Blood Truth, page 23
The raw sound of pain coming out of the assailant was music to Boone’s ears, but he couldn’t let that go on for long.
Forcing his fingers into the man’s open mouth, he yanked the head up by the lower jaw with such force, most of the torso came up, too. And then he slammed the back of the skull into the snowpack, ringing the fucker’s bell. The impact got him the stunned immobility he was looking for: The man was still alive—his chest rising and falling, the veins up his throat continuing to pump with a pulse—but cognition was dimmed.
That would come back soon enough.
Not that there was any way out of this for the assailant—
From out of the corner of Boone’s eye, he caught sight of the knife the man had used on the woman. The weapon was lying on its side, the stained blade glinting dully.
Oh, good, Boone thought. This was going to be more fun if things weren’t sharp.
Palming the hilt, he sat back on his heels and waited for those bloodshot eyes to start to focus again. It didn’t take that long at all, a testament to both the man’s relative youth and the cushioning properties of snow.
When Boone was sure the assailant was ready, he leaned down and put the knife right in that face.
Mumbling. Lot of mumbling. Followed by some desperate begging.
“I want you to watch me,” Boone drawled. “Okay? You with me? Don’t piss me off, that’s a bad idea. You ready? Answer me.”
When the head nodded, Boone pointed to the tip with his fore–finger. Then he moved down to the man’s waist and pointed at the crotch area.
Lots of moaning, and the arm that still worked slapped a hand across that sensitive place.
“Yeah, no,” Boone said softly. “Not going to go like that.”
Fishing into one of the pockets of his jacket, Boone found the bandana he always kept on him in case he needed to apply pressure to a wound. Then, in a quick strike, he drove the knife into the back of the assailant’s protective hand.
When the man opened his mouth to scream, Boone shoved the folds of cotton in between all those teeth.
After which he made a fist and punched the guy in the shoulder socket so hard, something cracked in there. It was a good test of the silencer—and one that was passed. The scream was muffled sure as if he had a burlap sack over that head. The pinwheeling legs, however, were a pain in the ass, kicking up snow, moving the torso around—and Boone would have taken care of that problem except he was worried about the human female losing much more blood and body heat.
Pulling the knife out of the back of the hand, he waited until the human could focus once more. Then he grabbed onto the front of the guy’s pants and inserted the tip of the blade. The urine-soaked fabric was relatively hardy, the navy blue weave the kind of thing that janitors wore to work, but it was no match for even a dull blade.
Commando. Go figure.
Positioning himself between the man’s legs, Boone pinned those twitching thighs open with his knees. Just as he was about to put the blade in place, he paused and thought that he was taking things too far.
But then he thought of the woman behind him.
“This is for her,” he said in a growl.
* * *
Helania arrived at the twenty-four-hour diner a little before midnight. As she re-formed in the shadows of its back parking lot, she had to smile. The place was literally called The 24 Hr. Diner.
Talk about clarity of mission.
Stepping onto the sidewalk that ran around to its front entrance, she liked the stainless-steel-looking outer panels and the curved windows and the fact that there were a surprisingly large number of humans taking up space inside in booths by the windows and on stools at the counter.
Entering, she hesitated next to the cash register by the door. The decor was what you’d expect from something out of the fifties: red-andwhite color scheme, gingham napkins and drapes, waitresses in skirts with ruffled shirts and aprons. The menu was posted above the counter, individual jukeboxes were at every seat, and there were glass compartments full of pie slices on plates by the soda fountain.
Boone wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and she didn’t recognize anyone as being from the species.
The sense that she was out of place on a lot of levels created an irrational panic in the center of her chest, and she considered turning around and walking back out. But then she squared her shoulders and told herself she was staying, even if it meant she got stood up and had to have a piece of pie by herself.
It was beyond time for her to stretch her horizons. Even if it was only so far as a booth at The 24 Hr. Diner.
An older woman with a name tag that had “Ruth” on it walked over. “Mornin’, darlin’, you ready to sit?”
The Southern accent was a surprise. But then again, Helania had never heard one in person before.
“Um, I’m supposed to meet some friends here?”
“They come in yet?”
Helania looked around again. You know, just in case she’d missed three vampires sitting in and among the humans. “Ah, no. I don’t think so.”
“How many you be?”
At least that was what she thought the woman said. “I’m sorry, what?”
Falling back on old habits, she lip-read the answer that was given to her: How many do you be?
“Three?” Okay, so this whole question-as-answer thing she was rocking was annoying. As if the woman was in a position to confirm the number psychically in the event Helania had it wrong? “I mean, four. In total. Three plus me.”
The smile that came back at her was so unexpected and so . . . kind . . . that Helania nearly teared up.
“You’re nervous,” the woman said. “You meetin’ a man?”
“Um . . . well, yes. Yes, I’ve just started . . . um . . . seeing someone.
And he and his friends are meeting me here—a couple. I mean, there’s another couple coming. With him.”
“Oh, a double date! Come on, y’all can sit over here where it’s quiet.”
