Vampires Need Not...Apply? (8 page)

Forget about her. The woman from your dreams is your destiny. You must focus on that.

This fantasy woman had appeared with the tablet, and the tablet had been the answer to his prayers. Yes. It was true; he was a man of science, but his faith… that was what carried him. Perhaps it had something to do with being brought up in Spain, perhaps it was that he and his brother were raised by Kirstie the maid, an overly superstitious gypsy woman with an addiction to borscht, but the likely answer was that science couldn’t guarantee salvation from his problems or deliver freedom. Faith was all he truly had.

So you have faith the woman from your dreams will help you. But shouldn’t you at least attempt to find the woman from the hospital first? She saved your life.

Yes. That would be exactly what he would do. He would find her and thank her.

And bed her.

Dammit,
coño.
Do you ever stop?

But what was there to say? His cock moved into a state of high alert each time he thought of the cruel woman.

Of course, that had nothing to do with why he wanted to find her. No,
señor
. Not. At. All.

* * *

“Kinich, you have to keep trying!” Ixtab watched her brother pace back and forth across his living room.

“I cannot break the urge,” he growled. “It doesn’t matter what I do. Each time I open that vial, I drool like a rabid dog. Belch’s ball sweat has no deterring effect whatsoever.”

“You didn’t actually drink any, did you?” Ixtab asked.

“No. But I wanted to. If Penelope walked into this room right now, I’d tear out her throat. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

“How are you around other humans?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No issues. Not even the innocent who smell of cotton candy tempt me. I’ve been sticking to a steady diet of bagged blood without issue.”

Hmmm.
It was normal for a vampire to become crazed for blood when they first woke, as he had with Penelope, but this was different; he continued to lose control only for her. Vampires didn’t have person-specific cravings. They were either in control or they weren’t.

Something about this situation didn’t feel right.

Dammit all to hell!
She wished the vampires would come back from holiday so she could consult with one of them. Maybe they’d know what to do? And how exactly did an entire race simply up and take a vacay—to frigging Euro Disney, no less!—when they knew how critical they were to the line of defense? But no! Mickey, Goofy, and vampire law were clearly more important than saving the world. Adding insult to injury, they weren’t even carrying cell phones! Oh no, because according to Helena—who’d texted her—they were spending their days on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Wouldn’t want to get their phones wet. Gods forbid. Because they were all
so
broke and would never be able to afford new ones.

Cheap bastards.

Oh! Vampires are icky number five: they are too obsessed with managing their money.

Well, they do live a really, really, realllly long time.

Okay. Fair nuff. Strike that last one.

“Well,” she offered, “Penelope sent a few Uchben to hunt down Viktor—maybe he’ll have a few suggestions.” Viktor, a thousand-year-old Viking vampire, had just about seen it all. That included Cimil’s bed. It was a miracle he survived actually, and lucky he did because he’d very recently found his mate. Ironically, she was Penelope’s mother. Confusing? Oh yeah. Throw in the fact that Penelope’s mother was a fallen angel—well, they had themselves a regular paranormal
telenovela
. Univision had nothing on them.

Kinich crossed his meaty arms and stared out the window. “I cannot lose Penelope. I cannot. But I am not making progress.” He paused for a long moment, clenching his jaw. “How is she?” he finally asked. His eyes remained fixed on the skyline.

Funny how Penelope had done the same thing, as if she and Kinich were staring from across the country at one another, longing. Ixtab knew the feeling—the ache of missing someone you love. That’s why she had to do something to get the two back together.

Should she tell Kinich about Zac? The entire truth about his pursuit of Penelope? On one hand, it might send Kinich over the edge. On the other, maybe he needed to hear the truth. Perhaps it would provide the added motivation for him to overcome his obsession with drinking Penelope.

“You want to know how she is?” Ixtab grumbled. “She’s spending a lot of time with Zac. He brings baby books and reads to her. And when she can’t sleep, he rubs her back and hunts down exotic snacks at two a.m.—baklava, Pop-Tarts, anchovy pizza, anything she wants. And when she awakens, he is there to hold her hair out of the toilet—the typical things mortal men do for their mates.”

