Ravenous tdf-1 Read online

  She looked up and laughed, sudden merriment making her look almost like a living girl. "Ah, if you could only see the derision on your face. The myth of the Chosen sends you to sleep, does it? You do not care how Orpheus risked all to rescue Eurydice from death's embrace?"

  Alessandro gave a scornful wave of his fingers. "Fables for fledglings. I am not a romantic."

  "Are you sure about that?" Omara smiled, her lips holding a universe of promises. "Come now, the myth of the Chosen is the Grail Quest of our kind."

  "Enough. I know the story. True love holds our release from this vale of living death, just as Orpheus reclaimed his wife from Hades."

  "Oh, then how can you resist it? Are you such a sad cynic?"

  "I don't care how much a mortal might love a vampire; that vampire must feed."

  Omara lifted one perfect shoulder. "Then you miss the point entirely. The vampire Chosen by a living mate can feed on their love, sustained through the lust of the body instead of the lust for blood." Her eyes glinted from under her lashes. "No wonder the legend is so popular. I ask you, what's not to like about that? Except eternal monogamy, of course."

  Alessandro caught his breath, snagged despite himself by the promise of the myth. A Chosen could love without destroying. An impossible dream. "Orpheus failed. Eurydice never made it out of Hades."

  Omara leaned back against the cushions, clearly enjoying his bleak mood. "A beautiful story, and all you see are the flaws in the metaphor. Orpheus failed because he had insufficient faith. He did not trust the dark gods enough for the magic to work."

  "I empathize," Alessandro said dryly. "I have little patience with false hopes and bedtime stories, especially when there are other, more immediate problems to solve—like an unknown vampire leaving his leftovers for the police to find."

  "You are a work-obsessed bore." She blew him a kiss.

  "I'm a pragmatist."

  "And I would rather talk about anything but this killer and his tokens, but our cold, gray new world will not oblige." Standing, she circled the end of the coffee table and knelt before him. Alessandro started to rise, but she caught his hands, keeping him still.

  "I did not tell the human police that I know the source of these troubles," she said.

  "What is it?" Alessandro asked, surprised.

  She squeezed his fingers, reassuring. Once he relaxed, she rested her hands on his knees, the gesture both pleading and inviting. "I need your sword, my champion."

  "Of course." His voice was suddenly rough from the weight of her touch. What do you really want of me?

  She slid her hands up his thighs, her fingers caressing the worn denim. "I took you in when your clan perished. I gave you my protection when others would have made you their slave."

  Her hands slid to his hips, and she leaned forward, her small, perfect body between his knees. His skin craved her, burned for relief from his endless solitude. She could see it in his face; he could tell. Her eyes searched his, seeking and finding his loneliness.

  A slow smile showed the tips of her fangs. "You owe me this service."

  In a single gesture Alessandro pushed his chair back and stood, putting space between himself and Omara. She looked up at him, amused speculation in her eyes.

  "Tell me what you want me to do," he said, his voice carefully void of emotion.

  "So obedient," she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She leaned back on the floor, reclining on one hip, exotic as an odalisque from some eastern realm.

  "I am your knight. I do my duty."

  "Or perhaps you merely want to know the worst. Find out what I want of you. You want to end this moment of suspense."

  Alessandro stubbornly held her gaze. He Desired her. He dreaded whatever task she meant to set him, but he would obey because she was his queen. By vampire law, Omara held the slender threads of his existence. He would have given anything to bestow that power on a different, gentler woman.

  Omara finally looked away. A small victory for him, but meaningless.

  He bowed his head. "What is it you wish, my queen?" he asked, hiding his resignation.

  Power assured, Omara gave him a look that smoked with dark satisfaction.

  "The first thing I wish is to be taken care of," she said, rising from her knees with liquid grace. She put her hand on his chest. The light touch of her tapered fingers made his skin tingle with anticipation. "Take me somewhere. I have traveled all day, and I want sustenance. I want to walk into the darkest, deadliest places on your arm. We are the royalty of this little city, and I want my homage. Then, when I am rested, we shall talk of murders and enemies."

