The Lady is a Vamp (The Paranormal Investigations Series Book 1)

THE LADY IS A VAMP

Michelle Kelly

Detective Nick Carter is a cop with a difference – not only does he investigate the hidden world of preternatural crime, but he is a telepath, able to read other people’s minds. Dealing with vampires and werevoles comes as an occupational hazard. When a young member of the local vampire lifestyle club is murdered, Nick finds himself involved in yet another case of unnatural dealings – but this time with a difference. He finds himself at the mercy of a prime witness known only as The Contessa, a beautiful and mysterious club member with a real appetite for blood – and the only person whose mind Nick cannot read. As their desire for one another heats up, so does his case, as he battles his growing desire for The Contessa and an ultimately evil enemy force hell bent on bloodlust.

Contents

Chapter One

Nick pulled up his mental shields before stepping into the smoky room. Talk about sensory overload. A swirl of smoke hung around the room, shot through with shades of purple and red from the spotlights dotted at seemingly random intervals on the lurid red walls. Purple and black rugs covered a dark red vinyl floor and a cloying, musky smell made the air even more oppressive. Gothic music pounded through the room, the bass so low it seemed to be coming up through his feet. It certainly wasn’t helping his headache.

Even with his shields up to prevent him catching the chatter of surface thoughts from every person in the club Nick sensed the atmosphere change as the clubs inhabitants began to notice him, and the murmur of suspicion that rippled through the room. It would be pretty obvious from first sight that he didn’t fit in here. Even dressed casually in slacks and a shirt, his bearing and demeanour screamed ‘cop’. And his tanned and chiselled physique marked him out among the pale, made-up men, some of them complete with specially made fangs and contact lenses.

Crimson Shade was a vampire club, or as it stated on its website ‘a fetish and lifestyle club for those who consider themselves modern-day vampires, be they sanguinarians, energy-feeders, or lifestylers.’ The club site was very quick to point out that ‘real’ vampires, as opposed to ‘mythical’ ones, were neither immortal nor a danger to non-vampires. That part had made Nick laugh.

He strode to the bar, pausing for a second as he sensed a warm, pulsing energy that did not belong in this place.
Were
. Not a wolf, one of the big cats; tiger perhaps
.
Nick turned his head in the direction of the thrumming energy and spotted a young man slinking out of the back door. Nick dropped his shields just enough to home in on the guy and felt his fear of discovery. Nothing immediately suspicious. Weres were notoriously easy for a telepath like Nick to read. He gave the young man a slight nod that he meant to be reassuring, but the were’s eyes widened in horror and he hurried out of the door. Nick wondered what on earth a weretiger was doing in a vampire lifestyle club, dressed in fangs and a cape. Perhaps the poor guy was having a serious identity crisis. More likely the clan leaders at the shadowy Paranormal Alliance of New York had heard about the murder and were doing a little investigation of their own. That was all he needed.

Nick reached the bar – a twisted piece of black metal that he personally thought was an eyesore – and eyed the barman, who gulped under his scrutiny; a tall, lean young man, still in his late teens with far too much white make-up on a naturally olive skin, he looked at Nick as if he were the one that was dressed oddly.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, his voice high and tremulous. Nick flashed him a smile, and then his badge.

‘Nick Carter. NYPD. I’d like to speak to the manager please.’

The barman went genuinely white under his make-up and reached for a phone at the end of the bar.

‘Lord Azriel? There’s a man from the NYPD here to see you.’ He said ‘NYPD’ in the same hushed tones that some people might say ‘vampire’. He listened for a minute, then put the phone down and faced Nick again.

‘He’s in the office. Over there,’ he pointed towards a far corner of the club. Nick nodded and turned to make his way in the direction the barman showed him, saying casually over his shoulder;

‘I may have a few questions for you afterwards.’ The bartender looked as though he was about to faint.

Nick crossed over the room, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him. He allowed his shields to drop enough so that he could filter through the main emotions in the room that his presence had invoked; there was curiosity and wariness, even hostility, but not the fear of a cornered murderer. Though in this particular case Nick knew he had very little chance of picking up any emotions from this particular perpetrator. He couldn’t read vamps.

As he reached the door to the office, a small group of people in the nearby corner caught his eye. Two men, dressed in eighteenth century ruffled shirts and frock coats, obviously going for the Lestat look rather than Dracula, stood next to a woman, staring at her with such rapt attention they had barely noticed Nick. She stood with her back to him, dressed in a backless red dress that clung to every petite curve. Nick had to stop himself from admiring her ass, a perfect peach that flared out from her tiny waist. Her hair had the colour and sheen of rubies and hung halfway down her naked back. Her skin was pale, of course, but so much so she was almost translucent. As she shifted her weight Nick found his gaze locked on the sway of her hips, her movements lithe and sinuous. Damn, it had been far too long since he had felt a woman’s body next to his own. Without intending to do so Nick took a step forward, willing her to turn round so he could see the rest of her. Her two male companions had noticed him now and were looking at him with that same mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and fear that he had sensed in the rest of the room. The woman turned her head to look at Nick.

Their eyes met and Nick felt a crackle of energy through his body that had nothing to do with telepathy. Indeed his mental powers had completely shut down, so strong was his physical reaction to her.

She was gorgeous, with large dark blue eyes framed by thick lashes, a fine boned, almost haughty face, and a lush mouth that he was pleased to see she had left pink and soft, not coloured in with the red or black lipstick the rest of the room seemed to favour. She looked at Nick as if startled, her eyes widening, those kissable lips parting slightly. He went to speak, feeling as if time had slowed down and the rest of the club had retreated into the background. Then the door in front of him opened and a man Nick assumed must be Lord Azriel stepped out, bowing to Nick with a flourish of his hand. Nick saw the woman’s eyes turn to the manager and flash with contempt before she turned away. Feeling disappointed but dragging his thoughts back to the job in hand – and his eyes away from the delectable ass that was once again facing him – Nick turned his attention to the manager, who ushered him into the office with another flourish of his carefully manicured hand.

