Blood Phoenix: Rebirth, page 3
Warm fingertips pressed my chin and jaw. “You should be able to feel it. Now, whether your hunger lets you or merely acknowledges those very obvious signs is another matter. Because your hunger will be massive and constant no matter how long you live. You will either learn to curb yourself or you won’t. You’re a vampire. It is your nature. In that regard, you’re no better or worse than any other living creature.”
His grip dropped, and I toppled backwards, swallowing hard. See, his reasoning didn’t work for me. I couldn’t grapple with being a monster when I did perfectly well as a human. But screw him, I’d learn on my own.
With new resolve, I walked around him and toward the Manhattan streets. The chilled air made the red dress cling to my skin. Briny ocean water mingled with the dirty wet dog smell of the streets, with take-out pizza, with burnt coffee. My city didn’t smell this way. My city smelled of old books, sweat…and sweet coffee foam.
I gagged as I reached the sidewalk, covering my nose and mouth with my hands as I blinked away tears.
A new smell filtered through my fingers, sweet and meaty, like pulled pork. Wetness rose around my tongue.
James locked an arm around my waist, and leather bit into my bare back.
My fangs slammed down, their blood tapping into my urges.
Fingers laced into my hair.
“Listen to me,” James said, the strawberries on his breath filtering out some of that meaty smell. “You’re going to stay in control until we’re inside. Too many witnesses here.”
I didn’t fight his hold because he kept me from tearing out the throats of the couple that passed us on the sidewalk. “You make this sound like we’re planning a series of homicides. Oh, wait, that is—”
His hand closed around the rest of my words. “I’m going to keep a tight grip on you, even when we enter the bar so I can show you how to do this the right way. Okay? Nod for me.”
Reluctantly, I nodded. James kept his arm securely around my waist and led me into the bar. Inside, a rush of gazes swiveled my way. Men dressed in suits and sports jackets, women in cocktail dresses. That helped explain the red satin. He walked me to the bar where he flagged down the bartender and ordered us both a glass of wine—the exact weapon he used to change me.
“You need to relax or you’ll scare off every tender piece in here.” Nodding to the bartender, he slid me my glass. This time it was a white wine, and it smelled sweet with a hint of citrus and ginger.
“I don’t think I’m a fan of wine, anymore.”
Baritone laughter vibrated against my back. “This one isn’t spiked with vampire blood, Ria. Now take it and come with me. Let’s go hunting.”
After a few seconds, I lifted the glass, condensation moistening my fingertips, and opened to the room. Now that we were old news, gazes merely flicked to us in random succession. Their smells all swirled together into an overwhelming, tantalizing stew. My gums ached. James lifted the glass to under my nose as if he wanted me to drink, but he stabilized it right where its fragrance overpowered the blood.
“Who’s your target?” James said against my ear.
I had a hard time focusing on a single person. They mingled and resembled each other. How could I choose a stranger to be my blood bag? To murder? Patrons touched and laughed and kissed each other, and I couldn’t decide. Until the sharp movements in the mouth of the bathroom foyer caught my attention. Shadows hid the couple, but the scent of fresh blood pierced my chest like a broad-head arrow.
The man raised his hand at the woman, and just as my focus sharpened, his fist broke her nose.
I jolted forward against James’s grip, and his voice swept into my ear again. “Found your target, I see. Calm. You have to approach slowly, without drawing attention to yourself. Can you do that?”
Sucking in a breath, I drew my shoulder blades together and nodded. For this douchebag, I could do it just fine. The frozen pit in my center widened, ready to devour the man whole, and I gave into it. James released me as I stepped forward, glass of wine close to my mouth to be sure I wouldn’t veer off course, but the scent of spilled blood kept me raptly focused on the man and his companion. I hoped she survived.
I caught the asshole’s gaze, and he appeared larger as I advanced—tall and so wide in the shoulders he probably needed custom tailoring, but his face reminded me of Chuck E. Cheese. His sneer made me unsure of his humanity.