  She kissed his lips lightly. "And after that, we shall see."

  Chapter 7

  Venue decisions were easy. There were only a handful of places in Fairview fit to entertain a vampire queen, so Alessandro chose the most elegant and discreet, a place named Sinsation.

  "Quaint," said Omara, looking though the rafters of the ceiling to the empty loft above.

  It was an old building, the interior gutted and left with wood and brick exposed, but the bar was made of granite, glass, and chrome. The light fixtures were something from a futurist's brain fever.

  Sinsation was pretentious and expensive, but Alessandro liked the fact that one could carry on a conversation without screaming. A good feature, since he wanted answers. On the way there, Omara had given no hint about exactly what she wanted him to do.

  Out of habit, Alessandro scanned the room. The bar was to his left, dwarfed by the shadows of the high ceiling. Toward the back a small, raised stage sat empty, only a man-sized candelabra filling the space with twin branches of flickering light. In front of it, each of the round tables was occupied by two or three patrons, a mix of vampires and humans.

  The soft electronic music sounded like New Age gone to the dark side. It was easy to hear, because the murmur of voices stopped. All eyes, supernatural and human, turned to him and Omara with surprise and a hint of fear.

  "Do they always stare this way?" Omara asked Alessandro in an amused whisper. She had her arm slipped through his, her face upturned to give him a sharp-toothed smile.

  "They did not expect you, my queen."

  As if of a single mind, the vampires rose and then fell to one knee in obeisance, the humans awkwardly following their lead. Alessandro studied each face. One set of eyes lifted and glittered unpleasantly, but looked away when Alessandro met that angry glare with one of his own.

  Pierce, Alessandro thought with a flare of annoyance, and then turned deliberately away. The male was as irritating and unwholesome as chewing gum stuck to one's shoe.

  Omara nodded to the crowd, bestowing a smile that was somehow both gracious and dismissive. "Greetings, my friends. Please carry on as you were. Enjoy the night."

  There was a rustle as patrons resumed their seats. Then a hushed babble of conversation rose, urgent and filled with repressed exclamations. A hostess arrived and quickly cleared the best table. Alessandro and the queen waited politely while she worked.

  Omara's hand tightened on his biceps. "John Pierce looks like he wishes to snap your neck."

  Alessandro gave a slow smile. "Let him do his worst. I will put him in his place."

  Omara laughed. "What an arrogant beast you are."

  "I know my worth."

  "Does he wish to replace you as my representative here?" The question was taunting. "Or perhaps take over your role as my battle champion?"

  "He is nothing but a playboy and a dabbler in spells. More to the point, last year I was obliged to behead his brother."

  Her eyes widened with interest. "I had forgotten. Why did that happen?"

  "He attacked a human in anger. I merely did my duty."

  "As you should, but watch yourself. Pierce will cause you trouble."

  "I know. I look forward to his mistake."

  The table was ready. Alessandro held the chair for Omara while she sat, an old habit that still lingered. A waitress appeared, clad in black sl
acks and crisp white blouse that showed soft, warm skin. Omara ordered a complicated martini. He ordered a dark Hungarian red wine, the thick vintage nicknamed Bull's Blood. His usual. The drinks were more props than sustenance, but it was a pleasant ritual. As the waitress left, Alessandro wondered how she might be described on a menu. A young vintage, but with a delicate bouquet?

  Omara folded her hands on the glass surface of the table. Her rings sparkled in the dim light, shimmering with every movement of her fine-boned hands.

  "To return to the murders, and what I wish you to do…" Omara said without preamble.

  Alessandro straightened, glad she was finally ready to talk. "Yes?"

  She ducked her head, licking her lips. It was a rare show of nerves. "I believe one of my old enemies has returned. I was not surprised when the Fairview police contacted me."

  "Why not?"

  "My home in Seattle was ransacked. Nothing was taken: not my money nor my business records. Not even my jewelry."

  "Your books and implements of magic?" Alessandro asked anxiously. Omara possessed powerful, dangerous rarities any sorcerer would covet for his collection.

