep over him, he couldn't stop the images from playing through his mind. Images of him—and Morgan. Naked, entwined. His body buried to the hilt in hers. His teeth sinking into her flesh. Her blood flowing into his body. God, he wanted her. He wanted to possess every part of her. Her soul. Her flesh. Her blood.

And he knew it would be worse now. She had drunk from him not once, but twice. He had tasted her, and he knew damned well that he would do it again if he wasn't careful. If he made love to her, he would drink from her. Drain her, maybe. He wouldn't be able to stop
himself. And in her weakened state, he would kill her. He would
kill her.

God, he didn't want to kill Morgan De Silva. He wanted…he wanted to love her.

Too bad he was incapable of loving anyone at all.

M
axine and Lou were sitting in the hospital waiting room, where they'd been sitting for the past four hours. It was day light now. Stormy's parents had been notified and finally taken into a private room to await word. None had come. None whatsoever. It was the cruelest form of torture Lou could think of. The CIA ought to use it. Just refuse to tell some parent how their wounded child was doing until they gave up every secret in their possession. Hell, it would work every time.

“I've got to get hold of Jay. Jason Beck,” Max said. “He would want to know.”

Lou didn't like seeing his normally spunky Max this way. She was pale and shaken. Like someone had hit her smack between the eyes with a fucking two-by-four, and no wonder. He remembered the kid she referred to. He had been the third part of their inseparable trio all through high school and college. “Do you know where to find him?”

She shook her head slowly, stayed quiet for a long time. Then finally she spoke again. “It's probably just as well,” she said. And it took Lou a moment to realize she was still talking about Jason Beck. He wondered vaguely
how she'd managed to lose touch with someone she'd been so close to. But time passed. Shit happened.

“Why do you say that?”

“Come on, Lou. You know what this is about as well as I do. They found out that I'd told you what I knew about DPI.”

He averted his eyes.

“It's the only thing that makes sense. They kill Stormy and frame you. It's a message to me. A lesson for me. It serves to make sure I won't ever tell anyone else. They destroy two people I lo—care about. Just like that Stiles guy told me he would. The question is, how does he know I told you?”

Lou licked his lips, lifted his gaze to hers slowly. “I made a call last night.”

She went very still. Didn't say anything, just stared at him, begging him with her eyes not to tell her what she had to know he was going to tell her.

“To the friend of mine who works for the CIA. I asked him to find out what he could about DPI. Told him I suspected they'd been running some kind of covert op out of White Plains until the HQ burned five years ago. I didn't mention you or the man you saw.”

“You didn't have to.” She swallowed hard. “I asked you not to talk to anyone, Lou. How could you do this to me?”

“Hey, Max, come on. I had no reason to think it would result in anything like…like this.”

“No reason? You had one reason. You had my word. I told you they threatened my friends and my mother, and you went right ahead and—” She stopped there. “Oh, God. Oh, God, my mother.”

She was on her feet and heading for a pay phone
before Lou could stop her. He leaned back in his vinyl seat, pushed a hand through his hair. She was right; she was dead right. If it had been another cop asking him to keep quiet about something like this, he would have taken them at their word and done it. But he'd underestimated Max. Mad Maxie the conspiracy theorist, always seeing trouble where there wasn't any.

Well, hell. Maybe for once she wasn't so far off base.

There was a dull ping, the elevator doors off to the left slid open, and Lydia came hurrying from them, eyes wide. “What happened? Lou, are you okay? Where's Max? God, is it Max?”

“No, no, she's fine. I'm fine.” He was on his feet and met Lydia halfway, hugged her good and hard.

“I woke up this morning and no one was at Max's. So I called your place and got some cop who told me I could find you both at the hospital. Jesus, Lou, I was scared half out of my mind.”

She looked it, he thought, stepping back a little. Her hair was a mess, no makeup. She looked her age for a change, which was kind of refreshing. But totally unlike her.

Then she lost interest in him completely when she saw Max coming back from the pay phone. Lydia walked up to the kid and hugged her as if they'd been friends for a long, long time instead of only a few days. “Honey, you look like hell.”

“I feel it.”

“How's your mother, Max?” Lou asked.