But he smelled human, like meat.
With a hand on my hip, I stood my ground. The woman he’d hit stood behind him against the wall, and she shook her head at me, mouthing the word, “No.”
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” He grinned like some deranged clown.
“Well, aren’t you a big strapping man?” I feigned innocence. “I was wondering if you could help me with a little something?”
“And what might that be?”
Honestly, I wanted to fucking gag, but he smelled so good. Flirting with this fucktard while I was sober hurt something deep inside of me, worse than the need gnawing at my insides. My qualms over drinking a man dry fled at the sight of dementia in his eyes. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”
I tugged on the front of his shirt and walked us through a back hallway and into the men’s bathroom. Yeah, the men’s room. Less likely to get disturbed if they think a fellow dude was getting some. Chicks cock-blocked something fierce, and I couldn’t be interrupted this time. My body barely left my conscience any control.
I pulled him into a stall and shoved him up against one of the walls. The metal creaked beneath him.
Throwing his head back, I sank my teeth into his jugular—I only knew its whereabouts because my Papa taught me to aim for it if I were ever attacked.
He tasted like prime rib and a stout beer. All of the worry in my brain deflated, and the pit inside me slowly filled. The meat bag’s body spasmed beneath me, and he moaned softly. His hands cupped and grabbed wherever he could reach. Although I used the sexuality in my favor, I hoped I didn’t have to rely on it.
“You fucking bitch. Harder. Yeah, you’re such a whore.” His palm stung my ass. “I’m going to fuck you until you crave my dick, until you fucking beg for it.”
His erection sent nausea rolling through me.
Then, his heartbeat skipped and shuddered. His blood slowed from a steady stream to smaller bursts, but I still wanted his blood—all of it.
When his heart cried with a jolt, I jerked away.
Gaping, the man reached to me as he fell over the toilet seat. His heart sputtered in his chest and stopped as I cowered in the corner of the stall. His eyes widened in fear, pupils dilated, and glazed over with death.
I killed the fucktard.
Oh God, I killed the fucktard.
Adrenaline cleared out every bit of myself. What did I do?
I was going to get caught, dissected, studied. I couldn’t handle this.
Deep breaths.
Focus on your third eye, Ria.
I left him there and wiped the blood off my face with the back of my arm.
Time to leave.
CHAPTER 6
James sat in a far booth with another dark-haired man in a suit and tie. My muscles tensed, ready to bolt, and I did my best not to think of the dead man in the bathroom. The second one I’d killed. Making my way to the bar, I counted in my head.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. One. Two. Three…
James pulled me against his side. “Are you okay?”
“I just killed that fucktard. I mean, seriously. He’s dead, and I killed him and left him there.” Surprisingly, mere numbness floated around inside me. The dude had been an abuser, an asshole, right? God, I couldn’t turn into a serial killer. A vigilante executioner. Vampire or not, I just couldn’t.
James’s his lips quirked with amusement. “Did you just call someone a fucktard?”
“Can we go?”
“Yeah. We can go.” Waving to the man he’d been sitting with, James led me back into the depths of the parking garage. He sat me in the car first, securing my seatbelt and shutting the door. I stared at the toe cleavage above the red line of my pumps as he walked around to the driver’s seat, and I sank further into mine.
Soon, the car pulled out of the garage, and I leaned my head against the cushiony fabric of the seat—the same seat I’d fought my own death in.
Buildings and lights whirled by, and my hair spun into my face. Closing my eyes, I let the wind whistle a sweet song in my ears. The way it played across my skin, I swear I could fly.
When we stopped, I pressed harder into the seat. I wanted to soar, but James scooped me out of the car. Heat rushed through me, and I flinched. Damned libido.
“Let’s go inside.” James led me to the back entrance. This time the darkness didn’t intimidate me, but the buzz droning in the back of my head grew louder.
