Wolf in Plain Sight (8 page)

“Joe’s wife,” Darcy said. “She’s ill.”

“Oh.” The secretive glance the two women shared only heightened Pia’s curiosity. She tried to sit straighter in her chair. “Is she a vamp or human?”

“Human, like me,” Darcy said, quickly. “So is Max…hung?”

Her attempt to change the subject was too obvious to be casual, but Pia let it drop—Max’s penis was a much more interesting subject. “He’s impressive…especially for a human.”

“I knew it!” Emmy said, slapping her palm against the table so loudly Darcy jumped.

Pia on the other hand guessed her nerves were too well insulated. Not so much as a flinch. She lifted her glass to her mouth then cursed when she remembered it was empty.

“The guys are always saying they’re just un-ush—unusually large for vampires.” Emmy smiled. “The braggarts. So tell me, have you ever had a vamp who couldn’t wield his cock like a weapon?”

Darcy spluttered with shocked laughter. “Em!”

Pia grinned. Whatever the two were trying to hide, it wasn’t any of her affair. Nope. She was strictly short-term. “Vamp cocks are the biggest. Although…” she leaned over the table to whisper, “I’ve heard werewolves are just as impressive.”

“Werewolves!” Darcy shuddered. “Monsters, every one. You should have seen what they did to those people.”

Having heard the story of the botched raid earlier, Pia could sympathize. “Not that I have any personal experience, but I have heard things.”

Darcy’s gaze sharpened. “Is it true they’re hard to kill?”

“You have to destroy their hearts or their brains,” Pia said.

“Why do they hate us so much?” Emmy asked, looking like she was about to cry.

“Well, like I said, I can only tell you what I’ve been told—strictly third-hand info. But werewolves are like vampires—they can be made or born.” Pia shrugged. “But the ones that are made, usually from a bite, are very unstable and vicious.”

She paused as Darcy poured another finger of whiskey into her glass. Her throat was really dry. She took a drink and looked up to find both women staring expectantly. “Well, those who are born don’t like the made ones very much—they tend to bring attention to the whole population. That’s partly why there are so few.”

“Purges, hunts?” Darcy said.

Pia nodded.

“But that doesn’t ’splain why werewolves hate vampires,” Emmy said.

Pia frowned, trying to remember the rumors told by other vamps on the fringes of those who would know—the ancient ones. “Their population is very small. They don’t usually risk turning humans to werewolves because those creatures tend to be unstable. They need breeders.”

Emmy’s flushed face blanched pale. Darcy shot her a strained look.

Pia noted the byplay, but her brain was a little too muzzy to understand. “And not many breeders exist. Something to do with mostly male progeny in their litters,” she continued. “So werewolves take it personally when a vamp mates with one.” Pia shrugged. “Wouldn’t you take it personally if a vamp robbed you of a chance at continuing your species?”

“Bugger,” Emmy muttered, shoving her glass away.

“Funny how our two senior citizens never mentioned that story,” Darcy murmured.

“It’s not common knowledge among vamps—there are very few opportunities for the two species to tread on each other’s toes. Breeders are that rare.”

Darcy’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, I’m glad we had this little talk.”

“Me too,” Emmy said glumly.

“You don’t think your werewolves are sniffing around a breeder, do you?”

“’Course not. What would be the chances?” Emmy said briskly, her wide and innocent. “Is there any more of that liverwurst?”

Pia looked from one woman to the other. Both their expressions were pinched with worry. Something was definitely up. “So when are you due, Darcy?”

The dark-haired woman’s face relaxed fractionally. “At the end of the month,” she said, smoothing her hand over the mound of her belly.

“I think that’s the only thing I miss about being human,” Pia said, sighing.

“Have you been one for very long?” Darcy asked.

Pia grinned. “Well, I’m not as ancient as your old man, Emmy, but I’ve been around the block a time or two. I was turned back in the twenties.”

“You were a flapper girl?” Emmy said, her face lighting with enthusiasm again.

“A gangster’s moll, actually. Can’t you picture it?”

Emmy tilted her head to the side, smiling. “Carmine red lipstick, one of those chiffon and silk chemises—yeah, I can picture it.”

“So, what happened?” Darcy asked.

Pia blew out a breath. “The usual. Wrong place, wrong time. I went to a dance hall where the bootleg whiskey was pouring a little too freely.” She raised her glass. “I’ve always loved the taste of whiskey. But I swear, that night I only had two drinks, but there I was dancing on a table. I’m sure someone put something in my drink.”

Emmy wrinkled her nose. “So, some studly vamp fell for you in a hard way and had to ‘trink your blahd’?”

“No. I distracted the partygoers, and G-men raided the party. My table got flipped and next think I knew, I was waking up with a cracked skull and a vamp who looked like Mortimer Snerd sucking me dry.”

“Who’s Mortimer Snerd?”

Pia laughed. “You’re such a baby.”

“Well, I liked the sucking you dry part,” Darcy said, waggling her eyebrows.

“Darcy! You have such a dirty mind,” Emmy cried.

“I can’t help it,” Darcy said, blushing. “All I think about these days is sex. Quentin won’t do the mambo with me until I pop.”

“You make it sound like you aren’t doing anything!” Emmy rolled her eyes. “What’s all that commotion I hear from your wing of the house?”

Darcy swatted Emmy’s arm while Pia chuckled.

“So, was anyone going to tell me there was a new vamp in town?” a new voice chimed from the doorway.

Pia peered around her shoulder, swaying in her chair. “You Lily?”

