Blood Curse (13 page)

He'd backed away from the woman's limp body, satisfied that he'd left her with enough blood to survive, and pressed his hand to his stomach as it started to protest. He hadn't been able to remember the last time he'd felt nauseous, but it was before he'd become a vampire. Before he'd had time to analyze what his nausea meant, he'd found himself on his knees, throwing up the blood he'd just drank. And he'd still been craving another taste of Aria.

"Rialto! Darling, are you all right in there? You can't avoid me forever."

Rialto shook his head in an effort to obliterate the previous night's memories. Daytime or not, Seta would wait for him until he emerged from the bathroom, and he was too damned tired to delay their argument's inevitable continuance. He turned off the water and dried his face with a towel, wishing for what seemed like the millionth time that this could all be a dream, that he could wake up on the cliffs outside his father's home to find that he'd never been turned into a vampire and it was just a terrible nightmare.

But it wasn't a terrible nightmare, and he couldn't pretend it was.

"I know avoiding you is futile,” Rialto told his mother as he reentered the room, “but could we finish this argument later? I'm more tired than I've ever been in my life, both mortal and immortal."

Without waiting for his mother's answer, he stretched out on the bed, feeling a sharp pang of longing as Aria's scent wafted up from the sheets, teasing his nose and heating his groin.
Damn it to hell and back!

Seta looked at him and frowned, then walked to the bed and laid the back of her hand against his forehead.

He heaved an impatient sigh. “I'm not sick, Mother. I'm a vampire for crying out loud. It's not as if we can catch the common cold."

"You're sick in love and feverish with desire, sweetheart.” She took her hand away and wiped the sweat that came with it on her pant leg. “You drank from her, didn't you?"

"I may have taken a little sip."

"Is that why you ran away?"

Rialto squirmed and closed his eyes, wishing she would disappear. He may have been raised by another woman, but this was still his mother, having given him life more than once, and he still felt awkward discussing such matters with her. It wasn't so much the drinking of Aria's blood that scared him as the feeling of completeness when their bodies were joined together. It was too right, and he knew that if he indulged himself in another go-round he'd be compelled to make her his partner for life, no matter the consequence.

"I understand,” Seta said cautiously, yet she didn't cringe under Rialto's dark glare. He hated it when she read his mind without his permission. “Hurting her because of your own fear isn't right, not if you really love her. It isn't right to make yourself sick over her, either. Quit fighting it, Rialto. You're already addicted to her, and the feeling is never going to go away. You might as well give in to it."

She walked to the door and, with her hand on the knob, turned back toward him. “I won't tell her anything today. You can rest peacefully knowing that.” She watched him with such sorrow in her eyes that it tugged at his heart, making his breath stop for a moment. “Everything I've ever done I've done out of love for you. I hope you will realize that someday."

Rialto stared at the door after it closed behind her, his eyes burning with rage. He knew she loved him, had always known it. He simply didn't deserve that love. Not from her—not from anyone. Not after the way he'd hurt the ones foolish enough to care for him—Antonia, his mother and now Aria.

Aria viciously wiped away another traitorous tear as it rolled down her cheek. She had spent too many years hardening herself against the blows life kept delivering to let her protective shell be cracked wide open by a bloodsucking asshole. Yet, as she continued her trek down the street leading to her apartment, she knew she was losing the battle. She was all alone against the army of tears threatening to attack.

Stop. Go the back way.

Aria froze as Rialto's voice spoke from within her own mind. She whirled around, half expecting to see him. “Rialto?"

Reporters and photographers are in front of your building. They've been camped out there all night

Aria closed her eyes and let herself just feel. He was nearby. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. Hopefully, he had enough sense to be indoors. After the way he'd treated her earlier, she really shouldn't care if he burnt himself to a crisp, but to her own annoyance, she did.

Per Rialto's instructions, Aria changed course and took a longer path home, weaving through side streets and back alleys until she reached the narrow lane leading to the back of her building. She wasn't surprised to find a tall blond woman and an Hispanic man with a camera lurking on the back stoop. Someone had to realize she might take the back way in once she discovered the crowd in front. Fortunately, she saw them before they had the chance to see her. She quickly changed direction and ran to the side of the building where the maintenance man resided in a small apartment.