In the bare living room, I leaned against the wall below the stairs, and James stood mere inches away. The tension we’d had during our first cup of coffee together filled the space between us again. Being close to him no longer overwhelmed my senses. Instead, clear glittering threads interlaced through the air between us.
“What is that?” My hollow voice lacked the curiosity that may have otherwise been apparent. I wasn’t enjoying being a vampire.
James shook his head and blinked with a lack of understanding I’d never seen in him before, but his eyes weren’t the same black and gold. They’d gone chestnut brown, almost red. More emotion lay beneath.
Then, the fake him kneeled, and at the same time, the real him stood in front of me. His kneeling self laid his lips against my swollen belly. My skin darkened into an olive tan. The image changed so rapidly it made me dizzy. A weight pressed against my side from my hip to my shoulder, cradled in my left arm. James’s eyes carried his smile more than his lips did. His hands pressed to my cheeks. His lips met mine, and weight closed me in on both sides.
Which touch was real?
“Bianca,” he said again against my lips.
“Yes, Xander.”
James retreated, and I stood back in the abandoned house. The droning buzz transformed into a hazy loss, and I shook my head.
“Logan?” Somehow, Logan had been mine, my son, James’s and mine. “How in the living hell?”
Scratching absently at the back of his neck, James huffed a serious, dead laugh. “You’ve got me.”
He backed further away, and the images grew dimmer—taking their comfort with them. My flesh hummed, the numbness fading.
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“They’re long dead.”
Despair consumed me, worse than when I lost my grandparents, my guardians. “No.”
“Yes, and their souls still linger, but those bodies are gone, except for mine.”
Reaching for him, the contact made my lower abdomen spasm and cramp. Pain concentrated at my pelvis. I fell to my knees and grabbed at James for help. A cry gurgled up my throat and made my breathing heavy. “What’s happening?”
“Labor?” He held onto me as I convulsed.
“Let go of me.”
James backed away, and the pain dissipated.
I panted. “How do women fucking do that?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.” He knelt with me, searching my face. “Let’s test something, all right?”
Catching my breath, I nodded, and he touched my arm again. My lids fluttered.
James stood in dark-blue, formal toga-like attire beneath hanging white flowers. I walked toward him covered in white and holding the same white flowers. Stiff stems pressed across my scalp from ear to ear like a headband. The sun hit my olive skin with pure happiness. He offered me a smile almost too large for his face and mine grew wide in return.
The vision changed again. Shadows cut across his face pleasantly, and a field of candles lit the small room around us, smelling of smoked sweet grass. James knelt in front of me. The tension between us mounted before he kissed me.
Somehow his forehead met mine at the same time, in reality, maybe.
He laid me on a bed of feathers, pulling the knots of my dress apart. The white cloth fell from my shoulders, and he stopped kissing me to look at my body for the first time—although I have no idea how I knew that. His chestnut eyes appeared so innocent and real.
The images disappeared with his touch. “Did you see them?”
My eyes refocused in the darkness of the condemned house, letting me see how haunted James looked. “Yes.”
“That night we conceived our son, Logan.” His shoulders shifted, and his chest expanded with a sudden intake of breath. “That’s a hell of a gift you have there, Ria.”
“It’s one hell of a Dracula situation.” Weakness took over the comfort brought by the images, the numbness fell away, and I had no fire in me to fight. I slid onto my butt and curled up on my side. I killed two people in as many hours, and my gut told me I would do it again.
Numbness please come back until I fall asleep so I can deal with it tomorrow.
James wiped my hair out of my face and lay behind me on the hard carpeting, wrapping around me, and neither of us moved until morning.
Sunbeams pierced through the cracks of the wooden shutters, into the thick, dusty air, filling the living room with warm yellows and oranges and spotted the brown floor with blues. I slipped from under James’s arm and sat up. My muscles were loose and surprisingly relaxed.
