Vampire's Shade Discounted Box Set, Page 2

  I switched off the bike and got off, pulling my helmet off and leaving it hanging on the handle. My hair fell into my face and I shook my head irritably and followed my nose. It wasn’t the safest place to leave a bike unattended, but I didn’t plan on staying very long. I looked up and down the street but I was alone. In all black clothing I was camouflaged for night time, but with the rising sun I stuck out against the silvery color of morning.

  The scent pulled me and I sniffed it out like a bloodhound. I walked into an alley that had walls reaching three stories up on either side, and it ran into a dead end at the back, a chain link fence that looked onto a dumpster. My nose prickled with the pungent smell. It was sour and it spelled out trouble.

  When I moved the trash cans around the fence at the back where the scent hung heavy in the air, a pale hand fell onto my foot, and I jumped. I wasn’t nervous as a rule, but this could be a trap as much as anything else.

  I reached behind my back and gripped the SIG Sauer P226. I’d left my stake with the bike and the only other gun that I still had silver bullets for was the Beretta at home. It was costly to be cocky. This gun wouldn’t do much damage to a vampire who could heal at will and had the force of fury behind him, but it would slow it down long enough for me to get away. I wished I had more bullets for my Smith & Wesson. I was fresh out of shot. The 500 packed a punch that could kill a large animal. I still had to meet a vampire that could hold onto its head after a good aim. The gap between life and death was only a hairline crack when you stared down the right barrel.

  The hand on my foot was limp. I pointed my gun, and trailed it up a well-shaped arm. On the other end of it I found a male vampire. The skin was tight over its skull and almost translucent in its neck. It was unconscious, it’s cheeks sunken and dark circles around its closed eyes. Its skin wasn’t as pale as some of the older vampires I’d seen despite the dull, almost colorless appearance of its hair that made it look washed out, and it had fresh puncture marks at the base of its neck. A couple of them, with the skin bruised around the bites.

  This vampire was freshly turned, and left out here in the ally to die. Why? I looked around, preparing for company, but the atmosphere around us was empty. I couldn’t smell anyone. A vampire didn’t become a vampire by accident. It took a lot of work – a person had to be held for a number of days and drank from at regular intervals until there was nothing left to give. Death by absolute blood loss turned it, when the body had to mutate to survive. Death by consumption. I smiled at my own joke.

  Generally vampires just bred to make more vampires. But humans were turned sometimes, too. Usually with good reason, but it often remained a mystery.

  After all that trouble to recruit, why would it be left here to die at sunrise? Unless it had escaped. I considered getting my stake. I should have killed it right there. One vampire less to deal with when the time came. But when I looked at its face, I couldn’t do it. My values were twisted, but I had a set of rules I tried to live by. Helplessness tugged at my heartstrings, and I couldn’t just turn my face away and shoot point-blank. The vampire had dirty-blond hair and flawless skin, like porcelain. Vampires were slimmer than people, tall and skinny, but even so it must have worked out in its past life. Still, all that muscle was no good when it was unconscious. It would be wrong to kill it.

  I grabbed it by the ankles and dragged it down the alley towards the street. The sun was heading this way soon, and even the first rays of dawn were fatal for a pure-blood. It was heavier than it looked, and I was stronger than most girls with my supernatural gifts. Its arms flipped up and the shirt rode up. The concrete was going to leave a hell of a graze, but if it survived it would be healed up in no time. Possibly even before it woke up, if it ever did.

  I worked my way across the street, keeping an eye out for danger. The street was deserted. When I got to the other side I kicked a closed garage door. It lifted enough on its hinges for me to work with. I worked my fingers underneath and it rolled to the top with a groan. No one had lived here for years. The vampire would be safe, and ready to dematerialize by sun down if another predator didn’t sniff it out first.

  I shoved the body into the cold garage and slammed the door shut again without looking at it, dusting my hands on my pants. When I walked away I knew I was going to regret saving the vamp, but I would get it another time. I didn’t like going after vampires who hadn’t done anything wrong, even though they deserved it just as much.

  Chapter 2

  In my apartment I double-locked the front door and checked the windows. It was a habit to make sure I was alone in the house. My windows were barred but that was enough metal for me. As much as I didn’t want them to materialize into my house, I also wanted them to be able to dematerialize out of it when it came down to it.

  My place was in a bad part of town. I earned enough for something better, but the illusion of safety made me nauseous. I wanted to be on guard because I had to. I couldn’t become comfortable. It was in a well-off neighborhood, a lovely family home, where I’d lost my mother and nearly my sister. No thank you, I preferred to slum it.

  I stripped my weapons and put them in the gun safe at the bottom of my cupboard. I peeled off the holster and thigh sheath and hung them up next to my leather jacket.

  I showered. I had to get the acidic smell of that mist off me, and get rid of any blood that might have gotten on my skin. I killed for a living, but the idea of blood made me sick.

  The face looking back at me in the mirror was haunted. My black hair framed a too-white face. I had the classic vampire complexion. My face was smooth and flawless, but a long scar ran from my jaw down my neck and ended at the base of my collar bone. I traced it with my finger.