Kinich’s fingers dug deeply into his biceps and tiny drops of blood hit the floor. “I see.”

“But she misses you, brother. Every day she calls and asks to see you. And every day she cries when I tell her you are not ready.”

Kinich’s jaw muscles pulsed once again, and his chest heaved rapidly. “Leave. I need some time alone.”

“I have to make my rounds, anyway; I’m all filled up again—the damnedest thing because I haven’t helped anyone.” Ixtab scratched her veiled forehead and told him she’d return in the morning. Not that it would do much good because Kinich wasn’t making any progress. It was as if he’d been programmed or cursed.
Something’s just not right.

“Get some rest, brother.”

“You ought to stop calling me that, you know.”

“Why?” she asked.

“We are not related, and now I am a shame to both my old and new species. I am so… weak.”

Idiot.
“Kinich, I don’t care if we are not blood—none of us are—but you will always be my brother, and I’m proud to call you so. This will all pass, I promise. Just have… patience.”

She wanted to say
faith
, but not even she had that.

“See you in the morning, brother.”

Kinich didn’t say a word as she left.
Poor guy…

Ixtab reached for the elevator call button, but the doors pinged and out stepped Antonio. “Christ!” She jumped out of the way. “Watch where the hell you’re going.”

Antonio, who wore stylish sunglasses, a thick off-white sweater, and soft, worn jeans, looked like a giant, warm slice of man heaven. She knew without a doubt that his sturdy frame didn’t have an ounce of fat and his height, though not as tall as her brothers, was well above six feet. Somewhere near the six-and-a-half range perhaps. Who cared? All that mattered was Ixtab enjoyed the view from down there in five-foot-eight land. He was all man. All mortal. All delicious.

Stop that! Remember, he’s just some… player. Some serial defiler of the female heart.

“Funny,” he said and then started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

He chuckled a few more times and caught his breath. “You said, ‘Watch it.’ That’s the funniest damned thing I’ve heard all day.” He tapped his walking cane in front of him to make his point.

Ixtab growled and then offered him a few choice words in Spanish.

“Dios mío!”
he said. “It
is
you! The agency you went through to get me that assistant didn’t know anything about you.”

“Yes. It’s me.” Once again, Ixtab found herself being inundated with unwelcome emotions. Gods, this man was frigging hot.

Is it getting warm in here? Why do I feel so warm?
“Nice to see you again, but I gotta run.” She poked the call button again.

“Please. Don’t leave. I only want to speak for a moment about what happened in the hospital.” He stepped in front of the elevator, blocking her from the doors.

“I can’t,” she said coldly and stepped back.

Gods, I need to get away from him.
She felt like her body might launch into orbit, combust, and become a second sun.

Why is it so hot?
She tugged at her collar.

He frowned and his lips made a hard line. “Why not?”

Why? Why? Because you’re doing something unholy to my body! Gods… I want to grrrrab you and maul you with my lips. Maybe rip off your pants and have a very deep conversation with that giant penis of yours.

What? Did you just say you want to talk to his penis?

Yes. Yes, I did. I need to get the hell out of here!

“We can’t talk because… I’m a superspy. Remember?” she said.

“Doubtful. Please. Tell me who you are.” He stepped toward her and reached for her shoulder. She found herself wanting to lean in and let him make contact, but caught herself and jumped back.

“Shit! Buddy, do you have a death wish or something? Don’t touch me!”

His expression turned bleak. “Do I disgust you that much?”

Oh, gods, no. I want to strip you naked, cover you in chocolate sauce, and swap you with a doughnut.
“Yes. People like you always do. So… back off!”

Gods, that was a mean thing to say, but it worked. He backed away and his expression turned to one of sheer outrage.

Suddenly, she felt strangely weak. She looked at her hands. Gray. She was filled to the brim with despair, and if she didn’t cleanse quickly, she’d fall into a coma. “Oh, hell…”

The elevator beeped. She stepped in and sank to her knees. What the hell was happening to her?