The silver-haired black man answered on her first knock.

"Hey, Trevaris."

"Hey, darlin'. How you doing?” The compassion in his voice was as strong as the sympathy in his caramel brown eyes. “I'm ‘spectin you wanna cut through here to avoid those damn reporters and camera people. They've been meddlin’ around here all day. Bunch of vultures is what they are."

"Would you mind?"

"Course not, young'un.” He stepped aside so she could enter his small, humbly decorated apartment. “Say, you sure did darken up since I last saw you. You look kind of Brazilian or something."

Aria nervously ran her hand over the base of her neck. “Yeah, I know. I guess I got too much sun.” She ignored Trevaris's speculative glance. They both knew damn well there hadn't been that much sun out since they'd last seen one another.

"Well, you look good.” He led her to the door that opened into the building's interior hallway and warned her to stand back while he checked for reporters. “Looks like they're heeding my warning to stay out of the building itself,” he said after making sure the hall was clear. “Damned cops must've leaked your name. The story about the killer was on the morning news. Now everybody wants to interview the families of the victims like they actually give a rat's ass. All they want is to sell a damn newspaper.” He shook his head in disgust.

Aria smiled, touched by his concern. She'd do anything for Trevaris. He was really the only friend she had. “I suppose my name did get leaked, but it'll all die down soon. I just have to avoid them."

"Take care of yourself, kid, and I'm sorry you're goin’ through all this,” he added sincerely. “You need anything, anything at all, you just holler. I'll be watchin’ out for ya."

"I know you will, Trevaris.” Aria hugged the older man before walking out into the hall. “Thanks for having my back."

"Always, Sweets, always."

It was close to midnight when the fine hairs along the back of Aria's neck stood on end. She paused, her hand holding the paintbrush freezing just over the canvas. In front of her, Rialto's dark gaze stared straight into her own eyes, daring her to look away. Behind her, the real version stood watching, waiting . . . Craving?

"The balcony doors were locked.” She didn't turn. Didn't dare take her eyes off the painting of him. The oil-based version of Rialto was no danger to her. The inspiration for the painting was lethal.

"Locked doors have never stopped me before.” His voice was a low rumble, the sound of warning thunder moments before a deafening storm broke loose. The sound of it sent bolts of electricity surging through her veins, igniting an inner storm inside her own body. It caused her stomach to roll over, just as it had been doing for the past three hours, starting with the first hunger pain. At the same time her skin had begun to fade.

"I came to tell you something."

Aria set the brush on the easel tray and stood. Refusing to look at him, she walked out of her bedroom, away from the warm inviting bed that gave her too many bad ideas, knowing he would follow. She stopped in the middle of the living area, her arms folded across her chest, trying to ignore the goosebumps dotted along them and the icy coldness quivering through her. She had been running hot and cold all night, no doubt coming down with a bug of some kind. Just her luck.

"Aria, look at me."

She was tempted to, but she wanted him too badly, even after he'd dismissed her so crudely, that she knew it would be a mistake. She swallowed hard against another bout of nausea. “I'd rather not. I don't feel well, Rialto, and I really don't want to hear what you have to say. I think you summed things up quite well at the hotel earlier."

"I never intended to hurt you."

Was that pain in his voice? Remorse? A flicker of hope ignited in her chest but she quickly doused it with a wave of reality. He had dismissed her carelessly, thoughtlessly. He would do it again.

"You can't hurt someone if they don't care.” She shrugged her shoulders, attempting to appear aloof, hoping he couldn't see through her facade. She might not be able to reclaim the pieces of her shattered heart, but at least she could walk away with a little dignity. “We had one great romp. Let's not analyze it to death. You're free to move on. I don't need anything from you."

