Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers (24 page)

But he’d gladly overpower his employer if necessary. Maybe he’d been too tame with the mob boss, given him a false sense of security. Malveaux ran his tongue over his teeth, aware that his fangs had descended and that he was hungry. Yes, he determined, as he slid into the driver’s seat, perhaps it was time to give the boss a lesson in vampire reality.

He clicked open the door to the underground garage, rested an arm along the passenger seat of the car, looked back over his shoulder, and waited as the stone slid effortlessly to the side. He shifted into reverse and backed silently up the dirt incline. He’d only gone a couple of feet when he stomped on the brakes, cursing.

“Fuck! What the hell?”

The top half of the opening gave him a stunning view of the full moon hanging low in a star-studded indigo void. The bottom half was filled with a solid block of white. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but the blizzard had obviously managed to dump several more feet of snow while he’d been dead to the world in his coffin.

Annoyed, he unfolded himself from the car and strode up to the opening, glaring at the arctic landscape. The wind had sculpted a huge snowdrift against the Neolithic garage door that had been covering the underground driveway, and now there were mini-mountains of the fluffy stuff sparkling in the moonlight.

He threw back his head and laughed at the stupidity of it all. What other vampire would bother digging a car out of a snowstorm, when he merely had to transform and be done with it? Who else would waste his time salvaging either a human toy or a human female? Shaking his head, he smiled. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been eccentric even when he was alive. His idiosyncratic tendencies were what had attracted the attention of his sire, which then brought Malveaux to the never-ending nightmare his life had become.

Thinking about Tempest reminded him that there was a score to be settled. The mob boss’s lackey had dared to put hands on his offspring, and retribution was on its way.

Impatient, he turned toward the car, then jogged down the driveway. He opened the car door, and flipped the transmission into “neutral.” After returning to the rear of the Jag, he grabbed the bumper with one hand, lifted the back tires off the ground, and pulled the car up toward the blocked entranceway. Willing himself to rise into the air, he angled out around the snow peaks, pulling the silver Jag with him. He smiled as he imagined the tales that would be added to the cemetery’s already spooky history if anyone saw the mysterious flying man pulling a silver car through the air.

After floating all the way out to the deserted street beyond the gate of the cemetery, he lowered the car, got in, and drove toward the heart of the inner city.

Within minutes Malveaux parked the Jag one street over from the mob boss’s headquarters. Not wanting to waste any more good leather, he stepped out of the car, peeled off his designer clothes, and threw them into the back seat. Using his preternatural speed, he traversed the alley, circled the target building, taking note of the doors and windows, and located the source of the human thoughts and emotions he sensed on the lower level. He debated with himself for a moment about the most fulfilling way to make his presence known. Did he want to make a grand entrance? He’d always wanted to recreate his favorite scene from the movie
Dracula
, where the fiend burst through his wooden crate, snarling, as he set upon the meddlesome mortals. It might be fun to crash through a wall or two, or should he keep a low profile until he figured out what was going on? If he decided to be subtle, transforming into fog wouldn’t work, because how many buildings contained creeping fog? No. He’d have to take the form of a small animal. He grimaced at the thought. Compressing himself into a small form was like being encased in a too-small body cast, or so he imagined. In any event, it was an unpleasant experience.

His mental argument abruptly ceased as a high-pitched, female scream pierced the air. Grabbing the handle of the door, he tugged just enough to snap the lock, and then morphed into the form of a rat. Scurrying through the now-empty food preparation room, he descended the stairs and headed for the loud voices emanating from the open door at the end of the hall.

Malveaux stuck his small head into the room just in time to watch the pint-sized psychopath wave his pathetic, half-limp cock in front of Tempest’s face. She was secured to a folding chair by duct tape, her hands and feet bound. She was also naked except for her black boots. Huge twin mobster sentinels loomed on either side of her. Seated behind a large, 1940’s-era desk was the grinning mob boss, Salvatore Amato. He leaned back in his chair, fingers linked behind his head, as he enjoyed the show.

“Stick that pencil dick a little closer to my mouth, motherfucker, and I’ll change it from a compact to a mini,” Tempest said.