Helania followed the waitress down to a booth at the end of the lineup opposite the counter. As she skootched in so she was facing the door, “Ruth” brought over four glasses of water and leaned a hip against the free side of the padded bench.
“So, tell me about your beau,” the human said.
Well, he’s a vampire and he kills the undead for a living. He’s also a great kisser.
“We’re just getting to know each other.” Inside and out, in her case, she thought with a blush. “And he’s a really nice guy.”
“Honey, you’re makin’ sense then. I was married to my Merv for fifty years and I liked him just as much when I buried him as when I walked down that aisle to him.” The woman leaned in and dropped her voice. “Mark my words, the nice guys are the ones you want to take home and keep. Bad boys just break your heart, and that’s a rite of passage a smart woman only goes through once. The nice guys? Those are who you settle down with.”
Ruth gave Helania a wink as she straightened. “You want coffee?” Do I? Helania wondered.
“Yes, please?” God, again with the frickin’ question mark. “I mean, yes. Please.”
“Cream and sugar? And listen, we don’t do none of that almond milk or soy silliness, so don’t even ask. Our cream is from cows. The rest of that crap just ruins perfectly good coffee.”
As Helania didn’t know how she wanted anything at this point, she just said she’d take it black. And while Ruth went off to rustle up the caffeine, Helania rubbed sweaty palms on her jeans. Figuring that her parka wasn’t helping the hot waves going through her, and knowing she was going to have to shake hands pretty soon, she stripped out of her jacket and crammed the down folds in between her thigh and the wall of the booth.
Just as she was checking out the table-sized jukebox, her senses fired and she looked up.
A very nice-looking couple were coming through the door. The female was blond and truly striking, possessing the kind of double take attractiveness that turned her casual jeans and wool coat into formal wear. The male beside her was very tall and wearing a Syracuse baseball cap, his big body at ease—even as his eyes made the rounds of the diner like he was expecting to maybe, possibly, only-if-it-was-necessary attack an aggressor.
As they both focused on her, Helania’s first thought was What would Isobel do? And the answer to that was obvious: Her sister would have jumped out of the booth, rushed up to them, hugged them even though they were strangers, and brought them back so she could commence becoming their best friend and confidante.
Okay, right . . . when Helania considered pulling off that dance card, she had to go hell-no on all of those moves. For godsakes, she was so nervous, she would probably trip and fall on her face if she tried to slide out of this seat. And then before she could think of a B plan, the couple waved and started to head down the way.
Swallowing hard, Helania eyed the glass window next to her. She could always just dematerialize out. Leave them to clean up the human memories. Go back to her apartment and never try this kind of thing again.
Ever.
Except then she realized something. It wasn’t about what Isobel would do.
It was a question of what Helania would do. And just because she couldn’t come on strong and be insta-buddies with two people she didn’t yet know, this did not mean she had failed some kind of test. It was also not a moral condemnation of her shy nature.
When the couple arrived at the table, she took a deep breath. And then, in a surprisingly calm and level voice, she said, “Hi, I think we’re having a meal together? I’m Helania.”
With a feeling of dread, she waited to see what they would do—
The female smiled and scooted into the booth on the other side.
“We are so happy to meet you! I’m Paradise, and this is my hellren, Craeg. Boone’s had the best things to say about you.”
“Yup,” the male agreed. “He’s wild about you.”
Paradise gave her male a look. “Let’s not make her feel weird—”
“I’m just saying.” Craeg shrugged. “Come on, leelan, he’s like I was with you. And there’s nothing wrong with her knowing it, either.”
Paradise looked across the table and smiled. “Listen, if we just blew Boone’s cover, we’ll apologize to him later. But it’s true. He seemed really excited when he texted us you were coming.”
“Lots of emojis.” Craeg took a drink of his water. “And he never does emojis.”
As Ruth arrived with the coffee and some menus, Helania felt her eyes sting with tears again. Blinking quickly, she exhaled in relief . . . and happiness.
Check her out. Meeting people. Making friends, possibly. And waiting for a guy who was “wild” about her.
All in all, the night couldn’t be going better.
As dull knives went, the assailant’s weapon of choice did a bang-up job. Well, slice-up job was more like it. Not to put too fine a point on things.
Har-har, hardy har-har.
And what do you know, Boone figured he must be feeling a little better if he were able to make bad jokes to himself. The human male, on the other hand, was feeling so much worse, for so many different reasons. Although, given the way that his chest was no longer going up and down, one could assume that he wasn’t feeling anything anymore.
Over so soon, Boone thought as he eased back from his kill. But he’d had to work fast—and now there was a lot of mess to clean up. So much red in the snow, so much red on the man’s skin, so much red—
Boone looked up. The entire dead end of the alley was bathed in a red glow, the strange light illuminating the wall, the backs of the buildings, the trash that had accumulated and been snowed upon . . . as well as the woman who was where Boone had left her, crouched down, tucked in, holding her palms against both her eyes.
