BiteMarks (13 page)

“
Spotted any of your pals yet?” He grins with more pastry helicoptering to the floor.

“
Actually, for a minute I thought I'd logged into my facebook account by mistake,” I reply, laughing and narrowly avoiding choking on a stray chicken fiber

“
I've got three possible and a life to lead outside of here beckoning, so I'm calling it a day, mate.”

“
I've got four more to go at, no pictures of two of them though, just descriptions.”

“
We'll knock a few doors tomorrow then, enjoy your night big man.” He lingers at the doorway.

“
What?”

“
What do you Goths believe in?”

“
It's not a bloody cult!” I reply amused now. “There's no real unifying theme of what it is to be Goth as far as I'm concerned, it's more of an aesthetic that values individuality. The guy we're looking for isn't a Goth though; Criminal Investigation Department are missing the point.”

“
How do you know?”

“
Trust me; the people in those intelligence files aren't Goths either, even if some of them think they are. Besides, how many blond Goths have you ever met?” I laugh and wish him a safe journey home.

* * *

“
You're in big trouble, mister.” Karen propels me backwards from the door, through the open living space and towards the bedroom.

“
Why?” 

She kisses me purposefully on the mouth, teeth nibbling my bottom lip. “Shut up. Sex first, talking after, or I might be too angry with you to bother.”

We reach the bed and she pushes me firmly down onto it, starting to strip and slowing the actions down, teasing and twirling, a study in balletic precision. I watch on mesmerized, fully present this time, starting to feel something for this naked stranger and unnerved by what that might mean.

The physicality as it unfolds is like music; the tempo varying, rising and falling, each crescendo more powerful than the last, the quieter lulls in between subtle and complex – somehow more intricate. I want to please her now, to involve her and own her. She tastes like summer rain, with the faintest salt hint of teardrops and the texture of warm velvet. Her long nails press hard into my shoulder blades and the curve of her hips rises up to meet me, inviting me to enter her as completely as possible.

I slip my tongue back into her open mouth, caressing her own, pushing myself slowly and deeply inside her then moving slowly back almost all of the way out again. We moan in unison and the kissing becomes more frenzied, the meeting of hips faster and more forceful, matching the twin rhythms of our heartbeats. At some point her nails break my skin and carve neat grooves down my back, sweat and blood running together, dripping onto white sheets.

Karen shifts underneath me and demonstrates her strength, rolling me onto my back and straddling my body in one fluid movement. She moves my hands to her breasts, hair falling over her face, body rippling as she controls the pace and rhythm. I come with a gasp, starting to rise, but she grabs hold of my wrists pushing me back down, holding me in place and continuing to claim me until her own climax arrives. Her face and chest flush with color, the firm contractions hold and release me inside her. We lay together for long moments, silent except for our breathing; the cotton sheets are moist with our essences and spotted with blood from my scratched back.

Karen speaks first.

“
You've been having your own little investigation with Marcus.”

“
You might want to rephrase that.”

“
Now is not the time to be funny, you're in trouble so shut up. It doesn't bother me too much that you're looking into this thing, but you didn't have the courtesy to tell me about your discovery at the dentists, which bothers me a little more.”

“
We only found out today ourselves, and we've not exactly got much to go on anyway. I take it you're already in the know about who this guy is though?”

“
Yes, contrary to popular opinion we do know how to conduct a proper investigation.”

“
Touchy!” I kiss her before continuing. “How did you get the details without a warrant?”

“
I have my sources, including a dear friend who's a dentist at that particular surgery, so sheer luck on this occasion. She hadn't told her technician about it, but she was on the phone to me two minutes after Marcus left.”

“
Is he in custody then?”

“
No. He was released on license a short while ago and fell off the radar; we haven't been able to find him since he changed address and stopped reporting in to Central, which was shortly before the first attack.”

“
Thoroughly rehabilitated then? The effectiveness of our system of punishments and correction never ceases to amaze me. I don't suppose you're going to tell me who he is?”

“
That depends on how good your cooking is, but I have to say I found the starter very satisfying.”

“
Come here.” I lean over to kiss her and the contact quickly becomes more protracted but languid this time now that the initial urgency has gone.

“
Oh God! Sorry about your back.” Karen holds up a bloodied hand. “I hadn't realized that I'd gouged you with my nails.”

“
Don't worry, you can make it up to me.”

I slide her hand over my body, leaving artistic red smears and she continues downwards, trailing her soft fingers over me, cupping and caressing my balls, computing my lack of reaction to the blood.

* * *

Karen talks to me from the bathtub, luxuriating amongst mimosa scented bubbles and vanilla candles while I cook.

“
Smells great by the way, but do you make a habit of cooking while naked and bloodstained?”

“
No, only on special occasions.” I add a little more olive oil to the lime and watercress pesto that I'm making.

“
You mean birthdays and Christmases, I take it?”

“
And Halloween of course, I'm a Goth remember?”

“
Of course.”

“
I'll wash after you, I just didn't want to make you wait for food while I cleaned myself up; I figured you might have worked up an appetite by now.”

“
I have. What are we having by the way?”