  By the time the sun fell into my bedroom window I was ready to leave again. My hair was dry and tied up in a bun, and I wore grey slacks and an aqua shirt. The blue made my eyes stand out. In my leathers they looked like ice. Dressed like a normal person there was some depth to them. I didn’t take my bike, instead I took the bus to the other side of Westham, where there were flower boxes under the windows and a reminder that nocturnal life didn’t dominate.

  Zelda opened the door. She was the live-in nurse that helped Aspen. Her white uniform strained against her solid frame and her hair was pulled back against her head with no imagination. One thing I could say about Zelda was that she was consistent.

  “Adele,” she said, smiling when she saw me like it was a surprise, even though no one else ever called this early. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I answered, but Zelda shook her head.

  “You should sleep more.”

  I shrugged. I would if I could.

  “Go on through to the kitchen,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”

  When I walked into the kitchen the buttery roll-up blinds were drawn against the sun. Aspen didn’t need the sun to drain the little bit of energy she had. She had more vampire in her than I did, and her skin didn’t like the touch of sun very much. Aspen sat at the counter they lowered for her wheelchair.

  “There you are,” she said when she saw me, and smiled. Her pearly white fangs showed, and the combination with her dainty face, ghostly white skin and cascading honey curls made her look like she stepped out of a fantasy novel. My sister and I were total opposites. I had black hair and blue eyes. She had blond hair and hazel eyes. She was the lucky one that had our mother stare back at her when she looked in the mirror, despite her fangs which our human mother hadn’t had. I was saddled up with the looks of my dead-beat father minus the teeth, but I didn’t want to be reminded of him every day. I was pretty, but looks could kill in a lot of different ways.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, bending down to kiss her on the head. I couldn’t help but notice her legs when I did. Thin and frail from years’ of lack of use. When she reached across the counter for her orange juice, her arm was thin and bony.

  “You’ve lost weight again,” I said, frowning. “If you keep at it, one day there will be n
othing left of you.” I sat down on a chair that always stood there for me, and took a piece of toast.

  “Already only half left,” she said and laughed. Her laugh danced around the kitchen like chimes, but I didn’t join in. I didn’t think her joke was funny. Her laughter faded when she saw my lack of humor, but the golden flecks in her eyes held onto the joke.

  “Stop fussing over me, tell me about your night. Did you catch any bad ones?”

  I shrugged and bit off a piece of toast. I was hazy about what I did when it came down to family. To Aspen I was the hero, the one that had gotten out unscathed and now devoted my life to fighting crime, putting bad guys behind bars. I wasn’t going to talk about gruesome deaths to my handicapped sister, explaining that if the police got a hold of me, I was probably the one that would end up behind bars. It was bad enough that she had to sit in a wheelchair all her life. She didn’t have to know the gory details of how I tried to make up for my failure to protect her.

  “You don’t have to keep coming around after your shift, you know,” Aspen said when I wouldn’t answer her. “I know you’re tired. You always insist on the graveyard shift.”

  Graveyard shift. Huh. The irony.

  “And what am I going to do for a social life then?” I asked, pulling a face. I didn’t know a lot of people besides Joel, my weapons specialist. The ones I met I usually ended up killing.

  “You should get yourself a boyfriend, it would be good for you to have someone take care of you for a change. I never can.”

  Her words hit me like physical punches. “That’s because you don’t have to. You have enough on your plate.”

  She snorted. “Like what? I sit around all day.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be good at dating,” I offered. It was true, men didn’t like it when women were better with guns than they were. They had a set image for women, and leathers and guns weren’t included. Besides, between killing and training, where did I have the time? “I’m happy focusing on my job.”

  “What about that guy you mentioned at work? Carl? You said he has the same shift as you. You guys ever pair up?”

  I rolled my eyes. Carl was a bodybuilder with more interest in his own looks than the work he did. He killed to impress, not to save. And he wasn’t very good at it, either. Not from where I was standing. “I prefer to work alone.”

  “What about Joel?”

  “I’m not dating Joel. He’s a great friend, but he’s not really going to bring me flowers.”

  “That’s because you wouldn’t know what to do with them.” She giggled. “Honestly, Adele. You’re beautiful and interesting. It’s a shame to waste that on work.”

  “What, with a scar down my neck?”

  She looked down at her now-empty glass. “It’s less conspicuous than a wheelchair.”

  It wasn’t a joke this time. The cold truth hung between us, all the warmth draining out of the room. I curled my hand into a fist.

  “If I hadn’t gone out to the store… if I’d been able to stop him—” I started, but she shook her head.

  “Don’t, Adele. Don’t do that to yourself.” Her voice was hard but her eyes welled up. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” She let out a shaky breath.

  When she opened her eyes again any trace of crying was gone.

  “Let me show you my art,” she changed the topic. I got up and followed her down the passage and into her art room. She was working on an A1 canvas of a woodlands scene. Aspen was talented. She could do magic with oils and acrylic. She pointed out things on the canvas, telling me about it, but the atmosphere between us was heavy. Everything had changed with her reminder of the past. Finally I said my goodbyes, and left her house feeling worse than when I’d arrived.