‘Come in, come in. Would you care for a drink? Red wine perhaps?’ The man beamed at Nick insincerely. His eyes, even behind the piercing violet contact lenses, were cold.

‘I don’t drink,’ Nick said coldly. Lord Azriel grimaced in sympathy.

‘Ah, I see. So many of us have problems with the demon drink. Perhaps a tomato juice?’

‘I don’t drink
on duty
,’ Nick snapped. What was it with the stereotype of the alcoholic cop? It wasn’t the first time he had met this assumption. An investigator that was single and didn’t drink? Clearly an alcoholic with a messy divorce behind him and two kids he never saw, wife having moved away with her new teetotal husband. Nick shook his head. He didn’t drink because it messed around with his mental abilities as a telepath. Those abilities had a lot to do with why he was still single.

But he wasn’t about to share any of this with a self-styled vampire who may be part of a murder investigation. Nick smiled tightly at the man.

‘I’m here to investigate the recent murder of a young man who, it appears, was a regular at your club. Simon Canterbury-White.’

Lord Azriel steepled his hands together, resting his chin on them, his jet black curls tumbling onto his desk. Nick wondered just how seriously the man took his ‘vampire’ status. He certainly looked the part, but his office was clinical and perfunctory, the office of a businessman, not a hint of red or a demonic sigil in sight, only a few flyers on his desk announcing an upcoming ‘BloodBath’ event.

‘Yes of course. Simon has attended a few of our events, he was quite new to the scene. I never really spoke to him. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot to tell you.’

‘You’re aware of how he died?’

Nick didn’t need a telepath to see the sudden twitch in the other man’s jaw. He let his shields down fully, homing in on Lord Azriel. Thank God he had exceptional control over his abilities now. His adolescence, when his powers had come to the fore, had been terrifying; the constant onslaught of thoughts and feelings not his own had nearly broken his mind.

Now though, he knew what he was doing. He felt Lord Azriel’s energy, his nervousness, and the fact that he was hiding something. He also sensed a deep seated insecurity underneath the suave façade. This was a man deeply unhappy with who he was, a man used to hiding his real self for fear he wasn’t good enough. Nick could relate to that, he supposed. But when he tried to probe the man’s mind for images of Simon, he found nothing. Which wasn’t right. Either the man had a natural ability to shield or he knew exactly what Nick was doing. Whichever it was, it made him look guilty. But Nick also knew he wasn’t – couldn’t be – the killer. The killer was a vampire. He had sensed its energy, or rather lack of it, at the crime scene. A real, bloodsucking immortal son-of-a-bitch vampire, not someone who liked to play dress up or drink their girlfriends’ blood on a Friday night.

‘His blood was drained,’ Nick said quietly, looking Lord Azriel squarely in the eye. He could feel the fear coming off the man now, so tangible it made the dark hairs on his forearms stand up, ‘by two very precise fang marks on his neck. And we know he was a fully paid up member of this club.’ What on earth had made the pampered son of a wealthy Hollywood mogul hang around a place like this, Nick had no idea. He thought briefly of the woman outside. What was her story? Impatiently he pushed thoughts of beautiful vamp wannabes to the back of his mind and concentrated on Azriel. His real name, Nick had checked out this morning, was Brian Green. Go figure.

‘I don’t quite understand what you’re getting at, Detective Carter. Are you suggesting a member of this club had something to do with this?’ The vamp look-a-like sounded offended and imperious, but Nick felt the frightened scurrying of his thoughts. He was hiding something, but what? Nick cursed his abilities. Even after years of training it was the nature of his gift that he rarely saw complete images or heard deeper thoughts than surface images and emotions. He was on this case not so much for his telepathic abilities with humans but for his ability to sense and identify supernatural creatures.

‘Perhaps,’ Nick said, still probing the man’s thoughts for information. If there was a true vampire finding victims at Crimson Shade, would Azriel be aware of it? It seemed unlikely; vamps were incredibly rare and even more secretive, the only race of preternatural beings who didn’t have representation at the Alliance. In fact, the other paras hated them. Vamps didn’t tend to like groups of any kind and the other paras saw vamps as aberrations for being bitten rather than born. Not to mention technically dead.

 Either way, the man in front of him was definitely hiding something. ‘Your establishment is quite open about the fact that some of your members actually share blood.’ Unlike similar clubs, which were designed purely for ‘lifestylers’ who dressed and acted the part, even slept in velvet lined coffins, but fainted at the thought of touching the red stuff.

Lord Azriel bristled, and this time Nick could feel that his indignation was entirely real.

‘Some of our members are sanguinarians yes. We need to drink blood to keep ourselves in full health, or our life force is seriously depleted. We are sensitive souls Detective, creatures of the night who are sadly misunderstood. We are not murderers, and only take blood from willing donors. And then only a small amount. You must know Detective that blood is a natural emetic; too much would make one violently sick.’

‘If one were a human,’ Nick said. The other man looked startled, then laughed, but Nick caught a flash of thought. Lord Azriel knew of the existence of true vampires. Or at least of one. One that he had seen recently.

‘Detective,’ the man crooned, waving his hand foppishly, ‘surely you are not suggesting the existence of vampires in the mythical sense? These are stories, made up by people who cannot understand our affliction, our need to boost our life force by the partaking of blood. For too long we have been persecuted.’