The small sapling of hope blossoming in the depths of Antonio’s soul shriveled up and died a gruesome death on the spot. He’d finally found the mysterious woman from the hospital only to be told he disgusted her.

Of course, you disgust her,
coño,
you’re nothing but a pathetic useless—

A loud crash followed by a man’s painful scream startled him. It came from the doorway directly in front of the elevator, one door down from his. It was his new neighbor, the one who paced day and night and never slept. Perhaps the man had finally passed out from exhaustion.
Or something worse…

Antonio cautiously approached the door and listened. All was quiet.

He knocked. “Hello? Is everything all right?”

A muffled moan filtered through the door.
Caray.
Had the man been injured? Antonio turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. “Do you need help?”

Dammit. He couldn’t see shit. The man might be a foot away, bleeding to death, and Antonio wouldn’t even know.

“Hello?” He stepped inside and tried to listen for any sound.

Nothing, dammit.
When would his Spidey hearing kick in? Wasn’t his body supposed to compensate for his lost sight?
Dios
, he sucked at everything, didn’t he?

The door slammed shut behind him. “Who the fuck are you?” asked a deep, ominous voice.

Antonio’s heart pounded furiously inside his chest. “I’m your neighbor. I heard a crash and…”
Santa Maria!
“It smells like blood.”

“I punched the wall and cut open my hand.” The voice had moved in front of him.

This guy sounded crazier than he was. “
Bueno
, I see you are alive and breathing, so I’ll be on my way.”

A firm hand pushed him away from the door.

“What the fuck?” Antonio extended his hands defensively, but the man seemed to be everywhere all at once.

“Listen,
coño
,” Antonio said, dropping his arms, “if you want to kill me, you’d probably be doing me a favor, but make it quick.”

He felt the man’s hot breath on his face right before his sunglasses were torn away. Antonio knew he had no use of his eyes, yet he couldn’t break the urge to open them and strain to see what was happening.

“Your aura is too bright,” said the man. “I can’t kill you. Guess it’s your lucky day.”

Right. Lucky. My day has been a giant
pinche
shamrock.
“I would not call it that.”

“Mine neither,” the man grumbled.

“Sorry to hear that.”
You
pinche
psychopath.
“If you’re not going to kill me and you’re not dying, I’m going back to my apartment to drink myself into a stupor.”

“Stay. I will pour you a scotch.”

“No, gracias. I think—”

“I said, ‘Stay.’
Relax.
This is what you want.” Something in the man’s voice compelled him to obey. Ironically, the sensation felt far more unnerving than being threatened physically.

“If you insist,” Antonio replied reluctantly.
What the hell is going on?

The man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him across the room.
Caray
, what a fucking grip this man had.

“Sit,” the man commanded. “I will return in a moment.”

Antonio’s body obeyed, but his mind clicked back and forth between caged-animal panic and an artificial complacency.

Keep your cool. Get him to let his guard down and then run for the door…

The man returned promptly with a cool-to-the-touch, smooth glass tumbler.

Antonio took a whiff. Single malt scotch. Very fine. “Macallan 1926?” Antonio asked.

“You have a good nose.”

“I learned to drink scotch in my late teens; wanted to piss off my father, who happens to be a vintner.”
And possibly the most vile son of a bitch on the face of the planet.

The man laughed. “A very expensive rebellion.”

Scotch had only been the beginning of a lifelong pursuit to reject everything his father stood for. If it was the last thing Antonio did, he’d beat his father—and by beat, he meant kill.

“These days my tastes have humbled,” Antonio said. “I’m a big fan of Belgian whites. In fact, I have a six-pack in the fridge if you’d like to try—”

“You will stay and relax,” the man commanded.

The anxiety instantly drained from Antonio’s body. “Yes, I’d like that.”
I think.

Again the man laughed. “Good. So, you are my neighbor,” he said.

“Yes. I am Antonio Acero.”

“Kinich. Nice to meet you. So, tell me more about this bad luck,” Kinich said.

“Why?” Antonio never discussed his problems with anyone. What good would it fucking do? They’d either think him crazy or… well, fucking crazy. Nor could anyone help him. So no fucking thanks.