Pee Wee snickered, rubbing his cock. “Quiet, whore! You’re gonna’ love having your jaws wired open. The boss’s nephew is a dentist. The only thing that will move will be your tongue, and by then you’ll make it do whatever I say. You’ll take me as deep as I want, but you might not be able to sit down by then, ‘cause of what I’m gonna do to your tight little asshole with some of my favorite sex toys. Maybe I’ll give you some laxatives first, just to make it more fun.”

Malveaux’d heard enough.

He crept into the room, placed himself behind the two goons flanking Tempest, and morphed back into his vampire form. Assuming a monster-movie stance, he raised his arms and snarled, prominently displaying his pointy fangs, along with the other pointy thing exposed by his nudity.

Shocked, Pee Wee released his withered cock and stumbled back against the boss’s desk. Malveaux captured the psycho’s frightened eyes and froze him with a mental command.

The matching guards simultaneously turned toward him. He grabbed each by the neck, lifted them off the ground, and pressed his sharp fingernails into the soft flesh. He held one struggling mortal in each hand, and felt his heart pound with excitement as his raging blood lust took control. He slammed the two stunned men to the floor, knelt, and drank from the wounds in one neck, then the other, ripping the thin flesh with his sharp canines. He lifted his mouth from the second lifeless body, blood smeared around his lips and chin. Remnants of his feast dripped from the ends of his long hair, which stuck to his chest. The smell of blood enflamed his need, and his whole body trembled as he assimilated the crimson manna.

He turned his attention to the mob boss, who’d abandoned his chair and now cowered in the far corner of the room, erratically waving his handgun. Malveaux gave the boss a suggestion that he couldn’t move his finger to pull the trigger. Pee Wee stood rigid, awaiting Malveaux’s pleasure, the almost imperceptible movements of his glazed eyeballs providing the only hint that he was still alive.

Malveaux had momentarily forgotten about Tempest in his feeding frenzy. He vaguely recalled hearing her scream as the frantic, blood bath raged behind her. He shifted his gaze to the area in front of her and noticed the spatters of vivid red streaking Pee Wee’s clothes and the boss’s desk. He sniffed at the blood dripping down the back of Tempest’s hair, creating little crimson pools underneath her chair. He almost went mad with the thought of licking the blood from her creamy breasts as he pounded his always-hard cock inside her wet slit.

Shaking himself out of his bloody trance, he stood and strode over to the terrified mob boss. He kicked the gun out of the gangster’s hand, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and lifted him into the air. “You fucked up, Sal. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to piss off a vampire?”

Sal wasn’t a small man by any estimation, and the blubber he’d added to his midsection over the years gave him the appearance of someone who’d likely keel over from a heart attack with the slightest physical exertion. Being hefted into the air by a vampire must have qualified as a stressful event, because Sal’s usually olive complexion turned deathly white.

Malveaux locked eyes with his captive, whose face went slack. “I’m going to take a stroll through what passes for your mind, Sal, and find out what kind of shit you’re trying to pull. You be a good little murderer now, and the big, bad vampire won’t have to eat you for breakfast.”

The muscles in Sal’s cheeks twitched, and saliva dripped from one corner of his mouth.

It didn’t take long for Malveaux to uncover the thoughts and memories he sought. After just a few seconds, he jerked his head to the side, effectively breaking the link between his mind and Sal’s. He slanted a dangerous smile at the mob boss, who dangled bonelessly in his grip.

“You must be kidding. You can’t possibly be that stupid!” Malveaux scanned the room until he found the stash of “vampire hunter tools” the boss had intended to use on him. He laughed out loud at the box of crosses, garlic bulbs, and bottles of holy water the human had secreted under the desk.

“So, you thought you’d subdue me with those superstitious relics, hold me captive, and sell me to my enemies? The very vampires you hired me to exterminate from your territory? Sal, you disappoint me. I expected you’d at least have waited until I’d finished my job, but I have to hand it to you for taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity when it arose. And, using the woman as bait? Well done, but I wonder if it was really worth losing two of your bodyguards, one of whom – if I read your thoughts correctly – was a relative? Foolish, greedy human. It’s a shame that you brought our association to this harsh conclusion.”