"You need my help finding your mother's killer.” He seemed to growl out those words, almost bitterly. Or was that just her imagination? “And you hardly seem the type who just goes about
romping.
"

"Well, I'd like to think I haven't reached slut level, but I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh as much as the next—” She broke off as he stepped in front of her. His face was covered in sweat. His sweat-dampened hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, his face pale. His body . . . It didn't appear nearly as strong and intimidating as it had before. “What's wrong with you?"

"I'm sick."

"I didn't think vampires could get sick."

"I didn't either."

Aria gasped, thinking of the way she had been feeling. Her temperature switched from burning to freezing, she battled with fits of nausea and intense hunger, yet couldn't bring herself to eat anything. She wanted something to fill her, but it wasn't food. It was . . . blood. “You're sick and whatever you have you gave it to me."

"You mean like an STD?” His mouth quirked into a slight grin, an eerie sight against the dullness of his once golden skin. “Impossible. Vampires don't carry diseases, nor do we catch them."

"Then how can you be sick? Why am I sick?"

"Maybe you're coming down with the flu.” He shrugged impatiently, almost angrily. “That's not what I came to tell you about. I came here to warn you—"

The sound of his voice faded as Aria caught a glimpse of the throbbing pulse point in his throat. She watched it beat rhythmically under his skin, and like a song, it beckoned her closer. She could imagine the crimson blood pulsating just under the surface of Rialto's skin, could nearly smell its intoxicating aroma, feel the warmth of it, taste it rolling over her tongue. She licked her lips in anticipation, preparing to dive in, when Rialto's hands gripped her shoulders and shook her.

"Aria! Have you heard a word I've just said?"

Aria's stomach rolled as the air in her body was sucked dry and the room went dark. She blinked and realized she was now on the floor, Rialto looming before her.

"Aria! Are you all right?"

"I need to sleep,” she managed to croak through her parched lips as her eyelids drooped. They were suddenly very heavy.

"Aria, listen to me—"

"No listen. Just sleep. I need—” Aria's eyes closed by their own volition. “I need a nap."

"Dammit, Aria. Listen to me!” Rialto shook her again, violently this time, until her eyelids cracked open a sliver. “I'm trying to tell you that the killer wants you!"

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Aria's eyes flew wide open. “The killer
what?"

Rialto helped her to the sofa and then backed away. “Seta had a vision. The killer had you strapped on a metal table and he was about to inject you with something. Poison, no doubt."

"So she saw who he was!” Excitement surged through her body, reenergizing her. Then Rialto's gaze slid to his feet and he shook his head.

"We still don't know who or what the killer is. Seta only saw hands."

"How would she know they belonged to a man if she didn't see him?"

"She saw the hands clearly enough to establish that they were too masculine to be anything but male, and she can feel things. She . . . I can't explain it. We found a body in the park last night and all she got off it was that a male had killed the woman, but she'd sensed that much coming into the city."

"Why are you saying male instead of man?” Aria stepped in front of Rialto as he turned his head away, in an attempt to avoid her eyes. She gripped his chin, forced him to look at her, before letting go. “You said you didn't know who or
what
the killer is, and we both know it's not an animal. What aren't you telling me?"

"It's too early to speculate—"

"Save it, Rialto. You know something. I can see it written all over your face so spill it.” She was giving a direct order to a vampire, a being that had undoubtedly killed far stronger men and women than her, but she didn't care. She had to know what he was hiding from her and he definitely
was
hiding something. Whether it had to do with her mother's killer, or what was happening to them, she didn't know; but damned if she wasn't going to get the truth out of him whether he liked it or not.

"Tell me, dammit! What killed my mother? Why are you sick, and why the hell am I sweating buckets?” She emphasized her last question by wiping the sleeve of her pajama top over her brow, mopping up the excess moisture that glistened there. “What did you do to me?"

"I didn't do anything to you,” he answered, “not intentionally anyway. And I honestly don't know what killed your mother.” He turned away from her scrutinizing gaze and let out a sigh filled with frustration.

"You know something,” Aria coaxed, trying not to sound so irritatingly persistent, but her patience was running out. “You have an idea, a theory. Don't you?"