“
Crab spaghetti with a lime and watercress pesto. It's probably got a sexy Italian name, but I can't remember it right now.”

“
Sounds great.”

“
I've picked a nice Sicilian white wine to partner it too and there's home-made tiramisu in the fridge for dessert.”

“
Tell me you do ironing as well and I think I'll keep you forever.”

“
I do ironing.”

She laughs and gets out of the tub, catching the falling water in a thick cotton towel and standing on another that
I've laid out on the floor. Turns a little pirouette up on her tiptoes, knowing that I'm watching. I give her a broad grin of appreciation in return for the show.

She speaks again. “Just one question for you before we sit down for dinner, and I do hope that you'll join me in dining naked … when exactly did you get to be so comfortable with blood?”

Just how do I start to answer a question like that? The evening just got interesting.

Chapter 9

The bright morning light threads highlights of pure gold through the sleeping woman's hair. She is naked on her front and facing away from me, the bloodied sheets covering her lower half but not obscuring the breathtaking view of her upper body. I stand beside the bed taking in the arc of her toned back and shoulders, the suggestion of the curve of a breast beneath her; the overall impression reminds me of the Degas drawing that hangs in my bathroom. From what I understand of him, he too might have appreciated the blood. 

I feel a powerful surge of emotion at the sight of her, and it staggers me; I'm not accustomed to sudden sentimentality. The opportunity to view another person without the need to conceal the act and without either their or my own guard in place is a rare treat indeed. Some would doubtless be horrified to behold a scene such as this; the speckling of blood suggestive of violence. But isn't the physicality of the sexual act itself, the domination and submission, the penetration and the moaning and screaming, wrapped up in a certain measure of aggression and violence anyway? 

I catch an unexpected glimpse of my own image in the tall bedroom mirror that Karen had moved into a new position last night, then look away again embarrassed by the smile that is pasted onto my face.

What the hell's going on? I thought you'd decided for yourself that this wasn't going to happen. Oh well, I'll worry about it after breakfast.

I set to on fixing coffee, strong Java done in the machine, and pause to flip on some music with the volume down low to avoid waking her up before I've cooked. 'The world is a vampire, sent to drain', thanks for the sentiment, I heartily concur with the idiosyncratic whine. I set a pan of water boiling and slice fresh sour dough bread, ready to toast once the eggs are poaching. The coffee is almost done already, exuding a rich aroma with each fresh release of steam; modern technology has its place.

There are faint stirrings from the bedroom, and Karen eventually emerges as I'm plating up eggs Benedict. She's wearing one of my plain black t-shirts, and wearing it well, the fabric coming down to her knees. I'd forgotten that she gives away almost a foot in height to me without the power heels. Her hair is in glorious disarray and she's rubbing lethargically at the corners of her eyes.

“
I'm sorry, I probably look like crap.”

“
Well then call me a coprophilliac.”

“
What?”

“
You look beautiful.”

I invite her to take a seat before she can bat the compliment away, and place her plate down in front of her along with the pot of coffee and an over-sized mug.

“
Careful, I could get used to this. You cook almost as well as you ... you can complete that sentence for yourself.”

She laughs, like a gentle breeze through wind-chimes.

“
How's your back by the way?”

“
Tender, but don't worry about it.”

“
Sorry.”

I pour out a couple of mugs of the richly fragrant roast, leaning over the table to give her a kiss.

“
So are you going to tell me about the guy with the fangs then?”

“
I wondered how long it would be before you asked. Anyone would think that you were just using me for information.” She's aiming for levity, but something flits behind her eyes and the smile is too taut.

“
You know that's not true.” I meet her gaze, eyes still as ponds, letting her in only a little, but still much further than anyone else has entered in a long time.

“
His name is Brett Dodds; well recorded for crimes of violence, against men, which is why he wasn't considered to be a natural suspect initially. Unfortunately, by the time that he was, after the DNA results came back in, he'd gone to ground and rather rudely forgotten to tell his probation officer about his change of address.”

“
So why the switch to prostitutes all of a sudden?”  

“
We made some inquiries with the prison service and his probation officer, and apparently during his most recent stretch he underwent rehabilitation therapy and was able to revisit a few childhood memories. Having looked at that in the context of what else we know about his history, it appears that he might be lashing out at his mother; she was a prostitute who went missing when he was still very young. Brett went into care and suffered a significant amount of abuse at the hands of Craig Jensen-Jones.” She pauses as if I should know the name.

“
Sorry, not ringing any bells, must be before my time.” I grin and she slaps my arm playfully.

“
He was a piece of work who made the headlines some time ago for his particularly nasty crimes against boys in his care. He went down for a long stretch but the details were in the papers for weeks afterward – The Albino Vampire - he was pale and blond, like Brett. He liked to bite the boys chests at the care home that he ran as he raped them; said that the scars would remind them that they belonged to him.”

“
Sounds like a truly lovely guy. So Brett's visiting that same thing on others but without the rape?”

“
Life's seldom that neat. He also told a prison psychiatrist that he felt like his blood was drying up at one point, then clammed up and refused to elaborate.”

“
Of course they still let him out though.”