The newcomer strode inside, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and stretchy pants. Her brown hair glinted red in the light from the chandelier.

Pia’s glance caught on the small mound of her stomach pressing against the cotton shirt. “Good God! Is it in the water?”

‡

M
ax sat at
the far end of the conference room table with his arms folded over his chest, waiting for the rest of the team to assemble. He felt like hell and knew he looked it, too. He hadn’t bothered with a shave, and his uniform had that “lived in” smell.

When he’d left the house he hadn’t brought a clean uniform with him. He’d just wanted to put as many miles between him and the woman as he could. So he’d changed into the uniform he’d discovered at the bottom of his locker and hit the firing range. Two demolished targets later, he still hadn’t worked the rage out of his system.

He’d let her go. His mission in life was to keep people safe—and he’d let a bloodsucker walk. And he was angry with himself even though his gut told him she wasn’t a stone-cold killer.

For one thing, she’d missed several opportunities to take him out when he was his most vulnerable—sleeping a deep, dreamless sleep beside her, or lost in the wonder of the most powerful orgasms he’d ever experienced.

He snorted, disgusted with himself. He should have known then she wasn’t human.

Further, she had puppy-dog eyes—wide, brown, liquid—the kind that tore at your heart.
Not
that she’d touched his. How could anyone who had her soul shining in her eyes hide homicidal tendencies?

The conference room door swung open, and he pushed the memories aside. He had work to do. Werewolves to track and kill. Vampires to expunge from the planet.

Joe walked in, dressed in SU black, a coffee cup in his hand. “Hey buddy.”

Max bristled, grunting his displeasure at Joe’s familiar greeting.

Despite the less-than-polite acknowledgement he’d received, the vamp sat beside him. His gaze swept over Max. “Looks like you had a rough day.”

Max’s arms tensed, bulging his biceps as he tried to contain the growl rumbling in his chest.

Joe’s lips curved, and he tilted his chair, balancing it on two legs. “Captain Springer had the daytime team pull every report of animal attacks in recent weeks,” he said casually. “Other than a few missing dogs attributed to gators, nothing came up. Think we have an isolated incident?”

Max grunted, wishing the others would hurry it up. Making small talk with the undead thing wearing his friend’s face made his stomach churn.

“We’re going to make the rounds of the ‘blood banks’ tonight. See whether anyone’s heard anything. We’ll also check out any new vampires in town.”

Max stiffened.

Joe lifted an eyebrow and gave a slight smile—the mischievous sort Max had often seen before Joe turned. “You’ll be with me.”

“Wearing your flak jacket tonight,
Garcia
?” Max said, keeping his voice even.

“Will I be needing it—
Max
?”

“You never know,
old buddy
.”

The door opened again, and the rest of the team filed in. Max forced himself to relax. He felt so wound up, he was a hair-trigger away from exploding. The Captain knew better than to partner him with Joe—he’d made his feelings clear on that issue.

However, the sly look in Joe’s face when he’d mentioned scouting for new vamps in town had raised red flags. Joe knew about Pia. Max had known the bitch was too good to be true—even before he’d discovered she was a bloodsucker. Just his damn luck the most appealing woman he’d met in years…

Maybe shadowing Joe for the night wasn’t such a bad idea. He might get a chance to figure out what she was doing here and how The Council might be involved. Remembering his brother’s suggestion to pal around with Joe, Max decided to play it cool and keep his ears and eyes open.

He glanced across the table and found Quentin’s gaze trained on him. Something was definitely up. The bastard’s face always sported a smirk. Now, his expression was a blank slate.

*

Max’s head pounded
in time with the heavy beat of the rock n’ roll blaring inside the last stop of the night. Hard rock music couldn’t have been more appropriate for his rotten mood.

“Look, I’m going to speak with the bartender,” Joe shouted into his ear. “Why don’t you have a look around the back rooms, see whether everyone’s playing nice.”

Max nodded, glad for the chance to shake Joe off his back for the first time since they’d left the station. Maybe he’d even find some vamp action he could sink his stake into.

The scene in the “blood banks” had undergone a dramatic change since The Council came into being. Before, vamps had always sought their victims in dark alleyways or the restrooms of the “blood banks”—seedy bars where the pickings were easy. Lured by the erotic and sometimes hypnotic nature of the vampires, humans followed them into darkness.

If they were vampires with souls or at least a healthy streak of self-preservation, they played by the rules and drank only enough to sate their appetites while leaving their human hosts slightly dizzy from blood loss. The gift the humans earned in return for serving as meals-on-legs was a powerful, sexual release.

Since vamps were hard to spot unless they forgot to retract their teeth or wore their monster faces, Max had often crept into dank, dark hidey-holes to catch a vamp in action and dust him.

Now vamps had public places, poorly lit back rooms in bars, where humans and vamps could mix and be watched. This was considered an improvement. So long as the sexual conduct remained fairly PG, no one interfered with consensual blood sharing. Prostitutes and thrill-seekers were the only human fare—that was another rule: No innocents could be taken here.

When Max pushed through the door of the “feeding room”, he hoped for one little scream so he could let loose.

The heavy thump of the drums was just as loud here as in the main hall, because the room was packed. The sound of the bass beat was muffled, but insistent, like a relentless, throbbing heart. A colorful light ball spun overhead, painting the patrons in strobing, rainbow colors while they undulated to the music and their sexual fervor.

Max edged around the room, checking the humans to make sure they were conscious and pink-cheeked. Unfortunately, everyone appeared to be playing nice.