With a feral snarl, Malveaux bared his fangs and pierced the large vein in Sal’s neck with their razor-sharp points. He rode the struggling man down to the carpet and proceeded to drink him dry.

Having decided to eat the boss for breakfast, after all, he feasted, and then stood. He made a useless attempt to wipe away the blood covering the lower half of his face, partially retracted his fangs, and then turned toward Tempest. “He really shouldn’t have pissed me off. I mean, holy water? Please. What kind of way is that for an employer to treat a valued employee? Even though it wouldn’t have done anything to me, it was the intent, don’t you agree?”

She sat rigid, her brown eyes wide, her mouth open.

Locking his gaze on Tempest, he walked forward to stand next to the incapacitated psychopath. He pointed to Pee Wee, and then lifted him by the front of his shirt. “Did he hurt you? I heard some of his suggestions for recreational activities, which were disgusting enough, but you need to tell me if he harmed you. If he did, his death won’t be quick and merciful.”

Tempest still hadn’t made a sound or moved a muscle.

Malveaux leaned down to stare into her eyes. “Ah, it appears you’re in shock. Let me just quickly scan your memories to see what our little friend here has been doing, and then we can find someplace perfect to pick up where we left off. You know, I don’t actually need to look into your eyes – lovely as they are – to know your thoughts, but it somehow makes the connection much clearer and faster. Hmm, yes. The little fiend didn’t get a chance to have his fun. I spoiled the party. Well, then.”

Malveaux grabbed the top of Pee Wee’s head, twisted it roughly, the sick cracking sound giving evidence of a snapped neck, and threw him to the floor. “He isn’t worth one more minute of our time. We have a much more important agenda for the evening.” He knelt in front of her. “Here. Let me release you.”

He effortlessly tore the tape holding Tempest to the chair and ripped the pieces binding her arms and legs. “There now. Isn’t that better?”

He brought his blood-smeared lips near hers, and she jerked back, causing the chair to fall over. She rolled away from her rescuer, then speed-crawled a few feet distant and watched him, studying his ever-resilient erection.

“Malveaux?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she met his eyes.

He gave her a mega-watt smile, displaying a hint of fang. “In the flesh.”

They stared at each for a few seconds, and then Tempest let out a shriek that would do a banshee proud.

In reaction, Malveaux put his index fingers in his ears, signaling that he was waiting for the unpleasant noise to stop.

“Are you finished? We really don’t have time for primal scream therapy right now.” He strode toward Tempest, and she leaped up, backing away.

“What the fuck are you?”

T
empest stared at the bloody, naked man looming over her and tried to make sense of the weird shit that had just slithered into her reality. Her brain had thrown the covers over its head and wasn’t answering the door.

Malveaux obviously wasn’t dead, but he was seriously demented. Holy fuck. She’d seen him rip out the fat guy’s throat and drink his blood. His body was coated with the grisly, red stuff. What did this guy think he was? A frickin’ vampire? She shifted her gaze to his rigid cock. And what kind of schizo got a woody from killing people?

“My
woody
appreciates your rapt attention, I’m sure, but I think we’d better get out of here before the rest of Sal’s menials arrive. The command I sent to the building’s remaining inhabitants won’t last long, and I’d hate to waste more time disposing of them.”

Tempest lifted her head and met his eyes. What? How the hell had he known what she was thinking? She didn’t remember talking out loud, but in the midst of a hallucination, anything was possible.

She backed away a few more inches, forced to stop when she encountered a wall. She crouched there, wanting time to think. To make a plan. Something. She was in a room filled with dead bodies, which, now that she noticed, was already starting to smell like a slaughterhouse, and the demented pretty boy was talking about disposing of more. What the hell kind of bad acid trip was she on?

Malveaux stepped toward her, and reached out a hand. “Play time’s over. I need a shower, and if I might be so ungallant, so do you. I don’t know what all that dark stuff is you’ve got smeared all over your face, but I suspect it’s eye makeup gone bad. Very distinctive, but not the best look for you.” His tone, which had been friendly suddenly changed, becoming more forceful. “Take my hand and stand up, Tempest. Now.”