Vampires! A Bundle of Bloodsuckers (8 page)

“It worked!” He clasped my shoulders. “Zara, I’m human!” He bounded up off the bed, strutted around in his new body and giggled like a child.

He danced toward me, held out his arms, smiling.

In a flash, I was on him, sucking the blood from the big vein in his neck.

“No!” His eyes went wide with horror. He pushed at me, a futile battle. “No! Zara, no! Please. Don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me!” he begged, his voice strangled with fear.

He kept flailing against me, but his strength was no match for mine.

I drank until his body fell limp to the ground. Then I reopened the vein in my wrist and held the dripping wound to his mouth.

“This must be like déjà vu for you, eh Jeran?” I said, my voice deceptively calm. “Remember when I said those very words to you? When I begged? You didn’t
really
think I’d let you off that easy, did you? Life sucks and then you die. Oh, wait.” I laughed. “Zara sucks and then you don’t die!”

T
here is no truth to the myth that it takes three nights or a certain number of feedings to create a vampire. After I drained Niven – or Jeran – or whoever it was and then had him drink from me, it was a done deal. He roused within minutes, a full-fledged, bloodsucking nightwalker once again.

It really was a pity. All that planning and plotting and manipulating. All for nothing. Well, I suppose Jeran should be grateful to be back on Earth again in any form. Spending those centuries floating in the light in that other dimension couldn’t have been nearly as much fun as hanging out with me, and now he had a physical body again. No, he couldn’t walk in the sunlight and he wouldn’t have that “true death” he craved. Oh, well. He was so angry when he came to that I made myself scarce, so I can’t be sure if he brought all his powers with him. For the moment, I don’t really know exactly what I’m dealing with. But life is full of surprises.

Let’s just say that I closed up the Boulder house and took a vacation, somewhat on the spur of the moment.

I suppose you might be annoyed with me for my little prank. You probably think I’ve been horribly naughty. But really, how can I possibly be other than I am? After all, it’s all Jeran’s fault. I never
asked
to be a vampire.

But here I am, awake and ready to take on the glorious city of Paris. I wonder if I should go looking for Jeran or just wait for him to find me. Or should I just go forth and dazzle the populace?

What do you think?

Well, ta-ta for now. I promise to write again soon.

This story takes place before the events of
The Vampire Shrink
(Book #1 in the Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist series). Even though it is a prequel, I recommend you read
The Vampire Shrink
first.

D
evereux stalked through the crowded club to the booth where his two friends and business partners sat. “Laurence!” he yelled over the screeching sounds of the goth metal band performing at the far end of the room.

The dark-haired vampire jerked back, tearing his fangs from the pulsing vein on the neck of the human female currently slouched, enraptured, next to him. “What?”

He swung his gaze upward. “
Merde
, Devereux! You scared the shit out of me.” He nodded toward the woman’s neck, where blood was spurting from the ragged wounds. “And look what you made me do. The holes are torn open. She’s gushing all over everywhere.” He flicked his tongue across the gashes in the woman’s neck, using his saliva to slow the bleed, then looked down at himself and pointed to the wet stains on his clothes. “And there’s spatter all over my new jacket. Really,
mon fr
ère
, was that necessary?”

 Devereux scowled and dropped the file folder he carried onto the table. “You know better than to feed openly in my club, old friend,” he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the music. Then he made a circle motion with his finger and the volume of the noise magically dropped by half in the area around the booth. “This is not Europe. Things are more... constrained... here. You have been my guest many times. We have discussed this before.” He sighed in frustration. “I have asked you to do nothing to arouse suspicion among the humans. Is your memory so short that you have forgotten what it is like to be hunted?”

And to watch the ones we love die?

He caught the eye of his personal assistant Luna, and sent her a mental command, instructing her to bring a wrap for the mortal woman.

Laurence straightened in his seat and smoothed his shoulder-length, wavy hair away from his now-serious face. “Indeed, I haven’t forgotten. Many of those dear to us perished during those times.” He gave a sheepish grin. “But you know me, Devereux. I sometimes get carried away. The Crypt always feels like such a safe haven. The humans believe everything that happens here is part of the ambience.” He nodded and pointed to the decor of the huge club, which looked like a cross between Dracula’s castle and an ancient graveyard. “Please, forgive me.”

“Really, Devereux. He meant no harm,” Elliott, the other vampire at the table, added, fanning away a waft of chemical smoke from the ever-present fog machines.

Luna approached, holding a long black velvet cape. She was dressed in the latest goth-dominatrix gear: tight black leather pants, a waist-cinching red silk corset which barely contained her abundant breasts and knee-high stiletto-heel boots. Her long black hair was parted down the middle ala 1970s Cher and her make-up had obviously been influenced by the Queen of the Nile: dark wings sweeping out from each silver eye. She cocked a hip against the end of the booth and held out the wrap, her trademark sneer firmly in place.

Devereux bent down and met the human’s unfocused gaze. “You have had a wonderful time tonight, but now you are tired and you wish to go home. The club provided a ride for you because you had been drinking. We made sure you got home safely. You look forward to your next visit.” He stood and held out his hand. “Allow me to help you to your feet.”