  My next stop was the Martial Arts Academy in Sterling Street, three blocks over. I had a meeting with the Sensei every morning at nine to train in combat and self-defense. He was the only man I’d been able to find that wouldn’t treat me like a woman. He worked me to the ground, not stopping until my muscles screamed, and in hand-to-hand he put me on my back if I didn’t defend myself like a man. It was the kind of training I needed. Hard, merciless.

  We worked on fitness training and he had me in a good sweat. I was fit and battle ready, but he still wore me out. In hand-to-hand I went all out on him. I had pent-up frustration and anger to spare, and he was one person that would fight back but still criticize me even when I won. He put me on the floor after a failed attempt to pin him on my end, and knocked the wind out of me.

  When he stood over me, he pulled up his eyebrows. He was shorter than I was standing up, but from this angle he looked larger than life. He kept his head bald and he made up for his height with muscle bulk and tone. I looked down and saw my shirt had ridden up, exposing my stomach. I had a well-toned stomach, but a bruise wrapped a decoration around my ribs. It must have happened somewhere after I’d ditched my bike.

  “You been looking for trouble?” he asked. With my skillset he knew I wasn’t the type to get mugged.

  “Been street fighting again,” I joked. “I needed a little money on the side.” He grinned to cover up his concern but it was still visible when we faced off for the next round.

  When we were done I collapsed on the mat, breathing hard and sweating.

  “You really went all out today,” I said. My ribs hurt every time I breathed in. I tried to breathe in around the pain. Ignoring it worked most of the time.

  Sensei sat down next to me, cross-legged like he was going to meditate.

  “You want to tell me what those bruises are about?”

  I didn’t really, but there were times people wouldn’t let something go, and I’ve seen Sensei’s fighting skills. If his personality matched his methods he wasn’t one to let go.

  I shrugged. “Occupational hazard,” I finally answered. It was the truth. “I don’t really have a desk job.”

  “I figured that,” he said. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  If he meant my life, then yes. I was in some kind of trouble every day. But it wasn’t something I could just get out of the way. He wouldn’t really understand.

  “No, I just went about something the wrong way. It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, looks real complicated. Look, all I know is that you still bleed, no matter how long and hard you train to fight. Watch your back okay? I don’t want to have to fill this slot with someone else because you didn’t make it through.”

  “Nice of you to care.” I didn’t do care and affection. Those things were dangerous, disguises that made you feel like there were no enemies to watch your back for. Trust. That was the killer. And trust and love went hand-in-hand.

  “Would be nice for you to try, too,” he said and got up. Chaos averted, I told myself. It was easy to keep my cover if people didn’t probe too much. There was warmth in the emptiness he left behind. Not a lot of people gave a shit, which was why I didn’t, either. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself off, fighting the urge to try and shake of the warmth like a dog.

  By noon I was back home. I found my black chain and looped in in a figure-eight over my chest and shoulders. I headed out for a run, pushing myself past the screaming muscles and aching bones. Half an hour in the dead neighborhood. I hit the shower again. I finished off with a protein shake – nothing like an after-training snack that tasted like cardboard – and crawled into bed. My body ached with the injuries and the training, but the throbbing pain reminded me I was alive, and I had to stay that way. My fingers curled around the butt of the Glock under my pillow, and only then did I relax. I never locked all my weapons away. Usually my enemies were dead by the time I walked away, but I never knew who I pissed off in the process. I kept a low profile, but luck favored the prepared.

  Chapter 3

  A hammering on my door pulled me out of my sleep cycle before my alarm woke me up. I stared at the hazy numbers on the digital clock next to my bed. I’d only slept about t
hree hours. Whoever was out there had better have a bloody good reason for waking me up.

  I grabbed the Glock from under my pillow and walked to the front door. I pushed my eye against the peephole. A woman with a short red bob in a power-dressing suit stood on the other side of my door. She must have been lost.

  I tucked the gun into the back of my shorts’ waistband, and pulled open the door.

  The woman looked me up and down, and blinked. Her eyes were an emerald green and her cheeks were dusted with freckles. The black and red dress-suit made her look business-like and much too classy to be in this neighborhood.

  “I’m sorry, I think I have the wrong apartment,” she said, looking down at a piece of paper and then up above my door where the metal number was screwed on.

  “Who are you looking for?” There weren’t a lot of characters in my apartment building she wanted to see, I could tell her that much.

  “Mr. Griffin?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. There was no Mr. Griffin in my life.

  “I’m Adele Griffin,” I said. “No Mister, here. Who sent you?”

  The woman looked unsure. “Ruben Cross sent me over here. He said he had an employee that could help me out.”

  “I work for Ruben,” I said and stepped aside, making space for her to come in. If Ruben sent her to me it was business, and it was serious. She hesitated before she stepped into the apartment. I gestured toward the kitchen.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked. I opened the fridge and scanned the contents. I had to run to the store.

  “Just water, thank you,” she said and sat down at the booth against the wall. I shrugged and poured us each a glass. The sun was low enough to fall into my kitchen window. I wasn’t usually up this time and it made me crabby.