  Her eyes went wide for a moment, perhaps envisioning that disaster. "No, those are safe."

  "A blackmailer, perhaps? Someone looking for information?"

  "No demands were made." Omara looked away. "It was odd, disturbing. Then the Fairview police called, wanting my advice, so I came. Perhaps the incidents were unrelated, but I doubt it. I believe the break-in was to put me on notice. Someone desires a fight. They have picked Fairview as their battleground."

  "Was it wise to come?"

  Her lip curled. "I do not run."

  "But why Fairview? Since I've been here it's been a quiet city, at least until these murders."

  "That's because you, my champion, are here. I haven't needed to worry about this part of my domain. You keep the law here with a strong and just hand. If something went amiss, you are my natural successor."

  Alessandro allowed himself a small, sardonic smile. "You know I have no ambition to be king, and I have never learned the sorcery necessary to hold the throne."

  "If you choose, you could learn. You have more than enough ability and natural power."

  Alessandro wasn't sure if this was the truth or an attempt to secure his interest. It didn't matter. "If our enemies bring us together in Fairview, they face a double threat."

  Omara shook her head. "Still, it puts us both within one killing stroke. There is danger as well as advantage to you and I being in the same city."

  "But who is our adversary?"

  "If the token you found is a clue, a very old, very powerful enemy. Someone willing to kill to put us in jeopardy with the human police."

  Alessandro tried to swallow, but his throat was suddenly devoid of moisture. "You told me once that you foresaw trouble in this place. I began to doubt anything would ever happen here, but you were right."

  "I wish that were not so."

  He frowned. "There may be more than meets the eye to this adversary. In the last few weeks a magic user has been using summoning spells."

  "What?" Omara was all attention.

  Perhaps his client hadn't been the target of the spell caster's art, but collateral damage. Such things happened. "And the latest victim was concealed with a look-away spell. Who could work that kind of magic? You say you know the source of this trouble. Who could it be?"

  "It must be an old enemy. But which? I could fill a telephone book." Omara raised her eyes to the ceiling, as if to see the names written there. "To begin with, there is every other king or queen who might want my territory, and every other clan leader who covets a crown. The leaders of most other species. Then there are those special few: Morlok. Aloysius. Geneva. Michael. Gervaise. Callandra."

  "Demons." He had gone cold. He did not like to admit fear, but there it was.

  "Yes, the demons. I've fought one here before."

  "But we're searching for a vampire. There was the token."

  Alessandro paused. He didn't like the look in Omara's eyes, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

  She smiled. "Indeed, there was the token. You're right. We must look to our own kind."

  The drinks came. Omara brought the bright blue martini to her lips, tasting it with just a dart of her pink tongue. "You'll need the help of that witch friend of yours. The Carver girl. Pretty thing, I'm told."

  Alessandro started at her words, his wine sloshing to the lip of the glass. "You know of her?" Pretty thing. Yes, all long, walnut-dark hair and emerald eyes. Omara didn't like rivals.

  "Of course. She's a Carver witch in my own territory. Rumor has it she can squash a poltergeist in five minutes flat." The queen's eyes asked for confirmation.

  "That's true. And she defeated a rogue house tonight. An exceptionally bad one."

  "You'll need her magic," Omara said softly. "Get her to raise one of the murdered girls. A little necromancy will go a long way toward identifying my rival. The dead could at least describe the attacker."

  Alessandro pushed the wine away, recoiling from the memory of Holly writhing on the floor in pain. Necromancy demanded a huge amount of magic and would be even more excruciating for her. "Is there no one else we can bring in to help? I'm not sure she can do this."

  "Of course she can. She's a Carver witch. Their specialty for generations has been calling the dead."

  "There is something wrong with her magic. Necromancy would probably kill her."

  "Would she survive long enough for the magic to work?"

  Alessandro narrowed his eyes, growing even more uneasy. "I don't know."

  "I think she might. And still you hesitate. What is a witch's death compared to the defeat of my adversary?" A look passed over Omara's face that he had never seen before: a flicker of… terror? "I led the vampires out of the darkness and into this century. I am the one who talks to judges and politicians, lobbying for our rights. I deserve to survive."