The woman rose, dazed, her mouth slightly open.

Such a fragile little human. If she only knew what hides in the shadows.

Devereux took the cape from Luna and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders, fastening the clasp at her neck. He tugged her gently away from the booth, then, making sure he blocked the view of prying eyes, he leaned in and ran his tongue slowly over the holes in her neck. The wounds immediately vanished. The woman’s head dropped back as if it was too heavy for her muscles to hold. She moaned.

“Well now, Devereux,” Elliott said with a grin. “It’s not sporting to stop Laurence’s fun only to take over yourself. He spread his arms out along the back of the booth, clearly enjoying the drama.

Devereux ignored the remark and gave his attention to Luna. “I have scanned her thoughts to find out if she drove herself to the club tonight. She did not. She came with a friend who has already left, so there are no other ends to tie up. Take her home.”

“Yes, Master.” Luna steered the woman toward the exit.

“Luna!” Laurence yelled, “hurry, my little demon.” He patted his lap. “I’m saving a special seat for you.”

She gave a quick look back over her shoulder and waved her middle finger.

Laurence and Elliott laughed.

Devereux stood silently for a moment, watching the women weave through the crowd, before he flicked a hand at his friends, signaling them to make room for him. He slid into the booth, relaxed his head against the seat cushion and gave a huge sigh. “I am getting too old for this.”

And too empty...

“Dev, old boy, I’m starting to worry about you,” Laurence said, patting his arm.

“What do you mean?” He sat up straight and turned to his friend, his long, light-blond hair trailing down the front of his chest. He opened the folder he’d tossed onto the table and spread out a stack of photos.

“Don’t play dumb. You’re obviously not yourself.” Elliott shifted his eyes to the images. “Wow. Who’s that?” He pointed to the top photo showing a woman dressed like a scantily clad bloodsucker.

Devereux rearranged several photos. “I am selecting employee costumes for the club Halloween party.”

Laurence shuffled through the pictures, recovering the one with the almost-nude woman. “I choose this one. I think Luna would look wonderful dressed – er,
undressed –
like this.”

Devereux shook his head. “Good luck with that. It is hard enough to keep her from accidentally dismembering customers who grope her through her usual clothing. All hope would be lost if she were forced to wear a thong.” He pushed the photos away and heaved another deep sigh. “I used to enjoy this process, but this year it feels tedious.”

“You’re making my point.” Laurence retrieved the photo. “Everybody knows something is wrong with you. You’re listless. All work and no play. The three of us have known each other forever – almost literally forever – and we know when you’re closing down. When’s the last time you went on a spree?”

“A spree?” Devereux said, his voice dripping disgust. “Don’t insult me with euphemisms. Let us call it what it really is: a killing spree, the execution of captive humans by vampires. It is barbaric.”

“On the contrary,” Laurence replied with a shrug. “It is one of the last bastions of the natural order of things.”

“Natural order? You think invading an isolated island prison and draining several of the human inmates is something to be celebrated? A worthy competition?” Devereux stared hard at his companions. “And you think there is something wrong with
me
?”

“Since when have you become the protector of the mortals? Super-Vampire to the rescue?” Elliott picked through the photos again.

Devereux said, sadly, “I am not protecting them. I am protecting us. After every one of those events, the human internet explodes with rumors of vampires. Somehow the word spreads, even after the memories of the survivors are altered. We now live in a very small world and every decision affects the future. And besides, it is simply asinine. Why kill caged mortals when there are so many willing donors?”

“See?” Laurence said and slapped his hand on the table. “Now I’m really concerned about you – and the fact that you don’t remember how glorious it feels to feed through the kill. I think you need to get back to your primal roots, my friend.”

Devereux dropped his head against the top of the cushion again. “I clearly remember my primal roots, thank you very much. I have worked hard to evolve, to be more than my primitive urges.”

“Well, we’ll simply have to agree to disagree,” Elliott said, holding up a photo of a naked, well-endowed, orange-painted woman. He slid his finger across the model’s cleavage and grinned. “Most of us don’t share your
enlightened
views. Nothing will ever be better than fresh, fear-infused human blood. But there’s an equally important primal urge you definitely need to get back in touch with. And we’ve taken care of it. Tell him, Laurence.”

“Tell me what?” Devereux asked, with no real interest.

“We were talking to Charlie Dickens when he was in here a few weeks ago about that little story he wrote back in the 1800s – the one about the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. And it gave us an outstanding idea.”

“What idea?” Devereux opened one eye.

“Wait,” Elliott said, “don’t forget the other part – that show we saw on TV about a bachelor choosing from among several women who were competing for his affections.”

“Right,” Laurence agreed. “It was a combination of both those things.”

“What was?” Devereux opened his other eye, beginning to get suspicious.

“We’ve set you up with three enticing women. One from your past, one you met very recently and one you don’t know yet. They all expressed an intense desire to be your
chosen one
.”

Devereux sprang upright. “What
chosen one
?” he asked, his gaze tracking back and forth between the two immortals. “There is no such thing.”

They both hooted with laughter. “Of course. But the females don’t know that. It will be so entertaining!”

Devereux stared at them and frowned. “You are joking, right? You would not do something so ridiculous...”