Light cut across my knuckles; I held my hand up in the orange glow and rolled it over my skin. A hint of rainbow glinted in each movement. I picked out the pinks and yellows, the oranges and greens, the blues and purples.
Still in the red dress and heels, I went to the kitchen in the back of the house, the island and stove to my right and a small nook for a table off to my left. I wanted blueberry pancakes. I searched the fridge and cupboards for food, but it reminded me too much of home; the cupboards were bare. Well, no real surprise. I nudged James onto his back.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he smiled.
“What’s happened?” He sat up abruptly, on his feet before I blinked—the smile gone. The shift in him made me look around. For the first time, old worries resurfaced.
“Nothing. I just wanted to make some pancakes, but there’s no food in the house.” Nothing outside indicated a threat, but my heart had a hard time slowing.
Expression closed as his eyebrows came together, an abrupt snort of amusement escaped him. “Pancakes? After all of this, you want pancakes?”
“Well…” I picked at the dirt under my fingernails. “Kind of, yeah. We can eat, right? I’m not going to explode or anything if I do?”
“Yeah, we can eat real food, but it won’t do you any good.”
“But it won’t make me fat, either?” I knew my gaze held hope, even playfulness. If we pretended nothing had changed, I’d believe it. It amazed me how two weeks felt like an eternity. Mina Harker must have felt this way.
His laughter eased the tension knotted at the base of my neck.
“No. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that happen before.” His gaze shifted across the windows. “I see you’re going to hear that phrase a lot—this has never happened before—because no newborn has ever woken before sunset, except under extreme circumstances, and not always then.”
“Does that mean I’m powerful or something?” Could that actually be true? Me with power? Several stories and myths tell of abnormal power or abilities in vampires. Usually, the older the vampire, the more powerful they were, but sometimes, they found abilities elsewhere. I already had these flashes of images when I touched James, at least most of the time.
“Or something is right. Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’ll go with special before I jump the gun on a clear hypothesis. You understand, observation and all that.”
“Well, I’m something then. Will you buy me pancakes or some mix so I can make it here? ‘Cause I wasn’t joking.” I stepped out of my red pumps and walked to the stairs.
“Only if I get a pretty please.”
“Pretty please. Blueberry pancakes.” I ascended the stairs in under a second. The master bed had obvious bloodstains concentrated at the head, and other stains riddled the rest of the malformed cloth-covered springs. Next to the master bath, there was the walk-in closet full of clothes—most of them for me. How planned out had this been? Especially if his girlfriend, whom I had a real hunch still existed, didn’t know about me. I pulled out a pair of blue jeans, a pale pink t-shirt, and black sneakers.
The back door opened and closed with a thud before the engine to James’s little black convertible came to life. I placed the clothes on the yellow laminate counter and turned the shower on. Ice spread across my middle, and I begged God that regardless of what James said, the pancakes would do something about it. No way could I handle killing someone else.
James came back before I finished, and I did not get out until the water ran cold. I endured too many seven-minute showers in my life. I stood naked in the steam, rising to my toes to stretch back into a long arc. Marveling at how my toes didn’t slip once as my fingertips met the wall behind me, my muscles pulled, and the burning stretch felt long overdue. After I got dressed, I met James in the kitchen where he sat on a newly cleaned counter with two cups of coffee. A box of pancake mix, a carton of blueberries, eggs, and milk sat on the counter, too.
“You put sugar in my coffee?” I asked.
“Who said it was yours?” His features danced with mischief.
“What? You hiding another girl in here somewhere?” I cupped the soothing heat of the porcelain against my palms. A sip warmed my throat and stomach, but the black hole of my gut sucked away the brief heat.
He’d taken out the pan and mixing bowls. I made quick work of the pancakes and stewed in thoughts of death, blood, and a miserably consistent pain before I built the courage to breach a topic I always had difficulty with. “Did you really know my mother?”