  He started to interrupt, but her icy gaze froze his words. "If this murderer keeps killing, the terrified citizens of Fairview will turn on the entire supernatural community. They could massacre us without a flicker of remorse. Think of that when you start to feel heroic and protective of some girl with the significance of a gnat."

  She leaned across the table, putting her face close to his. They must have looked like a courting couple working up to a kiss. He could feel the slow exhalation of her breath. "Don't disobey me, Alessandro. I don't want to lose you. You're my champion, my questing knight. Harden your heart for my sake. Love me, Alessandro."

  Without Omara, there was no one, no clan, no kin. Without his queen he was utterly without a foothold among his kind. Eternity was a long time to be alone.

  She wrapped her hand around his, squeezing hard. "A rogue vampire—or demon—will feed and feed until all around him are destroyed. I must know who is doing this."

  "Of course," he said, but his mind was fumbling for alternatives. I will find another way to solve this. What she asks is unthinkable. Even if he never touched Holly, never tasted her, she was his partner—she didn't belong to anyone else, not even his queen. Alessandro protected what was his.

  Omara took another sip of her drink, a faint tremor in her fingers. "I know you will do the right thing. You always do. It's part of your old-world charm."

  He bit his tongue, but any unwise statements were preempted by someone approaching the table. Pierce.

  "A moment, my queen." Pierce bowed low, his waving blond hair burnished by the candlelight. He still had the grace of an Elizabethan courtier, but a feral streak hid behind those fine manners.

  "How may I help you?" Omara asked formally, but there was eager heat in her glance. Suspicion flittered through Alessandro's thoughts. Did they know each other better than either of them let on?

  Pierce straightened, a smile lighting his even features. Wearing an open-necked shirt and gray wool jacket, he gave off an air of monied ease. "I come on behalf of Cla
n Albion to beg the favor of offering refreshment."

  Pierce held up his right hand with a graceful flourish, and a human stepped forward from the shadows. The moment was dramatic, just the sort of show Omara liked. The human was also very much to her taste, on the brink of full manhood, a light blue sweater straining across the muscles of his chest.

  "It pleases me that you remember the service owed to your queen." Though her words were for Pierce, her eyes were on Alessandro. "My favor shall always go to those who serve me best."

  Alessandro returned a false smile, mentally peeling the skin from Pierce's flesh.

  Turning to the young human, Omara gestured for him to kneel. She stroked his cheek, caressing the straight fall of his chestnut hair, and then took his right arm, pushing the sleeve up the sweater up past his elbow. The forearm was thick with muscle, but still had the soft skin of youth. The human's face was joyous, his soft lips parted.

  "Is this your first time?" she asked gently.

  "He is untouched and willing, my queen," said Pierce, as if the human had no voice of his own.

  Omara braced the youth's arm on the edge of the table and touched the crook of the inner elbow, looking for veins. She bent her head and bit, her venom sending the young man into shudders of ecstasy. Alessandro knew Omara would not kill the human, she would not mark him as a servant, but she would ruin his appetite for anything an ordinary woman could do. Even a casual bite could shatter a life if the human fell prey to the addictive high.

  That brought back the conversation about the token. According to the legend of the Chosen, only a human untouched by a vampire's bite could Choose a mate. The act took free will untouched by the power of the vampire's venom. He watched Omara feeding. The legend was nonsense. Only an addict could love a creature like that. Like him.

  Scenting the blood, Alessandro felt his own appetite stir. His skin flushed hot, his groin tightening. The sucking, lapping sounds of the meal made his palms slick with sweat. He rose, making a polite bow Omara did not see.

  "Excuse me," he murmured to no one in particular, and headed toward the back of the lounge.

  Beside the washrooms there was a back door that led to a dead-end alley. The storm drain was plugged with weeds, leaving a trough of water down the center of the narrow space. Alessandro stood against the wall, breathing in cold, clean air. For all he owed Omara, for all he needed from her, he was glad to escape for even a minute.