“Fine. Maybe she's safe down there. Maybe they don't know where she is. Or maybe they don't have the manpower to be down there and up here at the same
time. Or maybe there's only the one man, the one I saw. Maybe it's just him, working alone.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “God, I don't even know what we're dealing with here. I don't know who to be more afraid of. The vampires or the vampire hunters.”

Lydia let her go and stepped back, staring at her.

Lou looked up and down the hall to be sure that remark hadn't been overheard. “Keep it down, will you? Someone will show up waving a one-way ticket to the mental ward with your name on it if you keep this up.”

She glared at him.

“Will someone please tell me what's happened?”

“It's my friend Stormy. My partner in the business. She was found at Lou's place with a bullet in her head. They left her for dead, but she wasn't quite. They trashed Lou's place, and they used his gun. Tried to set it up to look like he'd done it.”

“My God.” Her gaze shot to Lou's, but then she turned it inward. “Wait a minute. Stormy? There was a message on your machine from someone named Stormy this morning when I got up. I saw the light, thought it might have been something from you, letting me know where you were, so I played it.”

“I never looked at the machine when we got in last night.” Max gripped Lydia's hands. “What did she say?”

Glancing around her, Lydia lowered her voice. “She said she had an odd call from Lou asking her to come to his place. That she wanted to let you know, in case he was in trouble. She said he sounded funny.” She gave her head a shake. “I think that was all, but it's still on the tape in your machine.”

“That machine records the time the call came in. Do you remember what it was?”

“Around nine p.m.,” Lydia said.

She nodded. “It wasn't Lou. Lou was with me, seeing a movie, and then sitting outside watching my place. Someone called her. Lured her over there and met her at the door with a twenty-two.”

“Thank God it was a twenty-two,” Lou put in. “Anything bigger would have killed her.”

“But why? Why would anyone want to do that?” Lydia was baffled.

“It has to do with—” Max broke off as a doctor finally emerged from the room where Stormy was being treated. At the same moment a nurse came from the private waiting room with Storm's parents behind her. Everyone crowded together in the center of the waiting area.

“She's alive,” the doctor said. “But she's in a coma.”

Storm's father, a blond man whose normally healthy tan seemed to have turned to gray, lifted his head, met the doctor's eyes. “Is she brain dead, Doctor? Just tell us the truth.”

“No. She has brain wave activity. It's minimal, but it's there.”

“How long will she be in the coma?” Max asked, stepping forward, clasping Mrs. Jones's hand. “I mean, a day? A week?”

“We have no way of knowing when or…or even if she'll come out of the coma,” the doctor said. “But as long as she has brain wave activity, there's hope.” They all waited for him to say more. Lou knew what they wanted to hear. Exactly how much hope? Exactly what
were her chances, and when would they know anything more for certain? He could see by the doctor's weary face that he didn't have any answers to give them.

Sighing, the doctor led them all to chairs, urged them to sit, sat opposite them. “Look, there have been cases where a coma has lasted months, even years. Sometimes they wake up, some times they don't. The longer she stays comatose, the lower her chances of recovering will be. But there have been cases where people woke up after extended comas to make nearly full recoveries. There's just no way to know.”

“And what about when she does wake up?” Mrs. Jones asked. “Will there be brain damage?”

“We can't even begin to tell until she does wake up, ma'am. Again, though, the sooner she regains consciousness, the better.”

“She'll wake up,” Max said. She said it to the doctor, and then she said it again to Storm's parents. “She will wake up, and she'll be fine. They say comatose people can hear you talking to them. Is that true, Doctor?”

He nodded. “In some cases. I've seen reactions in the EEG readouts when loved ones speak to comatose patients.”

“Then that's what we should do,” Max said, in typical Maxine-Take-Charge-Stuart fashion. “I think someone should be in there with her all the time, talking to her. And if no one can be there, we can have tapes of our voices playing, or music. I know all her favorite music. Nothing slow, though. I mean, we want something hard-core and powerful, like Godsmack, banging in there. We won't let her slip away. We just won't let her.”

“Some of those might be very good ideas,” the doctor
said. “Keep in mind you'll have to give her a chance to rest in between.”

“If she wants to rest, she can damn well wake up.” Maxine's eyes were brimming with tears.