Jumping to his feet, he switched the crappy knife into his other hand and unsheathed one of his guns with his fighting palm. The eerie illumination was radiating out of the depths of the shadows about thirty feet away, from two laser points—
The scent of a male vampire came to him on the cold breeze, and Boone frowned. “Who goes there. Identify yourself or I’ll give you a name you won’t like—”
“Tough talk from a trainee.”
Boone lowered his gun. He recognized that voice. Recognized the scent, too. And more than both of those, something was triggered in his mind, something . . . that he couldn’t quite place.
“Show yourself,” he said.
The tremendous figure that stepped out was dressed in the same kind of black leather Boone had on. But with the red light coming from what appeared to be his eyes, there was no seeing the face.
“Nice work,” the male drawled. “You could be a surgeon. Cleanup, however, is gonna be a bitch.”
Boone recoiled. “Syn?”
A high, keening whistle pierced the night, the sound coming from a number of blocks down the alley in the opposite direction.
Instantly, the red glow drained away, and that was when Boone saw the male properly: His Mohawk, his hard, harsh face, his broad shoulders.
“Give me the knife.” The Bastard came forward. “Quick.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I fucking say so.” When Boone didn’t comply, Syn cursed and spoke more slowly. Like he figured Boone’s hearing was broken. “Give me the human’s knife and go tend to her. Unless you think she’d rather it be me?”
Oh, yeah . . . that would be a hell-no. No offense to the Bastard, but anybody who’d just run for their lives did not need Syn in on their rescue.
Tossing the knife at the Bastard, Boone went over and knelt down by the woman. She still had her hands covering her eyes, and God . . . there was a lot of blood under where she was squatting. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” He holstered his gun and went into his pockets. “We’re going to get you some help.”
Taking out a folded square, he ripped off its plastic wrap and flapped the Mylar blanket free of its folds. When he went to put it around the victim, she cried out and tried to shrink away from him. Without her hands for balance, she fell over into the dirty snow.
“No, no, you’re safe now.” He put the silver sheeting around her shoulders and gently righted her. “Here. This will help conserve your body heat.”
Boone held the blanket in place and glanced in Syn’s direction.
Someone was coming down the alley, and with the way Syn was standing over that bloody body with a knife in his hand? You could only pray it was another vampire—
“Jesus Christ,” came the annoyed voice. “What the hell did you do now?”
“Shit happens,” Syn replied.
“You know, it actually doesn’t when you’re not involved.”
As Boone frowned, he recognized Balthazar, another one of the Bastards. But what he didn’t understand was the conversation.
“You made a fucking mess.” Balthazar stopped at the foot of the human. “And now we gotta deal with it.”
Boone opened his mouth to cop to the sieve-like condition of the body, but Syn beat him to the punch.
“Look, the fucker deserved it. And do not pretend that you didn’t take your time with that slayer back there. Unless, of course, you think that cranial damage is the way to get lessers back to the Omega? Otherwise, it looked to me like you were having a nice time at that concussion party you were throwing—”
“Do not turn this back on me—”
“You could have just stabbed your prey, too. So try not to bitch at me for doing exactly the same thing you did.”
Boone opened his mouth to set the record straight, but both of them ignored him.
“That”—
Balthazar pointed at the dead body—“is a human. No pop! and fizz! bye-bye . . .”
“Who are you?”
As the argument over the dead guy continued on, the question was posed softly, and Boone looked back at his victim. The woman had lowered her hands some and was staring out at him through two black eyes.
“I’m just here to help you.” He made sure he positioned his body so there was no way she could see what was lying in the middle of the alley. “We need to get you treated by a medical—”
“No,” she whispered.
“You’re bleeding. Internally.”
“Where did you come from? Is this a dream?”
Boone took his phone out and put a code into the group text of people on duty for the night. “I’m going to have someone come here—”
“No!” She jerked away. “I don’t want to go to the hospital—”
“It’s not a human ambulance. Don’t worry.”
“Human . . . ?”
Fuck, Boone thought.
“Listen, just stay with me,” he said as he repositioned the Mylar blanket. “You need to stay conscious.”
* * *
“He hasn’t gotten back to me.”
As the male half of the couple across from Helania put his cell face-down on the booth’s table, she was feeling the need to bolt again. Twelve-thirty, almost—and Boone was nowhere to be found.
The only thing that made this even remotely bearable was that it appeared he’d also stood up his friends. By thirty minutes. And counting.
“Well,” Paradise said as she sat back in her bench seat. “I’m starved. How about we order and hope he shows up?”
“Works for me.” Craeg opened a menu. “The cold makes me hungry. Plus, is anyone else smelling the cheeseburgers?”
As the female stared expectantly across the table, Helania wasn’t sure what to do. “Is there any chance Boone could be hurt?”
Although given that he’d told her he was off rotation? He was probably not seeking medical attention for a war wound.
“You mean hurt from being out in the field?” Craeg said from behind the laminated picture of a Reuben sandwich and a piece of pie, the front page of the menu. “You don’t have to worry about that. We’re all equipped with locators when we’re out engaging. But he’s off rotation. He’ll be here any second. I know it.”