Mrs. Jones cupped a hand to Max's face. “You're a good girl, Maxine. A good friend.” Then the woman looked past her at Lou and lowered her eyes.

“You need to know, Mrs. Jones, that Lou was at my place last night. I wasn't lying when I told you that. You know how much I love Stormy. I wouldn't lie to you about this. Some one set him up.”

Mrs. Jones nodded.

“We've known Officer Malone a long time,” her husband said. “It would take a lot more than what we've been told so far to make us believe him capable of anything like this.”

“I appreciate that,” Lou told the man. “And I swear to you, I'm gonna do everything I can to find the SOB who did this to your daughter and put him away for a long, long time.”

“Yeah. And so am I.” Maxie sent Lou a look when she said that. And he knew what it meant. They were going to do this her way from now on. With his help or without it, Maxie was going to track down that screenwriter and pump her for in formation about—God, he could hardly think it without smirking—vampires.

And when he glanced at Lydia, Lou knew she was going to be attached to Max at the hip until they got the answers she wanted. This was not even close to what he had hoped to accomplish by bringing the two women together. Not by a long shot. In fact, his entire goal had been derailed by all this non sense. He had fully expected Max to reassure Lydia that there were
no such things as vampires and end that part of the entire arrangement. After that, they were supposed to get to know each other as friends and maybe later make a few discoveries on their own. The same discoveries he'd made him self, entirely by accident.

It was all blown to hell now. Christ.

“She may need another blood transfusion, Mrs. Jones,” the doctor said, and as soon as she started to get to her feet, he held up a hand. “No, ma'am. You can't donate any more today. We have supplies, don't worry.”

“I'd prefer to know the source,” the woman said. “I know, I know, the blood supply is safer than ever, but still…”

“I'm A-positive,” Maxie said.

“Me, too,” Lydia put in.

The doc shook his head. “Not what we need for her, though you're welcome to donate anyway. Anyone for A-neg?”

Lou raised his hand like a schoolkid.

“You're elected.” The doctor sent Lou off with a nurse, and he thought it pretty ironic that he was entertaining the notion that vampires might be real even as he let some pretty young thing drain a pint from his veins.

 

“Can we see her?” Stormy's mother asked.

The doctor nodded. “Absolutely.” He led the two parents away, and Max noticed with a wrenching ache in her belly the way Mr. Jones held his wife close to his side, all but holding her up, like he was loaning some of his strength to her.

She sighed and turned to Lydia. “We need to talk.”

“You poor thing.” Lydia hugged her again. “I know what you're going through. When Kimbra died, I just…”

“She was more to you than a best friend, though, wasn't she?”

Lydia looked at her for a moment, smiled gently, sadly. “Am I that obvious?”

“I saw the photo you have in your wallet when you opened it the other day. The two of you, arm in arm. The way you were looking at her.”

“I loved her,” Lydia said softly. “She was my whole life. And even though it's not the same, I can see you love Stormy. I can see the hurt in your eyes. God, it's like looking into a mirror a few weeks ago.”

Max swiped at her eyes. “We don't have time for a pity party here. We need to get our stories straight about last night. And then we need to get rid of that tape in the answering ma chine.”

Lydia frowned at her. “Get our stories straight?”

“Lou sat in his car outside my place all night long,” Max told her.

Lydia nodded in agreement. “Right. I remember when you spotted him out there. I thought it was real sweet of him.”

“Exactly. So that's two of us who can swear that Lou never left our sight.”

“Except that he did,” Lydia said softly. “Remember? After he dropped you, he took off for a while? He was back in no time, but—”

“Yeah, and the damn fool told them so.” Max licked her lips. “I had to think fast, so I said that when Lou left, I followed him. Made up some line about suspecting he was seeing some other woman and being jealous. I
confirmed what he told them, that he'd gone to the station and then come straight back to my place.”

Lydia nodded slowly. “I didn't know you and Lou were—”

“We aren't.”

“So you lied to the police.”

“I know he didn't do this. You know it, too.”

Lydia turned away, drew a deep breath, finally blew it out with a sigh. “Of course I know it.” She turned to face Max again. “I was there, after all, when you left to go follow him. I tried to tell you Lou was a one-woman man, but you just had to make sure.”